#maybe it's because she minimally reminds me of ashe? or maybe it's just because her design has a similar color pallet to you. in my mind

[saltedsolenoid]

me an ask

i assign you aranea serket! no clue why

aranea is a dead troll and a sylph of light, meaning she heals people through light, to put it INCREDIBLY simply. like many other light players, she has a horrible tendency to monologue and go on exposition rants about things that she's interested in, which in her case is mostly historical trivia about her world. although she puts up a cheerful and very nice front, it's actually revealed (right before she dies for the second time, may i add) that she caused the entire main conflict of homestuck. or at least the second main conflict.

she's still a relatively minor character though, don't worry

[p0tat0-th3-th3r1an]

I can’t draw, so I wrote a lil story about being a wolf to maybe ease my species dysphoria a little. A couple things: I did very minimal research on wolves and how packs work, so very sorry about all the things wrong. Secondly, sorry about the not creative naming for me, I couldn’t think of anything else. And thirdly, I TYPED THIS ON MY PHONE BY HAND. USING THE LITTLE KEYBOARD. My hand fucking hurts. That’s all, please please please interact this took me a while and, like I said on my phone.

Enjoy!

I wake up, yawning, and look around. As usual,

I’m in my cave. It’s a small place, but I love it. I grew up here, I ate my first kill here, and after every hunt, I come back here, with mamma smiling and welcoming me, and the little ones yipping excitedly. I am brought back to the present by White Dots, one of my younger brothers, waking up. I quickly hop off of the pile so he can get up. He sleepily opens his eyes and lets out a tired growl. “Morning, Whitey!” I say happily. “Today is a big day, little brother. Today is your first hunt!” As soon as I remind him, he leaps up, his face breaking into a grin. “Yes! Yes, Ash Paw, you’re right! Ooooh, I can’t wait to bring back my first kill!” He yips, bouncing around excitedly. His loud yipping is starting to wake up the rest of the pack. “Hmm? What’s that about killing? There will be no fight in this cave.” Says Elder. He is very old, and gets confused sometimes. Luckily, Momma always helps him in these situations. “It’s ok Papa, don’t you worry. I run these pups with an iron fist!” “Hey! I’m not a pup! I’ll be ready to become a papa in just 6 sleeps!” I say, because it’s true! In 6 sleeps I will be 365 as sleeps old! This means I will have to go out and find a female to mate with. “Yes yes, now get your brothers and sisters up! We need to teach White Dots to hunt today!” Says momma. While I do as she said (“Blue Tip, Speckles, Papa, get up! Everyone up!”), White Dots has doubled his excited yipping. “I’m going to hunt! Papa is going to teach me to hunt! Yip yip yip!!” The pack is now all up. There is 12 of us all together; Mamma, Pappa, the 2 Elders, White Dotes, Blue Tip, Speckles, the 4 newborn pups, and me, Ash Paw! The littles all come from Mammas third litter. I, Speckles, and Blue tip are from Mammas first, and White Dots is from her second. The other four, who had not been named yet, were all killed by an attack on the cave. It was a pack that bordered our territory. The pack wanted to take ours, so they attacked the cave while we were hunting and Mamma and the newborn pups were in it. Mamma tried to protect them, but only White dots survived.

“Come on everyone, let’s get hunting!” Barks Papa. White Dots has been taught by Papa to hunt and his role in it. He has to wait with me and my brothers for my sisters to drive the prey to us, and then we chase it till it or we faultier. If we do, we go back to the nest, hungry. If the prey does, we attack. This time, we will get White Dots to attack.

Me, my sisters, my brothers, Papa, and the elders leave the cave with Mamma and the pups waving us goodbye. We start our long track across the snow to find prey. The whole way, White Dots is trotting along in front of us, and stopping and waiting for us. Papa has warned him to be quiet, but that doesn’t stop my silly little brother from running too fast, not saving his energy. We all warn him of this, but we know it won’t help. Today, we don’t have to travel far to find prey. We have only traveled a couple hundred steps, when White Dots lets out a yip. We all stop, and start treading quietly, low to the ground. Papa taught Whitey well for this, he has it down very well. The prey is a herd of caribou, who are digging through the snow, trying to find food. Little do they know, they are our food. The caribou haven’t noticed us yet, luckily. We pick a spot to attack, and me, White Dots, Papa, and Elder run as quietly but as quickly as we can to our agreed spot. So far, my little brother is doing well. He is not falling behind, or being louder than all of us. Once we get there, my sisters have already got the herd moving. Most of the prey are running away, but two are panicking, and the sisters take advantage of that, driving them toward us. One runs off, so now we are set up perfectly. And here it comes… and now we’re running in front of it, confusing the prey. And now it has stopped and there is a perfect opportunity! And here comes White Dots, going in for the throat… HE GOT IT! He mange’s to bite on the animals throat, making it cry out. This is perfect timing, as all the ones who are strong enough jump on the caribou, knocking it down! We then kill it, and tear it up. “Good job my son. You are a true wolf now. No more a pup.” Says Papa. This is a tradition, and part of it is that once he says that, we all howl, and our howl is heard by Mamma, so she howls back. She can hear in our howl if we’re in trouble, so she can tell this is a tradition.

We then “ get into the nitty gritty” which I will not tell you about. Basically, we end up carrying most of the extra meat back to the cave by sundown. Once we return, Mamma welcomes us-well, mostly just White Dots. “White dots! You are a true wolf! Good job son. I’m proud of you!” The pups just howl and give a couple little yips. They then devour the caribou meat we brought back, and do does Mamma. After they have eaten, we all close our eyes and put our paws on the spot that Mamma and pups at the meat on. “We thank you caribou, for giving us your meat to survive.” Says Papa solemnly. We all nod, “Thank you, caribou.” Says White dots. Then, we get up from the spot, I stretch and Papa lays down. We all get on top of the pile in our respective order, and snuggle in. Laying in this pile with my beloved pack, my family, I feel completely content with this position in life, and in the pile. Soon, I sleep.

[seerofmike]

1, 4, 9, and 13 from the Salty Ask List

im assuming this is for apex

1.) What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

ok so there's a lot of ships i hate for an active reason but as for a ship i simply do not get. revenant x ash. like they're both simulacrums i guess. is that it?

i guess i just don't get the specific way REDDIT likes revenant x ash. they seem to think that ash would be all tsundere for him like im sorry are we talking about the same character

4.) Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?

i hate several ships but i'll just list the 3 i hate the most. life//tane, crypt//age and crypt//son. the straightie ships are like moderately popular for straightie ships ig but crypt//age is everywhere and its like. they're like that one post about straight women's first gay ship LMAO

9.) Most disliked character(s)? Why?

rev and caustic r obvious answers so i'll name 3 others. Fuse because he's boring and obnoxious and kinda contributes nothing except being BH's love interest and the reason Maggie joins. like i feel like you could cut Fuse out of apex entirely and with minimal rewrites everything still functions the same. He just feels really irrelevent. tbh i didn't hate him until the past few seaons when Fuse/hound started really ramping up and I couldn't escape seeing him which just made me more annoyed every time I saw him. overexposure ig

hate mirage cuz he hogs so much screentime and has like 3 character traits the writers bring up over and over without doing anything new so people can go AUGGH MIRAGE SADDEST CHARACTER EVER 🥺🥺🥺 and yall somehow fall for it when its the same piece of info literally every time. like how many times do they need to remind you evelyn has dementia. give him a storyline already. "Mirage sad because mom forget" is not a character arc yall have been doing this for like 12 seasons now come up with something new

then finally. Wattson. i have written several posts about her so im gonna be short but she's SOOO terribly written and such a shit person which like, i LOVE me some terrible petty bitches like loba. but loba being a terrible petty bitch feels like its on purpose and wattson being a terrible petty bitch is on accident and the writers bend over backwards to make her the cute uwu do no wrong girl all the time and it's SO exhausting like let her have character flaws and maybe have someone acknowledge she's made mistakes???? 😭

edit: crypto!! 13.) unpopular opinion about he.

i have two: 1. he is kind of jacked under that jacket. he is not a twink. he has muscles. not like fuse or gibraltar, and he doesn't have shredded abs like seer and octane, but he's built after years of working out and when he wears a tight t-shirt, you can See. Percieve Them. and 2. he has ADHD (and a paranoia disorder).

i know the more popular hc for him is autistic which is VALID but i personally read him more as ADHD who developed a paranoia disorder due to his circumstances and both of those things combined are why he's so fidgety and messes around with his jacket and puzzle cube a lot

[todoscript]

SEQUEL TO  “don’t forget it”

SYNOPSIS: One week after accidentally blowing you off on your date, Bakugou Katsuki seeks your forgiveness.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, very little angst

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: none really accept maybe a character sustaining an injury

author’s note: hellooooo this is a very very very late part 2 of my don’t forget it drabble that many people asked for! i hope this lived up to your expectations and was worth the wait!

Since the events that led you to leave Bakugou’s room in a fit of bitterness after attempting to penetrate that thick head of his, he hadn’t been able to speak to you for a week.

It goes without saying he did his best to chase you down the hallway from his room and toward the elevator the moment he realized his faults. But at the stink eye you shot him through the minimizing slit of the elevator doors sliding into place, he knew he had no right to reconcile with you after pulling a stunt like that. Nor did he think you’d want to spare him any more words to begin with. It was clear you were done arguing with him.

“C’mon man, it’s probably best to let her cool down before you try to make up with her,” was the advice Kirishima offered when Bakugou returned to his room, disgruntled as he heavily fell back into his seat next to the desk. He did the bare minimum to acknowledge his friend’s words with a grunt before resuming tutoring the redhead, his method of teaching suddenly harsher than how it began thanks to his soured mood. He lapsed the day away by pounding Kirishima with problems upon problems against that hard noggin of his, both literally and figuratively.

At the very least, Kirishima earned himself a passing grade on their exam as a result of his hard work and their rigorous tutoring sessions. But what followed Bakugou’s and your relationship was still undetermined.

Days later and you were relentless in giving him the cold shoulder.

Bakugou was met with nothing but empty glances and blatant disinterest whenever he crossed your path. It felt like the wall you slotted between him grew another layer at each encounter, your defenses so impenetrable, it could give Kirishima’s quirk a run for its money. He couldn’t so much as utter a word in your direction without you effectively dodging every possible interaction in favor of joining another conversation nearby.

At first, Bakugou shrugged it off, calling your “childish attitude” unwarranted for something he thought was incredibly trivial. In his eyes, it was just an ordinary date at some run-of-the-mill restaurant he just happened to suggest to you because he took a liking to their spicy food. Not like it was some fancy dinner reservation serving caviar on dry toast beside a pretty, city night skyline. To him, it was nothing special.

However, as the week continued to roll by, it became clear to him how much he hurt you due to his selfishness. In a hangout with the Bakusquad, he learned that you apparently told Mina, along with the rest of the girls, everything during one of your girls’ nights. Which included the events prior to your heated argument in Bakugou’s dorm. And Mina, being just as peeved as you were at how Bakugou stood you up that day, had to let the blond know of the damage he’d done.

.

.

“I swear, Bakugou Katsuki, I know you can be an asshole sometimes—”

“Make that all the time,” Sero quietly adds in the middle of Mina’s rant while he lounges backward on Kaminari’s bed. If it wasn’t for his current dilemma, Bakugou would have elbowed him in the back of the head.

“—but this is crossing the line!” she finishes. Her arms are thrown exaggeratedly over her chest. The amber surrounded by the black scleras of her eyes points a beady look at the ash-blond crisscrossed on the floor between Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Poor girl sat there for hours waiting for you, only to find out she got blown off because you couldn’t even properly check your reminders!” She paces back and forth in the room, feet excessively stepping across the floor as she’s engulfed by the emotions she feels for her friend. “What’s worse? She comes back and finds out you’ve been doing your own thing with Kirishima the whole time!”

“Hey! It’s not like we were playing around! We were actually having a very serious study grind, thank you very much,” the redhead immediately clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t alleviate Bakugou’s case in the slightest, who pounds his palms against the surface of the table they’ve gathered around.

“Look. I fucking get it, Ashido. I screwed up, okay?! Now what the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” he exclaims, anger overpowering his voice, but it does little to deter Mina.

“Fix it, obviously!” she quips back with equal fierceness, leaning in eye level with Bakugou.

“And how do you propose I do that, Raccoon Eyes? Hah?” Repositioning his elbow to rest on the table, he leans his cheek against his hand. “Y/n won’t even let me within five fucking feet in front of her and you still expect me ‘fix this’?”

Despite the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders, no immediate answer is bestowed upon him. That is, except the obnoxiously loud crinkle of a chip bag popping open next to Bakugou that cleaves into the scene like a record scratch. As if unable to read the mood in his own room, Kaminari fishes a chip to throw in his mouth, stirring the awkward silence into tension.

“Wow, Bakugou. I know you’re bad with girls and all, but you really messed up this time,” he remarks. His voice is slightly muffled as he munches his chips, continuing to wrinkle the bag for more. It incites a vein to swell on Bakugou’s forehead. He amasses all the willpower within him not to blast the bag of chips to ash, and the boy alongside it.

“If you dunce faces are just gonna sit here and throw salt in my wound then I’m outta here.”

“No, wait!” Kirishima catches Bakugou’s wrist before he fully lifts himself off the floor. “Come on, Bakugou, I’m sure we can think of something! We just need to put our heads together! Right, guys?” he assures. Finding it hard to deny his friend’s hardened conviction, Bakugou gives Kirishima the benefit of the doubt, albeit with slumped shoulders and a tentative raise of his brow as he slowly sits back down.

“Right! Everyone, let’s get some brainstorming done!” Mina yells encouragingly.

The atmosphere of Kaminari’s room is consumed by moderately thoughtful silence for the next ensuing minutes. A few hums pass, followed by an exchange of contemplative looks as four of the five rack their heads together to uncover a solution. The one in need of help only hunches in his seat, waiting with mild disinterest.

“Oh hey, don’t we have hero training with All Might tomorrow?” Sero is the first to comment, scooting to the edge of the blond’s bed.

“Yeah. So?”

“He said we were going to work on group exercises this time around. You know, teamwork and stuff,” he explains further.

At that, Mina snaps her fingers, the work of a brilliant idea flickering in her head. “Sero, that’s it! Tomorrow, during training, we’ll just form a group together with Y/n! After all, she’ll have to talk to Bakugou if you two are on the same team!” She claps her hands in front of her, her enthusiasm rippling through her body and shown energetically with each raise of her voice. “Then, while the rest of us ‘split up’ to cover more ground, that will be your chance to make everything better with Y/n! It’s genius!”

“You missed one fucking crucial detail, Pinky,” Bakugou gruffs. “That will only work if Y/n doesn’t join another group. The moment she sees I’m on yours, she’s not even going to hesitate making a u-turn.”

“Worry not~ I’ll just text all the girls except Y/n about the plan later and ask them to help sort everyone out!” She solves the problem with relative ease—quick as a click of her phone lighting up and finger sliding open to her messages.

“Uh, another thing though.” Kirishima raises his hand to spare his concern. “All Might says we’ll be splitting into groups of five at most, but there’s already five of us here.”

There’s a brief moment of deadpanning until Mina speaks casually. “Oh, that’s right. Kaminari. Take one for the team and make sure to join another group, ‘kay?” She settles without batting a lash.

Kaminari almost chokes on a mouthful of chips. “H-Huh?! What?! Why me?!!” he sputters.

“Because you’ve been eating chips this entire time and haven’t contributed to anything.”

“Hey, I offered the room, didn’t I?!” He tries justifying but is inevitably rejected by Mina’s wagging finger.

“Ah-ah, no complaints! Besides, it’s only one day of training. If we want this dilemma between Bakugou and Y/n fixed then we all have to play our part, got it?” Mina finalizes with a firm point of her finger nearly grazing the tip of the blond’s nose as he leans back to avoid it, eyebrows scrunched in discontent at the role he’s been reduced to.

“Alllllright!” Kirishima springs from his seat with outstretched arms and tightened fists. “Operation: Get Y/n to Forgive Explosion Boy is underway!”

“Dude, that’s a terrible name!” Sero laughs but rises from the bed to join the redhead’s cheer alongside Mina, the group already in high spirits.

Despite rolling his eyes at their swell of confidence, Bakugou does not object to the state of things. As crazy as it sounds, one could almost decipher the cusp of a grin pulling the seams of his lips as a possible sign he’s actually all for this extravagant little plan. Quite a first for Bakugou, but then again, there’s not much else he can do in this situation except rely on his pack of chumps.

Meanwhile, Kaminari grumbles something beneath the salty grit between his teeth.

“Alright, can you all get out of my room now?”

.

.

The scowl etched on your face carries a strong air of disdain that dampens the mood around your teammates considerably. Well, no one should be surprised. With Bakugou standing across from you, staring into the void of your expression, it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t be happy with this outcome.

No, “unhappy” doesn’t quite do your circumstance justice. You are beyond livid.

You feel your eyebrow twitch as you try quivering your lips to form a tinge of a smile. Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart when you suddenly recall the disaster of last week, triggered by an accidental glance at Bakugou’s mug.

Trying to simmer down, you release a mental sigh amidst the turmoil boiling inside you.

Okay, maybe you’re over-exaggerating. Maybe you’re still just a bit too bitter for your own good and letting your emotions get to you. But in a class of twenty or some students, how did you end up in a group with the one person you were actively trying to avoid?

The moment All Might gave everyone the go-ahead to form their teams for today’s training exercise, you swiftly made a beeline toward two particular star students. Midoriya and Todoroki.

It was simple really. Your experiences throughout the school year told you Bakugou planned on staying away from his rivals when it came to teamwork, regardless of whether you’re there or not. He’s a competitive ass whose goal is to beat anyone he deems a threat in his climb to be the number one hero. It’s only logical you partner with people he adamantly dislikes to evade him.

Yet it seems fate has other plans for you today. By the time you found yourself pacing over to the two students you had in mind, they’d already gone and picked their own group members, forming teams before you could even ask.

Your nose wrinkles like you’ve taken a whiff of something rancid. Or, to be more specific, something fishy. Hooking an arm around Mina’s elbow, you drag the pink-haired girl off to a corner somewhere while tilting your head back at the three other boys.

“Ex. Cuse. Us.” Your words sound as stiff as cardboard. It comes out in practically a hiss when your eyes cross Bakugou. Once you’re positive you’re out of earshot, you whip your head at Mina.

“Mina, what the hell? When you dragged me over here to form a group with you you didn’t tell me he’d be there,” you groan. Childish and petty as you may sound, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of confronting the boy so soon.

Mina holds her hands out, ready to rationalize the whole ordeal. “C’mon Y/n, this is actually an advantage for us! With us four plus you on our team, we’re sure to knock the rest of the other guys out during training today! I mean we showed pretty good teamwork together at the sports festival, didn’t we?”

Steadying your gaze, you hold a finger below your chin as you slowly buy into the explanation. The reasoning is there. It’s hard to argue against a case like that, fully aware that being on the same team as explosion boy will easily snag good results for you and your party. ‘Cause as much of an arrogant jerk as he is, you have to admit Bakugou Katsuki knows his way around hero action like the back of his grenade gauntlets.

“Besides it’s not like you could avoid him for the entire school year. I mean, you two are in the same class. It was only a matter of time before you had to—”

“I know, Mina,” you interject, not wanting the rest of her sentence about the inevitable fall to your ear. “I just… Agh, you know what I mean!” You ruffle your hands through your hair in confliction, unsure how to piece your thoughts together.

Tilting your head over Mina’s shoulder, you sneak a glimpse at Bakugou, watching him as he’s cast to the side with the others. He’s fending himself from Kirishima and Sero’s combined jokes, that usual look on his face sending glares at the two and yelling something you could almost pick up on if you honed your ears a bit more. Surprisingly, when his eyes meet yours for a split second, he stands there looking nonchalant again. Both of you immediately avert your gazes.

Mina pats your shoulder, bringing you back to the conversation at hand. “I know, I know, but after this, I’m sure you can go back to ignoring his ass. After all, it’s just one training exercise, right?” she says. As her words deliver some relief to your ill-timed situation, you give in with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to you, turning your back to Mina and striding toward the rest of your teammates again, you miss the small glint in her yellow eyes, along with the subtle gestures she aims at the three boys, waving her pointed thumbs over your head secretively.

“So I take it you’re on the team with us, Y/n?” Sero asks when the two of you return. You nod in reply and the boy flashes his pearly whites in a wide grin that Kirishima mirrors. He nudges Bakugou at his sides which you subtly catch in the far corner of your eye.

You raise a brow suspiciously at their fidgeting, wondering why having you on their team warrants such enthusiasm, but you’re thankful for their energy at least. Someone has to lift the atmosphere for this not to be a complete drag and Bakugou surely isn’t going to be the mood maker of the group.

The blond scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you dumbasses are going to form a team with me, you’ll follow under my leadership, got it?”

The three readily agree. Though you roll your eyes, you don’t challenge his position, considering no one else is that much up to the task as he is. You’ll simply have to deal with the fact that you’re forced to tread through the day under his leadership. So with no objections, the five of you walk back to the class, gathering around the entrance of today’s battlefield.

Jumping into the activity, All Might goes about explaining today’s lesson to the four sets of teams—consisting of a group exercise to heighten teamwork. The name of the game? Capture the flag.

In short, each team will be split off into different sections of the labyrinth where their assigned flag is stationed. The objective is to not only protect your flag from being stolen but also try and steal an opposing team’s flag from their base and escort it safely to your home field. Nice and simple.

Not long after All Might’s explanation, the gate to the training grounds opens and you all scatter off into your teams, navigating through the twists of the maze to locate your flags. Once your group situated themselves onto your home base, you assemble in a huddle to devise a strategy before the game starts.

“So what’s the plan?” Kirishima asks, eyes darting around his teammates until they rest on Bakugou—the team leader. The ash-blond crosses his arms, a confident sneer plastered on his face as he’s already thought of his plan of action the moment All Might announced the mission.

“Easy. I’m going straight to the front-lines to swipe one of those dumbasses’ flags. You lot are gonna stay here and guard ours until I come back.” He delivers the strategy in a matter-of-fact tone that you quickly don’t take a liking to. Your fist curls in irritation.

“What kind of a plan is that?” you question audaciously, your voice louder than you intended. “So you’re just going to do all the work while we sit around and wait for you?”

Bakugou grits his teeth, leaning further into the huddle to direct his senseless logic. “Look, it’s the fastest and most surefire way to snag our victory without sacrificing anyone,” he says. Playing over his words again, he finds it surprising he even chooses to offer his reasoning. Because if it were anyone other than you he was arguing with, he’s certain he’d leave it at that.

Knowing the current tension between you was a result of his misjudgment, it feels only right for Bakugou to make an effort in communication. He ignores the antsy expressions belonging to the others who signal from behind you to follow along with their original plan.

You don’t seem to catch the hint, nor do you buy into his ridiculous strategy. “Oh, so you’re that confident you won’t get taken out by the other team then?” you quip. As a result, Bakugou’s brows tighten at your noncompliance.

“I know how to take care of myself. You of all people should realize by now that no other nerd in this whole damn class can outmatch me.”

“And what about an ambush? How do you know they simply won’t anticipate your strategy and see you coming?” You fire another counterargument and the boy purses his lips, beginning to find this quarrel spiraling into a headache rather than a step in the direction of reconciliation.

While Sero and Kirishima stand there, shifting their heads back and forth throughout the fiery exchange, Mina speedily reacts. The gears of that cunning mind of hers click into place again.

“You know what, Y/n’s right. Why don’t you two go together then?” she proposes boldly. Her suggestion catches you by complete surprise. You veer in her direction with an incredulous look blown in your eyes.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, the two boys standing beside her immediately back her up.

“Hm, Mina has a point. The chances of you falling into a trap wouldn’t be much if you two work together,” Sero remarks.

Kirishima follows, “Yeah, you guys can watch each other’s backs while going to collect the flag! It’s safer to go in a pair than by yourselves I’d say.”

The three seem adamant about the idea, sharing equally content expressions, and with all that said, you find it hard to dig yourself out of this situation. In a way, you practically volunteered yourself after questioning Bakugou’s plan and doubting his abilities. The group only feels it’s right you come along as his support since you clearly must be worried about his well-being.

Pushing your objections down your throat, you reluctantly agree to tag along with the blond. What you find exceptionally shocking is how Bakugou doesn’t oppose these new conditions. Given his hard-headed temperament, you thought he would’ve scoffed and turned his back at being paired without notice, but no such things were happening here.

...Odd.

“Tch, whatever. Let’s get going then,” is all he gives, starting in the direction into the urban area of the training course.

You trail behind him. “Coming, Boom-Boy…” you mutter the last bit but don’t suppress the urge to let your words be known. Bakugou turns his head and gives you a look akin to an uptight six-year-old you just offended at your local playground. You shrug in response, a corner of your lip pinched upward. He doesn’t pick a fight over the nickname, but his eyebrows remain fiercely slanted, and coupled with his heavy steps and the excessive swinging of his gauntlet-clad arms, it tells you of his emotional constipation plain as day.

.

.

The journey toward the other teams’ flags is cloaked in strained silence and the physical gap between you two does not encourage any of you to speak up. At this point, both of your levels of annoyance for each other have mellowed out. Now it just feels... awkward—strange. You don’t see his expression, nor does he see yours. It feels like you’re being left in the dark, having only the back of Bakugou’s head to stare at the entirety of the way, and though you supposedly have his back, Bakugou feels precarious in this state as he trudges along at the front, not daring to turn his head to cross your eyes.

The ambiance is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Where Bakugou walks through the depths of the underworld, seeking you out in hopes you’d join his side once again. If he turns around now and spills his thoughts to you too soon, he fears that your forgiveness would be whisked away, thoroughly beyond his reach, and replaced with your promises of retribution.

That was the eloquent version of the situation anyway. To put it bluntly, Bakugou was just impatient as hell to say something to you. The silence suffocates him to the point where the words are nearly about to be squeezed out of his throat, but he bites his lip to snuff out the urges.

The more he keeps them in, the more fidgety he becomes, hands itchy and mouth trembling with grit between his teeth. The idea of not letting his voice be heard was something Bakugou detested. Mainly because it was already such a challenge to even keep his mouth shut, given his fiery attitude and lack of patience.

Man, what the hell am I hesitating for? he asks himself, that outspoken side of him spurring him on.

Ah, screw the uncertainty, he thinks. If he doesn’t say anything now, then he won’t get to say anything ever.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, turning his head. Here goes nothing,

“Hey, Y/n, I–”

“Katsuki–”

Words collide into each other, jumbled and incoherent, which take you two by surprise as you meet each other’s furrowed gazes. It’s quiet as you both piece your way through this, eyes trained like you haven’t seen each other in months when the reality is that a week of bitterness has somehow made you act like strangers. The bewildered look crossing his features is foreign to you; you’ve never quite seen Bakugou as taken aback as he is now.

“You first,” you grant before Bakugou could mix up your words again. Even being given permission, the blond still isn’t sure what to say, his thoughts lost on him the moment his voice clashed with yours. He takes a deep breath, calming his senses and steadying his mind for what he wants to convey.

“Look, Y/n, I don’t know how to put this as nicely as I can,” he begins, tone consistent yet wary, assessing your expression, “but I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there all by yourself. I shouldn’t… have blown you off like that and forgotten about you.” He delivers this bluntly—honestly—as open as a boy of his nature can muster with arms spread out, willingly exposing him to his faults and your reprisals.

Looking at you, he finds your eyes are cast to the floor, assuming to be reflecting on his words carefully. After some deliberation, you come across the vermillion in his eyes.

“Frankly, I haven’t entirely forgiven you just yet. But I will say that despite how I’ve been acting, I’m not as mad at you as you think,” is what you give, and Bakugou would be lying to himself if he didn’t achieve relief at your statement. He mentally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding throughout the exchange. However, you aren’t done yet.

“I just want you to understand what moments like those mean to me. It’s during that time where I can share my feelings and learn more about you—understand who you are,” you say. Bakugou latches onto every word. “And it goes both ways, you know. It’s hard to want to stay in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make an effort to make time for you.” It’s obvious you aim that comment at him as Bakugou’s eyes soften slightly hearing it. His calloused, glove-clad hands wrap into his palms. Man, he really was a jerk.

“Still… I know you’re making an effort to be sincere and that you’re genuinely sorry for what happened, especially considering how the others seem to have set this whole conversation up, right?” Bakugou winces over the Bakusquad’s ploy coming to light and makes a note not to follow along next time unless those dummies can scrape up a more elaborate plan.

Despite that, he presses on, “So, what does this mean?” A smile settles on the curve of your lips, sensing his impatience as his voice hastens you along.

“Well…” you begin, speech drawn out in anticipation as you step toward him to where Bakugou follows your movements. That is until he catches a few shadowy figures shifting around atop the small building behind you. Before you can open your mouth to continue, his instincts flare to life.

“Hey, look out!” he exclaims, already acting on his warnings by lunging forward to push you out of the way. Your breaths draw back into your lungs, your body thrust abruptly into the opposite direction. Landing on your butt, you wince at both the shock and the pain, but your whines desist when you witness Bakugou taking a force to the head as a result of coming to your aid.

“Katsuki!” you yell, immediately getting off the ground to rush to his side, but he can’t find it in himself to respond. Afflicted with a substantial blow to the crown of his head, his whole being throbs and his vision spins.

Fuck, is Y/n, okay? is the first thing on his mind, ignoring the liquid trickling down his forehead. His question is answered upon turning his head to meet your anxious expression—your eyes wide and lips quivering as they move to say words he can’t exactly make out beneath the pounding sensations consuming his mind. As he feels a set of arms wrap around him, he tries discerning his surroundings to form a reply, but can only capture bits and pieces.

“—tsuki! ...old… n!”

“...god—! I’m so dead!”

A sputter of words tangling together is the last he hears before his vision fades to black.

.

.

The next time Bakugou awakes, his eyes slowly sever open to come face-to-face with a blurry white ceiling. The lights assault his vision as his senses take time to adjust, unraveling the environment to realize he’s laying on a bed—a hospital bed to be precise.

He attempts lifting himself but is met with retaliation in the form of his pulsating head which he immediately flinches at. His hand goes to rub his scalp to soothe the ache and he finds bandages wrapped tightly around him. “What the hell happened?” The last he remembers is traversing the urban area with you for the capture the flag mission before finally confronting the subject that had been plaguing your minds for a week now. After that, he caught sight of some object descending toward you and before he had even realized it, his feet had moved on their own. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the nurse’s office with a headache from hell.

Wait, what about you? Were you okay? Surely, he had to have pushed you out of the way in time, right?

His head moves quicker than it should’ve, revealing the other hospital bed in the room to be unoccupied, vacant. He sighs and his relief is further bolstered by the door to the nurse’s room opening to unveil you unharmed with only your heavy look of concern troubling him.

“Katsuki, oh thank god, you’re okay!” you say, quickly pacing over to his side with a glass of water in hand. You leave it at his bedside, sitting before him. Gauging your appearance up and down, Bakugou tries making out even the smallest details.

“You aren’t hurt?”

You’re appalled he would ask this despite clearly being the one patched up in a hospital bed right now, and likely sporting some serious head trauma.

“Of course I am, you’re the one that lunged forward to protect me,” you tell him. Bakugou looks down at his lap, figuring that was what happened, but hearing it from you comforted him more than he thought. However, his comfort is wretched from him by the intense pressure persisting in his skull. Seeing him in pain, you urge him to lay down and rest.

“How the hell did I end up here anyway?”

You fidget with your fingers, hesitating on answering. At that, the blond lifts a brow, suspicious.

“Mineta… accidentally dropped a rock on your head.”

“...You gotta be joking, right?”

Bakugou leers hard, finding the reason he was out of commission to be a damn pebble hitting his head a detriment to his pride. And because of Mineta of all fucking people. Still, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, you would’ve been the one to meet his fate instead, and he weighed this outcome to better than the former.

Then you explain how the teachers had temporarily intervened to bring his unconscious body to the nurse’s, where the old lady went about tending to his injury. Said she did her job and all he needed was to rest and let her quirk take fuller effect within that time.

“So did we win the game?” He switches the topic to today’s mission of capture the flag that was cut short on his end.

You shake your head, but at least grant him the benefit of knowing Mineta’s team ended up placing last. At that, his eyelids shut and he crosses his arms behind his bandaged head. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my intention to win anyway.”

You give him a look. “...Liar.”

Bakugou cracks an eye open at you. “Hah? What do you mean I’m a fucking liar?”

“I know you, Katsuki. I dated you, after all. And the Katsuki that I dated is an arrogant, competitive jerk who thinks of being the best above all else.” Bakugou scrunches his nose, wondering what you’re implying through your... overly frank descriptions. “Still… he’s sweet and caring at times… and reliable when he needs to be,” you continue, tone softening that draws Bakugou in, “And the kind of guy I want to give a second chance to.”

Absorbing your words, Bakugou blinks. “S-Seriously?” He doesn’t mean to stutter, but the offer catches him off-guard. He replays what you just said. That’s what he heard, right? A second chance?

You giggle at how uncharacteristically astonished he sounds. “Yes, seriously.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for what happened last week?”

You hum between pursed lips in playful contemplation. “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself by going on another date with me then?”

Hearing your proposal, a wide grin arcs his lips, edging into a smirk.

“That’s it? Well, I can definitely fucking do that,” he states, confidence rejuvenating his body at the new, hopeful chance before him.

“Oh, just one more thing though,” you suddenly add.

“What?”

“We are not going to that Chinese Restaurant again.”

[pluviophile-bookworm]

HSMTMTS 2x10: New and a bit alarming... ok, very alarming

I don't even know at this point if I'm more nervous or excited for this episode. I've done my waiting and, well, whatever lies ahead, good or bad, or a little bit of both, I just can't wait anymore, even though I haven't been so scared to press play since... well, since last week. Guess I should just go for it, then:

Ooh, shady Seb doing the recap! We love to see it. Like, seriously, I'm anxious about the Seblos fight, but shady Seb is kind of my new favourite Seb.

I just... Ashlyn's acting is top tier. Emotional connection to the material? Superb! Chemistry with her co-lead... well, he'd have to be co-leading for any chemistry to be possible. I love Ricky, and I feel for him with all he's been through, but he's just not lead material right now. And it shows. Especially next to Ashlyn, who is killing it!

Miss Jenn is on the verge of a bloody mental breakdown and I just... wish I could do something to make things better. She reminds me of my mum when a deadline approaches for her to submit an article, and I just feel for her right now. Gosh, I'm feeling for everybody today. My empathy seems to be at its peak and I might just burst from all these emotions this episode is making me feel even before the 5-minute mark.

Ok, but Miss Jenn being stressed means Carlos is stressed for two, which means... this is a really bad time for him and Seb to have personal problems. My heart just can't handle it.

Wow... I never thought I'd see the day! The two leads are actually talking to each other! This is a mid-July miracle!

Why does everyone keep pretending their HSM was good? It was a flaming hot mess! A child could see that.

Miss Jenn needs a lot of work on her 'gracious face'. I, like Carlos, have quite some notes. Only mine aren't exactly, how do you say... verbally formulated quite yet.

Did Carlos just refer to Miss Jenn as 'mother'? Because yes.

I've been in a couple of local theatre productions in my day, but none of them had actual physical sets — we relied on the audience's imagination quite a lot — so I wouldn't know what a good set is made of... but even I can tell that plywood and Elmer's glue = not good.

Kourtney is a multi-tasking icon and we love her. I feel like I don't say this enough, but she deserves all the love.

Ooh, shady Seb is... well, shady! 'Quit school and get a job at the pizza shop?' — I mean, you don't see Reddy or Kourtney (or Howie, for that matter) quitting school in order to work at the Slices! Those kids juggle it all and, as someone who's never had to balance school and a job all at once, they have my deepest admiration.

Still, I think they should have thought about 'inventing' something re: transformation earlier than this point. The personal drama has taken up too much of their time.

Why does everyone keep inviting people over to Ashlyn's? I mean, it's not like I've ever heard her complain, but the girl needs some rest! And her house is not a public space.

Oh, so they're making this into a contest? I mean, I have never been a fan of competition, but to each their own. And Redlyn are hosting! This is going to be so beautiful! (You know, unless the boys try to sleep — see my post from yesterday about Reddy's background noise machine)

'I'm not worried. But North High should be!' Ooh, I love this look on Ashlyn! See, there's a lead to take notes from! And Ricky should be the first to do so. Take notes about what a lead acts like, I mean.

Oooooh, Big Red claps back! We love to see it. Although, you know, it stems from the fact that he's nervous about coming up with a solution to the transformation problem. 'I get bossy around the power tools' — Yes, sweetie, and I love that look on you. Maybe you should be around power tools more often, if that helps.

Ughhh, look what the cat brought in! Lily (I wish I knew her last name so I could refer to her by it exclusively, but we'll have to make do). I hate that girl. She reminds me quite exactly of the girl who bullied me in seventh grade to the point where I wished I'd die before having to deal with her at school again. She and Lily both bring out my aggressive side, and I hate that about them.

Ricky — 'so good at being a leading man'? I don't know what Lily is playing at here, but Ricky has not shown himself to be a very good leading man this season. He has the potential to be, but he has not fulfilled it by this point. Sure, he supports his friends and they support him, but that's basic decency. Not yet good leadership. No hate on Ricky, just the truth.

'I vaguely remember him' — please tell me this is setup for Ricky leading Lily on and then slamming the door in her face with the truth. The way I see it, he's been given a chance here. A chance to be the supportive, protective best friend Big Red deserves. I just... have a lot of ideas about this and I don't want it to end badly instead.

'I'm just not well-liked here, and I don't know what to do' — well, of course you aren't well-liked, you little— (ok, ok, calm down, breathe, 10, 9, 8...) whatever. I mean, she hasn't even considered basic decency, as it seems. Must be a new concept to her.

'Don't start with me, Carlos!' Wow. As much as I hate it that my two faves' only interaction in so long is so hostile, I kind of like this side of Big Red. I wonder what other sides of himself he's been hiding.

Listen, I don't like Seb being patronised and babied, but... 'Chip, this is your mother speaking: go call your mother!' made me laugh so hard. They're leaning into the on-stage family dynamic and I live for it.

EJ's idea of using old skateboards for the spinning contraption is... a brilliant callback to the fact that Ricky and Big Red were first characterised as skateboarders... you know, before diving headfirst into the theatre thing. And it feels like it might actually work.

Miss Jenn's excitement at seeing Mr Mazzara ('Benjamin!!!') is perhaps only topped by the fact that he was halfway home, got a text from her and instantly went back to the school. I mean, these two have something that's really big.

Miss Jenn referring to the kids as 'my children', combined with Carlos calling her 'mother' earlier just warms my heart so much! Those guys really are family. I live for it.

Ok, but... as clear as it is that the Wildcats are very far behind NH in terms of budget, rehearsal time and who knows what else, I hate seeing Miss Jenn resigned to them losing. I want to see her have faith in them, talk about how they will win, and, in her own words, 'trust the process'. I mean, I guess it's good that, as a teacher, she wants to prepare her kids for a possible defeat (and I mean really possible if they don't step up their game immediately, especially some of them * cough* Ricky *cough *), but a team that goes out to the field expecting to lose has a very minimal chance of winning.

Despite everything I've been saying again and again about Nini lately, the fact that she just delivered a very different 'No, Seb' has just redeemed her. See, this one wasn't dismissive or patronising — this was like, 'no, Seb, don't put yourself down' and I love that spin on the catchphrase I'd grown to hate. See, many things can be redeemed. And some simply cannot. * cough* Devil's spawn Lily *cough *. Also, Seb being self-conscious about the fact that Carlos 'doesn't have many options' at East Hight is the perfect setup for In a Heartbeat — meaning they will either have a chance to talk about their issue, or they have a telepathic connection, in which case, what kind of soulmate stuff is that?

'You're my sister; he's my cousin' — yeah, Ash, putting it like that makes it sound a lot weirder than it should, but I do get what you're trying to say. This is not a drill! Ashlyn is a Portwell shipper (heck, maybe even the captain of that ship) — but I feel like we already knew that.

'Why'd I never hear about this?' — and there it goes. Within the same scene, Nini was redeemed and then made aggravating again. What does she care if Gina thought Ricky sent her chocolates? He didn't. Because he and Gina can't be anything but very good friends. And I feel like good friends is what Gina needs. Maybe that's why I wanted EJ to be that for her initially (or it was because I'm aroace and don't tend to notice romantic attraction between fictional characters — or real people for that matter — unless it's explicitly stated to be there). But I've been on board of the majestic S.S. Portwell for a few weeks now and it's finally about to set sail.

Yeah, Nini, get a root beer, calm the heck down and get over it!

'Your other clockwise!' — Why does this even need to be said? How many 'clockwise's are there? I absolutely understand why Big Red gets the way he gets around power tools. I'd be on edge too, if the people I was trying to work with didn't know what way clockwise is. Still, I feel like by the time I'm 30, nobody younger than me would have a reason to know what way clockwise is, and I don't know if I feel bad or neutral about it.

Oh, so there's no telepathy involved in Seblos' problem resolution — it's been Redlyn's good communication all along. I might have known.

Ooh, Portwell is being discussed on both sides! PORTWELL NATION HOW WE FEELING

Nini? Why is everything about Nini? There's no way everything is about Nini. In all seriousness, though, EJ's worries about letting the next girl go seem valid in regards to Gina, given that she explicitly stated (though not within earshot of EJ or anyone who could have tipped him off) that she needs someone who will show up and stay. But they'll figure it out. They'll find a way. I know it. They will, or I will riot, and I know I won't be alone in that.

Ooh, Howie is giving Kourtney the original blueprints! Looks like Reddy isn't the only one who has a spy on the inside.

Ahhh, Ricky! Not 'Let You Go' again. I haven't cried to it in three days and I was not ready to break that streak. But... wait, this is where Carlos approaches Ricky to ask him for help with writing a song for Seb, isn't it? I am definitely ready for this.

Oh, is it... is it Ricky who suggests Carlos write a song for Seb? Now that is what a good leading man looks like.

'I'm adjusting to being called bro' — me too, Carlito, me too. But... this scene must have been so emotional for Josh, given that he hadn't come out yet. I remember him crying during The Climb and... all I'm saying is I want Ricky to come out at some point, too.

Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh... they were just talking about love languages and that's when Carlos shows up? Cinematic. Wait, there's Portwell too? This is what dreams are made of.

My oh my oh my! Risotto! For real this time. I might have just teared up. (Full disclosure: I did.) I've only had Portwell for about three weeks, but if anything happens to them, I will... you know how the meme goes. [side note: Wait, when I said 'for real this time', I was not expecting EJ would say it, much less word for word. Am I... writing this show now? It's usually my dad who predicts people's lines in TV shows]

'Not that I know of'... excuse me while I hyperventilate! These two are literal soulmates. They might share a brain, too, for all that I know. Portwell nation you ok guys?

I love that Ricky helped Carlos out with this song and is supporting him through it, but... I just might have preferred for him not to be there. I kind of need Seblos to have this moment to themselves. But, you know, with the way they feel about each other it might as well be like they're alone in the universe, let alone the room.

Ok, but Frankie's voice... brings out feelings in me that I didn't know I was capable of. Make of that what you will. Also, I'm not sobbing my eyes out, you are.

Ahhh Reddy my sunshine my sweet boy I love you but why did you have to cut Seblos' moment short? They were going to kiss, I know it. Oh well, they probably will, later on. Off-screen probably, but who cares? Not everything is for us to see. At least Carlos and Ricky had a moment there... Carlos calling Ricky 'bro' made me more emotional than I expected. It's like Miss Jenn says in s1: 'They're best bros, and that's a sacred thing... for reasons I will never understand'.

Ricky's acting sounds like a cat about to spit up a hairball, and it's so funny... in a scene that is supposed to be arguably the most dramatic of the entire play, that is not a good thing.

Oh my, oh my... you did not! You did not just end the episode with Ricky taking a fall from who knows how high. I was not ready. This episode was entirely too much for me. I will need 10 to 15 business days to recover from this, and we all know there aren't that many. But in the meantime you'll find me obsessively listening to In a Heartbeat for hours on end. Seriously, this episode is too much.

[butwhatifidothis]

That dude's use of epithets (The Flame Emperor, the man, the Emperor of Adrestia, the scholar, the academic, the Flame Emperor AGAIN)... ugh. I can tell this fic isn't even good, it's just long adn tells people what they want to hear

I tried my hand at a slight fix-it. Reminder I'm no writer so it may be ass, but I wanna see how the same passages sound with minimal use of epithets:

“My actions have caused immense turmoil, pitting friend against friend, mother against daughter, and brother against sister,” muttered Edelgard, desperately trying to drive any hint of self-pity from her voice. “My best friend has been disowned by her family, Hubert and Ferdinand’s fathers are dead or imprisoned, and the woman I love is now deemed a heretic by the Church that once offered her shelter. The weight of my decisions seems to pull down all who are caught in the shadow of the Imperial crown.” She gave Professor Hanneman a wan smile. “Whatever imagined slights you believe you have committed against me, they pale in comparison to the carnage my own words and deeds have unleashed.”

“"I made my choice, the only choice I could make, and dragged this continent down to hell with me. It makes me a poor ruler, and an even baser person, but that was the path I knew I must take.”“

“"It is funny you use the word ‘choice’, Miss Edelgard. When I resigned my title to study at Garreg Mach, I lost marriage prospects, became penniless outside of a small stipend…I even renounced the opportunity to have a family.” Hanneman smiled, his whole body suffused with melancholy. “Really, how could I dare to dream of bringing a daughter into a world this senseless and cruel, knowing that someday, she too, could be hurt in such a way? I…I would not survive it.” His body shook. “I sacrificed those things, things I desperately wanted, because the chance to allow my sister to rest in peace was more important. And I would make that choice again, despite all that it has cost me. You are much the same.””

““But your sacrifices were your own,” Edelgard protested. “Thousands bleed for the choices that I have made, and sacrifice themselves for the cause that I have placed before them. There is a profound difference-“”

““We are both wise enough to know a painful truth,” said Hanneman with a melancholy smile. “No matter how grave the sins, no matter how many innocents suffer…there will be countless individuals who will defend the law not because it is just, or righteous, but because it is the law. They will permit a hundred Abysses, and a thousand women to be raped, and a million dead children, as long as such actions do not disturb their order.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “To stand against such moral rot, knowing that the world will despise and vilify you for it, is the truest sign of not only a just ruler, but a good woman.””

“His words blazed with the passion of both a scholar and a man who had watched his world crumble to ash. A man who had been forced to live in the remnants of a life forever altered by the cruelty of both society and of humanity. And yet he had fought, the only way he could, to make the world better. It gave her a new resolve.”

““I…” He turned and looked away. “I believe in you, Miss Edelgard. When I see you, and your determination, your spirit, your bravery in choosing not what is easy, but what is right…it reminds me of her.” Fingers clenched around his locket. “I will fight for you, in the way I should have fought for my sister, long ago. My strength is meagre, and my courage more meagre still. However, all of it is yours.”"

Maybe this is better? Went a bit further and replaced an additional Edelgard with a her to not have two Edelgard's too close to my personal liking. But yeah, the use of the Flame Emperor epithet over and over is starting to get a lil' silly (chapter 4); I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt in pre ts since she still actually uses the alias during this time period, but even in this portion of the fic it's used awkwardly. Her using it at all post ts is strange and off-putting, since she full on discards it at that point

[iatethepomegranate]

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Content warnings: lots of grief, Caleb's backstory, referenced child abuse

Chapter summary: The Nein goes shopping and Caleb is tired. The market offers up an expected memory, and the chance to hold a little piece of childhood in his hands.

Notes: Title is from Nine by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 4: I let the scale tip and feel all of it, it's uncomfortable but right

Jester and Caduceus were a force to be reckoned with at the marketplace. They had already convinced Caleb to let them buy him a set of curtains for his side of the house. Thick fabric to block out most light and definitely any nosy neighbours. They were a soft yellow-green patterned with watercolour chamomile flowers, which they had figured out were native to the Zemni Fields behind Caleb’s back.

“These are so pretty Cay-leb,” Jester said, gently sliding them into the bag of holding with Fjord’s help as they stepped out of the shop. “We’ll put these up as soon as we get back, okay? Yasha promised she’ll help us.”

Yasha was a little way off with Kingsley, her arm over his shoulders as they looked at swords at a nearby market stall. Caduceus dragged everyone off to stock up on kitchen necessities and more seeds for Yasha’s garden. And a ton of baking supplies, because Yasha had begged Caduceus to teach her, even though everyone knew no one had to beg Caduceus for that kind of thing.

Essek, disguised as a half-elf with soft brown hair and eyes, held himself a little awkwardly here in the heart of the Dwendalian Empire, but he defiantly refused to complain. He had little input on Empire goods, aside from wine, about which Beauregard happily bickered with him. Caleb was happy enough to let the others direct him, even if he theoretically knew the markets better than they did.

He trusted them. And he was so tired.

So he quietly followed the Nein around the market and let them make decisions for him with minimal input. He must have looked wrecked, because Essek, despite his disguise and clear nervousness, held his hand to anchor him.

Fjord, Jester and Kingsley bought him a ton of high quality paper and ink for the study, with Essek’s subtle guidance. Caduceus picked out basic kitchen staples for Caleb that would keep him fed even if he didn't have much time to cook, in the event he couldn’t eat with Beau and Yasha. Veth found some orange-amber cushions that complemented the curtains. Yasha found an orange-white checkered tablecloth that she declared matched his hair and therefore was a necessity for the house. She and Beau bought two, one for each side.

Caleb, in a lucid moment, found a soft blue rug for Beau and Yasha’s bedroom and bought it for them, despite their objections. It was only fair he gave them something back after everything they were doing for him. He would have to work out the logistics of installing a real-world sex mirror later as a proper gift. He’d ask Essek to help, and Essek would do it, but he would hate every second of it. The one sex joke he had ever made in front of the Nein was 50% deflection. And jokes were very different from installing a sex mirror for someone.

Jester would be up for it. A little bit of gold dust would be enough for Caleb to hold it in place with Immovable Object while they secured it.

Caleb was pulled from his calculations about dimensions and weight for a ceiling mirror when Veth tugged on his hand. “Hey, Cay. There’s an old lady selling homemade quilts. Rexxentrum is very cold, and you are going to catch a chill if we don’t get you something better than that one shitty blanket. Come on.”

She led him over, catching up with the rest of the Nein. Jester was chatting with an old Zemian woman sitting behind the table behind piles of bright quilts. The stitching sparked an old, old memory in Caleb, and he found himself stepping closer before he had consciously thought about it.

“Ja, I make the trip up from Blumenthal every few months,” the old woman said in a thick Zemnian accent, much thicker than Caleb’s after all his time travelling.

Caleb froze for half a second, easing himself through the shock of that information. “Ah, hallo, grandmother. It is good to meet someone from home.” This conversation would be easier in Zemnian. Common lacked the polite Sie form that Caleb would typically have used for respect. But he wasn’t sure he could handle having this conversation in Zemnian, so it was probably for the best.

The woman smiled up at him, her lips wobbly with age. “Hallo, young man.”

Caleb’s knees ached a little, just to remind him some parts of him really were not young at all.

She held out a wrinkled hand for him to shake. “Call me Lisbeth.”

Caleb had a strange moment of indecision regarding his name, trying to remember if he had known this woman as a child but coming up empty; Blumenthal was just large enough that it was possible not to know everyone, and she may have even moved there after he was gone. “Ah, Caleb Widogast.” He shook her hand. “I grew up in Blumenthal. This stitching is…” Why was he just saying everything that came to his mind?

“Very traditional, ja.”

“Ja, my mother used to make quilts like these...” His was probably ash now.

He was dimly aware that the Nein were watching him, and that Veth had done an extremely visible double-take.

Lisbeth searched Caleb’s face for one terrifying moment, and he was convinced that maybe she did know him after all. But then, whatever she saw made her soften, and she reached beneath the table. “I like to save my best work for those who will appreciate it. Here.” She laid a thicker quilt on top of the others. “I made one like this for my grandson. He wears it like a cape around the house.”

The stitching was a little more intricate, and the squares were detailed with minimalist animal shapes. Mostly cats. Una had taken Caleb’s cat obsession to heart; the quilt she had made him had been similar. Painfully so.

Caleb traced the stitching of an orange cat, his vision blurring. Essek squeezed his hand. Caleb blinked until he could see again. Even with the disguise turning purple eyes to brown, these were definitely Essek’s eyes staring up at him with a familiar look of both affection and concern.

“We’ll take it,” said Veth. Veth, who had already bought Caleb a house, and cushions. This was… no.

“Veth.”

“Caleb.”

He sighed. “A word, please.” He took her hand, leading her a little away from the group. “Veth, this is too much.”

Veth’s eyes were wet. “No. No, it’s not. I saw how much this means to you. Caleb, you just talked about your childhood and your mother to a total stranger. That’s not…” She sighed. “I saw your face when she pulled out that quilt.”

“I cannot let you…” Caleb could barely speak. “Veth.” He swallowed. “You bought me a house. You are still buying things for me. This is… I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice, but it was a genuine question. “I thought we were over this. Why is this the line?”

Caleb did not know where he found the strength to stay on his feet when all he wanted to do was fall in a heap. He stared at the dirt.

“Cay, look at me. Please.” Veth couldn’t reach his face, but she absolutely could conjure her mage hand to lift Caleb’s chin until he met her eyes. “Will having this make you happy? Or does it hurt too much? I won’t force you to take something that hurts you, but if this is because you don’t think you deserve it…”

“I don’t know, Veth.”

They had spent a long time alone together, relying on each other to survive. If anyone could read him, it was her. She stared at him for a few moments, eyes moving as if his face were a real book.

“I don’t think you would’ve struck up a conversation with a random Zemnian lady if this was the bad kind of pain,” she said. She rolled her shoulders back. “That settles it: you’re getting the quilt. I’ll get the Nein to chip in if that makes you feel less weird about it.”

It kind of did. And Caleb didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. “Ja, okay.”

Veth pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek and led him back to the stall. “All right, everyone give me your money.”

It was probably a sign of how bad Caleb looked that nobody questioned her. But when Essek reached for his pocket, Caleb reached out to stop him.

“No,” he said. “Not you.”

Essek frowned deeply with the half-elf’s face, but the expressions were undeniably him. “Caleb.”

“No. You need that money. Do not put me through this.”

Essek’s face softened. “All right.”

The rest of the Nein, even Kingsley who still barely knew Caleb from a bar of soap, coughed up enough coins to pay for the quilt. Lisbeth, a little teary herself, offered a discount, which they refused. Jester and Veth gave her extra gold that Caleb couldn’t count through his brain fog. Okay, he was very much not coping if he couldn’t even count things.

Veth was too small to pick up the quilt without dragging it on the floor, even after Lisbeth had gently folded it, so Yasha accepted it from Lisbeth and handed it to Caleb. Old muscle memory took over, and he buried his face in the soft fabric.

“Danke schön,” he said quietly.

Lisbeth smiled at him again, but it was sad. “You should come by the market and say hello before I go back home in a few weeks.”

“I will.” It would hurt a lot, but Caleb meant it.

“Take care, Schatz.”

No one had called him that in a long time. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Grief was funny like that sometimes. You think you’re getting on with things, doing okay, and then there will be a scent on the wind, an old term of endearment, stitching identical to your mother’s… and you break.

Caleb squeezed the quilt and barely held himself together as the Nein led him back home. Whatever shopping they had left to do… they had wordlessly agreed to leave it for another day.

****

Back home, Caleb asked to be alone for a bit. That meant Essek was allowed. They laid the quilt out on Caleb’s bed, Essek’s disguise abandoned. Caleb stopped fighting the tears, letting the sobs come as he smoothed out the edges, fingers catching on a stitched golden retriever puppy.

Essek pressed his palm between Caleb’s shoulder blades. “Sit. Please.”

Caleb lowered himself slowly, wholly convinced he would collapse if he wasn’t careful, and settled on the edge of the bed. Essek pushed him onto his back and curled up next to him, guiding Caleb’s head to settle against his chest. Limbs tangled together.

No more words were said for a while. Caleb drifted asleep at some point, waking with a headache. Essek left briefly to fetch him a cup of water. Caleb stretched and his back cracked a little bit. He felt hollowed out, but in a good way. The way you felt after a good, well-deserved cry.

Essek returned in a few minutes, wiping his own eyes on his sleeve, and made Caleb drink the whole cup. “You should eat something.”

“Soon.” Caleb still felt a bit queasy from the tears.

Essek tucked himself into Caleb’s side, arm around his waist. He squeezed, just a little, and kissed Caleb’s collarbone. Caleb pulled him in close and kissed the top of his head.

“Danke.” The word was not enough to express the depths of Caleb’s gratitude that Essek had lain here with him through his grief, that he had taken such a risk to stay at Caleb’s side in the market to begin with. Under better circumstances, Caleb would have been furious with Essek for that, but they both knew Caleb had needed him today.

Caleb slowly rubbed his palm across the surface of the quilt behind Essek’s back. It felt exactly the same as the one he’d had when he was little, which Una had repaired again and again over the years because he was so attached to it. She had made it last until he was seventeen. Until the night he had destroyed everything because of a false memory, primed by faux-patriotic indoctrination and horrific abuse. Caleb would never fully shake off the guilt. Not entirely. Whatever Trent had put in his head, it had been Caleb’s hands that set the fire. But it was getting easier to accept that Trent had engineered the situation very carefully, so that Caleb did not feel like he had another choice.

He was glad Veth had convinced him to accept the quilt. One more piece of his past reclaimed. One more piece that could become a comfort instead of a knife in his ribs.

Caleb felt better. The two of them slowly stretched out their limbs, rolled aching joints, and headed to Beau and Yasha’s side of the house. There was a scent of baking in the air. Not apple tarts--Caleb probably would have broken again if it had been, no matter how happy the memory. He could smell spices.

They stepped down the stairs into the living area. Beauregard was grumbling over some Cobalt Soul report, while Kingsley, notably bored, lazily slapped her leg with his tail over and over. Fjord listened to Beauregard’s complaints with a constructed look of sympathy. Veth was openly ignoring her, head in her spellbook once again. Yasha, Caduceus and Jester were notably absent.

“Oh!” Fjord was very quick to find an excuse to stop listening to her. “There you are. The others are baking biscuits that none of us can pronounce.”

Beauregard rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you I said it right.”

“Caleb, help us out,” said Kingsley. “They’re some kind of spiced biscuit dusted with sugar while they’re still hot. Normally for special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion,” Veth told him. “It’s got the same number of syllables as fluffernutter. I think.”

Caleb suspected he knew what they meant. “Ah. Pfeffernüsse.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Told you I was right,” Beauregard muttered.

“They’re very good,” said Caleb.

“I think the first batch is almost done,” said Veth. “You should be our taste tester.”

Caleb crouched beside her on his way to the kitchen, pointing at the book. “Veth, that rune is upside down.”

“Fuck!”

He found the spell she was copying out in his own spellbook and set it beside her. “Here. It’s easier with more than one source. I’ll be back to help you in a moment.”

Caleb then stepped into the kitchen, with Essek on his tail. Yasha had a pair of soft pink oven mitts on, pulling a tray from their dark metal oven. Jester held a bag of confectioner’s sugar, bouncing in anticipation while Caduceus tried half-heartedly to close the bag before she spilled it everywhere.

“You’re just in time, Mr Caleb,” Caduceus said, giving up. “The lady selling baking supplies at the market gave us the recipe. I am not going to try pronouncing it again.”

“Pfeffernüsse,” Caleb supplied again.

“Yeah, no.”

Jester snickered. “He kept trying to say it while you were upstairs. It was very cute.”

By now, Yasha had set the tray down and put another in the oven. “Caleb, Caleb, come here! Look!”

Caleb stepped to her side and gazed down at the cookie tray. They were a little less round than the pfeffernüsse Caleb was used to, but recognisable. Jester came over and sprinkled the sugar over them with far more grace than anyone had expected.

Once cooled a bit, they brought the biscuits out to the living area. They were soft like Caleb remembered, and the spice blend was excellent. “These are perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

Yasha looked genuinely touched, and swept him into a huge hug.

“May I help you next time?” asked Essek. “I have never baked before.”

“Of course,” Yasha said. “Caduceus is going to teach us to make bread soon.” She held up her hands in a slow-motion shrug. “Goes well with soup?” Her voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question.

Kingsley, who had absolutely not paid any attention to the conversation, shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, his eyes widening to a ludicrous degree. “What the fuck? This is the best thing I have ever tasted.”

“We are famous for our baked goods,” said Caleb.

“You’d think Zemnians would be a happier bunch if this is the shit they eat,” Beauregard said, her mouth covered in sugar.

“Depression baking is a cultural pastime,” Caleb said.

“Bro, what the fuck?”

“Do you think Astrid and Eadwulf eat these things?” asked Jester.

“Probably,” said Caleb. “We used to.” That reminded him; he needed to message Astrid and arrange a time to discuss the job offer. “Ah, one moment.” He pulled out the copper wire, sticking to Common for the sake of his companions. “Astrid, it’s Bren. The Professors delivered the offer. Do you have time to talk? I am a little nervous about it. Time and place?”

Astrid replied in Zemnian, “Do you remember Trent’s old office? I’m there now. Come when you are ready.”

Caleb re-upped the spell. “I will be there in half an hour,” he replied in Zemnian.

Still in Zemnian, Astrid replied one last time, “I look forward to it.”

Beauregard was the only one who could understand the Zemnian half of what Caleb had said. “Caleb, I don’t wanna be patronising, but are you feeling up to that?”

“I want to get it over with,” Caleb replied. He clarified for the rest of the group, “I am going to see Astrid soon, to talk about the job.”

“I’ll pack some cookies,” said Jester, grabbing the plate and rushing into the kitchen. Yasha chased after her before she could break anything.

“Do you want an escort?” asked Fjord.

“Nein. I’ll be all right.”

“You will call if you need us?” Fjord’s voice was firm; it wasn’t a question.

“Ja, of course.”

****

Caleb was out the door in a few minutes, carrying a cloth bundle of six Pfeffernüsse, all that had been left of the first batch. It was four in the afternoon, the air having chilled a little but it was still pleasant. Caleb didn’t mind the cold too much, as long as he wasn’t trapped in it.

Walking into the Shimmer Ward was less frightening than it used to be. There would always be a lingering hint of anxiety, but he had it well in hand. There were crownsguard stationed at the Academy gates; they silently let him pass into the manicured gardens of the campus.

Coming here as a teenager had been a dream come true, which had quickly become a nightmare. Maybe coming back here to teach would let him reclaim those memories, turn them into something useful. He headed to the nearest tower, where he knew most staff kept an office. Trent had rarely been in his, but Caleb recalled that Astrid had been teaching here, so it made sense she would make better use of it.

The tall marble archways and huge windows had not changed one bit since the last time Caleb had been here, not long before he murdered his parents. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, especially after the day he’d had. Or maybe he needed to get this over with. If he got emotional about being here, at least he could claim it was because he was tired.

Muscle memory carried Caleb to Trent’s old office. He felt nauseous. He knocked on the door. It swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

Astrid was seated behind the massive, heavy mahogany desk. Caleb knew from personal experience how sharp the corners could be. He was going to be sick.

Astrid set aside her pen, capping the inkwell front of her. “Hallo, Bren.”

Caleb swallowed before he spoke. “Astrid.”

Astrid continued in Zemnian, so Caleb decided to match her. “Sit down,” she said , gesturing to one of the three chairs. They looked spindly and delicate, but Caleb knew for a fact how sturdy they were. And how much force it took to break out of any bindings tying one’s arm to the arms of the chair.

Caleb took a deep breath through his nose, picking up the spices of the Pfeffernüsse. It helped. He placed the bundle on the desk. Astrid’s desk.

“Jester, Yasha and Caduceus are experimenting with Zemnian baking,” he said quietly, letting himself fall into a chair. “They’re good.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, gently picking at the piece of twine holding the bundle closed. She lifted a biscuit from the cloth. “They smell right.”

“They taste right, too.”

Astrid split the biscuit in half, handing the larger part to Caleb. He wasn’t sure if it was affection or distrust. She waited for him to take the first bite but also quickly followed suit, so maybe a bit of both. Understandable.

“These are good,” she said, finishing the biscuit and rubbing a thumb across her sugared lips. Slowly. It had to be deliberate. “You look tired.”

“Long day.”

“How is the house?”

“Good. Different. I am...” He laughed, just a bit, thinking over the last couple days. “A little out of practice. I don’t know if you knew… I was homeless for a while. It felt safer.”

Astrid did not look surprised. “I know.” She exhaled through her nose, visibly rousing herself. “You wanted to talk about the job offer?”

“Alphira would have made a terrible Volstrucker.”

Astrid cracked a small smile. “She told me about your meeting today. I apologise for her clumsiness. You took it more gracefully than I would have.”

“I doubt it.” Caleb didn’t tell her about his breakdown behind the shop. “A shame the smut shop is gone.”

“Evidently their business fell apart without your patronage.” Astrid gave an extremely put-upon sigh. “Wulf found another place. Get him to give you directions.”

“Kingsley is curious.”

“Yes, I am sure that is your only motivation.” Astrid cleared her throat and visibly put her mind back on task. “Bettina needs a replacement. The Archmages are falling over themselves to sing your praises. They are, in some ways, full of shit. Hiring you will terrify them. I think you will like that.” She glanced at the now-closed door and lowered her voice. “Headmaster Zivan Margolin is a weak link to Trent, but a link nonetheless. Your presence will make his life very difficult.”

Caleb matched her volume. “Whoever decided the Headmaster of Soltryce Academy should be the same person as the Archmage of Conscription is…” He sighed, unable to put into words how much the deck had been stacked against him, Astrid, Wulf and every other child pulled into the Volstrucker program. And how much it upset him. “What the fuck.”

“Margolin is busy pretending he loves you,” said Astrid. “He’s become a little bold in his claims that he saw your potential from the beginning. The Martinet is growing uncomfortable with the implication and will throw him to the sharks to save his own skin. One word to the right people…”

Caleb knew Beauregard would carry the message to Yudala Fon in a heartbeat. “We need to be careful. Take it slow. We have disrupted the Volstrucker pipeline for the moment. We cannot afford to stumble now.”

Astrid leaned back in her seat, looking very much like a cat who had just eaten a bird it had been chasing for miles. She raised her voice to a normal volume. “So, you will take the job?”

“I might.”

“Bettina told me your demands,” said Astrid. “We’ll put them before the Archmages. See what we can do. If nothing else, making the demands will prove a point no matter what they do about them.”

“Astrid, I am serious. I want them fulfilled.”

“I know. Bettina has suggestions about the ethics lessons. I agree you should teach it as part of the Transmutation classes, at least for now. Would we have listened when we were students?”

“I think that depends on who it came from. And whether Trent had gotten to us yet.”

“I agree. I think you will make a more compelling speaker than anyone else we could find.” She smirked a little. “You were always charismatic, and you have the lived experience to make an impact.” She took another biscuit, chewing thoughtfully, eyes tracing through the air as if she was reading calculations. “You said you were nervous.”

Admitting that in the Sending had been an impulse decision, born out of an emotional day. He didn’t regret it. Outside the Nein, Astrid probably understood best that Caleb had always been an anxious person, even if he had handled it much more gracefully in his youth. When he eternally swung between deep insecurity and excessive arrogance owed to his skills, and the fact he had known very well how charming he could be. Anyway, Astrid and Wulf knew his old insecurities well. Now he had new ones, and Astrid was trying to be on his side as much as she could.

So Caleb voiced something he wasn’t sure he would ever tell anyone else. “I have always wanted to teach. You know that. But. It’s a lot of responsibility. Maybe Trent is still in my head a bit, but I am afraid. He said that I am not the only ‘one of us’ in the Assembly who went through similar trauma. What if I… turn out no better than he did?”

“He also said you were defined by your trauma, if I recall.” Astrid’s face had shuttered a bit the instant Caleb invoked Trent. “He likes to find our pressure points and push until we break. You know that.” She took a third biscuit and shoved it into his hand. “He saw what he wanted to see, and he wanted his vision of you to be what the rest of us saw as well. I… made an error. I misunderstood your ambitions. As did The Martinet.”

“What did Ludinus think I wanted?”

“Power. Like most others in the Assembly. Revenge. Like most Volstrucker who have thought deeply enough about what Trent put us through.”

“He would have been right. Once.”

“I know. The first time you came to me, you were still very angry.”

“I never stopped. My goals changed. I… learned better, I suppose.” Caleb owed so much to the Nein, especially his talks with Caduceus that helped clarify what he did and didn’t want in the end.

“I didn’t. You know I would’ve killed him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“I wouldn’t have resented you if you had.”

“You were right to stop me. It was more satisfying to shame him in public and have him tossed in a dark cell with a silencing collar glued to his neck forever.”

“And his hands glued together for just as long.”

Astrid’s eyes softened a bit. “One of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life.” Her gaze lingered on him, just a second longer than either of them could dismiss as casual. “How’s your beacon thief?”

“He’s fine.” Caleb wasn’t sure he could handle talking about his current partner with Astrid of all people.

“Have you seen him recently?”

“I am not telling you that.”

“I won’t turn him in. It would not go well for me.” Astrid rested her chin in her hands, searching his face. “Are you two happy?”

“Yes.” Caleb did not offer further details, and Astrid did not pry.

“You deserve it.” She smiled down at the bundle of biscuits. “Tell your friends thank you for the Pfeffernüsse. Will you take the job?”

“I will.”

“Good. For what it’s worth, I think you will be a good professor. You and I both know how important that will be.”

Caleb matched her sad smile. “No more children on the pyre.”

“No more.”

Caleb felt better. He could do this. It would take more than one person to make change, but he could do his part. Astrid had her ambitions, but he knew her in a way very few people did. There were conversations to be had between them, more damage to stitch up.

But it had been a long, emotional day. There would be more days. More time to pull the vulnerable from the flames, to stand between them and the remaining elements of this government who would use, abuse and discard them.

And, he hoped, time to care for those had already been hurt.

[t-lostinworlds]

All Too Real (Tom Holland)

A/N: Well, this was longer than expected. I’ve had this idea in a while, and it feels great to finally do something about it aha. Also, I’m not going to tag my permanent taglist here since most of the people who are in there are for Shawn. BUT with that being said, tell me if you want to be added to a permanent taglist for Tom fics only or both Tom and Shawn. Am I making sense? Prolly not lmao but yeah. hope you guys enjoy this one!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Actress!Reader

Summary: You were meant to be acting, but the scene just hits too close to home that you've managed to say the wrong name, then everything just felt all too real.

Warnings: A bit of Angst and my usual typos

Word Count: 9.7k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

You didn't know who your leading man was until the very last minute, making it impossible to back out now.

Not only that, but you'd be risking a big opportunity if you decided not to take the part, the lead role to be exact. This was a big movie with big, well-known directors and it will guarantee to boost your career to the next level being that you're just starting off as an actress. This was your moment and you weren't going to jeopardize that just because of a personal reason. Plus, contractually, there was no turning back.

The movie was a mixture of crime, action, drama and romance, and it was already a given in the script that you'd be playing across a leading man.

You just had no idea it was going to be him.

Production starts tomorrow and you just found out that you're in a movie with non-other than Mr. Tom Holland himself.

Spider-Man to the world, ex-boyfriend in yours.

It was not public knowledge that you two used to be together. A very impressive thing being that your relationship lasted for about two years, yet not a single word got out. Nobody knew about you two except your closest friends and family, and both of you were happy to keep it that way for as long as you can until you both were ready to share your relationship with the world. But things happened and you didn't get a chance to do so.

You met Tom on the set of Captain America: Civil War. You were just a mere extra at that time as you were still trying to find your footing in the industry. He, on the other hand, had just finished his screen test with Chris Evans as he solely told you.

It was lunch time when this cute boy wearing this, almost a crossover between the Spider-Man costume and pajamas, went up behind you to grab some food.

You two talked for a little bit, asking about what you're doing here and all that jazz, until he charmed his way into asking for your number. And everything just kicked off from there really.

It was blissful while it lasted, the both of you, young and so in love. Nothing but pure happiness and adoration as your relationship took its course and blossomed into this wonderful thing. It was almost like a fairytale how lovely it was. So beautiful to see the joy in the two of you, even with those sweet little moments that you shared. That until the success of his first solo film as Spider-Man.

Him shooting the movie brought no problems at all as you were there to support him through and through. Hell, not even during the press junket where he's always traveling, that didn't cause any strain between your relationship as you've managed to make it work. But once the numbers started rolling in and the attention got bigger, that's where you got left behind.

You were still finding your way as an actress but you didn't seem to get the same amount of support from him as he did from you as time went by. He did at the start of course, he was your number one fan, but once he found his big break, you just got pushed to the side.

Somehow, in some odd way, a switch was flipped. He became distant, almost cold all of the sudden.

It was almost like he became too good for you in a way. Other people made you feel like you were nothing to him, that you weren't on his level and that took its toll on you. But the most hurtful part was that he didn't even bother to reassure you that, that wasn't the case at all.

There was this constant battle in your brain as you tried to reassure your own self with your relationship with him. That this was just nothing, that he was just busy, and that he loves you still. But clubbing out with friends most of the time doesn't really qualify as being busy now does it?

The logical part of you just keeps nagging that it was over. That there was nothing to hold on to, even if you hopefully wished there was something still there, that you can still save this relationship.

But no, it was all gone.

He broke up with you some time later. He said he wanted to enjoy life without worrying about anything, without worrying about you. He wants to enjoy his new found life while being single, in other words.

He was basically saying that you were holding him back, and to be honest? He was probably right. He made you feel that he was right.

The break up wasn't sunshine and butterflies at all. Voices were raised, words were thrown, and everything just burst into flames. When he shut the door and left, everything just turned to ashes, the remains of your heart along with your relationship. It was dark, cold and just painful to the point that you've lost yourself after that.

You took all the blame. All of it.

For months on end you kept telling yourself that if you were just good enough, if you were successful enough, then maybe he wouldn't have left you. You kept beating yourself up for something he has done and that never is healthy, telling yourself that it's your fault when in fact, it wasn't.

It took a lot of will-power to snap out of it, being that you are the most critical about yourself. But you've managed to push through, worked harder than ever before to get yourself out there and to make a name for yourself.

And here you are, about to star as the lead role of a big film.

You are far better than you were a year ago, definitely. But have you fully healed? No.

Distracting is not healing.

You kept yourself busy with your career and it has help you to not ever confront your pain. It was always shoved aside as you paid it no mind. You even avoided anything about him for that matter, in hopes that you wouldn't be reminded of that certain hurt that only he has caused. You've just been running away from it, running away from the demons of your past.

But now, there was nowhere to run.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier Y/N. I just got scared that you might turn the role down if you found out he was going to be in it too and it's just a big opportunity and I can't live with myself if I had let it slipped away from you." Your manager rushed her words on the other side of the call, the concern in her voice clear because she knows. She knows what you went through with Tom.

"No it's okay Jeanne. I understand why you did it and I really thank you for that. Another thing I owe to you." You stated truthfully. If it wasn't for her, you wouldn't have had that extra push that you needed to get you where you are today. And you were glad you've found someone who only has her best intentions when it came to you and your career.

"I–uhm, am I shooting scenes with him tomorrow too?" You added as a whisper, despite the fact that you were alone in your hotel room at the moment. Scared that if you'd say it any louder, the pain in your chest would only grow deeper and sharper.

"Yes, he is going to be there tomorrow." She answered, empathy laced in her tone and you can just picture the frown she has on her face.

You bit your bottom lip as you stared up at the ceiling. This is going to be a hard movie to shoot that's for sure. But you're a professional; you can just brush it off like it's nothing. "Okay, yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow Jeanne." You breathed out.

"Get some rest hun. You've got this." And with that you ended the call, your whole body flopping down on your bed as you let out a frustrated groan.

The universe truly does have its ways in making you face the person who you have been avoiding—so successfully so far—in order to spare yourself the heartache.

With one last sigh, you pulled the covers over your body, waiting for sleep to take over so that you can have a much needed rest.

It was going to be a long day tomorrow after all.

* * *

Two hours was all you got.

Two hours of sleep as you lay restless in your bed just thinking about all the millions of possibilities on what could happen once you see him again for the first time after a year.

No matter how hard you tried to shut him out of your thoughts, he still managed to invade it even after all this time. The past was haunting you, he was haunting you and it was like you were back to that night again.

You feel so disappointed in yourself as you found your way back to old ways, crying about a boy who doesn't even give a single damn about you.

It took all the courage and strength in your body to leave the bed in the morning. A struggle to say the least until you slapped some sense into yourself and finally made your way to set.

You just arrived in the nick of time. It wouldn't be ideal to arrive late on the first day of shooting as you wanted to let them see that you are a respectful and respectable actress, so managing to be just on time, it was a great start of your day.

Even more so when you felt the hot cup of coffee warming up your fingers as you held it in your hands. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans enough to boost your energy, especially with so minimal sleep.

There was no sign of him so far, and you were thankful to at least have time to breathe and just relax. No matter how little that time may be, you will definitely take it.

You've already met the Russo brothers who were both sweet and kind, both expressing their excitement to start the project that they've been so amped up to do.

After the casual chats, introductions and greetings, a young lady then guided you to where the trailers are going to be parked. Opting out of her offer to take you right at the door as you solely can manage yourself. But you also wanted some time to take in everything that you've seen so far because it was a big and amazing set, and just to take a moment to ground yourself in a way. Somewhat grasp every bit of alone time as you wouldn't have one until the end of the shoot, which was going to be later in the night.

You were on your way there when you suddenly heard something running after you, the sound of the pebbles rustling about growing nearer and nearer which was then followed by a loud bark. Surely enough when you turned around, you saw the prettiest dog, hurdling towards you with a wide smile on her face. That cute face that you'll always recognize from a mile away.

"Tessa?" You grinned wide as you squatted down to greet her, expecting a subtle encounter but no, she full on jumped on you making you fall flat on your bum. Genuine laughter erupted out of you as you tried to keep yourself sitting upright, all while making sure not to spill your coffee. You were sat cross-legged on rocks now but you didn't care, too preoccupied with the love Tessa was smothering you.

"Hi angel! How are you my love? You good? Healthy? Happy?" You gushed in a small voice, giggling when she covered your face in kisses, you not minding by one bit as you rubbed her belly in return.

You were too engrossed with Tessa that you didn't even notice that someone was already standing there, just watching, not until you heard your name.

"Y/N..."

You didn't have to look up to know who it was.

Having heard your name slip out of those lips countless of times, all on so many different occasions, there was no need for you to see who that voice belonged to.

It wasn't even above a whisper, but you heard it, the sound of longing etched in his voice, that certain tone that you've heard endlessly but only... only whenever he misses you.

And you wanted nothing more than to curse him out because how dare he? How dare he act like he cares when he didn't show any of that—not even in the slightest—that night he left you?

You were already filled with so many emotions and that's only from hearing his voice, you haven't even looked up to fully see him yet.

"Tom." You sighed, giving the back of Tessa's ear one last scratch before standing up fully, patting your jeans clean before gathering up the strength to finally look up at him in the eyes.

The way your heart stopped for a full second and then beat again but with twice the pace, never have you felt that in your life.

You stood frozen as you stared right into them, those brown orbs that once felt like home, but now only brings nothing but pain. And the way he was looking at you so longingly, it only added anger in the mix.

"Hi."

Tom knew he fucked up.

He knows how bad he screwed things up. He was fully aware of how much he's lost and how much of an idiot he is for being the reason of that in the first place.

You were finally standing right in front of him, in the flesh, in all your gorgeous glory, and Tom was at a loss for words.

He was talking to the Russos when Tessa suddenly bolted full speed. Not having familiar with the set yet, Tom was quick to run after her in fear that she might get lost, but he ended up finding her with a sight that was heartwarming yet heartbreaking at the same time.

He heard your laugh first. That familiar and beautiful sound enabling his heart to beat rapidly against his chest, even more so when he saw you sat on the ground with Tessa, nothing but pure joy and love radiating off of his princess, and the love that he once had.

The sight was beautiful, so endearing and it warmed him up inside, but it also reminded him of what it once was.

God he was a fucking idiot.

"Long time no see." Your voice snapped him back to senses, a soft blush coating his cheeks because he doesn't know how long he's been staring at you, but by the gods above you look absolutely breathtaking. Even in just casual jeans and a sweater.

"Yeah, it's great to finally see you again. You look beautiful." Tom breathed out, the last sentence escaping his mouth before he could even stop himself.

Tom might have been acting like such a creep but he just feels so happy to see you again. You probably wouldn't even believe him if he told you, not after what he's done, and he can't blame you. But he does, he truly does feel so happy.

"Thanks." You mumbled as you flashed him a smile. Whether it was genuine, Tom wasn't sure, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"How are you?" He asked just as he took a step towards you, but you were quick to take one step back and this made a frown form on his lips. The way you looked away and avoided his gaze, it stung, but Tom also can't say he didn't deserve it.

"I'm good, but uh, I need to get ready so uh—"

"Yes! Yes, of course, don't let me hold you off." Tom chuckled coyly, hand coming up to rub his shoulder, and just like that, the awkwardness in the air only heightened from there. Because after everything that has happened, Tom wasn't sure where he stands in your life anymore. Whether it be a civil friend or just a cast mate at this point.

When the Russos pitched him the idea, it was a no-brainer, Tom wanted to do the project right off the bat. But when he found out who the star of the movie was going to be? Nothing but pure excitement and much pride filled him up to the bones.

He has seen most, if not, all of the movies you've been in. Visiting your social media every now and then to see what you've been up to. It may sound stalker-ish in a sense but it's the only way for him to keep up with how you've been doing. And to see you grow and be the star that you were always meant to be? It was a beautiful thing for sure.

It might not have been as beautiful as experiencing it with you first hand, since he ruined that chance by a long shot, it was still heartwarming to witness—even if it was only via screen.

"Yeah, see you on set." You mumbled, giving him a curt nod before turning your attention back on the dog who was just sitting there, observing, tail on an all-time wag once she's seen that you've finally given her your attention again.

"I'm so happy to see you again angel." You whispered as you crouched back down to give Tessa a sweet kiss on the head, and Tom's heart completely melted at that.

You were there when Tom got Tessa.

He hasn't said it out loud nor broadcasted it in any way, but you became Tessa's mommy in the duration of your relationship. You took care of her while he was away on press or shoots, and he will forever be grateful for that.

Tessa was your baby as much as she is Tom's, and it now just dawned on him that he took her away from you. And Tom felt even more of an asshole than he already was.

You shot him one last look before you turned on your heel, not ever once looking back as you walked towards what Tom would only assume was your trailer.

Tessa was about to follow you but Tom was quick to grab her collar, squatting down to hold her fully to keep her in place because she was for sure putting up a fight. "No Tessa, you stay with me."

The poor pup whined once you were out of sight, looking up at Tom with those eyes emitting a soft sigh out of him. He nodded his head solemnly, giving Tessa's head a soft pat as his eyes slowly landed back on the closed door of your trailer.

"I know love, I missed her so much too."

* * *

Tom was watching from afar, he just couldn't help himself, but he doesn't exactly know which of you is which yet.

All he sees is there are two girls dressed in identical, all black and leather outfits, both have their hoods up with backs turned on him. He knows one of them was you and the other was your stunt double, he just can't seem to differentiate who is who as of the moment.

"Okay now Tom, you already know how the scene goes. The first time Detective Allan Spade, your character, meets Luna. They've known each other before so you are basically going to be surprised that the sweet innocent girl, who's your childhood best friend and then dated up until college was now a well-trained and elite assassin." Joe was the one to interrupt Tom's ogling since Anthony was at your side giving notes too. One of the perks of having two directors on set is that you can speed things up a bit. The set was built quite large so it definitely was a plus.

It was the first scene of the day and they were starting it off with an action sequence, one with cars, explosions, gun shots and the likes. It wasn't the first take for the rest but it was for Tom, being that they perfected some of stunts first, which was mostly done at the end of the set far across from him.

He didn't get to see who was doing which stunt because your character's costume has you covered in almost head to toe, making it impossible to know without having a closer look.

He was very excited though, maybe even too much that his mind sometimes flies off to somewhere—or rather, someone—instead of focusing more with the task at hand.

"Okay, yeah, gotcha." Tom nodded frantically as he cleared his throat. His arms were crossed over his chest as the heat rose up his cheeks once Joe looked at him curiously. "You okay? You seem a bit preoccupied?"

"Just a lil tired but I'm alright." Tom chuckled shyly as he looked down, the director only nodding as he added. "We're going to try and have one fluid shot with this scene so once you see her jump over the hood of your car, you quickly get out to your marker and aim your gun."

Tom hummed with a smile to let Joe know that he's listening attentively. The director gave him one last pat on the shoulder before turning back to the crew.

"Okay places everyone!" And with that, Tom got inside of a car that was hooked up to a wire rigging. It was only going one way but in top speed, so safety first is a must, hence why he isn't allowed to really drive it.

Tom already had his hands on the wheel, his head turning just enough to see a girl or Luna as he would refer—to which he assumed was your stunt double—hooked up to a trust and wires. She stood on top of a car that was situated in the middle of a chaotic road.

The sight was hectic enough with a number of cars littered everywhere—some overturned, some on fire—and a few bodies of supposed police offers sprawled on the pavement. Luna threw her hand up with thumb upturned to signal that she was ready to do the scene.

"Set and action!" And everything then just sprung to life.

Gun shots echoed throughout the space as explosions went off here and there. The car Luna was standing on drove full speed and came to a screeching halt in an attempt to shake her off. But the sudden movement only enabled her to jump off and flip right on time, so smoothly and with much grace. She landed on the ground with a roll, pausing for a second in a crouching position to let the camera capture the moment before she was full on sprinting again.

Tom's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he watched her approach, incredibly fast and nimble, dodging the cars and bullets coming after her with so much ease as if they were whizzing past her in slow motion, all while maintaining such poise in doing so.

With the signal, Tom stepped on the gas pedal hard, perfectly in sync as his car lurched forward in an attempt to catch her off guard, but just as it came right in front of her, she jumped and slid herself over the hood, landing down on the ground crouching.

Before she could even make another move, Tom had already gotten out of his car, the sound of the gun clicking stopping her in her tracks.

"Hands up where I can see them!" Tom growled, gun firm in hand as he slowly approached her, eyebrows furrowed as he glared at the figure right in front of him.

She stood up carefully with both hands held up in surrender, the silence in the air suddenly ringing as she turned around with her head hanging low, covering her face completely. That until she slowly lifted her hood off.

"Woah." Tom sucked in a breath, completely caught off guard as he stared at none other than star of the movie herself, you.

Sure, half of your face was covered with a mask, but he just knows it's you and it really took him utterly by surprise.

Tom genuinely did think your stunt double was doing this scene as the action sequence wasn't in anywhere near easy, but he'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

To say he was thoroughly impressed would be an understatement.

But knowing you for the time that he has, Tom knows how much of a hardworking woman you are. So seeing that you will likely do all of your stunts, it wasn't at all surprising to come and really think about it.

Still, Tom was speechless as he kept staring at you, and it was like there was no acting required as he slowly lowered the gun to see you more. His eyes not seeming to believe that it was you standing in front of him. Perfectly on script.

It felt so new to him seeing you in a different element, seeing you look even more beautiful and extremely sexy with that much tattered, faded leather and straps hugging your body.

You were wearing those long boots that stopped mid-thigh paired with shorts that were ripped on the edges, an almost gothic type of a hooded cloak swaying with the air, making it look even more promising that you can definitely kill. You look like you just came out of an Assassin's Creed video game, but more on the modern side. And instead of swords and knives, you've got guns.

Your eyes on the other hand were on a different level.

They were threatening to say the least. The glare was so intense that Tom actually felt like you were about to hand his ass over to him. Those sweet eyes he's grown to adore was masked by this menacing and dark look and he just keeps getting more impressed as he goes on. He wouldn't want to meet you in this state in an alleyway—or anywhere for that matter—that's for sure.

He definitely hasn't seen you like this before and boy was it making his head spin, and dare he say it, it was making him feel all hot.

You were fully in your badass mode and Tom wasn't sure if he was scared or extremely attracted, or maybe even both at the same time.

"And cut!"

And then you giggled.

Tom has let go of a girl who can definitely do both. As if he wasn't a big enough idiot already.

"Was that good?" Your voice was muffled by the face mask you were wearing, but Tom can just hear that wide smile on your face. You really just had to make him soft by being all cute and sweet again.

Oh you were giving him a whiplash that will surely be the death of him.

"Nailed it! Both of you!"

"Really? And, uh, can I have some water please?" You giggled shyly, only sparing Tom a second of a glance before your eyes was back on a girl who brought you a bottle of water.

This made him frown involuntarily, curios eyes looking at you as a certain pang hits his chest.

She's still mad at you and rightfully so.

Tom ran a hand through his hair with a sigh as his eyes casted itself on the ground. He was starting to go deep in thought as to what he should do to make things clearer for the both of you, but he got interrupted when Anthony approached him to give a few notes and directions for the next part of this scene.

So Tom just shoved his thoughts to the side and decided that when the time is right, you two will get to talk eventually.

* * *

It was the last scene of the day to which you're a little bit relief by. You were pretty much drained to the bone and you can't wait for the day to be over. But with one downside: it's also the scene that you've been dreading the most.

It was a flashback scene of your character and Tom character's falling out. It was sort of the last straw to break her completely that would then be one of the reasons that pushes her to become an assassin right after everything in her life has gone to hell.

It wouldn't have been too much of a big deal if it wasn't near what happened with you and Tom. But the case was, it was almost as identical as the night you and Tom broke up.

What a way of the universe to joke.

There were a couple of different scenarios sure, but the whole idea and vibe of the scene? It was like it was taken from the books of your very own life.

The set was whittled down now, the setting a residential area with an empty street in a cold night. You were out of your costume and in a simple knee-length dress and a denim jacket along with a pair of sneakers. A beanie sat atop your head as your hair fell down your shoulders freely.

It was tough trying to get into the headspace, as this was a heavy scene with so much crying involved, but it doesn't even take too long when all your mind could think of was that night.

"You okay?" Anthony asked as he furrowed his brows at you, concern written on his face as you've managed to look extremely crestfallen.

"Yeah, just getting into the zone." You laughed awkwardly, your heart getting heavier by the minute especially when you caught a glimpse of Tom approaching and then stopping just beside you.

"You've been incredible so far with all the action Y/N. But this scene in particular, I want you to channel all your deep emotions. You character has been through so much, loss of a father, an addict mother, the society looking down at you and then the only person who you trust and love starts to change and turn his back on you." You only nodded at Anthony's direction since your mind was already there. You've already experienced a few of the things your character has, so it wasn't hard to tap into those emotions.

You can feel Tom's stare just burning a hole through the side of your head, but never did you spare him a glance. You aren't sure if you're strong enough to keep your tears at bay. Probably best to just save it for the scene.

"You Tom, you've just gotten popular with the crowd, new friends, and people seem to love you and you only see her as like a hindrance to your joy because she starts asking for your attention. You kinda see her anger at you as her not wanting to see you happy or her being jealous of your success. You've been blinded by a lot of stuff so you become a jerk to her basically." It would be funny to think that Anthony was basically telling Tom to act the way he acted that particular night, but none of you were in the state of mind to find even the smallest humor in the situation at hand.

"Yeah okay, yeah." Tom cleared his throat, the tension in the air getting thicker by the minute that even Joe had to butt in. "Are you two okay? You both look like you've seen a ghost." The older brother asked as he stood beside Anthony.

"Yeah!" Both you and Tom almost squeaked in unison. You can feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you forced a smile. "Never better." You breathed out.

Tom was still staring at you; you can just feel it, and you so wished he would just stop. It wasn't helping your case at all, especially when he's got those messy brows furrowed by the looks of it in the corner of your eye, indicating that he was deep in thought.

"You guys have the freedom to improvise your lines, don't be afraid to stray away from the actual lines on the paper but make sure that you don't necessarily change the scene."

Without further more questions, you were finally ushered to your places. You kept your eyes on the ground while you stood in front of a screen door, hands in the pockets of your jacket as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

"Ready and action!"

You grabbed the screen door open as you slowly made your way inside. Different colored lights were flickering around as few people gave you looks because everyone knows you weren't invited to this party. You acted unbothered but your eyes were telling a different story.

Reaching the living room, the couch was where you saw him. He sat comfortably with arms outstretched on the back of the sofa, a girl right closely beside him as they whispered to each other's ear, rather too flirtatiously.

You stood there and watched as she got all too friendly with her hands, trailing up and down his chest as he didn't bother to do anything about it. Tears were welling up your eyes, but you willed yourself to stay focused, even if it wasn't necessarily full on acting as it was quite a familiar sight to see.

And with the cue, Tom looked up to meet your gaze and you held it, just long enough for the camera to pick up. The expression on his face was quick to change as he stood up abruptly. That was your indication to leave, so you turned around and rushed out of the house, the camera following closely behind you.

You were now on an empty street as he ran behind you, the set eerily quiet letting his footsteps echo loudly against the wet pavement. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you kept your head low, holding the tears in since it wasn't time for that yet.

"Wait, just wait a second. It's not what it looks like." Tom rushed as he grabbed your arm, but you shrugged it off and kept on walking, making sure not to take too long of the strides for you not to miss the marker.

"Of course it isn't." You scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

"Just listen to me will you?" He called out in exasperation, but you didn't even bother to turn around and give him a look. "I don't want to listen to you anymore. Just go back and have fun with your so called lady friend." You said dismissively, seeing your mark to be one step more and once you reached it, and he reached his, his voice boomed.

"Why are you being such a bitch?" You stopped in your tracks and slowly turned around to finally face him, a look of absolute hurt written on your face as his only showed nothing but pure frustration.

"I can't do this anymore." You whispered with a shake of your head, blinking away the tears as you looked up at the dark sky.

"Can't do what?" Tom scoffed as he took a step forward but he kept a good distance, eyebrows furrowed in anger with his arms crossed over his chest to seem intimidating, and it was working. You knew it was all acting, but it just looked so believable that it took a sharp swing at your heart.

"This, us, you. I can't deal with you and your stuck up attitude anymore." You gestured between the both of you and then all of him, voice cracking as you willed yourself to keep eye contact. It was so hard to stay in character and balance your emotions at the same time, because the way he was looking at you, was the same way as he did that night he left.

Tom looked away with a sarcastic laugh. "Oh so now I'm stuck up? What did I do wrong this time?" You shook your head in disbelief at his words. "So many things, you're just too blind to see it."

"Then lay them the fuck out!" He snarled with one step forward, eyes boring furiously into yours that it almost made you take a step back. But you kept your ground, glaring at him with the same intensity as you threw your hands up in the air.

"Fine! You want me to lay it out for you? You've changed! Now that you've found your way in life and found a new group of friends suddenly you're too good for me. Suddenly you're mister successful while I'm the trash who follows you around." You barked back, his resolve wavering for a little bit as he grumbled. "You know that's not true."

"But it fucking is! You make me feel like I'm nothing compared to you! I'm your girlfriend but you can't seem to spend even a minute with me since you're out with your new friends a lot. And if you do give me a spare of your time you get mad for no goddamn reason! It's like you don't even want to be near me! Like I'm a disease to you and your new life! You think so highly of yourself now that you act like I'm some low class person as if we didn't grow up together!" The accusation in your voice was clear as day, and the way Tom's jaw clenched to show that you've hit a nerve, it scared you.

"Then maybe you should take the hint to do something better with your boring life so you can stop messing with mine!"

That was when you lost it. Any sense of what's real and what's just an act, you lost it.

"Start doing something with your own goddamn career and life and stop meddling with mine Y/N! I'm so sick of your shit!"

Your brain started to spiral out of control and suddenly you weren't on set anymore, you were back at the apartment, head in your hands as you cried your eyes out, the loud bang of the door slamming shut ringing in your ears.

A single tear ran down your cheek as you stared at him in shock, breath caught in your throat as you felt your whole body tremble. You struggled to form your words, your eyes shutting tight enabling more tears to run down your face as you breathed out. "I have always been there for you. All I ask is for you to be there for me too." It sounded like a plea, soft, desperate but very painful that Tom almost broke character. Almost.

"It's not my obligation to carry your failures for you." He stated with so much venom and ice that you could only nod defeatedly, lips quivering as you held his gaze for one more second before your eyes casted itself on the ground.

"That's not what I meant but fine. I will not be a burden to you anymore." Your voice sounded so small and frail, and it was taking everything in your power not to snap, to just walk away for it to be done. But he just had to have the last word now didn't he?

"So now what you're just going to leave and give up on us?"

You don't know what it was but something in his tone or words triggered you. After a year of bottling it in, months on end of it slowly reaching its boiling point, you finally blew up. You took a step towards him as you gave him a hard shove, the sudden action catching Tom totally off-guard making him stumbled back.

"Yes! Because I'm so fucking done! I'm so done with thinking every single day if I will ever be good enough for you!" You sobbed, the tears free falling down your face but you didn't care as you continued to yell at him.

"I gave you everything that I had! I was there for you day in day out! But you still treated me like shit! You made me feel like I didn't matter to you even in the smallest of ways and that fucking hurt so bad because you mean the whole world to me! You pushed me aside like we didn't went through anything! As if all our memories together was wiped off your brain and that hurts! It hurts to see you look at me like I'm some stranger, like I'm someone you hate so much even if I didn't do anything wrong to you! I've done nothing but love you. I—I loved you so much and all you did was hurt me in return. No matter how hard I tried, it still wasn't enough because you left me! You broke my heart when you said you'd take care of it. After all of your promises you broke all of me Tom!"

Tom froze at the mention of his name.

The anger on his face was quick to dissipate, replaced by a look of nothing but pure guilt. Tom's heart broke completely as he watched you break down in front of him, so vulnerable, so hurt, all because of him. "I–"

"No! You're not getting the last word this time. I've had enough. I am done." Your voice broke at the end of your sentence, turning around hurriedly and ran off shot, leaving Tom standing there frozen and stunned.

You covered your mouth to try and muffle your sobs, attempting to run back to your trailer to escape the prying eyes but Anthony stopped you, hands resting gently on your shoulders as he held you in arms-length. "Y/N, are you okay?" You shook your head no, your tears pouring even more at his question.

"Can I have a minute for some air please?" You stammered, vision blurry with all the tears but you still saw Anthony only nodding, eyebrows knitted in concern. "Go, take all the time that you need."

You breathed out a soft thank you and ran, back to your trailer, slamming your door closed and flipping the lock as you collapsed on the floor.

* * *

It took Tom a minute for everything that has happened to wrap around his head. Your words repeating itself over and over and he wanted nothing more than to beat himself up, black and blue.

He knew he hurt you but he could only just imagine how much, up until he saw your eyes as you looked at him with nothing but pure betrayal.

The pain in them were so real and Tom knew at that moment that you weren't even pretending anymore. You weren't acting but reliving that night again, he can just see it in your eyes. You weren't addressing him as his character, no; you were addressing him as himself, Tom Holland, the guy who broke you to pieces.

Tom should've just scrapped everything and held you. He should've said fuck it to the scene and just pulled you in his arms. But the thought crossed his mind a moment too late.

He stayed in his place completely still before he was snapped out of his state when Joe approached him, the director's face painted with confusion and concern. "Tom what was that? Is there something going on between you two that you're not telling us?"

Tom didn't bother to answer his question as he looked around set, the worry in him increasing when he saw no sign of you. "Where is she?"

"I think she went back to her trailer. Wait where are yo—"

"I'll explain later." Tom called out as he ran out of set. He needed to find you and set things straight. Tom needs to tell you the full truth, tell you what's he's been feeling the past year. He wasn't going to let himself make the same mistake twice.

* * *

Sobs raked your body as you rest your back against the door, knees held to your chest in a curling position. Your eyes burning with your lungs as you cried and cried, because even if you tried to stop, you just couldn't. You couldn't find the will to erase the thought of him leaving you. That image has burned itself in your mind and it hurts, so fucking bad and you just want it to go away.

A whine from the opposite side made you lift your head up from your knees, eyebrows furrowing together once you heard it again, but louder this time. "Tessa?" You sniffled, and she barked in confirmation, scratching at the door in an attempt to get to you. Your frown deepened at the sound of her crying on the other side. She knows fully well when you're upset, and she will do anything to be beside you no matter what. It was such a sweet thing she does. Tessa's been there beside you whenever she finds you crying, she was your comfort buddy, and today, that still hasn't changed.

You stood back up to undo the lock to let her in, ready to have her hugs and kisses because they always make you feel better, but when you pulled it open, you weren't only greeted by her, he was standing right there too.

Before you could even slam the door shut he had already pushed the door wider and made his way inside, shutting it just behind him, and you made sure to step back, putting some much needed distance between you two. Of course he did. Tessa was in his trailer, there was no other way she could've gotten out without his help.

"You are a fucking dickhead for you using Tessa as bait Tom." You growled in pure annoyance, wiping away your tears aggressively as you wrapped your arms around yourself, avoiding his eyes at all costs as you stood right beside the couch where Tessa was laying down, just watching you with attentive eyes. You gave her a soft pat, distracting yourself from the man who stood there.

"I just need to talk to you, and I know you won't open the door if it was me." He was making his way towards you, but you were quick to hold your palm up, stopping him in his tracks and only making it halfway. You couldn't bear to be near him, at least not yet. Tom nodded, staying in his place as a soft sigh left his lips, "Please–"

"There's nothing left to talk about Tom." Your voice was hoarse, tears still falling down your face but not as much as before. "Yes there fucking is." He argued, desperation running through him as he tried his luck, taking another step forward. Tom just wants to be near you, to hold you and he almost shouted in glee when you didn't stop him.

"What do you want from me Tom?" You whispered, willing yourself to look at him, but only for a split second, because you couldn't bear to see his face without bursting into full on sobs again. But still, you saw it, the sadness in his features, and your walls were slowly cracking.

Tom kept inching closer and closer, and he was both relief and scared because it seemed like you weren't putting up a fight anymore, like you've somehow given up.

You were tired, both emotionally and physically, so you didn't bother to take a step back once he grew nearer. You were tired of running, maybe it was time for you to finally face him.

"I just want you to hear me out, please." Tom whispered, shaking hands slowly reaching out to hold your arms, and you let him. You let him touch you, the heat of his palms comforting you in some odd way. He was so close now and you know if you did as much as look up, you'd see nothing but his eyes, so you didn't, you can't yet. You glued your gaze on the ground, just seeing the tips of his shoes almost touching with yours, it was that close.

"You had time before to reach out Tom. Why now?" Your voice was low but broken, a question that's been in the back of your head the moment he set foot inside your trailer. "Because you looked happier and I didn't want to ruin it. I thought that you were better off without me."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, probably making you look like a complete lunatic with the tears covering your cheeks but you didn't care. Of course you look happy on screen. You had to. To fool the world and yourself, but it was always a lie, what you've shown online was just a glimpse of your life, not the full truth. "Well, clearly, I wasn't. Aren't you?"

"Fuck no. I wasn't happy without you. I know you probably won't believe me but I wasn't Y/N. I will never be better off without you." You only sniffled, still shaking your head, still not believing his words and Tom can't blame you. But he needs you to hear what he has to say, so when you stayed quiet, Tom took this opportunity to just let out what he's been holding in for how many months now.

"Darling I'm sorry, for everything that I've ever done and said to you. Fuck I know sorry doesn't even cut it but I am, I truly am sorry for hurting you my love." You let out a soft whimper at the nickname, eyes shutting tight as you shook your head at him. "Tom please don't–"

"No, no, I need you to hear this Y/N." Tom's hand went up to brush a hair behind your ear, then coming down to hold your chin up for you to look at him. It already hurts him so much just seeing you cry, and it stabbed his heart repeatedly just staring back at your pain filled eyes, the glow in them snuffed out and replaced by this broken soul.

Tom took one shaky breath before continuing. "What I did was horrible, and I know that it won't be easy for you to forgive me, and I understand if you won't ever. Hell I can't even forgive myself for what I did. I was stupid, fucking stupid for hurting you like that. I was a completely idiot for leaving you. You didn't deserve the way I treated you. You didn't deserve to get hurt like that at all. If could go back in time and take everything I said back, I would. The things that I've said, I didn't mean them, truly. I was so blinded, I was angry and got carried away, but still that's not an excuse. What I said was not okay, and it will never be. And I truly am sorry darling, I truly am."

Tom's voice broke at the end of his sentence, his heart clenching as he tried his best not to cry. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting you like that, it pains him just thinking about what he's put you through. The sheer amount of guilt and heartbreak was swallowing him whole and fast. Then there was also anger. He was so angry at himself for doing that to you, but what's done is done. The only thing he could do now was think about what lies ahead, hopefully, with you back in his arms.

"Y/N, I want you to know that... no, I need you to know that I still love you, I've never stopped loving you." Tom couldn't stop the tears from escaping his eyes, his bottom lip quivering as he spoke the words. The sob that you let out only broke his heart even more, your firm hands pressing against his chest as you tried to push him back. "No no no, you're just saying that. You don't mean that. Please don't lie to me Tom, please don't."

Tom shook his head as he bit his bottom lip to suppress a whimper. Both of his hands finding its way up to cup your face, wiping your tears away with his thumb as he pressed his forehead against yours. You kept your eyes shut tight, not finding even the smallest of strength to open them to see his face, looking at you so longingly.

"Look at me, baby, look at me." He pleaded, wanting you to see right through him, to look into his eyes and see the truth.

You took a few deep breaths as you wrapped your trembling fingers around his wrists, forcing yourself to open your eyes and gaze into his tear-filled brown orbs.

"I'm not lying to you. I love you, gosh I'm still madly in love with you Y/N." He breathed out with so much emotion, his words coming out as a soft whisper, but the truth was there, strong and firm for you not to miss it.

And who on earth were you kidding? Of course you still love him, you always have. And for the first time in a year, you let your heart take control over your brain; allowing you to push yourself up and let your lips capture his in a kiss filled with need and so much passion.

Tom was quick to kiss back, strong arms wrapping around your form as he pulled you closer to his body, his head spinning at the feeling of your warms lips back on his own after so long. Your fingers were lost in the mesh of his curls, the kiss wet due to a few more tears but neither of you cared because it felt like it belonged, like you two were finally home.

"I missed you so much." Tom groaned against your lips, walking you back slowly until you've reach the bedroom of your trailer, a slight confusion washing over you because the couch was right there, not that you're in a hurry or anything but... "Why–"

"Tessa." And with that he kicked the door shut, his action an enough answer because as much as you love the dog, she does have a habit of disturbing. A sweet giggle came out of you and Tom felt his heart melt at the beautiful sound, especially when it was filled with nothing but genuine amusement.

But that giggle was soon replaced by a soft gasp as Tom dipped his head to bring his kisses down to your neck, his hands pushing your jacket off your shoulders and letting it fall down the floor. That was when everything in your head got clouded, his lips on your skin a good enough distraction for both of you not to think straight.

Your hands found its way under his shirt, a shiver running down Tom's whole body because they were cold, but not for long. He shrugged his own jacket off and pushed you further back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed allowing you to fall down the mattress with a soft thump. Tom pulled his shirt over his head and didn't waste a second more as he crawled on top of you right after, lips back on yours hungrily as he situated himself in-between your legs, your dress hiking up when you wrapped them around his waist.

Your fingers were tracing up and down his bare torso, Tom smirking between the kiss as he felt you run it over his toned abs. You bit his bottom lip as a warning to not be cocky, earning a deep groan from him, his hand coming down your thighs to give them a firm squeeze, the temperature in the room only getting higher as the clock ticked by.

But before any of you could take it a step further, a loud knock echoed itself on the whole trailer. Both of you wanted to ignore it but a voice soon then followed. "Tom, are you in there?"

The boy groaned as he buried his face on the crook of your neck, the two of you completely forgetting where you are as of the moment. Tom took deep breaths to calm himself down, your fingers running through the back of his head, playing with his hair as you did the same.

Once Tom caught his breath, he spoke, a hint of annoyance coating his voice. "What is it Harry?"

"They're looking for the both of you."

Tom sighed, propping himself up to look at you fully, beautiful face all flushed and he couldn't have seen a more gorgeous sight. "Be out in a minute." He called out, never letting his eyes off of you as if you'll disappear if he does, even for a split second. You didn't dare to move nor let out a single word. You just stared right into his eyes, so many emotions swimming in them but one that made your heart grow is the clear look of love, and for once, you felt safe under his gaze, safe and home.

"Come home with me tonight?" Tom asked shyly, fingers tracing your jaw in a loving manner. You thought about it for a second, all the doubt suddenly rushing back to you along with your brain just yelling at you to be extra careful, and you knew you just had to clear your head first before jumping right in the deep end. "Tom, I think I need to thin–"

"I know darling, I know. But please, just give me tonight. After that, I'll give you all the time and space that you need." You sighed knowing fully well you can't ever resist him, closing your eyes for a moment before nodding. A breath of relief escaped Tom's lips just as he presses it back on yours, but this time it was soft and sweet, kind of like a reassurance that he will be right here until you fully take him back, no matter how long that would take.

Tom unwillingly pulled away before things get heated again, standing up fully as he grabbed his shirt off the floor along with his jacket and slipping it on. He turned back to you with a sweet smile, offering both hands for you to take, interlacing your fingers in his once you did.

"Come on, we've got some explaining to do."

-:-:-:-:-

Like & Reblog if you enjoyed and let me know what you think! <3

[psyleedee]

Sweet, Spice and Everything Not Nice.

(Inspired by the iconic™ hot chilli Jen/Danneel/Misha moment but Destiel).

dean/castiel, secret relationship, accidental coming out, crack, humor, implied blowjobs, poor sammy.

-2k words.

-psyleedee.

There's a new diner opened up just a mile away from the Bunker, and already, Dean has heard so much about it. Last Tuesday, when he went for a milk run and stumbled into Ms. Davey, she was strangely keen about the new chilli poppers the diner was serving. Dean had smiled and brushed her off with a sure, I'll try it out, and he'd gone his way. Come Thursday, he'd stumbled into Chris, the local pawn shop owner, and they'd fallen into easy conversation, before Chris had spoken up about the diner. Said they had the best damn chilli poppers he'd ever seen. Dean didn't need anymore convincing.

Turns out Sam did.

And after weeks of goading Sam and riling him up to the point where he slammed a fist on the table and said Jesus Christ, Dean, you say the word chilli poppers again and I'll shove one right up your ass, Dean had succeeded. So what if it meant his dignity had crumbled to ash? At least he'd get to eat some good, greasy food, the one he's been craving for so long.

Besides, he oughta' take Cas out on a date too.

Ever since they ended up drunk in bed one long, fateful night ago, things have been slightly different between the two of them. For starters, they smile at each other a lot. Even when they're not looking at each other in tandem. They always end up on the same side of the couch or the dining table, thighs pressed together, hands brushing. They argue a lot, over the most mundane things, like washing the dishes or doing the laundry, but sometimes, after a hunt, when Dean is gushing blood, there will be this one broken glint in Castiel's eyes when he tries to heal him. And that night, they'll make slow, gentle love in Dean's car, away from the rest of the world.

However, there's a slight catch.

Sam doesn't know. He knows nothing. At least Dean hopes so.

And hey, not like they're trying to hide stuff from Sam, 'cause come on, they're practically breathing up each other's neck with only the three of them in the bunker, but it's just that Dean has a specific plan in his mind.

A plan about coming out to his brother. And it'll be heartfelt, of course, 'cause this is not just him establishing his relationship with Castiel, but also him coming out as bisexual. Sure, forty's a little late to figure out your sexuality, but better late than never, yeah?

So that's how it goes.

Maybe they can have a nice, brotherly chat over beer and chilli poppers.

"So, here we are. At last," Castiel says, as they stand against the Impala, all three of them, studying the creaky wooden sign which reads: Donny's Diner– home to the famous Habanero Chilli Poppers.

Okay. They're at the right place then.

"Habanero? Is that like, hotter than jalapeños or somethin'?"

Dean asks, as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jacket, and glances at his brother.

"I don't know," Sam says, so Dean turns to Cas, who almost passes as a rugged, buff lumberjack with the way Dean's flannel and AC/DC shirt hug his chest. He has his arms folded across him, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes as he studies the diner.

"I was too busy leading armies in Heaven to really pay attention to the chillies on earth."

"God," Dean sighs, exasperated, "-just say no."

Castiel's lips twitch in the slightest of amusement, and Dean hates the smug look spread across Castiel's face.

Okay, fine, he loves it.

Whatever.

"Let's go eat some fucking chilli poppers," Sam sighs, and Dean, ever ready, follows behind him. Castiel joins them, and all three men enter the diner, which in truth, is a normal, rustic style place. The tables are wooden, the chairs quite simple, a single order station at the front, and a few women, dressed in black shirts and jeans, running around with trays in their hands. It seems casual and laid-back, just the way Dean likes a diner to be, and at once, he quirks his bottom lip, already impressed by the minimal decor and the light chatter in the diner.

"Hi!"

Both Cas and Dean jump a little at the loud, enthusiastic, squeaky voice from in front of them, and standing before them is a young, short woman, with a pixie cut and cute, black-rimmed glasses on her nose. She reminds Dean of a high schooler. Maybe she is.

"Erm, hey."

"I'm Dana, and I'll be your server today. Follow me please, I'll grab you guys a seat."

Dean smiles at her, and the trio follows her along to a booth at the corner of the room. Sam slides in one side, while Castiel and Dean slip in across him. Dana allows them to settle for a moment before piping up again. Seriously this girl has got some real hard enthusiasm for a waitress.

"So, do you guys have anything in mind already? Since a lot of people come in here for the poppers, but if you want, I can get you the menu."

Dean shares a look with Sam. Dean shares a look with Cas.

We'll have the poppers. Oh, and uh, Dana, are the poppers uh, spicy? Like, reeealll spicy? Or spicy spicy?"

Dana chuckles, and shrugs.

"On a scale of one to ten, I'd say a solid eight. But you don't need to try them if you don't want to. We have normal jalapeño poppers. Those aren't as spicy."

"We'll have the really spicy ones, since Dean has been so insistent about them," Castiel says, and the waitress nods. He turns to Dean with a challenging spark in his eyes, "-or are you scared, Dean? I mean, you haven't been known to be quite tolerant towards chillies."

"Shaddup," Dean grumbles, and watches as Sam sends him a silly look, before turning to the waitress.

"The habanero poppers, please."

Sam smiles, and the waitress walks away with a brief nod.

Dean turns back to Sam, who fixes him a dry glare, before turning to Cas.

"Alright, I'm gonna' go use the restroom for a minute," He says, and glances at Dean, after which he proceeds to slide out of the booth and walk away.

Alone at last.

Dean shifts his weight onto a single thigh and turns in his seat to face Castiel. Castiel looks at him with a soft, tender expression, before reaching out to twine their fingers together.

"Are you happy, Dean?"

"'Course I am, Cas. Are you?"

"With you I always am."

"Sap."

"I prefer the term honest."

A smile spreads across both of their faces, before Dean leans in, and presses his lips to Castiel's, who melts at once, giving in to Dean, hands grazing Dean's jaw as they kiss, tender, longing, passionate, hot... Okay too hot, abort, abort.

Dean clears his throat and backs away, glancing around the diner to find a few curious pair of eyes on them, and he sends each one a glare, linking his arm around Castiel's back to show them what's theirs. Castiel shakes bis head with a hopeless smile, and steals a peck off Dean's lips, just in time, since Sam returns not a moment later.

Dean jerks his hand away. Castiel seems a bit hurt.

"So, what'd I miss?"

"Nothing," Castiel scoffs, and looks away, setting his chin on his fists on the table.

Sam looks between Dean and Castiel, and as much as Dean hates the way Sam is suspicious, he doesn't say much.

Patience, Sammy, patience. Dean's going to come out soon. He promises. Or something.

Dana returns just in time to soothe the rising tension at the table, and at once, the prominent scent of spices, oil, and chilli wafts around them, tickling Dean's nostrils in the best of ways, and he follows his nose to find a steaming, hot plate of sizzling habanero poppers held in Dana's hand. There's almost eight to nine poppers on the plate, and each one looks downright delectable.

"Alright, I would advise you to grab yourself some water, because these can be very spicy, and we don't want another paramedic in this diner."

"You have a paramedic in this diner?"

Dean asks, incredulous as he stares at the plate of poppers.

Dana laughs. "Uh-huh, over there, that's Kenny, he's the medic."

"Woah."

Castiel sighs, and watches as the waitress sets the tray down before them.

"Anything else I can get you? Besides a huge jug of water?"

Dana smirks, and all three men gulp at once, eyes fixed to the plate of poppers.

Man up, Winchester.

"Nothing, honey."

Dean smiles, and Dana returns it before walking away.

Now.

The poppers.

Before Dean can even speak, both Sam and Castiel are swiping their hands at one, holding it up and staring down at it.

"Guys, I don't think that's it's a good idea to–"

Gone. The poppers are gone. The ones in Sam's and Castiel's hand? Gone. In their mouths.

Dean stares, wide eyed, awestruck, torn between looking at Sam and Castiel, but then–

"Oh my god," Castiel gasps, mouth stuffed full, chewing on the popper, and Dean watches as his fists clench on the table.

Yup. Dean is not touching those poppers with a ten-foot pole.

"Jesus," Sam mutters, and holy shit, the guy's actually red, and fuck, so is Cas, they're literally burning red at the cheeks and the nose, and Sam's drooling, wiping his nose, there's tears at his eyes, Castiel is swatting the table, groaning, tears streaming down his face as he chews on the popper–

This is a fuckfest.

"Dude, what's happening?"

Dean yelps, shrinking away from his brother and boyfriend, as they pant, gasp and cry.

"Hot, hot, hot– too hot," Sam cries out, and Dean almost feels bad for the bugger. Serves them for being impatient.

"Dean, oh my god, argh, hot, hot, this is the hottest thing I've ever put in my mouth?!"

Castiel screams out, banging his fist on the table, and yes, Dean knows the time isn't right, but obviously Castiel has had hotter things in his mouth before, and those things are sitting right next to him, so how dare he.

"Excuse me?" Dean scoffs, to which Castiel sends him a dry, enraged glare.

"Food, Dean! Food."

Castiel squawks, and slaps the table, but a loud, deafening yelp catches both of their attention.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

Sam bellows, and oh. Oops.

"I don't wanna' listen to you talk about your sex life when I'm literally dying?! Dean, what the fuck are you sitting for, ask for some water?!"

Wow. This Sam is... Not nice.

Dean falters, trapped between two impatient, burning, overreacting men, and he rises up from his seat, watching as Dana scurries towards them with a water jug, but she doesn't even have a moment to react before Castiel is snatching it out of her hands and oh, oh god.

Castiel holds the jug above his face, and Dean jumps away from the table as the water gushes out, pouring into his mouth, over his shirt, everywhere, and before Castiel can even quench his thirst, Sam is grabbing the jug, pouring it over his face just like Castiel, the water drizzling every where, and a horrified, stricken Dean simply glances up at Dana, who seems... Strangely calm.

"Oh, it's more common than you think. I'm used to it," She says, and Dean wonders vaguely, if they're paying her enough for this, before providing help in the most menial form ever, by tossing his handkerchief to Castiel.

"You, Dean, are not getting away with this. You're the reason we almost died?!"

He growls, and yanks Dean onto the chair.

"Dude, I didn't ask you to pop it into your mouth literally a second after it came out."

Dean yells, shrugging away in defense, when a loud gasp draws their attention to Sam.

"You guys are fucking each other?"

Oh. Uhm. Cat's out.

"Yes, we're fucking each other, Sam, now could you pass that jug over here?"

Dean stares at the two of them, completely normal, going about passing the between the two of them.

That was... Not how he planned on coming out. Nope.

"Yeah, uh, Sam, Cas and I are dating. And uhm, I'm bi."

Sam shrugs, and holds the jug above his face, when it seems to click him.

"Wait. Was I not supposed to know that?"

Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, you weren't. How'd you know?"

Sam laughs.

"I don't know, maybe the oh my god, faster Dean, or the oh, you feel so good, coming from your room each night might have something do with it."

Dean blushes. Hard. Too hard. Castiel doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered. I mean, well, save for the water he's practically guzzling down.

"Whatever."

Dean grunts, and slides back in next to Castiel, who pushes the jug away, and slumps back against the booth.

Silence follows both Sam and Castiel's heavy pants.

Only for Castiel to grin again.

"That was awesome, I'm trying another."

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: Robin’s Requirements Summary: The name’s Robin,” the kid said with Dick’s smirk and Jason’s accent. Bruce felt ice crawl up his veins. He was going to throw up.Robin number three wasn’t human and Bruce didn’t know how keep going after Jason’s death. They make it work (after a rough start). AN: I decided to put up all the chapters I’ve posted of this story so far in proper order on tumblr since some people prefer reading here. Here’s the AO3 link to the story! I update weekly!

Chapter 1

Summer in Gotham was almost unbearable. The smoke and ashes lingering in the air mixed with the heat radiated from the asphalt to create an atmosphere that made it difficult to breathe or even just move in. In-between the tall skyscrapers and the houses squished into spaces much too small for them, you got the closest you could be to the experience of boiling to death without actually dying.

Winter may freeze your limbs, break away one finger after another, but summer’s heat, similar to the blast of an explosion, burned away your skin.

The summer nights appeared to be the much kinder, softer counterpart to the day time for the poor creatures who had to make their way through dark alleys.

It was a farce.

Gotham wasn’t kind, she hadn’t been in a long time.

The coolness of the darkness lulled you into a false sense of security. You were exhausted already, scared of the shadows too maybe if you weren’t used to them, or if you knew what lingered beyond them, but at least death didn’t await you in the sun’s divine punishment.

A logical but wrong assumption.

Grim hunters stalked the dark, waiting for you to slip up, to make a mistake.

Or at least, they used to be there to sink their teeth into you.

For the longest time Gotham had been protected by three guardians, predators, but nowadays you only ever spotted one of them, and if you did, you were better off to slice your own throat, or so they said.

Nobody had ever attempted to deny that meetings with the Bat could get bloody, especially if you provoked him. Still, they didn’t used to look like a war zone, entrails spread over the grey asphalt as empty eyes judged you for all the horrors you committed. The Bat used to be kinder, more forgiving, more understanding.

He wasn’t anymore. He had broken like Gotham had so many decades ago.

He still protected the weak, the needy, the helpless, but he no longer fought for the damned.

Instead of being their ferryman, he brought them directly to hell. It wasn’t death, not yet, but by the time he was done, you would wish for it.

People wondered what had changed right up until the Joker nearly choked on his acid laughter in the Bat’s arms, laughing about little songbirds cut up so badly you couldn’t tell the red of their feather coat from their blood.

It made sense then that the Bat would start to lose control. Everybody knew that the little Robin was off-limits. You try to could hurt and maim him, or break him for sure, these were the rules of the streets, and if he wanted to fly through them, he had to acknowledge them, but only ever as long as the Bat was your actual target.

You did not target Robin, Gotham loved him.

(There was a price to be paid for his death.)

X

“Duke, honey, it’s time for bed!”

“I know, Mom! Just five more minutes!”

Duke Thomas considered himself to be a regular ten-year-old. He loved video games, Star Wars, his Mom’s cooking, his Dad’s jokes, and, above everything, Robin Spotting. It was so much fun to stay up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of that colorful uniform or hear the joyful laughter.

Duke had actually seen Robin once too, on his fire escape. The hero had smiled at him and then put his index finger on his lips, indicating for Duke to be silent. Caught up in his excitement, Duke hadn’t even been able to speak to the hero or do anything but stand at his window, jumping up and down. He had watched as Batman caught up with Robin and the duo had flown away, Robin pretty much glued to Batman’s side.

The alley beneath Duke’s window was dark and dirty, but the heroes had been able to light it up.

And now Robin was gone.

Duke couldn’t believe it.

The police hadn’t said anything about Robin’s disappearance. Duke checked the news every day when his parents weren’t watching him too closely, lest they start thinking he wanted to watch those instead of his cartoons, hoping to hear about something interesting that wasn’t economics. However, the papers had plenty to say about Robin. His Mom called them ‘gossip rags Duke was better off not paying too much attention to’, but he had read them regardless.

The papers claimed Robin was dead, said that the Joker had killed him.

Duke was sure they were lying.

Robin was magical, Robin couldn’t die.

(But the Joker rarely appeared to be human either.)

Maybe somebody just had to remind Robin that he was still needed here. Duke sometimes got so caught up in his thoughts, he forgot to do his homework. It was probably something similar for Robin

“Duke, lights out!” His Dad said when he passed by Duke’s room.

“Just one more minute!” Duke pleaded, not even looking up from his desk.

“Alright, alright.” Dad laughed. “But you have to tell me what you’re writing.”

He entered the room and stepped closer to take a look at the sheet of paper Duke had been writing on, but Duke quickly pulled it to his chest to hide his scribbles.

“No! You can’t see it! It will take away the magic.”

You didn’t show your parents the letter for Santa either, or it wouldn’t get to Santa. Of course, the latter wasn’t real, but Robin was. And honestly, there were rules about this kind of magic – his parents should know them.

Dad just raised his hands in defeat, still smiling in amusement.

“Okay, buddy, but tomorrow you have to share with the class.”

Duke frowned, unsure whether that would be enough time for Robin to get his letter.

“Later,” Duke yielded. “Once I know it worked.”

Dad’s smile softened and he patted Duke’s shoulder.

“Only one more minute, then bedtime. You have school tomorrow and I don’t want to get another call about you falling asleep in class.”

Duke huffed, but couldn’t hide his happy smile. “That was only once!”

“Once enough. Sleep well, kid.”

“Night, Dad.”

Dad walked out of Duke’s room, closing the door behind him so that Duke was staring at the Justice League poster pinned to the wood. Batman needed Robin, so Duke would remind the short hero that he had to come home.

He quickly finished his letter, packed it in transparent cover, and hid it away in his Super Secret Special box. It was actually just a shoebox he had painted yellow and orange and decorated with plastic gemstones, but Duke loved it. Then he turned off the light and crawled into his bed. Duke took his alarm clock from the nightstand and set the alarm for a few minutes before midnight. He wasn’t sure whether twelve o’clock really was the right time, but it seemed very important in a lot of movies, so Duke figured if he had to choose, he might as well go with this time. If he succeeded, he’d maybe write to the police as well, tell them how to contact Robin since the Bat-signal only worked for Batman.

Falling asleep when he was so nervous turned out to be a chore. It felt just like the evenings before his birthday when he could hear the blood rushing through his ears and it kept him awake for as long as possible.

Duke managed to sink into sleep sometime after his parents had gone to bed as well. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d drifted off right until his alarm rang again and Duke woke up startled. Tiredly, Duke crawled out of his bed and put on his socks to minimize the sound he made. He picked put the box and began tonight’s journey.

When he opened the door, he winced at the jarring sound. Even if he tried to be as slow as possible, the door refused to stay silent. Duke halted to listen if his parents still slept. His father’s snoring turned out to be a rather practical way of measuring it. Thankfully, his parents also didn’t wake when Duke stole the house keys out of his mother’s purse. With his box in hand, Duke sneaked out of the apartment and headed towards the stairs leading up to the rooftop.

The air inside the staircase was stuffy, receiving no circulation whatsoever. On tiptoes, Duke walked past the doors of his neighbors, being exceptionally careful when he passed the apartment of Ms. Norrington. She was, in the words of his usually calm and kind mother, a mean old witch, except she hadn’t said witch, but another word starting with a ‘b’ that Duke was too frightful to repeat. The old lady and her ugly little dog always watched Duke and his friend with her mean big blue eyes, especially when they were carrying toys. In Ms. Norrington’s opinion, there was nothing more terrible than children playing and having fun. One of these days, she wouldn’t even wait until Duke had made a sound, she’d just snatch his football away as soon as she would spot him. Therefore Duke needed to pass her without alarming her.

One step, another, a third and a fourth and Duke had done it. Victoriously, he rushed up the remaining staircases to the rooftop. If his parents knew that he was up here, they’d ground him for sure. None of the kids in the apartment block were supposed to go upstairs because the fence surrounding the roof hadn’t been fixed in ages and someone could get hurt or, even worse, fall off the roof when playing.

Duke thought it was stupid. He wouldn’t ever be dumb enough to fall off a house. However, that hadn’t stopped the adults from locking the door between Duke and his goal. But for that purpose, Duke had snatched his mother’s keys. His own keyring only had the keys for the front and backdoor, one for his bike and one for his Cousin’s home. His mother, on the other hand, did possess a key for the top door.

The lock was rusty and the key wouldn’t turn properly when Duke tried to open it. Duke bit on his tongue in concentration as he twisted the key multiple times until finally, after what felt like ages, the door clicked and opened.

Duke slowly closed it behind himself again, as to avoid the wind pushing it into the lock again with a loud BAM! Certainly, old Ms. Norrington would wake from that. Duke would just have to hurry and be finished before she managed to get out of bed, put on her pink shoes, ugly old and gray bathrobe and made it to the door.

Gotham was an ugly city according to the news, but Duke had long since learned not to trust them. Sure, the city could be a bit cleaner, but monuments like the shining WE building or the green Robinson park in the distance were signs that Gotham wasn’t as shitty as people claimed. The breeze here up on the rooftop was quite enjoyable too. They should tell their landlord to repair the fence quickly so that Duke could play Batman and Robin with his friends up here. That would be way cooler than going to the playground. Here they would be up on a real rooftop and didn’t have to pretend the monkey bars were the top of the Crystal Palace. Thinking of his two heroes, Duke reminded himself of his mission.

He looked around for the best spot to put his letter and settled on the water tank. A short ladder was leading up to it and so, with his box secured under his arms, Duke began to climb. He slipped nearly once or twice, but always managed to catch himself at the last second.

Once he reached the top, he allowed himself to sit down just to catch a quick breath. He was working on a schedule after all.

Duke set his box down next to him and took off the cover, revealing his letter to Robin and his most prized possession: a Batarang.

He’d found it in the trash a while ago and ever since he had the supreme right to always play Batman if he wanted to. He hadn’t told his parents about it because he knew they’d take it away, even if Duke didn’t take it outside his room usually. Why would he? He didn’t want it to get stolen by others!

Duke reached for the Batarang and then traced its edges with his fingers. It was still sharp, if he wasn’t careful he’d cut himself.

Duke didn’t have a Bat-signal, but he also didn’t want to attract that much attention. He was sure that if he just scratched something in the wooden surface of the water tank, Robin would spot it sooner or later. With the sharp side of the weapon, Duke began to scratch a big R into the wood. He made sure his carvings were deep enough that they’d be seen from above.

Then, with as much might as Duke could measure up, he rammed the Batarang through his letter into the wood so that it wouldn’t just fly away when left unsupervised.

There, his work was done.

Content with himself, Duke allowed himself to observe Gotham for a little while longer, forgetting Ms. Norrington for a moment. He wouldn’t get a sight as neat as this one again in a long while.

Duke climbed down from the water tank and returned inside. He made it past Ms. Norrington’s door and slipped into his apartment and room, his parents still sound asleep and none the wiser of Duke’s little adventure.

Yawning, Duke pulled his blanket over his head. It was sad that he had to give up his Batarang, but maybe he’d get a new one once Robin returned. And Duke didn’t mind playing other heroes.

After all, now it was really just a question of time.

X

Beneath him, the city was wide awake, even during such late hours. He should probably return to the Cave for tonight, he didn’t have any supplies besides the one lone Batarang. While he was sure that his wit alone would suffice to support Batman, a utility belt filled with all kinds of tricky equipment would be immense support, never mind much more fun.

He was already on the move, heading home for the first time, when Gotham started screaming for help. Her shouts spoke of fear, of a terrified mother scared for her children’s safety.

Somebody was threatening her - who?

Batman wouldn’t approve of it, he was sure, but generally speaking, it wasn’t his job to listen to Batman. He was there to support the Bat and, more importantly, keep Gotham safe. He couldn’t do that from the Cave.

With a wild grin, he jumped from the rooftop, executing a perfect landing on the balcony of the next house. Quickly he moved forward, making his way through the cold September air to come to Gotham’s aid.

He was Robin.

He had been born for this.

[faquarlofmycenae]

A first summoning

Summary: A young sorceress seeks assistance for a crucial task and decides on finding an ally with whom she indirectly shares history, but not everyone shares her idealism.

Notes: I said I was going to write the story of how Morgên and Nimuë met so here we go. There is a certain amount of backstory to both characters that I’ve either not typed out or throughly explored yet but there will be more to come, eventually, as well as said backstory not being that relevant for the understanding of the following story. 

I might even crosspost it on AO3 (which is obviously a much friendlier platform for writers) so once I do, I’ll post the link to it.

Any commentary is more welcome. Enjoy!

Morgên waited in the summoning circle, still as a praying mantis, eyes closed and legs crossed as she sat on the floor. Impatience was beginning to gnaw at her in addition to general nervousness, and she felt a single bead of sweat travel from her forehead over her temple and down the side of her face. But she didn‘t swipe it away, she remained a statue, the only movement about her being the slow rising and falling of her chest as she tried to keep her breathing calm.

The smell of incense clung in her nose, different herbs than those the other magicians used, so she had been told by the minor djinni that had been in her service until recently.. There had, of course, been a fair chance that it was attempting to trick her but despite her better judgement - something instilled in her by Myrddin that had always been along the lines of „Demons are inherently untrustworthy, vile and wicked, watch your back around them because otherwise they will not hesitate to kill you“ - she had done as the spirit had told her, thanked it by promising to not summon it again and erasing its name from history to end its slavery. The entity that had appeared to her as an innocent goldfinch had thanked her in a raspy deep voice but it had been obvious it didn‘t believe her. She couldn‘t exactly blame it.

The temperature shifted in the ruins and Morgên felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She felt a gush of wind messing up her long auburn hair and how another smell crept up her nose; that of brimstone and ash. The faint noise of cracking flames could be heard.

She swallowed thickly, straightened her back just a portion and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked at the figure across from her in the other pentacle, most likely constructed by some minor lord's magicians before their sovereign's fortress had been torn to its foundations by battle and time - but still, the symbol of slavery had remained. In this case, it had been to her advantage.

The form the spirit had chosen for this encounter was certainly human-shaped, two heads taller than Morgên and had pale skin with a vague green-greyish tinge and limbs so thin and spidery they almost appeared skeletal. Clad in a thick grey cloak over a green dress so dark it was almost black, long hair, as white and brittle as chalk fell over the torso. The face was gaunt but at the same time had an absolute agelessness to it. The most otherworldly feature though were the eyes of the spirit’s guise: a pair of empty sockets as dark as the void of the night sky in which two small balls of green fire raged. The veins running down the cheeks were visible and gave the face even sharper features, as if it was merely skin taut over a skull. Around the feet of the entity a circle of flames lapped at the dress and cloak without burning it, the same shade of green as the terrible eyes.

“Most exalted spirit hailing from the Other World, pardon me for awakening you from your slumber.”

She tried to keep the voice at level and had chosen the words carefully to address a creature such as what she had summoned. This was no mere foliot or even a djinni but a noble afrit; a spirit made of pure fire and the second most powerful sort of entity magicians could bind to do their bidding. 

As Morgên had spoken, the spirit's head had been tilted sideways and the green fire regarded her calmly. She took that as a sign to continue. 

“You may call me Morgên, and I called you, great Nimuë, to this mortal plane to ask for your assistance.”

The thin lips were curled as if in a mixture of revulsion and amusement and the hairless brows were raised. 

“I know your story. I summoned you specifically because of it for I am in need of an ally who will help me avenge not only the wrongs done to them but to you too - and the countless spirits that endured penalties and hardships underneath them. But for that I need you to assist me in a journey I need to take, to gain knowledge from someone who, judging by your guise, you at the very least have heard of: Mórrígu, the Queen of Spirits.”

Morgên took a deep breath and looked up at the banshee, waiting for her response - and there had to be one.

It opened its mouth, a flash of bright and (to Morgên's surprise) human teeth. A voice that sounded equally ageless as the face of its guise, clear like the ringing of a bell and in a way reminded Morgên of someone she had once known but banished their memory from her mind.

“You certainly sound like a most ambitious woman, mistress.”

“It is a tremendous task, I won't deny it. What do you think of it? Speak as freely as you wish.”

The afrit crossed the arms over another and looked down at her. 

“The simple fact that I am bound by mortal chains in this circle forces my hand into accepting this. Otherwise I'd have a lot to say.”

“Please do. But before, sit down. It hurts my neck to crane it that much.”

The fires in the empty sockets didn't leave her as the afrit crossed its legs in the air, in a similar way to how Morgên was seated and gently floated to the ground.

“Be so kind and tell me your thoughts, great spirit.”

“'Be so kind? Tell me, girl, is this your first summoning?”

Morgên blinked. Something told her that this was going just as she had predicted but she tried to keep her cool. 

“By far not. You're only the latest of spirits I have summoned.”

The afrit nodded and I studied her face. 

“Are we in Cymru?”

“Yes, indeed.”

This seemed to have an effect on the spirit. Something within the sockets stirred and the air around them grew even hotter. The smell of burnt thyme intensified and Morgên stopped herself from pressing her hand to her nose to avoid the smell from stinging her nose.

“I know who you are, vile witch, and if your doughy brain is not beyond salvation besides everything else that is wrong up there, you'd do well to speak the dismissal right away, lest I will break out of this circle and tear your throat to ribbons.”

Morgên forced herself to hold the now-terrible gaze of the afrit and straightened her back. 

“I will not. What issue do you take with my demand? You're going to have to fulfill it either way, there is no way for you to break out of the summoning circle.”

The spirit's gaze traveled alongside the circle. They both knew Morgên had spoken the truth; if there had been even a minimal error in the summoning, Nimuë would have doubtlessly seized the opportunity and ripped her into pieces, the presence of the thyme incense, a much less irritable alternative to rosemary and sage but to be used in much higher dosage, as a peace offering wasn't enough to prevent a being as powerful as an afrit from breaking through. 

“Spoken like a true slavemaster.” The afrit said dryly.

Morgên jerked up. As she did so, she noticed how Nimuë's long spider hands might have grown sharper and longer nails than before. She forced herself into a relaxed position once again.

“I ask you again: tell me your problems with my charge. Don't beat around the bush, I will consider your criticism. And don't attempt to throw me off with threats upon my person - it will not work.”

“Aren't you a prim and proper one?” The afrit regarded her with an amused expression, the thin lips were curved in a sardonic grin. “But what else to expect from someone who carries the blood of Uthyr Bendragon within herself? His stench taints everything about you and makes my essence revolt more than any iron or silver ever could. I'm beginning to reconsider my previous statement - killing you and throwing your corpse into the courtyard of his accursed fortress would give me much more pleasure.” 

Morgên wasn't surprised, neither by how Nimuë had figured out her heritage nor the fact that spirits were able to do such things. 

“King Uthyr is long dead. If you want to exact revenge on his person, I have to disappoint you; all there is left are the bones in his tomb.”

“Fair enough. But I sense something else about you and it disgusts me just as much as your blood. You shouldn't even dare to put my name in your mouth or mention knowing anything about me.” If the afrit's haughty look could have burned her, she would've surely been aflame by now.

A quick gaze traveled to her own pentacle, something not unnoticed to the sharp eyes of the spirit. She almost slapped herself for her stupidity. Not even during her first proper summon on her own, back when she had been a maiden of thirteen summers in Peredur's chambers which always smelled of herbs and sulfur, had she been so out of her element. If she was going to make a simple beginner's mistake such as openly showing insecurity, then maybe Nimuë deserved to break out of the circle and tear her into shreds with a swipe of sharp claws. 

“I know of your enslavement at the hands of the magicians of Caerleon. I know of them abusing your skills for the late king to wield power to lay waste to his enemies - and I am truly and deeply sorry for it.”

There was silence. The flames which surrounded the afrit flickered briefly and changed from forest green to sea green, the temperature in the room subsided but instead of remaining comfortable grew even colder.

“'Abusing my skills', that is a fine way to describe that little affair. And do not try to explain the predicament of my summoned siblings again, mistress. I have first been summoned by the shamans of the Steppe, then the Phoenicians, the Romans, the magicians of the Germanic tribes both on the Cold Peninsula where the sun doesn't rise for half a year and don't descend another as well as beyond the Rhine, and then,” a grimace, “your miserable lot on Britannica. I remain a slave, no matter if granted some freedoms or none at all. But do tell me which magician you wish to see destroyed with the power of,”, Nimuë chuckled, “this charlatan queen. Then let me leave your service so I don't have to be surrounded by your vapid idealist insanity.”

Morgên couldn't help but register how talkative this spirit was on its first summoning. Other afrits she had seen summoned hadn't been like that at all, instead there had been a deep distrust between the two parties as well as an additional layer of mystery in their words. This individual was different; resentment bubbled openly and dripped from each word like the sweetest poison.

The thin lips curled into a smile. “Still on track with your demands? Or did,”, the afrit sniffed, “whatever that is supposed to be, cloud your senses?”

Morgên chose to ignore the latter remark and cleared her throat. It had been suspiciously dry.

“I wish this could work without the process of binding, I really do. It brings me no joy to rip spirits such as you from the Other Place - quite the contrary. It's the reason why I parted ways with my master.”

The afrit sneered. “Surely that is what happened. Is he the one you seek to destroy once you hold the wicked sword in your hands? What a typical thing to do for you witches.”

Morgên smiled. Now that was her trump card.

“Yes, I indeed intend to destroy Myrddin Wyllt.”

The flames burst into a column of green fire, filled out the entire pentagram and both brightened the entire room as well as sucking all light from it. Candles were blown out, a sudden burst of wind roared around them and the banshee within the circle had disappeared. Bolts cracked within the fire column.

“I know how famed you were for your abilities as a blacksmith, great Nimuë.” Morgên spoke loud, louder than before. “And how my master used and tricked you into not only forging Excalibur-” a loud pained scream cut her off. The piercing yell made the ruins shake as well as the floor. Beyond the ruins and in the forests, resting birds took flight in panic.

“Don't you ever speak that thrice-damned name, foolish girl.” The voice was thunder and lightning and for a moment Morgên feared being swept away by the wind.

“- but also to imprison fellow spirits for magicians to use them for their own ends. This is what I wish to correct, for there never to be a spirit who has to suffer, be it the burden of committing this crime or being the prisoner.”

The column of fire raged on and on, had this fury been underneath the guise the whole time? Her father Uthyr, long gone 20 years ago as an illness had claimed him, had been given the sword by Myrrdin to seek victory over his enemies on the battlefield. That must've been 40 years ago… a lifetime for her, who hadn't been alive back then; but nothing for an immortal being. 

There was a deep sigh within the column and slowly, very slowly, the lightning subsided, the rotations grew slower and when it halted, the fire shifted and as it fell away gave view to the banshee, floating above the ground and regarding her with a steely look in the burning sockets.

Morgên's legs shook as she slowly rose, careful to not cross the lines of the circle to Nimuë's level - or at least something close to it.

“How many winters are you old?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You cannot be serious about this.” The afrit snarled. 

“I have never been more sure of something.”

Nimuë sneered. “So be it then.”

“So you will assist me in my journey?”

The afrit regarded her for a long time. “I am bound to your commands, but I will not deny that I am not convinced of them.” White hair framed the haggard face as Nimuë's piercing gaze searched her face. “But Mórrígu is a myth - she never existed. This is a futile charge, any imp could recognize that.”

Morgên smiled. “I have evidence that shows the complete opposite. And I will prove it and use her wisdom to change the way of magician-spirit relationships forever.”

The afrit looked at her, Morgên couldn't tell whether it was disdain or pity this time. Neither pleased her.

“Of course, mistress. Now, would you mind stating your definite charge so I have something to actually work with?”

[emmvxnce]

i didn’t know i was a p h o e n i x                                TILL I LEARNED HOW TO S P E A K

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

"Without losing a piece of me, how do i get to heaven?  Without changing a piece of me, how do I get to heaven?  So if I’m losing a piece of me, maybe I don’t want heaven.” — Troye Sivan, Heaven

“She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when you’re swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid, but the water’s deeper than you think and there’s nothing there.” — Julia Gregson

“The worst thing in the world next to anarchy, is government.” — Henry Ward Beecher

“I’ve left my fingerprints somewhere. And that’s good enough.  And I am my own person. And that’s good enough.  And… I stand my ground. And that’s good enough.” — Morrissey

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Emmeline Glenys Vance NICKNAMES: Emme, Em, Vance AGE: Twenty Two BIRTHDAY: 10 September 1957 GENDER: Cis Female PRONOUNS: She/Her SEXUALITY: Homosexual ETHNICITY: English, Welsh, Chinese

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Jìngyi ‘Jenny’ Vance, née Ling (44) FATHER: Raymond Thomas Vance (46) SIBLINGS: Charles Vance (23), Margaret Vance (20)

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Chloe Bennet BUILD: Naturally slim, of average height.  Several years of training have lent an athletic edge to her body.  Solid bone structure, thin but not waiflike. HAIR: Shoulder length, thick, and wavy. Typically pulled back off her face in some way or other.  Often twisted up with her wand which backfires when she is forced to pull her wand and her hair comes falling around her face.   HAIR COLOR: Dark brown. EYE COLOR: Typically brown, nearly black when she’s upset or angry but lighter when the sun is bright or her mood is up. SKIN COLOR: Beige with warm undertones. DOMINANT HAND: Right. ANOMALIES: Broken nails from years spent biting or picking at them.  A scar on her hairline on the right side of her forehead from where she fell when she was eight and cracked her head on the coffee table in the living room.  Various minor scars from several years with the Order.   SCENT: Honey and lilac from her shampoo, a touch of something floral if she’s decided to put on perfume which is rare and reserved for the most special of occasions.   ACCENT: RP but with traces of welsh from years listening and speaking with her dad who is from Cardiff.   ALLERGIES:  Pollen and blueberries. DISORDERS: Mild anxiety triggered in the last several years by the worsening war FASHION: Leans to muggle fashion, typical late 70′s clothing.  Bell bottoms, high waisted jeans, crop tops, the occasional leather jacket, over sized men’s shirts paired with leggings.  She prefers pants to skirts as often as possible.   NERVOUS TICS:  Biting and picking at her nails, toying with any jewelry she may be wearing, usually a necklace, twirling hair at the base of her neck or from her ponytail.  In general her hands are usually fidgeting in someway, she has a hard time keeping them still. QUIRKS:  She doesn’t like silence and sometimes will hum to herself if there is no other sound just to fill the empty air, she almost always sits with her legs pulled up either under or in front of her.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Plainview Point BORN: Cardiff, where her parents lived in the earliest years of their marriage before moving to a village just outside London.   RAISED: Shere, a village in Surrey, about an hour southwest of London.   PETS: Persimmon aka Persy, a ginger cat she met in an alley near St. Mungo’s who took a liking to her after she shared her turkey sandwich one day and followed her home.  

CAREER: Healer, specializing in spell inflicted damage and working on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s. EXPERIENCE:  Member of the Potions club in her fifth through seventh years at Hogwarts.  OWLS and NEWTS in Charms, Potions, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Entered the Healer training program upon graduation from Hogwarts, rotating through each floor and specialization at St. Mungo’s before choosing to specialize in spell-inflicted damage.   EMPLOYER: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix BELIEFS: Equality, in all shapes and forms.  Being a muggleborn, a woman, the daughter of an immigrant, and a lesbian have given her a unique viewpoint into so many of the ways that society is stacked against certain people.  She does not have a strong religious or spirtual practice or belief but adds it to the list of things she believes people should be allowed to choose and practice without judgment or intercession. MISDEMEANORS: Breaking curfew, pilfering from the potion supply closet in school and a little bit from the hospital when it’s not something she can get at the apothecary FELONIES: None on the record, only in service of the Order DRUGS: Marijuana, both inhaled and ingested.  Girlfriend makes a hell of a pot brownie. SMOKES: Marijuana, yes.  Cigarettes, no. ALCOHOL: Beer mostly, the occasional whiskey when someone else is in charge of choosing it.  Never wine or cocktails.  Too sweet for her taste. DIET:  Mostly simple meals, usually with a bit of a Chinese foundation.  Rice as a staple, a lot of stir fry because it’s simply and quick and can be made in large quantities to last her for many days or to feed a multitude of people.  

LANGUAGES: English, Welsh, Mandarin

PHOBIAS: Fire, losing those she loves and being left alone.   HOBBIES:  Brewing potions, listening and collecting muggle music TRAITS: { + }: compassionate, self-assured, determined, hard working, pragmatic { - }: blunt, ineloquent, inflexible, stubborn, temperamental

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Her flat.  She’s turned it into a haven with couches you can sink into, nooks where she can curl up, candles and warm smells, even a fireplace she and Persy like to lie in front of until they fall asleep on the poufs she has as extra seating.   SPORTS TEAM: Chelsea Football Club, Holyhead Harpies (football first and then quidditch) GAME: Rummy, card games in general MUSIC: Muggle rock and punk - Queen, David Bowie, Blondie, The Clash MOVIES: Star Wars, The Godfather (just the first one), Superman, The Exorcist FOOD:  Chinese food but actual Chinese food like her mother makes, not what you can get in the shops.  Not that that’s bad - it’s just not her favorite.   BEVERAGE: Chocolate Milk.  Yes she knows she is a child.   COLOR: Deep gold.  

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Hufflepuff WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core):  9 ¼ inches, ash, phoenix feather core, slightly springy.  The saying goes that ash wands are stubborn but it isn’t the arrogant or crass type of stubborn that attracts this wood.  It is drawn to a person whose beliefs are held strongly in their mind and deeply in their heart.  Combined with a core of phoenix feather and it’s slightly springy nature, Emmeline’s wand is particularly loyal and becomes finnicky in the hands of anyone other than it’s owner. AMORTENTIA:  Fresh baked pastries, cinnamon, twilight air in the summer PATRONUS:  Brown Bear - social creatures who find strength in sharing resources and who are known for their protective instincts.  Bears are also closely associated with healing in some cultures.   BOGGART:  Darkness.  The kind of darkness that envelops your senses.  Instead of becoming stronger, it dulls each sense so you cannot see but you also cannot hear or feel or smell.  You are isolated, alone, helpless.  Seconds become eternities as you seek any anchor to hold on to to pull yourself back to the world.  

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good MBTI: ENFJ-A (Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging, Assertive) MBTI ROLE: The Protaganist ENNEAGRAM: Type 2 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Helper TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Virgo

Virgos are always paying attention to the smallest details and their deep sense of humanity makes them one of the most careful signs of the zodiac. This will lead to a strong character, but one that prefers conservative, well-organized things and a lot of practicality in their everyday life. These individuals have an organized life, and even when they let go to chaos, their goals and dreams still have strictly defined borders in their mind. Their need to serve others makes them feel good as caregivers, on a clear mission to help.

CHINESE ZODIAC: Rooster

Roosters are smart, charming, witty, honest, blunt, capable, talented, brave, and self-reliant. They are known for their ability to do astounding things with extremely limited resources. Their way is always right (in their mind, at least), and they love to debate their stance. Roosters are extremely sociable and bask in attention and praise.

PRIMAL SIGN: Corgi

Loyal, observant, and analytical, those born under the Primal Zodiac sign of the Corgi are devoted friends and family members who take on the role of caretaker with great passion. Few others are as eager to jump in and help a friend in need, and Corgis take great pride in this. More so than other signs, members of this sign like to fill a very specific role in the lives of other people, thus getting the majority of their own personal fulfillment through their service to others.

TAROT CARD: Justice

The Justice Tarot card has to do with moral sensitivity and that which gives rise to empathy, compassion, and a sense of fairness. Since the time of Solomon, this image has represented a standard for the humane and fair-minded treatment of other beings.  This card reminds us to be careful to attend to important details. It's a mistake to overlook or minimize anything where this card is concerned.

SONGS: coming soon, i suck at this

IDEOLOGIES: Doesn’t believe in wallowing or living in the past.  Mistakes get made and bad things happen and the only way to get past it all is to pick yourself up and keep on walking.

Tea over coffee.  Fight her about it.  Get yourself some black tea if you need the caffeine.  

There is exactly nothing that can’t be made better by a dance party around the flat with the music so loud that you can’t hear your own thoughts anymore.  

There is no excuse for inequality.  People are people and the only way to get through this life is to care about the people inhabiting the world around you.  Most common thought - “I don’t know how to explain to you that you should care about other people.”

[itisannak]

Dirty Picture (Ashton Irwin Smut)

Summary: (Y/N) almost shows her mom a picture she should never see. And Ashton is not all so happy about that.   (Smut /Public Place / Degrading Pet Names / Unprotected Sex) (Request)  (Words: 2.4k)

"You feel ok, love?" I ask Ashton as he parks the car in the restaurant's parking lot. "I don't know. I feel kinda nervous, I guess..." He replies, rubbing his eyes as he sighs deeply. "Why, baby? It's just dinner with my parents." I giggle, stroking his cheek. "Yeah, just dinner with your parents... No pressure at all..." He groans and all I can do is laugh at how awkward and cute he is. "Need I remind you that you've met my parents before, not once, nor twice, but many man times?" I ask, bopping his nose. "Every time is a different test." He sighs and I shake my head at him. "Would it help you calm down if I showed you again some pictures from last night?" I ask, making him turn his head to me.   "You could try..." He shrugs, earning a chuckle from me. I pick my purse from the front of my seat and fish out my phone, scrolling through it to find the pictures he took of me. "Just remember, I still have a shit tone of those amazing lingerie you brought me from tour that I haven't tried yet..." I whisper in his ear, leaning closer to leave a kiss to his cheek. "You will be the death of me, pretty girl." He breathes out, not taking his eyes away from my phone.

We walk in the restaurant, our fingers tangled together. I feel his grip on my hand getting tighter as we approach the table my parents are seated. On his other hand, Ashton holds a bouquet of flowers for my mother, in an effort to impress her. Well, honestly, he does it because he feels like doing it, but it surely works on his favor. "Hey mom... Hey dad." I greet them with a smile, letting go of Ashton's hand, not before stroking my thumb over the back of it though. "Sweety, long time no see." My mom cheers, standing up to hug me. "Huh, life has been hectic lately, mom." I reply, smiling before moving to hug my dad. "Ashton, honey. Look at you... You look even more handsome now." I hear my mom say. "Hi dad." I kiss my father's cheek, hugging him close. "How is my princess?" He asks, kissing my forehead. "Good, good. Just, you know, a little tired from traveling." I smile and shake my head. "People pay to travel the world and you do it for a job... Don't complain, princess." My dad protests, bringing a chuckle to my lips. "I am not, daddy. I promise." I smile, taking a seat on the table. "I know, honey. You look really great." He replies, sitting across of me. Ashton joins my side, taking the seat next to me. I catch a glimpse of my mom taking a whiff of the flowers Ash brought her and smiling in awe. "So, Ashton, how is your band doing?" My dad asks, cutting straight to the point. My dad doesn't really approve of Ashton, still believing the whole rockstar stereotype, so he is extra harsh when it comes to him. I hate that Ashton has to prove his worth every time he meets me parents, but he does without a complain, making me feel worried about the moment he realizes that I am simply not worth all of that and cut me off his life. "We are doing great, sir. We recently dropped our new album and it is on the top charts for weeks. We are back on our old glory." Ashton replies; I can hear the spark in his voice, which only brings a smile on my face. "And what about the tour? My daughter sent us all those pictures from all those cities, but we've never heard the stories." He asks again. My hand goes from the menu I am holding to Ashton's thigh, stroking it in an effort to provide him with some comfort. "Uh, so many stories. I am lucky I am able to live so many adventures with my friends and now with (Y/N). This has been the first tour that (Y/N) was able to join from the start to the end, so it feels extra special this time." Ashton smiles, placing his hand on top of mine. Before my father could ask anything else, the waiter approaches us, putting a pause to Ashton's torture. "What can I get you?" He asks, making us all contemplate our orders.

After we place our orders, I manage to start talking so Ashton wouldn't have to undergo any further interogation. "Honey, how is the moving out going?" My mother asks as I finish talking about the trip to Japan. "Moving out?" My dad asks, stopping his eating. "Yes, Ashton and I decided to move in together. So I am emptying my apartment." I reply, not daring to look at my father. This time, Ashton is the one that squeezes my hand reassuringly, stroking his thumb over the back of it. "I see." It is all that my dad says in reply. "Anyway, moving in is going great. And we have a new member in our family..." I say in a cheerful voice. "You are pregnant?" My mom asks excitedly, making my dad shoot his gaze in a worried manner. "No, no... Relax. We got a puppy." I giggle and watch my father sigh in relief. "You did? What kind?" My mom asks back. "Ah, he was a stray one, so he is muted. But he is so gorgeous." I sigh happily, leaning my head on Ash's shoulder. "Aww, do you have any pictures of him?" She asks and I nod, handing her my phone. Ashton gasps, in mere seconds squeezing my thigh to stop me. "I... I have better pictures on my phone, let me..." He tries to cover up, taking my phone from my mother's hand and unlocking his, scrolling to the album he keeps Fang's pictures. I look at him in a weirded out expression but as I unlock my phone, I realize that the picture that my mom would see is the one in which I am on my knees with Ashton's tip between my lips. My eyes go wide and Ashton's head cocks to the side, looking at me with his stern look. "We'll talk about your recklessness back home, princess." He whispers in my ear, pressing his lips softly on my temple. "He looks adorable. Is he used to the house yet?" My mom asks, handing the phone to my dad. "He is used to peeing and pooping outside the house, but he still chews anything available." Ashton says, smiling sweetly. "I can't wait until you are settled in the house and we have the next dinner there, to meet this cutie as well." My mom says and hands the phone back to Ashton.

After everyone is done with their food, my dad and Ashton fight as to who is going to pick up the tab. Ashton backs away since he knows that my dad will feel offended, making me chuckle at how childish they can be. "This one went great." I comment as we walk to the car. "If you overlook the fact that you almost showed your mom our pictures..." He says through greeted teeth, unlocking the car. "Almost... She didn't see anything." I try to soothe the tension. "Thanks to me. What am I going to do with you, naive girl?" He asks me, opening the door for me. I watch him walk to the driver's side, his body tensing up with every step. "I don't know daddy." I reply as he enters the car. "I think I need to punish you for that mistake. Don't you agree, little girl?" He asks, turning to look at me. "I haven't been a bad girl..." I protest but Ashton chuckles and pulls me on his lap. "But you have been a careless girl, princess. And I think you need to be taught a lesson." He groans, pushing my chin up. I look at him innocently, biting my bottom lip as he hums, running his index and middle finger from my chin to the valley of my breasts. "Should I wait until we are home... Or maybe I should hike up your skirt and take you right now..." He asks, bringing his lips to kiss my neck. "Home..." I mumble, unable to form anything more than just that single word. "No... I think you want your punishment here. I think that the idea of taking you in the middle of a parking lot, so publicly, so exposing, it turns you on. Doesn't it, princess?" He asks, slipping his hand under my skirt. I jump at the feeling of his cold hand on my sex, but relax at his touch. "It does... Look how wet you are for me... And it is all just from my words..." He teases me, grazing a finger under the hem of my panties. "What if we get caught?  What if someone gets pictures? What if those pictures end up on the front pages of magazines and your career gets ruined?" I ask, making Ashton release a throaty groan. "Tinted windows and minimal sound, princess. Nobody will understand shit. Plus, Calum's cock was out on the internet for the whole world to see, and we still made it." He whispers, flicking his tongue against my sweet spot. "Besides, this is your punishment... You can't say no to daddy. You know what happens when you say no to daddy, right?" He asks me before he leaves a bite on my neck. I shudder at the feeling of his teeth on my flesh, already feeling my mind turn into a fuzzy mess. "You need to get punished for your carelessness, don't you, dirty girl?" He whispers, in a seductive and intoxicating tone. "I do. Please, punish me, daddy." I moan out, my hand reaching down to feel his cock. Ashton grabs my wrist almost immediately, stopping me before I could even get a proper feel of him. "Your hands behind your back. And do not move them." He orders, looking at me deeply. Almost automatically, I follow his order, bringing my wrists together behind my back and keeping them there. Ash guides my hips upwards, for as long as he needs to unzip his pants and take out his cock. I feel him line up in front of my entrance, smirking at me seductively. "Buck down, princess. Sit on my cock." He whispers, gripping on my hips. I lower my hips, guiding his dick inside me. I watch his face tense as my walls engulf his length, the little pulsing of my pussy as he enters me making his breath get caught in the back of his throat. I don't dare move my hands, the power that he has over me grows bigger and bigger every time. Now, he doesn't even need to restrain me to keep me in place, he knows that I won't dare break his order. "You look so good like that... riding my cock, following my orders... My little fuckdoll." He whimpers as he guides my hips back and forth. "I belong to you, daddy." I gasp and bounce my hips on his. "Maybe fucking you so good has left you brainless... That's why you almost got us exposed." He hisses, thrusting his hips up violently. In any other occasion, those words would have hurt me, but he only uses them to tease me. And it works; I feel tingles all over my body, making all my senses heighten. Even his fingertips on the bare skin of my hips make electricity run in my body. "I am your brainless little fuckdoll." I breathe out, rocking my body to guide his dick deeper inside me. His veins throb inside me as I move, a little slower now, trying to make the feeling last longer. "I need to touch you." I groan, rolling my hips. Ashton growls at me, slapping my ass as I move. "But you won't touch me, right? This is your punishment, princess... You can touch me, but then you would be disobeying my order and that would really piss me off and then more punishment would be in for you." He says, throwing his head back and biting his bottom lip. "I hate you so much..." I cry out, squeezing my walls around him as I feel my body tense while I near my orgasm. "You don't mean that, angel. You are just hating me because I am not giving you what you want." He murmurs, gripping on my ass harshly. "I hate you." I repeat, trying to fight the urge to just touch him, grip onto him, and dig my nails into his flesh as I cum. "You don't look much like it right now..." He groans at the feeling of my pulsing walls. "Can I cum, please?" I ask, feeling my chest heaving. "Of course, princess." He breathes out, bucking his hips up to meet my thrusts. I feel him hit my spot forcefully, making me dig my nails on my wrists to keep myself from just touching him. Everything gets intense as I hit my high, biting my bottom lip to prevent the scream to leave my mouth. "Shit..." Ashton hisses at the feeling of my pussy squeezing him. "Are you going to cum, daddy?" I ask through my haze, already feeling a little dizzy from it. "You are making it hard not to..." He replies, slamming my hips onto his, before his throbbing member releases in me. As I stay motionless and breathless, I just stare at him; his face is red and shining with sweat, completely relaxed and his lips parted. I lean down and place a soft kiss on his bottom lip, smiling at my boyfriend. "You look like something out of a dream." I whisper as he opens his eyes. "You look like you fell from the sky." He whispers back. "Like the devil?" I ask in a giggle. "For God's sake... I am trying to be romantic and shit in here and you keep on blowing me..." He giggles, covering his face with one hand while the other reaches behind my back to take one of my hands in it. "You did great today with my parents." I whisper, leaving a peck on his cheek. "You think so?" He asks me, turning his head for a peck on my temple. "I know so." I smile and press my lips on his Addam's apple.

My Masterlist

[twodudesandamovie]

Brokeback Mountain Review

In lights of the recent Academy Awards, Eric nominated one of the more famous Oscar snubs in Brokeback mountain. Both Alex and Eric also were interested in how we look at LGBTQIA+ movies today as opposed to 15 years ago. Among the things discussed post-review were how Brokeback Mountain wouldn’t be controversial today, and how it was really a common love story with a twist.  Alex's Review: With ample amounts of dread, I dove into this over two hour long Lil Nas X origin story. Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger's characters seem to have no real jobs and instead aimlessly move sheep from Point A to Point B for no fucking reason and get paid for it. I guess maybe this is what being a cowboy entailed, but I assumed you became noted as a cowboy by your big hat combined with a denim jacket/jeans. Who could say really. Their relationship starts out on a confusing note, where you feel uncomfortable as to the willingness of both parties, but eventually you get to see a very complicated narrative form about what it was like to be secretly gay in 1963. The parts of the film that involve herding sheep are actually very entertaining, to have a peek into a lifestyle of a man who has to be able to pick up an entire sheep. I do not want or think I will ever need that ability, but I digress. The movie itself, although dreadfully long, hit on a lot of complicated emotions. Trying to follow three or more unsuccessful relationships throughout the course of the movie felt emotionally taxing at times, but not necessarily in a way that I could not relate to. At the end of the day, it sort of is just a complicated love story, but with a twist on it. Not unheard of in film, but I've never had to experience it told in this form. Usually, there's a "taking two girls to the same dance" kind of humor to it all. Eric and I talked about how we were interested to see the movie post 2005, where the stigma of homosexuality is no longer prevalent in society. That being said, the movie felt like its overall message was sort of missed, if it actually had a message. However, the movie's goal to hit me on an emotional level was extremely successful. I went from not caring about the characters and very confused about the purpose of their work or why they could not foster a single healthy relationship, I ended being surprised I had somehow burnt through 135 minutes and very sad Jake and Heath did not get to live their best lives. Although I think it was a actually a REALLY good movie on a lot of levels, I wouldn't say I necessarily enjoyed the film. It is surely the highest rated movie on Rotten Tomatoes I have seen in the past decade that is not a comedy or animated, the entire sentiment was sort of lost on me, because in 2020, the year of our lord, I now have shame that I am straight. Funny how time works. Alex's rating: 7/10

Eric’s Review: Growing up, Brokeback Mountain was of course known as “the gay cowboy movie.” Looking back, that summary was so minimizing for a movie of this excellence, but that’s what 14-year-old me knew it as. That shortsighted synopsis carried with me to this day, I’m not proud of it, but that’s what it stuck in my head as. It generated tons of controversy when it came out in 2005. Primordial fuck-noodles like Rush Limbaugh and Don Imus weren’t short on homophobic remarks of Brokeback, and the owner of the Utah Jazz even pulled it from his movie theatre’s. Every conservative with a mouth cavity couldn’t contain their uproar. Then it was snubbed at the Oscars. Crash won Best Picture instead of Brokeback Mountain, it shouldn’t have hurt this movie’s legacy, but it did. Crash seems more deeply-ingrained in my memory than Brokeback Mountain, and maybe because society at that time wasn’t ready for a movie quite like this. We put it in a box and never let it out. After watching, I deeply felt that it didn’t matter what Jack or Ennis’ sexual orientation’s were (as it shouldn’t), it was a love story about two exceedingly lonely human’s trapped in a society that wouldn’t accept them. Fast-forward 30-40 years from when the movie was set, and it didn’t seem like much had changed. I don’t think Crash deserved Best Picture over Brokeback Mountain, but am I angry that it happened? Not really. Awards are decided by those that vote on them (no shit), and that particular group of people felt Crash was the better movie. C’est la vie. I usually don’t enjoy dwelling on plot in my reviews but I owe it to the reader to say what this movie is about since so many people refer to it as “the gay cowboy movie.” Two men, Jack Twist (played by Jake Gylenhaal) and Ennis Del Ray (played by Heath Ledger), show up at a trailer in Wyoming asking for work for the summer. A jack-of-all-trades (including being a jackass) named Joe needs someone to keep an eye on his sheep for him up in Brokeback Mountain, so he sends them up there to do so with a horse, some guns, and some cans of beans. As they spend time on the scenic heart-swelling Brokeback Mountain, they fall in love. But it’s the early 60s, and as they prepare to go back down the mountain, they know they can’t carry out their romance in the narrow-minded rural landscape of their country towns. As Ennis points out, people get killed for that. This act ends in Jack and Ennis having a fist fight, as emotionally repressed men tend to do. Focus-in on blood Jack gets on his shirt and save this for later. Post-tryst, Ennis gets married and Jack is a rodeo boy making passes at bull-tamers. But then Ennis gets a postcard one day. The screenplay does a wonderful job seamlessly transitioning time as they carry out their romance over the years. They’d tell their wives they were going on “fishing trips,” when they were really going to the mountains for some whiskey and love-making. We can tell Ennis truly does love his wife Alma (played by Michelle Williams) at the start of their relationship. They have two kids, but the kids cause quite a strain on their marriage. And as the years go by, Ennis’ commitment issues due to his parents abandoning him as a child rear their ugly head. Jack marries a fellow rodeo girl in Texas named Laureen (played by Anne Hathaway), but their relationship is more of a business transaction. She approaches him to engage in some tumbleweed-rodeo-secks. She just wants a kid and a husband to help in the machinery business. This is okay with Jack and their marriage lasts, even with Jack’s infidelities. Ennis’ doesn’t. Alma knows about Ennis and Jack’s relationship and they grow apart over the years. Ennis’ commitment issues aren’t exclusive to Alma, though. As the film progresses, we see he applied this to every relationship in his life: his future girlfriend, his daughter’s, and even Jack. It’s why their relationship ultimately fails. Jack had dreams of living in the Wyoming country and being a cattle rancher with Ennis, but Ennis often laughed at the notion. Ennis remembers a time when his dad showed him a dead body of a gay man beaten to death. It’s hard to say if he’s ashamed of their relationship, or just scared. Even when he breaks down to Jack and exclaims: “YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS!” The audience knows he doesn’t really mean it, he’s just a scared Wyoming cowboy with commitment issues. The last act starts with Ennis attempting to mail Jack a postcard, as that’s how they used to communicate (I really do love how much more romantic a postcard or a letter can be than a text), he gets a return to sender that says “deceased.” Ennis calls Laureen and talks to her for the first time in his life. She knows he was one of Jack’s lover’s and seems slightly annoyed but at peace with it. She gives him a bogus story about how a tire popped and Jack drowned in his own blood, but Ennis knows he was beaten to death for being gay. His whole bitter-tough-cowboy facade crumbles, as it only could with Jack, and Ennis and Laureen have an honest moment reminiscing over the man they both loved. We could tell Laureen’s relationship with Jack was no longer transactional, as they aged together and learned to love each other. She tells Ennis he was cremated and that Jack always wanted his ashes scattered on Brokeback Mountain, and that he should go visit his parents. When Ennis arrives, we immediately know the family dynamic: Jack had a typical tough-exterior-tobacco-spitting farmer dad, but a sweet gentle mom where Jack may have gotten the familial love and understanding that Ennis never got. He used to tell his dad that he wanted to buy a home near him with Ennis and help with the ranch. Even through the dad’s tough exterior and his insistence on Jack’s ashes being scattered at the family plot and not at Brokeback Mountain, we can tell he’s truly a father who misses his son. There is something fragile to him, something so melancholy that it expels a grieving scent throughout the home. Jack’s mom tells Ennis that she left his room as it was when he was a child. Ennis goes up there in the most heartbreaking scene of the movie, and sees Jack’s roots. Then he wanders over to the closet and finds the shirt Jack was wearing the last day they were on Brokeback Mountain. The blood from their fight is still on the sleeve. It’s a symbol of how Ennis pushed away everyone he’s ever loved, but especially Jack, the love of his life and only one who ever truly understood him. He takes the shirt, not only as a memorial to Jack, but as a reminder of how he’s treated his loved ones in his life. In the last scene, Ennis’ daughter visits him. Previously, we learned Ennis was largely absent from her life. Ennis doesn’t even know who she’s currently dating when she visits him, and then she tells him she’s getting married. At first, Ennis wants to cling to his cold exterior, the shell it seems he’s reverted into even more since Jack’s death. But we see him finally shed this shell, as he tells his daughter he’ll be at the wedding. Maybe he heard Jack’s voice in his head reminding him to be a bit more brave, as after Ennis’ daughter leaves, he walks over to his dresser where Jack’s bloody shirt hangs. Cut to credits and let me cry. The first point that caught my eye about directorial choices in this movie was the stark juxtaposition of the dream-like Wyoming mountains and the depressing domestication of Wyoming and Texas rural home-life. The resplendent colors we see in the mountains and the off-whites and browns we see in Wyoming and Texas are purposeful and are painted with sincere artistry. Ang Lee had a balloon and he grabbed it with his gentle directorial touch then smeared it with peanut butter and sent it off into the clouds. The acting was downright phenomenal. I believe this was the first movie where Heath Ledger was taken seriously as an actor and not a Hollywood heartthrob. It was pre-Dark Knight and he may have never gotten that role if it weren’t for this movie. I know I pointed it out in my Little Women review, but the talent it takes to change your accent like that is befuddling. Ledger is Australian and is talking in a down-home Wyoming drawl. His portrayal of Ennis is the beating heart of this movie. I’d like to say he was a strong and silent type, but really he was weak and silent, sort of a metaphor for the way our society treated sexuality back then. I could review each actor’s performance, but the truth is: it was utterly superb all around. Only with this kind of acting and screenwriting can a movie achieve such character depth and nuance. Rating: 9.5/10. One of the best film’s of the twenty-first century. Did this deserve the Oscar over Crash? Fuck yes it did. I liked Crash but it wasn’t the all-around masterpiece Brokeback Mountain was. It’s also insane to think how far LGBTQ+ has come in 15 years, as I think Brokeback Mountain wouldn’t even be close to as controversial today as it was back then. Do I think it might’ve won the Oscar? Probably not. The academy hasn’t evolved much since then. R.I.P. Heath Ledger too, it was so sad watching a deceased actor at the top of his talent in one of his best roles. 

[ask-the-guiding-light-cast]

Amby’s favorite GL moments, part two

While I haven’t read too many pokémon fics, one thing I’ve noticed is how a lot of them have a tendency to take some canon characters — especially from the anime — and turn them into complete badasses. I mean, there’s an entire genre dedicated to the idea. I think they’re called “Ash betrayal” fics or whatever.

I can’t comment on the quality of those fics, but once thing I really did have fun with, especially in some of the early chapters, was humiliating Shane. Like in this part from Chapter 3.

---

"Okay, looks like we're coming up to a crossroads. We need to take the left path." "Um, are you sure about that?" Shane trotted forward, glancing down two pathways sectioned off by rows of trees and bushes. "Because I swear I see light from the other path. I think there's a clearing in that direction." "Who's the one with the directions here?" Tessa reminded him, waving the parchment around. "We're going left." "Look, just hear me out for a moment. If we know which direction to go, why not investigate the other path?" Shane proposed. "The clearing's real close. Maybe there will be some treasure there?" "No. We don't need to take unnecessary risks, Vulpix. We're on a timetable here," Tessa pointed out. "It's minimal risk for a potentially big reward. How impressed would the Guildmaster be if we showed up with the looplet and actual treasure?" Shane said. "I'll bet we'll get fast-tracked to a higher-level status for our team!" "It's not worth it. Especially when we're not familiar with this ar–" "Too late!" Shane called from up on the right path. "I'm already heading for the clearing!" Tessa clenched her free paw into a fist and ran off after him. 'I could just leave him behind,' she figured, 'But that's bound to cause more trouble than following him.' Shane's form had already disappeared into the bright clearing. "Well, do you see anything?" Tessa asked. "Just a pond and a couple of nests!" Shane yelled back. "Guess I was mistak– Hey, where did you guys come from?" Tessa tensed up and she quickly increased her speed. "Hey! Ow! Ow! No pecking! I'm not here to cause trouble!" Shane yelped. 'Ugh, you idiot!' Tessa hissed. She emerged into the clearing, squinting from the sudden influx of light. When her eyes adjusted, she saw Shane running in a panic from a quartet of angrily squawking, black and white birds with sharp, gray beaks. "Gaaah! I didn't know this was your private roosting grounds. I'm sorry! We're just passing through, I swear!" he yipped. "Whoa!" His forepaw hit a root and he fell forward. Shane tumbled across the ground and fell into the pond on the other side of the clearing with a small splash. The birds hovered by the water's edge, exchanging confused looks. Tessa rummaged through her satchel and produced a pawful of geo pebbles. 'Way to scare the Pikipeks, dude. And that idiot said we wouldn't need these.' Tessa chucked the the pebbles forward, watching them fan out from the tiny cluster they started in. Her trajectory was on the mark and the Pikipeks found themselves peppered by her projectiles. She ducked back behind a tree. The Pikipeks all looked about in confusion. Suddenly, a plume of pond water doused them as Shane emerged from the pond and released a cloud of snowy air. It instantly froze their already-soaked bodies. The Pikipeks plummeted to the ground and landed on top of each other, forming a veritable stack of frozen Pikipeks. Tessa emerged from her hiding spot while Shane tried to shake out his wet fur. "S-See?" he said through chattering teeth. "N-No p-p-problems a-at a-a-all!" "The only reason you didn't end up in trouble was because I stepped in with my – what did you call them again? – oh yeah, 'dead-weight rocks,'" Tessa said, crossing her arms and smirking. "Who's the unprepared one now?" Shane's legs quivered. "Unless you've got a towel in there, I'm still saying you."

[snootysith]

Summary: Ru’s first encounter with the Voices of Nerat and Graven Ashe comes long before the events at Vendrien’s Well.

Fine etiquette was expected for all vassals under the Adjudicator’s banner. Even court pages like Ru. Scratch that, especially court pages like Ru. He'd been left to his own devices before he could count his age on one hand, making a living stealing anything that wasn't nailed to the ground. He still wasn’t sure what stayed Tunon’s hand after The Incident but there must have been something worth keeping if he had him learning letters and numbers and parading him around in trappings fit for a noble's son, not a street rat.

Rhogalus told him this was what it meant to be part of Kyros’ Empire. Nunoval told him to make the most of the cards he’d been dealt. Calio told him Tunon must be challenging himself.

(Ru liked Calio best. Not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Court life ran like clockwork but today was different.

Today marked the Overlord’s victory over the Northern Kingdom, and petty strife in the Capital let up to make way for celebration.

From up a high window, Ru watched revelers stream past, laughing and chittering among lantern lights and music as Kyros’ emblem fluttered overhead. Vendors lined the street peddling their wares to everyone, sometimes a dazzled visitor from a far-flung corner of Terratus, sometimes a curious Archon surrounded by their retinue. Tunon was, officially speaking, obligated to attend certain social functions to exert his authority and maintain relations with other Archons. It was strictly political, and Ru suspected it greatly annoyed him to be dragged out his courtroom. He went and sent nearly every able-bodied Fatebinder out to keep the peace and the dormitory was notably quieter for it.

Court pages were excused from their daily lessons but that was all Tunon was willing to permit, expressly forbidding them from leaving palace grounds and partaking in festivities. Naturally, a few brave souls snuck out when the guard rotation changed. They invited Ru along but the lingering ache in his palms from a few hard swats of a ruler was a keen reminder of the price for playing hooky again. It wouldn’t be long until a Fatebinder caught them, rendered due punishment, and dumped them back here anyway. They'd content themselves with a board game or something until a more sympathetic Fatebinder smuggled in toys and treats and that was that. The holiday would come and go, and court would resume as usual.

Life was hard being ten-years-old.

Something soft and heavy dropped on top of Ru’s head. He pulled it off with a frown and stared at the rich, pinstripe red tunic in his hands for a moment before he looked over his shoulder. Calio leaned against the bedpost of his bunk bed wearing her best uniform and a wry smile.

“Spruce up,” she said. “We're putting those court manners to the test.”

Calio was on track to succeeding the Fatebinder of Balance and Ru looked forward to seeing her every day when she became a fixture under Tunon’s dais. For now, she navigated the ballroom with the ease and grace of a Fatebinder twice her age, engaging all manner of conversation with a clever quip and pacifying any argument before it escalated. She and Ru were only a decade apart but the disparity was enough to make him feel hopelessly out of depth.

That Tunon let him roam outside the Palace of Justice should be exciting but this place, with its shameless opulence and its dignitaries who, like Tunon, were Not-Quite-Right, made Ru’s stomach squirm anxiously. He hovered by Calio’s elbow for a time, scraping and bowing, suffering pats on the head and pinched cheeks, but it soon became clear that he was the only non-adult in attendance. The shadows were welcome reprieve and, hoping against hope, Ru waited for them to contort into Mark's familiar shape, but they never stirred. Disappointed, he latched to the banquet table, content to stuff his face with candied nuts and fruit until he got sick.

Then something caught his eye.

A handkerchief poking out from a woman's purse, shimmering silk, the color of the deepest sea, ripe for the taking.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

Ru popped one last candied nut in his mouth, sharp spice bursting on his palate, and chewed slowly, letting the idea steep in his mind while the sensible part of him (that curiously possessed Tunon’s voice) railed desperately against it. Tunon floated slightly above the crowd but that could work to his disadvantage with Ru’s short stature. Even if Tunon wasn’t preoccupied with a gaggle of courtiers, it would be easy enough to slip behind a pillar or duck under a table if he altered his line of sight. If Ru tackled each area cross-wise from Tunon’s position at all times, then surely he'd reap the most rewards with minimal danger. Calio wouldn’t mind— unless he got caught. She liked him but not that much.

Ru swallowed and smirked.

The evening passed without a cry of alarm, just a few mutters of clumsiness and forgetfulness so far. Good. There was always a small thrill in giving people the slip, like he'd won a game. The opponents used to be district guards and, admittedly, he'd lost a few rounds to them but he always wriggled free one way or another, so it never counted. But as he targeted his next mark, he felt a prickle down the nape of his neck, a pin of a stare almost identical to Tunon’s, and he whirled around to find its source, noticing a strange... something lurking just beyond the crowd.

Never once did it occur to him that this thing, green incandescence wrapped in tattered red rags, was anything more than another eccentric Northern decoration. Some cantrip given human form. Maybe a novelty lamp. It stood in the shadow of a crumbling statue completely motionless save for the bronze helm that swiveled lazily above the flaming cavity of its neck. Hanging from its threadbare belt was a small pouch of curious marble balls that glittered like stars.

No would notice if one disappeared.

Ru approached the strange apparatus, curiosity compounding his intent as he looked it up and down, puzzling over how the inferno did not consume the very fabric that contained it. It was a passing fancy, however, and he made a swift grab towards the pouch.

Only for a hand to clamp on his wrist, flames biting at his tender skin.

Recoiling with a yelp, Ru clutched his arm to his chest and stared up at this thing— this person incredulously.

“A bold stroke! How charming. How terribly stupid.” Its helm snapped in place on the smiling visage and it bent low until they were face-to-face. A chuckle echoed in the chamber of its head when Ru scrambled backwards into a pillar. “You would have fared better pilfering another Archon. One with less eyes. Might we recommend Graven Ashe? We hear whispers he hides a treasure trove in that beard.”

“A-Archon?” This was it. This was how Ru died. A wet smear across the face of Terratus with pulpy bits of him still clinging to Tunon’s gavel. His eyes darted to the dark shape of the Adjudicator hovering across the room. Mercifully his back was turned to him but it wouldn’t be long until he sniffed out guilt like blood in the water. Getting caught robbing an Archon a second time wasn’t going to end with him pledging fealty again.

“You’re one of Tunon’s!” It emitted an odd, reedy laugh as it took notice of the object of Ru’s attention. “Surely not! You actually have character. Does he know how naughty you are?”

Ru played along. He must. Even if this Archon made his skin crawl it had yet to drag him before Tunon so he'd take what small mercies he could. “He does,” Ru admitted. “I’m... a work in progress.”

“Ah... he seeks to fix you. Such a waste. Were you under our care, you would have been allowed to embrace your talents. As it is, they need refinement. Don’t think your misadventure around the ballroom escaped our notice. Your pockets must be bursting at the seams! You even managed to lift a vial of Bane essence from the Archon of Entropy! Not that you really knew what it was, of course. You wanted it only because you liked how the cut of the bottle sparkled in the light.”

How did—

“We collect voices.” It flicked a finger against Ru’s forehead almost playfully. His skin stung. “Especially those unheard. Your mind is still young and untrained. We will forgive your ignorance just this once but you ought to know your betters. The Voices of Nerat do not answer to ‘it’.”

Ru’s face warmed. "Forgive me, my lord. Please don't tell Tunon about all this. I'll stop. I'll put it all back, I swear.”

“Oh? But he’s just over there...” Nerat took a step in Tunon’s direction and Ru’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Nerat’s voice positively oozed with vicious glee. “Have a care with your promises, court page. Were you any older, we’d have asked for something far beyond the pale. However, our recommendation still stands.”

"What?"

“Ashe’s beard! We want you to plunder its mysteries!”

“What?”

Ru found himself drifting towards the Archon of War as if in a daze. He was in over his head. It would have been easier to fall on his own sword than doing this. Faster even. There couldn’t possibly be anything in Ashe’s beard but beard and more beard but what was a court page to do? Confess his crime to the Adjudicator and hope for the best? There was a limit to Tunon’s mercy and Ru had no intention of overstepping it.

How was he going to do this? Good evening, my lord, might I search your person? Purely professional, I swear. You see, section twenty-three of article one of the fourth chapter of Kyros' Law mandates all beards must be inspected for contraband. We understand each other, right? Ru wouldn't be surprised if he met the business end of the Archon’s mace for that.

Ru glanced over his shoulder and flinched away from Nerat’s leer. Had to be quick. Had to look like an accident. He bent and surreptitiously plucked loose one of his bootlaces, keeping an eye trained ahead on Ashe's position in the center of the room. He needed to face him directly and find some way to bypass the ring of Iron Guards surrounding their great general. Figured that they'd selfishly hoard his attention even here, but they were still only human under all the glossy purple armor and it wasn’t long until a platter of finger food compelled them to break formation. That was all he needed.

“Whoops!” Ru stepped hard on his shoelace and propelled himself forward, reaching for that mighty beard with both hands. Time seemed to slow on the descent. Ashe turned slightly at the sound of his voice, his brow furrowed. An Iron Guard shifted in front of Ashe to shield him, but Ru grit his teeth and awkwardly angled his body to the side, dodging them. He was so close he could practically—

Without warning, Ru’s momentum stopped dead and he hung in the air like a puppet with tightly wound strings. Heat crept up his neck as Ashe and his Iron Guard stared at him but the humiliation was short-lived. There was a sound of approaching footsteps behind Ru, and Ashe’s expression darkened.

“Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy!” A familiar voice rang out. “How fortunate that we caught you when we did. Wouldn’t that have been terribly embarrassing!”

Ashe scowled. “What are you doing here? Come to slander my name again?”

“You do that well enough yourself,” Nerat drawled, coming up beside Ru’s stock-still body. “Such cheek! One would think you’ve no arrogance left to spare after the Overlord put you in your place. You see, court page? Look at what a bit of poking will get you.” The power gripping Ru’s body abruptly relented, and he well and truly fell over, sprawling on cold marble with a grunt of pain. The Iron Guard eyed him as if he'd gone and pissed on their boots on the way down. Ru blew a lock of hair out of his face and favored them with a glare as he pushed himself off the floor.

“Leave it up to you to poach a child from the Adjudicator.” Ashe hardly so much as glanced in Ru’s direction.

Nerat crossed his arms. “Please. The two of us are bosom friends! Isn't that right, boy?” Uh. “What’s wrong with a perfectly innocent game between us?”

Ru wasn’t entirely convinced at this point and apparently neither was Ashe. No sooner did Ru find his footing when he found himself directly in the warpath of Ashe’s advance, bouncing off his gleaming armor and narrowly avoiding the scalding blaze of Nerat’s form as the distance closed between both Archons.

“Whatever scheme you’ve concocted to ruin me, to involve this foolish child—” Ashe growled.

“Oh, it’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“— remember just how I came to earn my place. Were it not for Kyros, I would have put you in the ground right next to that savage beast, Blood Echo.”

“At least your predecessor had a sense of humor. You’d think we’d gone and gobbled up your children the day we met.” Nerat’s helm wiggled in amusement. “Hm... did we? So difficult to keep track of all these voices from time to time...”

Ashe’s face turned a brilliant shade of red.

Their heated argument stirred to a frenzy, Ashe practically roaring over Nerat’s collective voices and shrieks of laughter, and Ru found himself in the unfortunate position of being wedged directly between them. Neither Archon paid him any heed as he squirmed to avoid flames and callous iron alike. He attempted to speak, to beg their leave or even one iota of their attention, but he would have been better served screaming into a hurricane.

It was a cold comfort when the commotion finally attracted the whole ballroom’s attention. Everyone gave them a wide berth but circled around them as if they were nothing more than a sideshow spectacle and it was starting to feel that way. Ru spotted Calio at the edge of the crowd, her expression alight with surprise, but she vanished before he could call out to her.

Then she returned with Tunon.

A hush fell over the crowd and they parted before Tunon as he glided towards the center, black smoke billowing in his wake, Calio flanked at his side.

“Archon of War. Archon of Secrets. Have the terms of Kyros’ directive been made unclear to you? All hostilities must be suspended until morning’s light. You would subvert her will so brazenly?” Tunon’s voice remained perfectly level but it reverberated in the room and down to Ru’s very bones. Power crackled in the air, setting his teeth on edge. Ashe and Nerat haven't failed to notice either. They stared up at the Adjudicator in the stretch of silence that followed and Ru seized the opportunity to break free, nearly stumbling into Tunon as he did but Calio was there to snatch him back, keeping an almost painful grip on his shoulders.

“Hostile is such a strong word, Adjudicator!” Nerat’s voice dropped to a cajoling simper. “We were having a spirited conversation! We do so love children and may have gotten rather excitable about the prospect of meeting one of your own. Isn’t that right, Ashe old chum?”

Ashe’s jaw clenched but he nodded.

“Have you anything to add to these claims?” Tunon asked, turning slightly to face Ru.

Ru awkwardly stood at attention under the room’s scrutiny. “I... um...” His gaze slid away from Tunon to the other Archons behind him. Ashe’s fingers subtly tightened around his mace but his face was otherwise impassive. Nerat’s spinning helm came to a stop on a scowling visage only briefly but his warning was clear as day. Whatever the outcome, neither Archon would forget this.

“I am addressing you, Xiaoru.” Darkness rose from behind the Adjudicator, a silent warning.

“I...” Ru wavered, uncertain and fearful. His education didn’t prepare him for this yet.

“Your Honor, perhaps it would be appropriate to move this discussion to a private venue,” Calio interjected.

“Your objection is noted,” Tunon said coldly. “However, I would collect his testimony without granting him time to embellish it.” Damn. The Adjudicator clung to a grudge tighter than a miser with rings. “Speak plainly, court page.”

The combined weight of Ashe and Nerat’s stares pressed even harder on Ru’s consciousness.

Ru took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd do what he did best: skulk around. “The Voices of Nerat introduced me to Graven Ashe after I fell down. Both were worried I would be taken advantage of, which led to a... passionate discussion in defense of children like me. I didn’t mean to start trouble but if I have then I humbly apologize.” Calio squeezed his shoulders only once and he remembered himself, pulling free to bow deeply at the waist like a Good and Proper Court Page, hoping Tunon didn’t notice how he trembled or how his pockets jingled. "I submit myself to your mercy, Your Honor." Again.

Tunon contemplated the matter in total silence and the ballroom seemed to hold its breath. “Do you both accept Xiaoru's apology?” he asked at length.

Ashe opened his mouth to speak but Nerat beat him to the punch. “But of course! Let bygones be bygones.”

“And you, Graven Ashe?”

The Archon of War gave Ru a long look with that impenetrable scowl on his face. “I am satisfied, Adjudicator.”

“Very well.” Tunon lifted his gavel and Ru braced for it to strike down upon him but a singular note resonated in the room as he merely tapped the floor. “I will deal with my page accordingly but do not forget: Kyros does not suffer dissidence in any way, shape, or form. Be mindful of your place. All of you.” His gaze swept across the crowd and it dispersed in a flurry of nervous mutters. Somewhere, a lute tentatively picked up the dance number again and other instruments gradually followed but for all the gaiety in the bouncing notes, there was a heaviness in the air that refused to budge.

Ashe retreated to a balcony outside with his Iron Guard in tow but Nerat lingered. He considered Ru with a curious tilt of his helm and dared to draw near. “Children can be terribly fickle but truth will out, yes? It'd be such a shame if something were to happen to this one. He made for a splendid diversion.” He aimed his words at Tunon, but Ru felt heat lick the inside of his skull and it made the hair on his neck stand on end. A voice not his own insinuated itself into his thoughts. Now wasn't that exciting?

“I did not expect to find you on familiar terms with my page,” Tunon said slowly. Ru swallowed nervously around the lump in his throat and kept his eyes trained somewhere above Tunon’s mask, silently pleading for a miracle as he felt the intensity of Tunon’s gaze boring into his skull.

“The holidays are a time for camaraderie,” Nerat crooned. “Don't you agree? We wished to bestow a token of our appreciation before we depart.” He plucked a marble ball from his pouch with two fingers and pressed it into Ru’s cupped hands, lingering there perhaps a few seconds longer than necessary. “Keep us in your thoughts, court page. We will most certainly keep you in ours.”

On the ride back to the Palace of Justice, Tunon prodded Ru for a more thorough account of what exchanged between him and the other Archons, but words failed Ru. He rolled the marble between his fingers, finding calm in the simple, repetitive motion and the rumble of Tunon’s voice. Calio said something in response to Tunon’s question but Ru had long shut away complex thought for the evening. The caravan bumped and rattled along the road, but he rested his head against Calio’s shoulder all the same and stared listlessly at the floor where air dragged the tail-end of Tunon's smoke out past the floorboards.

It was only once they finally arrive home that Ru realized the marble ball in his hands looked back at him.