#no wonder that was so difficult to find. it's from an alternate universe

[hood-ex]

those are such good panels ty! yea im thinking of the one where it's a really tiny dick&zitka in the background while Bruce and Gordon are talking to each other in the foreground :') I really wish I could remember where it's from but thank you anyway!!!

AH!! FOUND IT!! Batman: Beyond the White Knight #7

[ruiniel]

Another Way - XII

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Summary: what if someone in the 21st century stumbled upon this stranger during a turbulent storm, narrowly avoiding running them over, and what’s more they can’t understand a word coming out of their mouth.

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Rating: Mature / 18+ only

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, References to Depression, First Meetings, character-meets-world, Near Death Experiences, References to loss, Grief/Mourning, Fantasy, POV Second Person, Language Barrier, Violence, Portal Fantasy, Isekai, Slow burn, References to canon, Rewriting show canon, Because why not, POV Alucard, POV original character, More tags to be added

Also on AO3

Part I

AN: been a while

XII.

He doesn’t like coffee.

This becomes quite apparent with the different flavor of mild disgust over his features after each sip.

“It’s an acquired taste for some,” you try saying with a straight face, because it is more amusing than you’d thought to see a grown man with a perfect jaw and bedroom hair seated at your small table, coming up with the most telling, candid expressions. 

After breakfast—during which he insists on turning the cooker on and off, ‘to learn’, and during which, once again, he eats little to nothing—you head over to your desk and obtain for him the work Adrian asked for. It’s not difficult to find, and happens to be the first book printed in the English language, in the 1400s. 

“Is… this it?”

His enthusiasm says ‘yes’ when seeing the title page, and you let him take your place and scroll through as you head to get ready for the adventure of helping him look less conspicuous. “All right, enjoy your courtly romance, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“All right.”

You pause, turning to stare but his eyes are feverish on the screen, attention absorbed by the text. Whatever works. You decided to stop wondering. 

Having made yourself presentable enough to be outside, you tap back into the room on bare feet. “Ready to g—...” you trail off at the sound. His voice. His voice, with that same mild inflection, but the words are oddly shaped to the ear.

He’s reading aloud from the online scan you fetched him, nodding, writing in the agenda.

“What’s… this?” You near him, narrowing your eyes at the screen. 

Adrian turns to you with an excitement you’d not seen or felt in a long, long while. Somehow, it’s endearing. This side feels like him too, a natural expression in contrast with all those confused, dour moods he’d been mired in. 

“I need…” He pauses, hand in his hair, eyebrows pinched together. 

“What… do you need?...” 

He points at the scan of the text, long fingers gliding along the little black rows of archaic words. “... from now.”

“From now?... Oh! A modern version, you mean? From our time?”

Adrian nods. “Possible?”

“Y-yeah. There might be one… wait…” As you search it for him, Adrian waits patiently with his arms crossed, rubbing at his chin. “I get it. You want to learn modern vocabulary equivalents, don't you?” You bring up the 1400s version of the work again. “Wait… you understand this one?” Not that it's impossible, shouldn’t be. But you didn't exactly take him for someone pursuing comparative historical linguistics.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving you bemused.

“You know what? I won't even ask. Go ham. Here, I found it.” 

As he nears and glues himself to the screen, you dare to gently pull on his sleeve.

“Remember…clothes?”

Adrian blinks in realization, then stares back at the screen with a sort of longing. You get it. He’s making a breakthrough here, or so he thinks, one that’ll be of help in wading through terrain unfamiliar to him. 

But the rare practical side of you insists. “You can pick this up when we get back, right?”

He meets your eyes, nodding in acceptance. “Right.”

~~

The bell rings as you open the door to the second hand shop you sometimes frequent, looking behind you to see Adrian entering with care, gazing about with mild interest. 

“Well, here we are,” you say as he meets your stare, before looking towards the shop attendant who’s sitting behind a desk, phone in hand, chewing on some gum and watching the both of you with piqued interest��no, rather, watching him.

You cough, “Hi, we’re looking for some—” 

“Men’s wear is over there,” she answers, not taking her eyes off Adrian.

“All right, thanks.” Starting to think this is a typical reaction. You make a gesture, urging him to follow. 

He has a befuddled look on his face, but walks after you as you reach the rows of clothing boasting jeans, t-shirts and jackets. 

“So, listen.” You turn, waving a hand around the space. “You look for something you like.” You pull at your own blouse, pants, and coat. “And there’s a cabin over there, where you can try stuff out, if you like.”

He seems to understand, nodding and tentatively following your lead as you rummage through the merch on display. You notice the way he feels the garments, looking at you with a question in his eyes.

“Take your time,” you offer, going over and taking a seat on a chair. 

It doesn’t take long, really. Soon enough he’s gathered a few items under his arm, a bundle of… mostly black, cream and white garments. “Want to try these on?” you ask when he nears, standing before you, uncertain.

When Adrian doesn’t reply but tilts his head in slight confusion, you rise and walk towards the cabin, drawing the curtain and showing him the space. “In you go, let me know if…” You pause as he pulls the worn shirt over his head without much ado, spinning around and drawing the curtain behind him. “... call if you need help,” you mumble, stiffly walking away.

Your heart beats strangely, faster as you meet the stare of the shop clerk, who apparently has less important things to do than follow your exchange. 

Whatever. You go and idly sift through the items of clothing, humming to yourself. 

“Your boyfriend’s out,” comes the clerk’s voice after a while, and you blink in confusion, head swiveling to stare at her.

 “Oh, he’s not my—” Before you can finish that thought, movement has you turning in time to see Adrian emerging from the cabin. 

“Right, uh, you look… they fit, don’t they?" Heat rises to your face, damn the air conditioning. 

Black faded jeans, tight. A simple, white fitted t-shirt—was he always this…slim? Fit? A dark blue coat, reaching to his knees. “They look like they fit,” you follow, scratching your head. 

“Oh yeah, they sure do,” comes the young shop attendant’s voice, and a niggling sensation you’ve been unfamiliar with pinches at your mood. 

Adrian seems to agree, looking at himself, then at you. “Good?” he says in English.

You nod. “Yeah, good. That’s one round. Things here are affordable, so uh…” you retrieve your phone, type it in, and translate. “Find another item of each, to have spare clothing.”

He’s surprisingly efficient after that, and it’s not long before you’re returning to your apartment block, Adrian following with a bag in each hand. 

“Okay, that was relatively painless,” you comment, turning to look over your shoulder at him, and—

“Adrian?...”

His expression is frozen, light-amber eyes wide and lips parted. It’s not out of fear as much as it is… consternation?

You turn back around, a different tremor running through your limbs at the person approaching.

A tall woman, wearing a flowing white dress suit, her red coat slung over one forearm. Her long, straight dark hair is done up in a ponytail, swinging languidly with each step taken on black pumps. She’s always had a distinct sense of style. Her attitude is the usual—one of those people carrying themselves like the world lies in wait at their feet. You never did know how to feel about her, nor do you know much about her. You do know this is but one of many businesses she has under her care. Well to do, in any case.

Guess it had to happen sooner or later. “Mrs. Hawke, hello.”

The landlady smiles in greeting, blue eyes alighting first on you, then focusing beyond your shoulder. She lands a hand on her hip, “How have you been, my dear?” 

The question was directed at you, but you’re perceptive enough—you like to think—to notice the unspoken query following the first. 

“Doing well, um. You know how it is…”

“Mm.” Her eyes are still on Adrian, but her gaze is different from that of the store clerk earlier. It holds no fascination, merely a calculating sort of curiosity that disappears the moment she stares back at you.

“I actually wanted to contact you, but didn’t get to until now. You see, Adrian here will be staying for a while, and I know that affects the rent, so…”

Mrs. Hawke tilts her chin. “That’s right, normally so—do you have an idea as to how long your additional tenant will be staying?...”

“Um. Well, I…” You feel an urge to turn and look at Adrian, but somehow her stare arrests you enough that you can’t.

Just then, she waves a hand. “You know, nevermind. I know you’ve had a difficult time lately. Consider no fee added to the rent, for now.”

The impossible has happened. Mrs. Hawke, being… lenient? Forgoing business? Not asking the ‘how’ and the ‘who’ and the ‘why’?

“Er… you mean it? Really?” Your jaw might be somewhere on the floor for all you know.

She nods. “I do. If the time of stay extends indefinitely, then that’s another matter, of course… but for now, we should be fine.”

“Thank… you…?”

She laughs, a light, glittering sound. “Oh don’t look at me like that. After all…” her gaze flicks back behind you, only briefly. “Life does seem to hold all manner of… surprises, doesn’t it?”

There’s something unusual in her tone, but, ah, the prospect of not having to scrounge up more money regularly is a godsend. “You can say that again…”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run!” And she does just that, without another glance, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Well, I’ll be…” you murmur, then remember Adrian. “What is it about you, seriously? It's either the worst of luck or the strangest change... Adrian?”

His stare is unfocused, like something blew a fuse behind his eyes. When you touch his arm, he snaps out of it with a start. “Let’s go up?... You wanted to continue reading, didn’t you?”

Shaking his head like someone having been splashed with ice-cold water, Adrian looks down at you. “... reading. Yes. Let’s…let’s go.”

Picking up fast, you think as he walks ahead of you towards the elevator. And maybe it’s just you, but his steps are more determined than before.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X - Part XI

Taglist: @hornyf0ckers @the-keep-under-gresit @pencildrawer12 (this is old, let me know if you want to be removed!)

Want to be added to the taglist for updates? Drop me an ask

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

AN:

Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye (1464) is a translation by William Caxton of a French courtly romance written by Raoul Lefèvre.

[occasionalsnippets]

Hello! I have an ask for your family dissonance au. It’s a scenario I’m curious about that you mentioned in one of your writings. What would happen if reader needed up in an alternate au that doesn’t have her in it dressed as Robin because she was filling in? (In like a Yandere way btw). Would she be able to hide, would she reveal herself? What would the Batfam she was originally with do when they notice she is gone??? And for drama sake what if Tim in the other au she falls into was in the time period he was banned from being Robin for his safety due to Redhood just appearing? What would Redhood do about another Robin?

I hope you have a wonderful day!

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations

---

When you aren't acting as Robin, everything is fair game.

If you don't land near a bat, you're not likely to reveal yourself or go to the manor until you do some information gathering. You play it careful, avoid getting caught on any cameras and head to a safe house. Disabling all the hidden mics and trackers is child's play and the safe house is stocked enough for you to get your bearings.

First things first, the internet. Doing a quick search reveals the current state of Gotham, its vigilantes and rogues. Pretty standard stuff. Your plan is mainly to just bunker down until you're found. There's nothing stopping you from doing so and sooner or later, your family will find you.

Those plans are ruined deep into the night by someone else breaking into the safe house.

Red Hood stumbles in, trailing blood all over the place. You're already categorizing his injuries by the time he drags himself over to the couch. Several bullets. Dislocated shoulder. Some kind of fear toxin. All things you can fix if you choose to get involved.

You might as well. Jason will live whether you do or don't but you would feel bad about leaving him. He's not all that there while you're treating him but he's definitely more lucid after getting the antidote.

"So," you hum as you dig bullets out of his flesh, "do you specifically want Batman to kill the Joker or do you want to kill him yourself or are you okay if anyone kills him."

He mutters something you can't hear. The blood loss is probably getting to him. By the time you're finished wrapping him up, his breathing has slowed and become steady. You pat his smooth helmet. Even if it's part of his brand, it kinda makes him look bald.

"Sleep tight, Hood."

By the time he wakes, you are gone and the Joker is dead.

I'm not really sure how to spin the rest of it in a yandere type of way since you don't stay long enough in the universe to really trigger anything.

Jason's helmet probably has some kind of recording thing though so there's evidence of you in the universe before you disappear. Plus in your quest to commit murder, you run into a couple other bats too. The bats in that universe might end up spiralling trying to find you though since a. you killed the Joker, b. you patched Jason up, c. you look like Tim, and d. you broke into a safe house too easily.

Maybe they'll find where you came from, maybe they won't, but regardless, they're sure to have questions.

---

On the other side of the coin, what is going on with your batfam?

They notice within probably 10 ish minutes or less that your trackers are down. In less than half an hour, their facts are confirmed. You’ve gone missing. Like any good detectives, information gathering comes first and conclusions drawn from evidence last. Despite that, they’re actually pretty frantic in their search for you.

Most resources are diverted solely to finding you, everything else is dealt with quickly and efficiently so they aren’t wasting time. Once they narrow things down to magic, fixing everything is actually quite easy. Thank goodness you’re not difficult to find. If it took any longer, you probably wouldn’t want to know the lengths they’d go to for you to be back home and safe.

—

There are three Robins in Titan’s Tower. One current Robin, one former Robin and one not-Robin. It is, in summary, a Spider-Man pointing meme situation.

There’s a lot of yelling and fighting and “you’re ruining my plan” and “well I wasn’t trying to” but it doesn’t end with any major injuries.

Tim and Jason definitely think it’s a time travel thing where future Tim came back to the past to fix something. You don’t have enough energy to correct them. Either way, you stall long enough for the big Bat and Nightwing to come crashing into Titan’s Tower for an early reveal.

You’re gone by the time they get back to the topic of your presence. Hidden away, waiting to return home.

[cowboysorceror]

you obviously have a very clear and vivid vision of gotham and bludhaven, the way you describe them is very evocative, so i wanted to ask: do you have any strong feelings on gotham’s actual geographic location? in character and in story, it feels like a really big place… so does its location off the coast of new jersey make sense to you? what about the population size? i wonder about bludhaven less because in my mind, blud is just an alternate universe version of atlantic city haha, but i’d like to know your thoughts on it as well if you’re willing to share

when i read stories about gotham it’s hard to reconcile these things in my head so that’s why i was curious as to your opinion :)

LOVE this ask!!! And thank you so much!!! This is something I also think about a lot, and I'm glad that it shows lol. There's a lot about Gotham's geography that's confusing -- I tend to go off of Oracle's rough, color-coded map given in No Man's Land for the relative position of landmarks and districts -- and there's a lot of good and bad in making Gotham an island(s). On the one hand, Gotham as an island makes for a much tighter, contained story. It allows for a natural buffer around the events that take place there, and prevents questions about spill-over to other cities from Big disasters. It also provides clear boundaries and scope of Batman stories, and that geographical plot-armor is what allows Batman & Co to be like We're On Our Own Out Here.

On the OTHER hand -- as someone who lives on an island, and has lived on other islands as well -- there are serious limitations to living on islands. Resources, access points, space, etc. Islands, especially heavily populated, overdeveloped islands, are INCREDIBLY reliant on imports for literally everything. They do not have the ability to support themselves. It's a sustainability nightmare. Some stories (like No Man's Land) try to use these limitations to their advantage in creating environmental conflict, but I often feel that they either don't go far enough, or that they take it to illogical extremes. No Man's Land in particular is a great example of the latter. As a story, it makes almost no sense at all -- an earthquake, of that magnitude, off the coast of New Jersey? Right Underneath Gotham? And Gotham is the Only One Affected? Geologically (and oceanographically, where is the tsunami?) this is balderdash. The U.S. deciding to just cut off access to the island and treat it as unincorporated territory? Also doesn't make sense! No Man's Land treats Gotham Island like it's miles and miles out to sea, which it isn't and can't be.

There's also the issue of the location of Bristol. Sigh. If you follow most maps, Bristol -- and therefore Wayne Manor -- are on the mainland. Meaning that you have to cross a bridge to get into the city. A bridge is a chokepoint, under heavy surveillance, and terrible news for any kind of secret identity or subtlety. We are meant to believe there is a whole mess of tunnels that go Under The Gotham River, maintained well enough to drive through, which is it's own baffling prospect. The Atlantic continental shelf is much gentler than the Pacific, and makes this slightly more believable, but it's definitely a huge undertaking to have tunnels that go under the water table and then back up into the city. This is just haterism on my part though, maybe, and an overly complex way of thinking about Comic Book Logicks.

As for the size and population -- that I find less difficult to grapple with. Cities as dense as Gotham make incredible use of small amounts of space. If we're talking about New York boroughs, there are over one and a half million people just on the island of Manhattan, which is only about 22 square miles of land space! You can fit a wholeee lot of city into just 22 square miles. Gotham has got to be bigger than that, significantly so, and it also does us good to remember that Gotham is actually Several Islands, closely connected by bridges. If you look at the several alternative maps given for these islands, almost Every Square Inch is City. The space is utilized to its utmost extreme. And there are several big bridge thoroughfares in and out of the city, which helps a little when you're thinking about the sheer volume of goods that have to be traded into the city to support islands that are so densely populated. I think it's still a logical push, and it's a significant change to the geography of the real-world New Jersey coast, but I mostly allow myself to think about it like it makes sense. Most of the time.

And YES, agreed about Atlantic City! Atlantic is also my real-world model for Blüdhaven. All the reasons why Gotham is an island (plot armor, story containment) apply to why Blüd is mapped as an island, too! Blüdhaven's islandism is perhaps even more interesting to me though, because it is so baked into the history of the city -- a whaling outpost that became a pirate safe haven, which became a lawless port town, which became a bigger port town, which became a small and strange and isolated city. I already have some amount of words written about Blüdhaven's infrastructure and spatial relationships -- including my own fantasy origins for canon place names -- that may eventually end up in a Dick-centric fic.

ANYWAYS. A lot of words written to conclude that you're absolutely right that there are confounding factors to Gotham's geography, and that there is an element of suspension of disbelief required if you don't work to acknowledge the unique challenges and limitations that go hand-in-hand with the relative isolation of a city like Gotham. I mostly work to grapple with what I can make reasonable, and try not to roll my eyes too hard at the things that I cannot lol

Thank you again for this ask!!!

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #61 Part 5

There were two new arrivals to the dining room. Both with black hair but one of them had an odd white stripe, the stripe reminded him of his hair in ghost form. 

The one without the stripe sat next to Tim and the other one sat next to Danny. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said they looked identical,” the guy without the stripe said, “Names Richard Greyson, but you can call me Dick”

Dick had a bright smile on his face, it was clear he was a morning person. 

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise at his introduction. 

The guy with the stripe in his hair grunted in agreement before holding out a coffee mug for Alfred, who was already standing next to him ready to pour. He took a swig before speaking, “Names Jason, you may look alike but seeing Damian eat meat, even from an alternate universe is weird.”

Danny took a bite of his bacon and swallowed like he was making a point before speaking, “I go by Danny, I faked my death years ago, as far as I’m concerned we were all strangers in my world.” He started, he took a moment to think about exactly how’d he explain everything. He knew it wasn’t exactly a pretty story but he also knew from the stories Talia told him when he was younger that Bruce was all about planning ahead, so keeping information from  him might not be the best way to go about all of this. 

He took another bite and swallowed before speaking again, “My foster family is fine though, I have a roof over my head and food. They spend most of their time in their lab working. They study Ectology, or the study of ghosts.” Jason raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. Danny continued, “They actually succeeded in building a portal to their realm, the realm of ghosts, or Infinite Realm as we call it.”

“We? You say that like you're one of the ghosts” Tim asked laughing a little bit.

He quickly got silent when Danny wasn’t laughing with him.

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise before speaking, “Clearly this imposter has lost it, ghosts don’t exist and all of this nonsense is just that nonsense.” He glared at Danny.

Danny smiled at him and it caused Damian to falter a little before he glared at Danny again.

“Yes, Ghosts are real,” Danny sighed before continuing, “Trust me, it sounds crazy but I’ve seen some crazy things in my world. Although now I’m wondering if just showing you guys would be easier… Alright I’ll show you all but know that no one except my sister knows. Secret identity and all.”

“Wait,” Dick interrupted, “Does Robin not exist in your world?”

“Robin existed but there hasn’t been a Robin since Joker murdered the last one.” Danny answered. 

Everyone fell silent at that and the atmosphere got heavy. Everyone, especially Jason was giving each other knowing glances.

Danny cleared his throat before continuing, “Anyways, yes ghosts exist, unfortunately the portal in this world probably doesn’t work like my own world. It’s been about a year since I turned it on and since I was here in Gotham when they tried it in this world there’s no telling what they did after it didn’t work. Actually now that I think about it, I wonder if they exist here,” he thought about the GIW in his world and it occurred to him. If ghosts weren’t running rampant in Amity Park, they probably didn’t exist here.

He brought out his phone from his pocket and looked it up. His eyes lit up a bit at the information he found. Or more accurately the information he didn’t find. Searching GIW in this world brought zero results, so great he wouldn’t be hunted for existing here. 

He let out a sigh of relief at this. He turned to everyone and they were watching him closely. He gave them a small smile, “It’s been a while since I had a moment where I didn’t have to worry about being hunted for existing.” He explained. He figured he might as well get the conversation out of the way no matter how difficult it was. 

Everyone at the table was silent as they waited for him to continue. The tension was thick in the air however, you could tell that even though Danny had just arrived everyone was ready to jump to defend him, even if he wasn’t their Damian he was still part of the family even if he had just arrived into their lives. It cemented Danny’s determination to tell them the truth.

He took a deep breath and then spoke again, “The portal didn’t work at first when they tried it, I of course wanted to help so when they were away I went in to see if I could figure out the problem… Long story short, it helps to build the on switch on the outside of the portal. I’m not proud to admit that even with all of my training, there were just too many cords that even I tripped.” He didn’t have to say much else about that as their faces told him they understood what happened. He gave a dark chuckle and continued, “Yeah hurt like hell but I don’t have to worry about losing anything anymore.” He then took his phone and phased it into his chest.

The room went silent again for a moment, but it was broken by Jason who started cackling. 

He wheezed for a moment before he got out, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready for not Damian to make a fucking pun!”

Meanwhile everyone else was still too stunned to speak. Finally Damian surprisingly spoke, “What else can you do?”

Danny smiled, this was going to be fun.

Master Post:

Last:

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo Revengers Groupchat (Final Timeline)

Warnings: suggestive (i might have to change this warning to "mentions of sexual content" bcs it's too tame of a warning for the stuff that's actually in here), swearing, the word "pedophile" is mentioned, mentions of substance abuse

Desc: Everyone finds out Takemitchy and Mikey are time leapers, which leads to some...interesting questions

Mitsuya: so let me get this straight

Mitsuya: you're a time traveler, and you've lived dozens of timelines to prevent Hina from dying but she kept dying anyway but then when you got to one where she didn't die, Mikey was some deranged criminal lord and was miserable and depressed and tried to kill himself so you had to go back in time again to make sure everything was fixed but ended up dying while fighting Mikey but then somehow you both went back in time and rewrote all of our entire lives??

Takemitchy: yeah...

Baji: cap

Mikey: it's not

Mitsuya: so Mikey's a time traveler too?

Mikey: yeah it's crazy i know

Draken: do you guys have any way to prove this?

Chifuyu: this explains why i keep getting random visions of me in alternate universes. holy shit

Haruchiyo: weird ass prank

Takemitchy: i think it happened since you're close to me and we basically did everything together. i'm not sure

Inupi: we're just gonna believe this?

Koko: wait, i kind of do

Kisaki: this...defies all logic of anything ever.

Mikey: shut up Kisaki

Mikey: i'm sorry it's just that in ever other timeline you've ruined my life so it's difficult to be nice to you sometimes

Kisaki: so you don't like me because of something i did in another universe?

Takemitchy: *timeline

Mikey: yeah. my bad

Baji: i'm gonna entertain this cause i'm bored but what was i like in other timelines

Mikey: dead

Baji: ...all of em?

Mikey: yeah, it kinda drove me to insanity

Baji: damn

Baji: why?

Mikey: you killed yourself to save Kazutora

Baji: what was the context

Mikey: long story

Baji: there wasn't any other way?

Mikey: you're kinda pissing me off cause that's what i was wondering, actually

Baji: damn

Kazutora: thanks man. appreciate it🙏

Kazutora: i'll slobber on your meat later, as a proper thank you

Baji: i'd appreciate that. thanks homie🙌

Koko: what about me?

Baji: you wanna slobber on my meat? i mean i won't stop you. as long as i can call you kitten.

Koko: ...i was talking about me in alternate universe's😐

Takemitchy: i don't think we should go there guys. there's too many timelines, and not everything was exactly the same. and also in general it was a really traumatizing experience for me and i kind of want to end my life every time i think about it

Hanma: womp womp. what about me???

Mikey: murderer

Hanma: YESSSSS 😭😭😭😭😭

Hanma: THANK GOD, I KNEW IF I COULDN'T DO IT HERE, MULTIVERSE ME WOULD HAVE LIVED THE DREAM

Hanma: are me and Tetta-san together in every universe

Mikey: surprisingly, yes

Hanma: and he denies we're soulmates😔

Kisaki: i will not hesitate to get another restraining order

Hanma: a piece of paper won't stand in my way. let's get married

Kisaki: i will call the police

Draken: guys are we really entertaining this?

Mikey: you went to jail in one of the timelines and you were bald LMAO

Draken: sure

Baji: why'd he go to jail?

Mikey: these guys killed Emma and Ken-chin took revenge

Baji: respectable

Mikey: he was given a death sentence

Baji: that's tough fr

Ran: i'm kinda curious

Ran: humour me, what was i like?? was i famous?

Mikey: you were a criminal. killed people

Ran: sounds about right if i'm being honest

Ran: and Haruchiyo and Rindou?

Haruchiyo: leave me out of Takemitchy's psychotic episodes

Haruchiyo: i think you have a hallucination/delusion disorder or something

Mikey: but don't you believe me?

Haruchiyo: ...

Haruchiyo: Mikey, you're also pretty mentally ill

Mikey: says you???

Haruchiyo: i just have substance abuse problems and i'm getting clean so...

Mikey: GUYS I'M TELLING THE TRUTH I SWEAR

Mikey: I'VE BEEN GOING CRAZY KEEPING THIS A SECRET

Draken: when was the last time you slept?

Mikey: ☹️

Baji: guys just play pretend.

Rindou: what about me?

Mikey: same as your brother just uh, less gay and slutty?

Rindou: story of my life

Inupi: you didn't do Koko

Mikey: criminal

Koko: the whole time?

Mikey: yeah

Mikey: Inupi got normal at some point because he and Ken-chin got close and they fixed bikes together and had sex

Inupi: Draken????

Draken: you're really starting to piss me off.

Mikey: Akane died in the fire though like she was BURNT

Takemitchy: uh Mikey-kun...

Mikey: she was a crisp i'm telling you

Mikey: Inupi you had an ugly red scar on your face and no one wanted you

Mikey: Izana i know you're reading this, you were fucking insane dude like you killed Emma for some fucking reason then Kisaki shot you 3 times in the chest and you died while having a really bad mental breakdown. it was a major L on your part

Chifuyu: Mikey why are you leaving out the fact that the common denominator in every single timeline was that you killed every single one of your friends in the most brutal ways possible🤨?

Mikey: no comment

Smiley: how'd he kill me?

Chifuyu: uhhh

Chifuyu: Takemitchy help me out here

Takemitchy: i don't want to talk about it😐

Chifuyu: I REMEMBER

Chifuyu: backshot

Smiley: ...

Smiley: he killed me by giving me backshots..?

Smiley: i would NEVER take it from behind

Smiley: especially from MIKEY

Smiley: small dick having ass

Smiley: my bootyhole is not to be messed with

Smiley: i'm so pissed off right now holy shit

Smiley: how did i even die???? dick so good it killed me?

Smiley: i'm so angry

Angry: and i'm Smiley😂

Baji: 3/10 joke 👎, poor delivery, fell flat

Smiley: i hope you kill yourself, Mikey

Mikey: trust me, i've tried

Chifuyu: ???

Chifuyu: he shot you in the back with a gun?

Chifuyu: what's wrong with you

Smiley: oh my bad i though you meant like, he was taking me doggy style

Smiley: i'm no bottom

Ran: what is happening

Chifuyu: i'm moving on😐

Chifuyu: Hakkai was tied to a chair and burnt to death

Hakkai: wha-

Hakkai: WHAT DID I DO??

Hakkai: jesus 😟

Chifuyu: why am i getting all these memories, i'm freaking out

Hakkai: Mikey please tell me what i did to deserve that ☹️

Mikey: idk Hakkai i was going through a lot

Draken: have you been diagnosed with anything?

Mikey: i don't need a diagnosis bcs i'm fine now, you're all alive and i don't have any murderous intent!!! yippee🤗

Mikey: isn't this great Takemitchy??

Takemitchy: well, yeah no ones dead so that's great

Izana: this is obviously completely fabricated

Izana: are you guys that bored?

Senju: man for all that time traveling you sure are a shit boyfriend😭

Takemitchy: how????

Takemitchy: did Hina say that☹️??

Senju: it's an observation

Senju: you've had way too many coincidental close calls with other woman💀

Draken: yeah you pissed me off when you thought i was gifting you a prostitute. you had a whole ass girlfriend. shame on you

Senju: and you also almost slept with Emma and you "don't remember"

Smiley: Mitchy's low-key funny as hell because what do you mean you stripped yourself and another girl down to your underwear by accident

Baji: wouldn't Takemitchy be a pedophile then?? Emma was 13 dawg🤨

Mikey: he was 14 though😭

Baji: you're gonna ride Takemitchy's dick to defend him from trying to sleep with your 13 year old sister??? crazy

Baji: wasn't be mentally 26🤨?

Baji: bro i'm gonna beat your ass actually

Mikey: hmm

Mikey: you know what Mitchy, why did you do that 🤨?

Smiley: LMFAOO

Mitsuya: why did i come back to Takemitchy facing pedophile allegations, like what's going on right now

Kazutora: is it not enough that he changed the space and time continuum just to be with his girl?

Kazutora: cheating this cheating that, my boy deserves all the pussy he wants

Kazutora: he's been beaten, shot, stabbed AND killed

Kazutora: i personally believe he's the goat

Baji: ?

Chifuyu: goat is an acronym for "greatest of all time", Baji-san

Baji: what's an acronym

Chifuyu: i'll dm

Kazutora: bro you're so fucking stupid😭

Draken: i don't care if he was skinned alive by an orangutan, there's no excuse to cheat on someone

Rindou: i think being skinned alive by an orangutang warrants having more than one girl. idk that's just me tho

Ran: not the point that's being made rn

Rindou: what exactly is the point that's being made

Rindou: is this real. are we being serious.

Rindou: i don't think i get the joke

Haruchiyo: i think we should all stop talking now

Mikey: Mitchy we need to talk a bit

Takemitchy: i told you this was a bad idea

[ejoym]

Continuing on the last ask about learning to start drawing OCs, do you have any tips on developing styles? I find it really difficult to “let go” of the need for things to be proportional or physically accurate, but I really want to start developing a more cartoon style.

Hi! In reference to this last post. I'm going to site a lot of stuff from a book called Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by Scott McCloud. It's a great resource for anyone interested in cartooning, visual art, and comics as a unique storytelling art form.

Cartooning, whether it’s for comics or animation, is a very utilitarian art form. Cartooning skills and an artist's style are often forged in the hellfire of a deadline. For example, what my art style looks like when I've drawn an 80-panel comic in one week looks very different from a single illustration I’ve done in that same time frame.

Cartoonists simplify for the function of needing to draw everything by hand over and over and over again. But we also simplify for the emotional universality of the cartoon image! As stated by McCloud in the following three images.

Technically all 2D art is a form of caricature because we are reducing our 3D reality onto a 2D plane - which inherently abstracts form. Anytime someone sits down to draw (or write), they're engaging with a level of representation within pictorial space.

As an artist, we inevitably work in all modes at some point or another. But I think most artists will show a preference towards different corners of this diagram and that influences their style!

Ask yourself: where would you place the style you're seeking to achieve on this triangle? There's a more detailed version below with many cartoonists and styles for more examples.

I like this diagram especially because it shows the wide variety of cartoonist's styles. That's why this ask has been particularly tricky for me to answer. It's hard to give advice on becoming more cartoony without knowing what that specifically means for you, anon!

That said, I can still give some general good practice tips that hopefully anyone can utilize in their cartooning journey!

Figure drawing. Short poses (1-5 minutes). Figure drawing from life is ideal because life very rarely sits still. If you don't have any figure drawing studios in your area then go to libraries and coffee shops. You can also ask friends or family to sit for you. And finally there are figure drawing resources online that often include timers. Tip: Try drawing only with ink so you can’t erase. You won't have to do this forever but it's a great way to live with the "happy accidents" and then move on to the next drawing!

2. Gesture lines and S-curves. The gesture line captures the initial motion of the pose and will often follow the direction of the spine! S-curves are the alternating "S" shaped curves that represent the distribution of weight across the body. Exaggerating the S-curves is how cartoonists and animators often push the expressive form of the figure. When drawing the figure try to find the gesture line first and then build the weight of the pose on top of that!

3. Give yourself a deadline. Set a timer. Stick to it! Even if all you manage is a quick line gesture. Just move on to the next pose!

Finally, I really recommend reading Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud! It's a wonderful resource that anyone interested in the visual arts could benefit from reading. I first read it 17 years ago, back in my high school film class.

Phew! That's a long one. Hopefully, there's some useful info in there for you. But do feel free to ask any follow-up questions. And good luck on your cartooning journey! 🖤

(There's also another ask in my inbox about drawing cartoonish expressions. I'm working on a response but it may take a little bit. But don't worry, I'll have a detailed answer to that in the coming weeks!)

[scrupulosity-comics]

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

[dontbelasagnax]

OMG CAN I DO A PROMPT FOR THE KISS ROULETTE???

No pressure BUT I number 35. Kiss against a wall would make me go FERAL.

Bonus points if it's in some hidden corner and they're trying to sneak away after a hard won battle because the codywan brain rot has GOT ME. I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING BUT THEM

Please pretend like you sent this ask recently and I haven't been sitting on it for months waiting for my eggs to hatch @why-cant-turtles-fly 😂 As requested, here is codywan kissing against a wall... though it's actually a pillar (oops). I was inspired by this artwork I did!

Pairing: CC-22224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,330

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Tenderness, Making Out, Introspection, and by that I mean Obi-Wan is mentally ill and thinks too much, Implied Sexual Content, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summary:

    "Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters.

    "More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies.

    [ OR: Obi-Wan and Cody steal away some precious time after a victorious battle which of course results in a makeout session against a pillar. ]

(fic under the cut if you wish to read here on tumblr)

This morning Obi-Wan finds himself in the ruins of a long ago abandoned castle, high in the mountainous region of Bestoon's northernmost continent. However difficult the altitude makes it to breathe unassisted, it's worth it for the view. There isn't much he loves looking at more than a sunrise in the clouds.

The sunrise after a well earned victory in battle has become one of Obi-Wan's favorite moments to find peace these last few months or... has it been years? Time has melted together through this dreary drudge of a war.

He's watched this sky transition from dusky purples splashed with rays of golden sunlight to a pale blue canvas with clouds shadowed with purples leaning grey and highlights of soft pinks and yellows.

"Sir," a very familiar voice calls from behind. 

Obi-Wan turns towards the voice. 

'Ah,' Obi-Wan thinks, a smile already beginning to emerge on his features, 'my dearest commander.'

The light of the sky washes Cody in diffused golds and pinks. He is delightfully dressed down, forgoing his armour from the waist up. The tight, ribbed fabric does his physique all the favors the way it clings. A stray curl drops onto his forehead. The lighting does wonders for his complexion. It's as if he's glowing.

Yes, Cody bathed in the light of a new day is the most breathtaking, glorious view of them all.

"Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters. 

"More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies as he takes the lightsaber held out to him. The metal is heated from the rare touch of Cody's bare hand. Energy thrums from the kyber, a slow pulse that nearly sparkles, sending the residual heat of skin and life up Obi-Wan's arm, straight to his ever beating heart. 

So helpful his kyber crystal is, giving fuel to the flame of his infatuation that, once a slow burn, is steadily alight.

Cody leans back against the pillar, looks at him with those warm, big brown eyes of his and oh…

Obi-Wan steps into Cody's space.

Cody's sharp inhale and the way his hand comes up to touch Obi-Wan's belly is exactly what he wanted. 

Obi-Wan rests his arm beside Cody's head on the stone, bringing his face close enough to just feel Cody's breath on the whiskers of his beard.

Thick, black lashes fluttering downwards then back up. The want in those gorgeous eyes is magnetizing.

Obeying Cody's gravitational pull, Obi-Wan kisses him. The catch of their lips slow and tender, just a hint of saliva and suction, loving the warm nudge of Cody's nose against his cheek, and the bloom of Cody's Force presence like flowers turning to the morning sun. 

"Well done," Obi-Wan murmurs as he pulls away, chasing the wounded noise Cody makes with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Your performance was stellar today, as always. Always."

Obi-Wan clips his lightsaber to his belt and cups his darling's jaw with his newly freed hand. He sighs into the meeting of their lips. The soft warm comfort of Cody's mouth is offset by the rigidity of his armour below the waist. It’s as accurate a representation of Cody’s true self as it gets: compassionate and sweet while still deadly and unwieldy.

Though, as much as Obi-Wan adores this version of Cody—so delectable in only his codpiece, cuisse, and greaves—he’d selfishly prefer him stripped even further. 

Alas, he's getting ahead of himself.

Cody's arms curl around him, hands clenching in his tabards. Their lips make smacking noises with the separation of each slow, deliberate kiss.

It's with a bittersweet ache in his chest that Obi-Wan cherishes these moments for he never knows what the next day will bring. The reality of war is that any second of any day he could lose Cody and he'll never know another day painted warm and vibrant by Cody's dry humor and barely-there smiles, the rare times when Obi-Wan can make him really laugh and hear joy spring from his soul, the quiet steady companionship of his presence, and the compassion he shows his brothers. One day he'll never know another kiss, another pleasure coated sigh of his own name, or feel the needy way Cody curves his entire body into Obi-Wan’s to get what he wants. 

It is possible that Obi-Wan would be the one to go first but… he knows deep down, and has accepted it with peace, that he's meant for infinite sadness. 

He already nearly lost him that first time- the time Cody first kissed him.

However long Cody is willing to share these hidden pockets of love with him, he will cherish every second they have together.

He emphasizes this thought with a purposeful tug and suck of Cody’s bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. The thinner air at this altitude has them panting against each other, lips grazing slightly, a sensitive tingly, ticklish tease.

Cody rubs their noses together, as if trying to grasp any sort of intimacy he can while recovering his breath.

Obi-Wan’s heart squeezes painfully.

Never let it be said lest Cody try to kill him in his sleep… but Cody is not just a sweet, sweet man but adorable.

 Natural as the mist of cloudy mornings, Obi-Wan kisses him again. 

Everything about this is intentional. From the way he slowly draws their mouths together again and again, pace languid and savoring, to the way they've chosen each other- chosen to find these moments to do nothing but love. It's not a choice, really, that they will choose duty over each other if that's what it comes to. That's simply the reality of their existences. Those priorities will never change, not with how the war has molded them into thinking. 

No, the choosing is in the love. 

He does love Cody and perhaps always will. It's not been said. Nor does he know with absolute certainty that Cody feels the same.

Cody's presence in the Force has always been a bit of a comfort for Obi-Wan since they met. Through all the uncertainty and pain in the galaxy, Cody is sturdy and shines. He's not certain when Cody’s signature began emanating a warmth that curls into his chest and makes him feel at home. It could be that with time and the development of Obi-Wan's own feelings, every aspect of Cody became beyond endearing.

Or… it could be the manifestation of Cody's own feelings for Obi-Wan.

He's not certain. And he's very well not going to ask.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't.

Still, he catches quick moments sometimes out the corner of his eye where Cody looks at him with an impossibly soft look on his face and Obi-Wan thinks, 'Maybe-’

Really. It doesn't matter. 

He has Cody so readily in the cradle of his arms, drinking up every milliliter of affection bestowed upon him.

And, well, his train of thought falls to the wayside when Cody moans into his mouth and tries to drag him even closer between the v of his legs. 

He's not sure exactly what he’s done to make Cody react so positively but he goes with the motion as heat burns deep in his abdomen.

He teases at Cody's lips with his tongue and realizes his fault when Cody instantly opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. The inside of Cody's mouth is hot and wet and his tongue- licking all those spots that make Obi-Wan shudder into him. 

Not that it's not lovely—because it is, really—but this is not how he intended things to go. 

Cody's insistent against him, pressing for more, hotter, faster, harder.

With difficulty, Obi-Wan pulls away, dodging Cody's attempts to meld their mouths together. 

“Cody, dearheart,” he says, out of breath, thumb gently stroking the skin by the corner of Cody's mouth, “you don't need to devour me.”

Cody doesn't quite pout but it's a near thing. The way his eyes are glued to Obi-Wan's lips make tooka-eyes impossible. “Remains to be seen.”

Obi-Wan huffs a laugh and kisses his cheek. “Please, my-” he catches himself almost saying ‘love’, “dear. Just for now. Let me treat you softly.”

Cody considers this solemnly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Good man.”

The bob of Cody's throat at his words is gratifying. 

He closes his eyes and leans back in to capture Cody's lips for a few slow, lingering kisses. 

“That’s it. Easy goes,” Obi-Wan murmurs between kisses. Cody melts underneath him, pliant and accepting. 

He'll take every rare opportune moment to treat Cody like the indulgence he is– truly savor him. Hot plush lips between his own, a smooth glide aided by saliva. Slow and steady. Discovering how electric and titillating the simplicity is. Just Cody's warm body against his own. Cody's lips. Cody's sighs. Cody…

He's the sweetest of luxuries. And he should be cherished accordingly. 

Obi-Wan plants a path of kisses up Cody's cheek, right to the end of his brow, following the raised skin of his facial scar.

He's wondered if anyone else has gotten to love Cody like he has or if he's the only one to ply him with tender affection. He's wondered if, in a kinder universe, Cody would be left free of the scars Obi-Wan has gotten to know so intimately. If there were a universe as such, would Obi-Wan be given the chance to love Cody all over again or if another is destined for him- someone closer to his age and able to devote their life to ensuring his happiness.

He's tied himself into knots over this. The hypotheticals. 

He loves Cody. He loves him easily, unhurried and unconditionally. He loves him with every breath he shares loving the Jedi Order—his family—and this wonderous Force-filled world they live in. 

It's just that. He does not love Cody more than the order, more than his faith and his family. Cody is a part of his life. Whatever comes next, may it be death or freedom or- well, Force knows what, Obi-Wan hopes Cody remains a constant. Selfishly. More than a little lovesick. He wants Cody in his life. But he will accept whatever comes their way, as it is the will of the Force. 

 And if that means-

“Where'd’ya keep going?” asks Cody, big brown eyes of his gazing into Obi-Wan's soulfully. A deep brown that melts into a warm, rich amber. Beautiful.

“Nowhere of consequence.” He rubs his nose along Cody’s cheek. Breathes him in. 

“You sure?”

Obi-Wan drags his lips down Cody's jaw, smiling to himself and settling in once Cody shudders and angles his head out of the way.

“Absolutely certain,” Obi-Wan murmurs against his pulse point then kisses that very same spot.

A sigh from Cody is just the encouragement Obi-Wan needs to continue on. 

It's a gift having Cody so sensitive and wanting under him. An entirely different side of his commander than the stern, regal demeanor their troopers see day in and out. 

He kisses and sucks and nips the column of Cody's neck, delighting in the small, pleased noises he draws from Cody with every pass of his mouth over salty skin. 

He only leaves a couple of marks by the time Cody tugs him upwards. He's not too dismayed to leave the warm crook of his love’s neck because the expression on Cody's face is nothing short of wanton, absolutely debauched. 

Cody’s lips are still plump and kiss bitten. 

Obi-Wan can't resist. He traces the pad of his thumb across Cody's bottom lip. Breath shakes onto skin and Cody's mouth closes around the digit, suctioning him in hot, wet heat. 

He draws in a sharp breath.

His gaze darts to Cody’s eyes where he meets pupils blown wide with desire. Cody stares unflinchingly, daring and, oh… 

Cody has bewitched him, utterly and completely. Try as he might to retain composure, Cody is his undoing in these moments. The fragile strings of his heart (and… other parts of his anatomy…) pulled taut and ready to spring forward.

He wanted to keep it slow and soft, but Cody knows just how to arm him into an arrow ready to spring forth.

He pops his thumb from Cody's mouth and fixes his mouth and lips there instead, letting him know just how affected he is. He tastes Cody’s own desire echoed back to him in his moans and tongue and the needy press of his body that Obi-Wan keeps caged to the pillar. The fists that grab at his tunic and hair to try and get him even closer.

The high altitude forces them apart to breathe sooner than either of them would like but they don't go far, nuzzling noses and panting against one another's lips. 

“We’d better take this back to The Negotiator,” Cody says quietly, still out of breath.

Obi-Wan nods his agreement, sure that if they stay here a minute longer he'll be on his knees.

Hand in hand, they hurry away and the sunrise grows only brighter, pink tones making way for the brilliance of the full sun. Clouds drift with the breeze and all is as it will be.

[lillaydee]

Matchmade Part 8

Millionaire! Joel Miller / Reader

Having experienced traumatic, life altering events, a freshly divorced Joel worked to repay his debt to the person he owed his life to.

@peelieblue @feenoire @vickie5446 @liciafonseca

WARNINGS:

Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Character Death, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 7

---

“What kind of proposition, sir?”

“Please, I thought we’d agreed you would call me Joel, if I’d call you Addie?”

You smiled, mumbling an apology.

“You see, every time I couldn’t pick Sarah up, one of the family members had to do so. They had to rearrange their schedules to accommodate me. They had to get her, make dinner for her, and everything else that comes with taking care of her. They don’t mind, obviously, but it’s getting harder to manage the time for everyone. My brother, Tess, Maria, all work, and my parents are very active in their volunteer work. I would prefer if Sarah has some semblance of stability in her life.”

You listened, wondering where he was going with this.

“I have a guesthouse. Its small, but livable. I propose that you stay there rent free. All I ask in return is that you take Sarah to work with you in the mornings and bring her home when you’re done in the evenings. You will have a permanent address, and I don’t have to worry about arranging for Sarah’s pickup if I have to stay longer after work. What do you think?”

You were dumbfounded. Why would he do this for you? It sounded far too good to be true. But if he was serious, this would help you a lot. You wont need to get another job, and you would have a place to stay, a legal one. You would definitely be able to go back to school earlier than it would be possible right now.

You asked him what your responsibilities would be, apart from taking Sarah to and from the daycare. Nothing, he said. He will take over once the two of you got home. In the event that he had to stay late, he will pay you a babysitting fee to keep an eye on her until he got back. He would order dinner for her if that happened, so you were not even expected to cook for her. You were not his employee. A tenant, more like, in exchange for ferrying his daughter to and from your workplace. You would still work at the daycare, and he would still send Sarah there. The guesthouse will be your home to do as you please, and he and his family will not bother you at all, unless he needed you to babysit, as mentioned.

“What happens when Sarah grows up, or you met someone? I doubt a woman would like you having another woman living in your backyard.”

He barked a laugh. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, he said, if we ever do.

So, you’ll just have a place to live, and get extra cash for babysitting Sarah for when he had to work late, or go out of town, or had a date - a random thought that made you feel sad all of a sudden.

You couldn’t help it, you immediately said yes.

The smile on his face, the sigh of relief he let go, made you feel warm inside.

“Okay! Erm, you need help packing?”

“What, now?”

He huffed a laugh. “Why not?”

You couldn’t think why not. And to be fair, you were not really keen to find a reason.

So you packed your little suitcase and followed him home in your little car.

**********

Sarah squealed when she saw you, squirming to get away from her Papa, whom you had never met. Jake Miller, he said, holding out a hand for you to shake. Anita, Tess and Maria all greeted you with a hug. They live in the area, they told you. Joel called ahead to let them know you were coming. They’re happy you decided to take the offer. While they love Sarah and would do anything for her, it was getting a bit difficult managing her pickups, especially since they have a big new deal to work on. So, having you doing the pickup would help a lot.  

Your first impression of his home was… humble. You didn’t expect his house to be so… normal? Understated? It’s on the smaller side, considering how much he was worth, not as ostentatious as one might think of a multi-millionaire’s home. And you admired him for that. Even Sarah, being an only child, did not scream spoiled, rich kid to you. And you could understand why, having spent time with his brother, sister in law and best friend for a few days.

The guesthouse was in the backyard, next to the gated pool, again, small, nothing that screams millionaire. It’s basically a studio, but comfortable, livable, as he had said. Sarah wouldn’t leave your side, excited that you would be living with her. Maria came to you the next morning, a contract of tenancy in her hands, stating exactly what he had said – you would be living there, rent free, in exchange for getting his daughter to and from the daycare. Anything beyond, will be subject to an additional fee to be paid directly to you bank account, the fee listed for you to approve.

To say he’s being generous would be an understatement of gigantic proportions. 

You start Monday. He drove you to your storage unit that day, helping you take some of what you needed – you no longer need to live out of a suitcase. By Sunday night, the small guesthouse had been transformed into a small temporary dwelling you can really restart you life from.

You knocked on his patio door Monday morning to get Sarah for daycare. He had given you a key to the house, but you didn’t want to overstep. Sarah opened the door for you, and your senses were immediately overwhelmed by a strong smell of something burning, although there was no smoke.

“Daddy burned the bread,” she said to you, screwing her face, remembering the almost disturbingly dark chocolate colored toast she ate for breakfast that day.

You faux-cringed a bit, laughed, but didn’t comment on anything. You picked up her bag, and said goodbye to him, already dressed for work. He gave Sarah a sloppy kiss and told her he’d see her after daycare.

He helped her get into the booster seat on your back seat and closed the door. He stood there, waiting to wave the two of you off. Of course, your car decided this morning, of all the mornings in the world, to not start until the fifth try.

You actually saw the smile on his face falter. As if he was regretting this arrangement. Now his daughter was stuck to be driven in an unreliable rusty tin can of a car. But no matter, the car started, and off you and Sarah went, your first day in your new life, driving Sarah to the daycare and back.

When you arrived home that day, Joel’s truck was already there. You went around the back to drop Sarah off via the patio door again, easier for you since your new dwelling was in the backyard. The door was already opened, and Joel, still in his work clothes, was at the kitchen sink, draining what looked like overcooked pasta, while the microwave beeped telling you something was done heating. You helped Sarah take her shoes off and placed her bag next to the door. You watched him place the super fluffy pasta onto some bowls and took out a jar of pasta sauce from the microwave, pouring them over the pasta.

Don’t judge, you thought. Shut up. He’s doing the best he could as a busy, single dad. But when you saw him place what looked like boiled frozen meatballs into the bowls, you quickly said goodbye and left before you said anything that could get you kicked out of this sweet new place you just landed. You heard him ask if you would join them for dinner, but the memory of those grey looking meatballs bobbing in the murky looking water in the pot just made you lie saying you have some phone calls to make for work.

Like, really? You were a carer at the daycare. What work phone calls? Sheesh.

You went home and ate the leftover fruit salad you had from the dinner the night before, feeling guilty that you let the two people generous enough to put a roof over your head eat whatever that was that Joel served to his daughter. Stop it. Don’t go all mother hen on them. Sit down. You must have something you needed to do here.

Turned out, you didn’t. Someone had come in while you were out, and your laundry was done, pressed, hung and folded, the whole studio vacuumed, mopped and wiped. Even your sheets had been changed and laundered.

You wanted to feel guilty, feeling as if you got a much better deal out of this arrangement than he did, but you know what? After the shit year you’d had? You’ll take it. The guilt will take over, you knew yourself too well, so you knew it was coming, but for now? You were going to put your feet up and enjoy this opportunity you’d been given. So rather than feel guilty, you switched the TV on, and watched some drag queens get judged instead.

**********

Joel slowly closed Sarah’s door, leaving a crack open so he could hear her if she needed him. He walked back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up, his kitchen sink facing your guesthouse. He could see the lights of whatever you were watching flicker in your darkened home. These past two nights, he had the best sleep. Like the weight had been lifted off his shoulder. He could feel Allie smile at him. He did it, he helped you. He could make sure you were okay now.

He heard your phone ring. Your door opened, and he turned the tap off, not wanting to bother you with your call. He wiped his hands, planning on finishing rinsing the dishes later when he heard you call someone by the name Jimmy. He stilled at that. Did you have someone? Someone named Jimmy? The idea made him want to scream. Oh, crap. What if you brought this Jimmy home? He couldn’t say anything to that. You were not some child who had curfews and rules about not bringing boys home. You were a full grown adult. Oh God, he’d have to endure watching you go out on dates? His heart was already clenching at the idea, what would happen if it came true? He decided he’d heard enough, and just as he was checking that the patio door was locked, he heard you tell this Jimmy you loved him.

Sleep evaded Joel that night.

**********

You hung up with Cece, she had just heard of your new living arrangement and was calling to see if everything was okay. Jimmy hovering as usual, interrupting his beautiful fiancée at every opportunity. You lost count how many times you let out an exasperated ‘Jimmy’, shaking your head at his antics. He had never been able to believe how lucky he was to have found Cece. From the beginning, she had never been intimidated by you, quickly embracing you as a good friend, someone important in his life. And you, you count your lucky stars to have both of them in your life. They were so supportive, always there for you throughout the whole ordeal with Tanya and Allie’s accident. If it weren’t for them…

“Anyway, Julie told me this new landlord of yours is hot. That true?” you could practically see the teasing smile she had on, Jimmy immediately asking “Really? How hot? Is he nice? Is he a serial killer?”

“Jimmy!” you called out, giving up on any privacy in your phone calls with Cece. She always used the speakerphone anyway.

“I need to know, like, is he bigger than me? Can I take him down? Should I bring back up?”

“Goodbye Jimmy.”

Cece laughed out loud, “Go to bed, silly man. Bye Addie. Brunch this weekend? Our treat?”

“Sure. We’ll set it up. Text me. Love you.”

“Love you.”

You thought you heard the patio door rattle. When you looked, all you saw was Joel’s broad back walking away in the dim lights of his house.

**********

You made it three days. Exactly three days. You couldn’t handle it anymore. On Tuesday, Sarah told you she had soft cornflakes for breakfast. He had accidentally poured the hot milk for his bran into her cereal, and didn’t have any more cereal to serve, so he poured the hot milk out onto his bran and replaced it with cold milk. He ordered Tacos for dinner. On Wednesday, he made her pancakes, but burnt one side because he couldn’t find that particular pair of socks she wanted to wear, which turned out to be from a year ago, and she no longer fit into. He ordered Chinese for dinner. They ate the leftovers for breakfast on Thursday, which was not bad, you guessed.

To be fair, he did look flustered. He was doing his best. It was extremely busy time at the office, and imagining the poor little girl eating whatever her hardworking dad served her made you love her more, but oh dear God, you were worried for her. She wasn’t starving, but when you came home on Thursday to him about to open a can of baked beans and sausages, you told him to stop. Come on, Joel. Really.

You folded your sleeves and got to work with what they had in the freezer. Within half an hour, you served the two of them some steaming hot chicken rice porridge with carrots and peas, which Sarah devoured. Joel had three bowls full, and seemed disappointed to see there was none left.

You went to bed feeling guilty. You’re sure you had overstepped. But neither were complaining about it. Fuck it. He’s letting you stay here rent free. The least you could do was make sure they eat well. You had to eat too, right? How could you eat well a few yards away in the beautiful studio when you knew they would be eating from a can?

You made them French Toast for breakfast the next morning and made a list of things you would need for dinner. Joel kept telling you that you didn’t need to do this, all the while stuffing his face with four thick slices of the eggy vanilla-ey goodness. Sarah cleaned her plate, asking if she could have them again tomorrow, receiving a nudge and a head shake from Joel, telling her that tomorrow was Saturday, let’s not bother Miss Addie on Saturday. She nodded and put her head down, looking at you with those delicious puppy dog pleading eyes.

Well. You guessed you’d be making French Toast for breakfast tomorrow. Add berries and maple syrup to the list please.

Just before you got in your car, you turned around and handed him a brown paper bag. He looked at it, a question in his eyes. Your lunch, you told him. He was taken aback. What? Your lunch, you told him again. He didn’t react, just sort of looked at the paper bag, took it, and nodded a thank you, before taking a step back and closing your door for you. He kept staring at you, paper bag in hand, and forgot to wave until you were out of his sight.

He got to his office, his backpack on his right shoulder, the paper bag in his left hand. It was a strange feeling. One he hadn’t had since he was still in school. Carrying food someone made for him to work. He placed the bag on his desk, his secretary taking it to put in the pantry when bringing in his coffee. No, he said, leave it there. But sir, you have a meeting in thirty minutes. You normally don’t like unnecessary items on your desk.

“This is necessary,” he said, his chest puffed up a bit. It’s silly really, but to him, it was proof that someone cared enough about him to make sure he wasn’t hungry for lunch. And that was worth showing off.

Come lunch time, he took out the BLT you had made him, and ate it with the biggest smile on his face.

**********

You were cleaning up after the children had their lunch when Julie came to find you, a sour note to her face. Alice, one of the other staff, had received a phone call at the office, saying that someone matching your description was seen drinking by the back door during lunch. She knew it was bullshit, but she was gonna sniff your breath, just in case. You gave her a resigned look, open your mouth and let her sniff. She rolled her eyes and mouthed a sorry at you. The two of you checked the number on the call log. Just as you expected. Tanya. Both of you just shook your heads. You had told her what she had said to you during the conference, both of you puzzled as to why she was this vindictive towards you.

Julie left with you and Sarah that day. She wanted to stop at the store to get some groceries for dinner. Joel had called to tell you he will be a bit late, and asked if you could order something for Sarah’s dinner. You needed groceries anyway, so you decided to get something you can make for them both. Sarah was sitting merrily in the toddler seat in the cart, when Tanya appeared out of nowhere. She greeted Julie as if they were old friends, Julie’s body stiff with awkwardness when she forced a hug out of her.

She looked at Sarah and raised her eyebrows at you. She gave you a resigned sigh and told you to please have some pride in yourself. Nannying at your age. Sending the girl back to her unsuspecting single father before going back to live in your car. Sheesh Addie, have some dignity.

“She lives with us, not in her car,” Sarah piped up, clearly displeased at Tanya’s attack on you.

Tanya’s eyes snapped back at you, shocked at this little news.

“You live with him?”

You didn’t respond.

“Sheesh Addie. I know you’re desperate but whoring yourself for a roof over your head?” she spat out, before turning on her heels and storming off.

“Oh my God. I cannot stand her. What a bitch!” Julie said, throwing the kitchen towels she had in her hands into the cart.

“What’s a ‘bidge’?” Sarah asked.

Julie cowered under the glare you gifted her.

**********

Joel came home to a house smelling like Bolognese. His mouth immediately watering, his tummy growling. He walked into the kitchen, greeted by the sight of you helping Sarah ball up fresh meatballs, his little girl giggling at the misshapen meatball she had created, you telling her it’s okay, it didn’t need to be perfect, it’ll still be delicious. Sarah then decided she was going to roll the next one in the shape of a sausage instead. She asked you if Daddy would love the meatballs she made for him. Of course he would, you told her. You’re his BabyGirl. He would love anything you made for him.

Joel almost melted at the sight. Yet another thing he had never seen happen in his kitchen between his ex and his daughter.

“Daddy! Look, I make meatballs!”

“Good job, BabyGirl,” he said, giving her a sloppy kiss. He straightened up, consciously forcing himself to stay where he was, and not go around his daughter to give you a kiss too. “You really didn’t need to do this; you’re doing too much.”

“Eh, she has to eat, why not make some for you too? And if there are leftovers, we can freeze the sauce for you to reheat next time. You could bring that for lunch next week. Unless you’d prefer to buy your own lunch? I didn’t even think of that, I’m so sorry if I overstepped,” you offered, suddenly horrified that you had done something that crossed the line. He’s a grown man. Why on earth did you even assume he’d want you to pack his lunch for him?

You were just used to doing that when Allie was still around. Being in a kitchen with people to serve again, you just went on autopilot.

“No, you didn’t. I loved it,” he quickly said. “It’s great not having to decide what to eat for once. I just didn’t want you to feel obliged to do it.”

You seemed to look relieved, nodding you head okay. He eyed the ingredients on the counter, realizing that you had gone shopping. He quickly took the card he had given you last time and told you to use it for groceries. If you’re cooking for Sarah, you shouldn’t have to use your own money for groceries. Please, he said, use it to buy whatever you need too.

You looked hesitant. It’ll save him from making his own list and reimbursing you for them, he said. You agreed after a while.

He went in to shower and change, and when he came out, dinner was served. Two plates of steaming spaghetti Bolognese with misshapen meatballs were waiting for him and Sarah. You sat with them, making sure they had what they needed. He asked why you were not eating too, you told him you were still full. He looked hesitant, but you assured him you were alright.

You didn’t tell him that to you, eating with him and Sarah was something you viewed as extremely intimate. You didn’t want him to think you fancied yourself as one of them, when the reality was, you were just someone he offered his guest house to, in exchange for driving his daughter to daycare.

You watched, satisfied at Sarah’s messy face upon almost face planting into her ‘pesgeti’, asking her Daddy if he liked the meatballs she made for him. He couldn’t even answer, nodding his head, his mouth full of pasta and meat.

This seemed intimate already. You shouldn’t be here. This should be between the two of them. Father and daughter.

Don’t forget yourself, Addie. Never forget yourself.  

---

Part 9

[lazysadpotato-comix]

so, for the wordgirl 2p au, what exactly did two brains, or Steven, do to Becky? I presume he did some kinda experiments on her? Is that what made her so different from our worldgirl personality wise or is she just like that?

Also do those presumed experiments have anything to do with her hatred for writing/word puzzle and dislike of huggy and her family in the au?

Dr. Two-Brains & WordGirl

▶️ WordGirl 2P AU Masterpost⭐️

[2P AU Dr. Two-Brains’ Post] ⏪️~⭐️🌟⭐️~⏩️ [2P AU Becky’s Post]

❧ My Ko-fi ☕️

Good questions! I’ll try my best to explain it as best I can!

[[Additional information: Bob’s alter ego name “Huggyface” in the 2P AU is simply a name WordGirl likes using to mock him; she often only calls him “Captain”]]

[[“Mentor” — Definition: An experienced and trusted person who guides and supports you when you are in need]]

The experiments that were done to 2P!WordGirl is not too different than the ones seen in the Original Series’ shorts, (It’s implied that WordGirl went to Steven Boxleitner for assistance before the events of “What’s up, Doc?”) the only difference is how they’re played out. The experiments are more harsher, always pushing her limits to see how far she can go — all in the name of science.

Since 2P Alternate Universes typically change the characters to be the complete opposite of the original material’s, this means that the Botsford family was never… the greatest. Safe to say, they’re not the best example for a growing alien child. For Bob/Captain, he’s as negligent as the Botsfords. And although she’s grateful for being taken in by them, she also can’t help but wonder if she was better off under someone else’s care.

So, meeting someone like Steven Boxleitner — a man of science and the author of the “Creation of Superheroes: A Practical Guide” book — Becky latched onto him, seeing him as a mentor that could help her and guide her, make her understand what’s her purpose. After all, she’s not from Earth; some strange cruel fate brought her here. So, what is she made for?

But, the more she spent time with him, the more she realised she was just another lab rat for the scientist. His book? A study on alien life, comparing the differences between a human and a “classic superhero”. And with that, a festering grudge began to settle inside her. Both her parents and Steven Boxleitner showed her just how humans can be — negligent, selfish, proud, incompetent, the list goes on — all things that she truly believes doesn’t make sense for such a fragile species. Thus, she begins her journey as WordGirl, a “hero” who protects Fair City not because she cares for it or because of “justice” or anything like that… but because it belongs to her. She deserves it.

Bummer. Anyway, on a more lighter note, Becky doesn’t like crosswords/word puzzles because she feels it’s patronising. As for writing, she doesn’t like it because she finds it difficult to put feelings and perspectives into words which is why they often come out as bland or boring. Ironic, isn’t it?

Feel free to ask again! The inbox is open and welcome to any questions about the 2P AU or others! ((Currently working on answering your second ask!))

[blaxcunicorn]

Hello love! I was wondering if you can write something with Sasuke and a reader his family doesn’t approve of (in like a universe they didnt die lol)? No pressure! Thank you and have a good one!!💘

Hiii!

Firstly, omds love??? I legit blushed while reading this.

Secondly, thank you for the request. I really enjoyed writing this one! This takes place in the alternative Naruto world in Tsunades dream. I ended up writing that his father disapproved of the reader instead. I feel like his mother and Itachi would be happy with whomever Sasuke is with as long as they make him happy.

Warning, this story contains a bit of racism (the reader is a Senju while Sasuke as you probably know is a Uchiha)

Word Count: 1.3k

After the Fourth Great Ninja War, the two of you started dating when he came back after leaving the village. You had been in love since you were kids, but you didn’t realise how much you loved each other until he left the village. It didn’t pass a day without the two of you thinking about each other. 

The two of you were rivals as your families pressured you to outdo each other. It was bound to happen with him being a Uchiha and you being a Senju. As you grew older and saw Naruto and Hinata getting married, you were ready to make your relationship known to the world. The two of you were eating at Ramen Ichiraku on a quick date before Sasuke went to work with the police force. “Sasuke, do you think it’s time for us to meet each other’s families?” Sasuke’s eyes widen, he always knew that this day would come. You were both of age, and your peers were planning their wedding. “You are right…but what about our situation? Senjus and Uchihas have been on each other’s throats since the village was built.” 

You were in your great aunt Tsunade’s office helping out with healing an injured ninja. When the two of you finished, and he woke up, his wife came running in, embracing her husband. It warmed your heart seeing the two of them in love, adoring each other. Tsunade coughs, “So, Y/n, you are of age soon. Why haven’t the Uchiha boy proposed to you yet?” You feel your cheek burn “H-how did you know?” You and Sasuke really tried your best to be as secretive as possible. “I saw the way he looked at you when you healed him. It’s the same eyes Dan used to give me…Well…You aren’t getting any younger, and I want great-great nieces and nephews.“Aren’t you past fifty and…” You felt your soul leave your body as she slammed her fist on your head. You wobbled, feeling dizzy from that slam but managed to mutter out, “It’s a bit difficult. I don’t think my parents will approve of him being a Uchiha.” Tsunade pressed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “That stupid old rivalry. Come with me.” 

You follow her to your house, and she kicks your door open, finding your parents eating lunch. Your father gets off his seat to greet his aunt. Tsunade grabbed your father, lifting him by his shirt. “My beautiful grand niece wants to marry a Uchiha, any objections?” Your father shakes his head in fear “O-of course not, as long as you are happy, dear.” He stutters out while your mother nods in agreement. “See, that was easy. Now we have a wedding to plan,” Tsunade says, patting your father on his back and hitting the oxygen out of his body. 

Now you were seated with Sasuke discussing your next big step. Sasuke nods at you finishing the story. “Well, you should come over for dinner next week, Itachi will be home by then.” You eagerly nod, excited to meet his family. It went smoothly with yours. Hopefully, it will go even better with his family. His father is the head of the Uchiha clan he might be more level-headed and more logical than your parents. Sasuke, on the other hand, hides his nervousness. He really wants to introduce you to his family, but he really wants his father’s and brother’s approval. He knows his mother would love whoever makes him happy.

You were now standing outside their house, with a flower bouquet in your hands. Sasuke is the one greeting you at the door. “You look beautiful,” he said, gently putting his hand on top of your head. He held the door open for you, and you were greeted by his family, who were preparing the table for dinner. The first one to greet you was his mother. She embraced you in a warm hug, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. “I’m delighted to meet my son’s gorgeous girlfriend.” You felt your cheek burn “T-the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.” You said, giving her the bouquet. “Thank you, dear.” She smiled, giving you another hug. You offered to help her prepare the table, which she kindly accepted. The two of you talked while preparing the table. Sasuke noticed that you become more and more comfortable around his mother. Seeing the two of you smile and laugh together warmed his heart. When the table was set, his mother called upon the other men in the house. 

The first to show up was the family’s patriarch. “Father, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” You dried your hands on the handkerchief and nervously shook the father’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Y/n.” He said with a firm voice. “N-no the pleasure is all mine.” You stuttered nervously, you have heard stories about Sasuke’s strict father. “Please, have a seat.” He said the four of you sat down at the table. “Sasuke, where is your brother?” 

“I’m here, father. Sorry that I’m late. The Anbu mission took longer than expected.” Itachi said, having a towel on his shoulder. You glare at how Sasuke’s eyes light up at the sight of his older brother. You knew, based on his obnoxious bragging as a kid, that he adored his big brother. “Itachi, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” He said proudly. If there is one person in his family that would accept you, it would be Itachi. You stand up and shake his hand.  Itachi couldn’t help but notice the Senju Clan embroidery on your dress. “Y/n, do you belong to the Senju clan?” He smiles. “O-oh, yes. Tobirama Senju was my paternal great-great-great grandfather.” You said. Itachi’s warm smile brought you hope, but that was quickly crushed as their father slammed the o-choko on the table. “I’m not having my youngest son marrying a Senju.” He said between his teeth. 

“The Senjus are solely responsible for why we, Uchihas, have been discriminated against since the village was founded.” He continued standing up from his pillow. “Father, she has nothing to do with it!” Sasuke said, accidentally triggering his Sharinga. Which his father responded with the same eyes. “I don’t want anything to do with the Senju clan, especially a brat who is a direct descendant of Tobirama.  If you know what’s best for you, leave this house immediately.” You wanted to earth to swallow you as tears were running down your face. You immediately left “Darling, wait”, his mother said as you rushed out of the house. Sasuke gets up to run after you “Sasuke, stop” he ordered. 

“You don’t have to like her, but you will respect her as she will be your daughter-in-law whether you approve of it or not.” He finishes running after you. His brother looks at their father with disapproved eyes. “Father, this could’ve been a great opportunity for the Uchihas to approve that we wish to integrate into Konoha. And who knows, she might infect Sasuke with the will of fire which might prevent him from running away again.”  Itachi shakes his head before excusing himself. He uses his Sharingan and spots you and Sasuke sitting on top of a bridge above a river. 

You leaned your head on Sasuke’s shoulder, while he rapped his arm around you. “Your father hates me, h-he didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself.” You mutter, still sniffing from your crying. “Forget about him. It’s only the two of us against the world, right? You nod, and he slides a silver ring on your finger. You lift your head off his shoulder “S-sasuke” you were shocked at his gesture. He still wants to marry you, even with his father’s disapproval. He turns, facing you “There is no one I can imagine standing by my side. You are the spring sun, in my cold winter days…I-I don’t think I can do this without you.” Sasuke is stunned as he sees tears streaming down your smiling face. You threw yourself over him, embracing him in a hug causing him to fall on his back. “You and me, right, Sasuke?” He responds by putting his index and middle finger on your forehead. 

[mustardprecum]

Posting a couple fic visualizers was fun. Posting one more, alternate universe/universe alterations for Rook finding the Ossuary while still with the Lords of Fortune:

Mateo was the first to enter, proud as a damned peacock at his find. He jingled and glinted with every step, much of it the fruits of his labor from the last heist. Rook followed with the rest of the crew, looking to fill her own pockets to match him.

It was a good thing so many Lords were eager to plunder a Venatori stronghold, as they had to kill twenty easily before they could even start looking for loot.

She had passed enough dead bodies, Venatori and prisoners alike, when she broke away from the group, that Rook was surprised when she came upon someone living.

The man was well-kept, considering, with a groomed beard and weather a full set of gear. She would have readied her weapon if he wasn’t kneeling, chained to the floor. “Hello?” She inched into the cell warily. “Are you a prisoner here?”

His head shot up and Rook froze. His eyes glowed with demonic light as he tilted his head. “Not. Venatori.”

“Lord of Fortune,” said Rook. “We’re here to rob and kill them.”

“We killed some. Made it. Far. This time.” 

Rook nodded slowly. The state of some of the bodies, the notes she’d stumbled across, it all painted a rather horrifying picture of what the Venatori had been up to. It sounded like the demon had been trying to escape, and was possibly working with the host?

“What’s your name?”

“Spite.”

She couldn’t tell if he was baring his teeth or trying to smile. The way he spoke was different than when spirits communicated through Seers. She wondered what sort of possession she was dealing with. He didn’t look like an abomination and he didn’t have a magical signature like Rowan’s.

“And his name?”

His head twitched and the chains rattled. “Lucanis.”

“If you and Lucanis want out, you have to agree not to attack me if I free you.” Rook wasn’t entirely sure that it was the best idea, but she wasn’t the sort to leave someone to starve to death.

“A deal!” Spite was definitely smiling at that. “Free us. Kill Venatori. We. Won’t hurt. You.”

“Deal.” Rook wasn’t the best lockpick of the Lords, but she did have a kit on her, and she set to work on the shackles.

They were meant to be powerful, and probably powered by magic judging by the runes etched into them. But they’d likely killed whatever mage had made them, so Rook made quick work of the locks.

The shackles and chains clattered into the sand.

Spite stood, his host a couple inches shorter than Rook, and stretched his arms out. “Free soon. First. The blood.”

“A phylactery, I suppose.” That made sense, though Rook hadn’t found the room for it. “You should have free reign. I’ll send the message that you were a prisoner.”

“Blood. Then Calivan.” He spit the name with so much vitriol that Rook reared back.

“Calivan?”

“The Warden. Want him dead.”

If he was a Venatori, he was a target. Not to mention, whoever was running this place probably had lots of shiny things in his possession. Rook followed Spite out of the cell, coming to a conclusion when she heard other Lords nearby.

“Want help with that?”

Spite grinned at her. 

There were worse things, Rook mused as they rode the elevator up, than having a demon helping her sniff around on heists. He’d found the phylactery literally by smell and paid no attention to her pocketing anything that looked expensive while he destroyed the stores of blood.

When they reached a few impassable breaks in the floor, he pulled surfaces out of the Fade for them to walk across.

And all of that was without mentioning how deadly he was proving to be against the Venatori and stray demons from the experiments.

Killing Calivan was a lot more difficult. When he summoned a Pride demon, Rook went so far as to wish she’d brought some of the others along, even if it meant sharing whatever they found. But, as the demon was meant to be a distraction for them, Spite took advantage of Calivan’s focus on it to make his move.

One moment, Rook was frantically dodging lightning and looking for an opening to attack with her sabre, the next moment the demon fizzled, sinking back to the other side of the Veil. Calivan was dead on the ground with his throat cut.

“You’re good at this,” she commented as she dug through Calivan’s desk and trunk. “If you don’t have somewhere else in mind, do you think you two would consider coming to Llomerynn?”

Spite tilted his head. “We will be. Free?”

“As you can be. You’ll probably have to figure out how this works with your host, but we have Seeres in Llomerynn and they may be able to help.” The sack she brought was bulging when she finally tied it shut. It was the biggest haul she’d ever managed. “And I sure would like having you around.”

She approached him, offering her hand. “What do you say?”

Spite leaned in and sniffed her hand. “Smells like sandalwood and plumeria.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

[astrangetorpedo]

On New Year’s Eve, during a house party at her home in Richmond, Virginia, Lucy Dacus had her fortune told. She thought why not. On a personal level, 2017 had been a wretched year – a steady conveyor belt delivering the 22-year-old bad news.

“This girl, who I didn’t even know, came to the party and gave me this year-long reading,” she explains. “Month-by-month it was so specific. So far, it’s kind of lined up.”

In the past Dacus has been sceptical about the prophetic powers of the tarot card deck, and was taught that the pentacles (coins) were a symbol of Satan. “It’s hard to look to the future and see nothing, to know nothing,” she muses. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but having something to have your mind bounce off is nice. That’s why I like tarot. It gives you something to reflect on.”

It’s all part of a fresh way of thinking for Dacus, a new “mood of just trying to be open to new things.” For so many reasons the past year has been one Lucy Dacus is keen to put behind her. “I guess I could just list things,” she says laughing, but not joking. To begin, some of her close family suffered health problems, compounded by her own serious issues including a bout of appendicitis that forced her to have surgery. She was attempting to buy a house for the first time, a process that proved “trying”. Three of her tours got cancelled.

“It was a little bit miserable,” says Dacus, sitting in an east London cafe. “Towards the end of the year, I just had to laugh… Like, come on!”

Interwoven with these practical challenges she was having to navigate something much more troubling. “I got out of a relationship in 2016, which I was waking up from in 2017 – realising that it was abusive,” she begins. “Letting myself say that, it took many months to come out of the numbness… to stop being brainwashed. So, that’s all been a growth. It’s ended up being positive, but it is difficult wondering how I let that be a part of my life for so long.”

Deepening the ordeal, still, this year of personal upheaval was set to the backdrop of Trump’s first 12 months in office. A vociferous supporter of Bernie Sanders through the 2016 election campaign, Dacus is a passionate advocate for equal rights, attending marches and collecting donations for community organisations at her shows. To have Trump sat in the White House representing her country, she says, felt – feels – “horrible”. “It’s just absurd and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” she says. “It’s really hard maintaining hope.

“Coming to Europe I’m embarrassed to be an American sometimes, but then I just have to hope that people know that I am not part of Trump. I’ve thought about wearing shirts at the airport – just like ‘not my president’. In little ways I just want to assert that opinion.”

And then there were the disturbing revelations surrounding Harvey Weinstein (and subsequently many other men) revealed in Autumn 2017, that opened out into a global conversation around the abuse and harassment of women.

“It’s been nice coming out of that really terrible relationship during a time when women are speaking up more. It feels like I’m allowed to say these things now,” says Dacus, crediting the #MeToo movement. “All these horrible, heartbreaking stories of women being mistreated are at the forefront but the solace that people are doing what they need in order to find closure and help each other prevent that happening ever again. For one of the first times I’ve been noticing male friends of mine actually examining their past behaviours.”

While there are some early shoots of positivity, the truth is, the culmination of all of these factors left the songwriter dealing with anxiety for the first time. “2017 was a new state of mind for me – and not really in the best way.”

Lucy Dacus was raised in Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington D.C. on the east coast. It’s a place sometimes described as “the biggest small town left in America.” The family home was in the rural suburbs and she travelled into the city to go to high school. “It’s hard to tell you in one answer how my whole childhood was,” she says. “It’s a large variety of things. Overall, I’m coming out with my thumbs up.”

In her household music was always there. Her mother is a piano teacher, as was her grandmother. Picking up songwriting was never a big deal, like a second language that was spoken around the house. “That’s how music is – like, it’s just part of my life,” she recalls.

Yet the dream of being a professional artist seemed almost so unattainable that it was invisible. In her late teens, Dacus went to college to study film but dropped out, primarily because she’d end up saddled with huge debt. “That, paired with the feeling of being misunderstood in my programme,” she confirms. “I just didn’t have a lot of like minds in my classes.”

That prompted a move back to Virginia where she took a job in a photography lab developing kids’ cheesy school photos. She’d been writing songs in her spare time and gathered nine of the 30-or-so she had together when her friend Jacob Blizard (now her touring guitarist) asked her to record them for his school project. Her 2016 debut album, ‘No Burden’, was made in one day in Nashville. Blizard passed school, and that album received rave reviews. NPR called it “vulnerable”, while Pitchfork said it was an “uncommonly warm indie rock record”. As a result, 20 different record labels reportedly scrabbled to sign Dacus. She settled on Matador, and began to prepare for what should have been a joyful 2017.

The first time Dacus remembers assuming the role of historian she was seven or eight-years-old. She was writing in her journal – and she smiles now recalling her first entry. It complained about how the babysitter spent the whole evening on the phone to her boyfriend. “There’s a point where I realise I’m journaling and so I stop and go, ‘I should probably introduce myself… I’m Lucy’” she laughs, remembering it clearly. “It’s really cute.”

More than a dozen notebooks, and many years later, she still keeps a diary now. Sometimes she writes every day, other times, weeks go by and then she fills 20 pages. Occasionally she flicks open an old one to either “laugh or cringe” at her younger self.

‘Historian’, then, isn’t just the title of her latest album, but also the way she thinks of herself. A chronicler, of her own experiences, but also those around her. Those pages aren’t just a document of a growing maturity, but also a therapeutic habit that helps make sense of many life events, including that recent damaging relationship. “Seeing that it had been broken for the whole time but that I was just oblivious to it, [reading about] it helps to accept that things didn’t change,” she says. “I just saw it for what it was finally, and so perspective is good.”

Those handwritten journals are sacred, which is why, when her tenth one was stolen on tour a few years ago along with a bag of possessions, it was the notebook she replaced first.

The album itself is a recent history – a narrative burrowing through those myriad dark times. Dacus knew that she wanted it to form a complete story, and wrote the track list before some of the songs. “It’s an arc” she says, that begins in a “relatable place” with the only break-up song she’s ever written (‘Night Shift’) that subsequently delves “deeper into darkness.”

“Then the subject matter gets a little more intense,” she tells me, “– going through identity crises, or loss of home, or loss of faith, loss of a loved one, loss of your life. I feel like I’m pulling people into an uncomfortable space.” She pauses. “There’s then a change where hopefully I’m turning on a light and saying, ‘Yes, all of that exists, but it’s a foil to joy.’”

It is an extraordinary piece of work. Musically it’s a colossal step up, reminiscent of recent albums by Mitski (‘Puberty 2’), Angel Olsen (‘My Woman’) and labelmate Julien Baker (‘Turn out the Lights’). The subject matter is heavy, but it’s never a dreary listen. In fact, it’s charming, funny even – like a brave smile emerging through a curtain of tears. And Dacus has a gift for lyric writing; like the eloquent way she pays tribute to the humility shown by her dying grandmother on ‘Pillar of Truth’. From first to final note it’s evocative and powerful. “The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit I had a coughing fit,” goes the LP’s opening line in ‘Night Shift’. “If past you were to meet future me,” she sings on the final line of the closing title track, “would you be holding me now?”

It’s heartening to hear that the contents of Dacus’ NYE tarot reading were largely positive. The forecast noted that she should enjoy the proceeds of her hard work, but that “something horrible happens in the summer, then there’s kind of a rebirth, growing back into, like, life in an even more knowledgeable and peace-oriented way.” Dacus is about to leave, and picks up a bag of books she’s been keeping underneath the cafe table.

“It could be wrong,” she says. “I’m not superstitious. I’m taking it in. When that does happen I hope I can take my own advice – let it be what it is, and look past it eventually

(x) 3/14/18

[querytheauthor]

How many alternate versions of yourself have you met? Are there any in particular that stick out (positively or negatively)?

Although I have tried to generally avoid any alternative versions of myself in fear of breaking some sort of exodimensional law, I have accidentally encountered a few while observing parallel dimensions from a distance. There... was one encounter that I do still think about often.

During my travels, I encountered a parallel universe that wasn't much different from my own—it contained the same people, same historical events, and there weren't any odd "features" or occurrences. Everything seemed normal; it was almost entirely identical to my own reality. But I knew something had to be different. Cloaking myself up, I journeyed to that reality's Gravity Falls in hopes that something strange might have occurred, and eventually fell into conversation with one of the local townsfolk—who seemed to have some sort of connection to my hometown in that reality. That is when I heard a strange myth. I had found the key to separation between that reality and my own.

What I learned from the "rumor of a local legend": the one, vital difference between the two realities was that I had never made a blueprint of one of my last science fair projects (a perpetual motion machine). My lack of preparation beforehand, combined with the flood of extracurriculars and studies I was participating in, caused me to never build the machine in the first place. With no perpetual motion machine, I can only assume that there had been no opportunity presented to attend WCT (West Coast Tech). Apparently, unbeknownst to him, that was all this parallel version of me needed in order not to attend prestige post-secondary education. He remained on his own pathway, and him and that dimension's Stanley boarded the Stan'O'War much sooner than I ever did.

This is difficult for me to admit, but, at first, I could've considered myself almost... jealous. I wouldn't change my years of experience for anything, don't get me wrong—but, as far as I'm aware, this version of myself had never encountered Cipher. No, he hadn't broken barriers of scientific theory, but he'd avoided all the mess that would have come along with it. I was starting to regret my investigation in the first place. I didn't have the time to waste sitting with my regrets. I was constantly running for my life—as far as I knew, one of Cipher's henchmaniacs could've burst through the window at any moment, looking for a bounty!

But this reality wasn't paradise. Not for this version of me. Something must've happened oversea—the person recounting the tale wasn't entirely sure of all the details, but I can assume some sort of anomalous attack occurred. This Stanley had disappeared, and he'd been missing for years.

The contrast of emotion that followed this discovery threw me off. I found myself feeling oddly grateful. I hadn't seen my brother for years at this point. But I hadn't lost him. Not like this Stanford had. I left with what felt like a rock in my stomach, and I briefly questioned if some sort of parasite had invaded my body. It wasn't a parasite.

In the next few following times I attempted to rest, the fate of myself and my brother in that dimension had haunted my mind. I truly hated it at first. Fortunately, this was only one of the first parallel dimensions I'd encountered in the vast sea of realities I had been trudging through, so I forgot about the encounter for quite a long while.

And, yet, now, when I lay awake at night, I find myself filled with that feeling of gratitude once again. I suppose it was a lesson, in a way—not every Stanford is as lucky as I am in having a brother by his side. Some of them might not have even had one in the first place. I truly wonder how they live.

I'm quite grateful that I am not like them.

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

MORE THAN WORDS (3).

PAIRING — writer!steve rogers x librarian f!reader

CONTENTS — miniseries; alternate universe—modern setting/library/small town; second chances at love; angst with happy ending [*tw: grief, mourning, illness, character deaths, some talk of pregnancy/difficulty with conceiving]; eventual fluff; book spine poetry (kind of).

SERIES SUMMARY — It’s been five years and he’s lost his way. Steve Rogers has taken a hiatus from his writing career and moves to the small town of Westview to escape the memories of a love lost. He unexpectedly finds a kindred spirit in the local librarian, and something compels him to begin communicating with you using the only way he knows how—by using the spines of your books.

WORD COUNT — 3.5k

NOTES — please note that this is me posting some of my old work, and also, i’m not playing around with those warnings. i wrote this as a response to my own experience with grief, and it’s not always pretty. if you are experiencing the same thing, as we all inevitably do, please know you are not alone. reach out to your loved ones; tomorrow is never guaranteed, after all. take care <3

✩ series masterlist ✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

And I think of how time passes so differently for different people. —NINA LACOUR, “We Are Okay” 

Natasha is washing dishes in the kitchen. Lunchtime was simultaneously difficult but fun, as Yelena, affectionately named after Natasha’s younger stepsister, stubbornly didn’t want to eat her carrots. 

She looks up when she hears her young daughter’s shriek of laughter, the window just above the sink giving her a clear view of the yard. She watches fondly as Clint chases Yelena around in the snow, gently tossing tiny little snowballs at her back.

It had been like a miracle when she learned she was pregnant with Yelena. For years, her doctors told her that having children would be extremely difficult for her, if not impossible. On more than one occasion, she had begun to lose hope that she would ever be able to carry a child on her own. 

She had shared her worries with her friend Maria, who had been extremely supportive and sympathetic, but as someone who didn’t want children of her own, she couldn’t really fully understand.

Peggy would visit, with flowers and a slice of cake from the bakery in downtown Manhattan that Clint really liked, sometimes uncomfortably as she and Clint didn’t get along at first. 

The two’s personalities were just so different; Peggy would constantly wonder aloud to Natasha, “How does someone as lovely as you end up with such a giant man-child like Clint?” 

Eventually, however, the two began to warm up to each other. Clint reluctantly admitted that Peggy was a nice woman, despite their differences. Peggy would be forced to relent that, while dramatic and occasionally immature, Clint could be sweet when he wanted to be.

When Natasha shared that she and Clint were trying to have a baby, Peggy was so excited. “I mean, good luck trying to co-parent with this one,” she laughed, gently smacking Clint on the arm. “But my god! You are going to be an amazing mom, Nat. I just know it.”

But then news of Peggy’s death came like a bolt out of the blue. Natasha had been heartbroken, maybe she still is. Clint asked if she wanted to put having kids on hold for a little bit, at least until they could process what happened. 

She struggled then, with her unspeakable sadness and with her desire to start her family. For a few months, she and Clint did stop trying... but then Yelena had arrived like a blessing.

Natasha turns off the tap, even though she’s not even halfway done with the dishes. She takes off her rubber gloves and throws them down into the sink, bringing a hand to her face to try and contain the wave of tears. 

She leans her hands against the edge of the counter, lifting her head to watch her two favourite people being happy and playful in the yard. For some reason, even though it made her heart soar just a few seconds ago, it only makes her miserable now.

Natasha had shown Yelena photos of her Aunt Peggy ever since she was born. Yelena knew who she was, but not really . When she learned how to talk, she would ask, “Who is Aunt Peggy?” Natasha would try to explain, trying to keep Peggy’s memory alive like everyone told her she could. But it simply wasn’t the same.

For Yelena, for any other children that might come after, they wouldn’t really know her. To them, Peggy Carter would always be an almost mythical figure; stories of her were told but never witnessed. She would almost be a figment of their imagination, despite how real she had been for Natasha—which is what hurt more than she’d imagined. 

She could tell Yelena that Peggy was funny, but she could never be able to fully explain Peggy’s snippy, sarcastic, and very English sense of humour. Her tone of voice as she said something snarky, the sound of her laugh, or the way she always knew how to light up a room. 

Natasha could tell Yelena that Peggy was warm and kind and compassionate, but she would never really be able to tell her daughter how it was to be loved by her.

And oh, did Peggy love with all her heart.

Natasha couldn’t understand, not until Yelena was born, how her friend could love and love and love, could divide her heart over and over again amongst so many people, and still have so much of it left to give. Even now, five years after she had gone, Natasha can still sometimes feel her near. 

When she was sad, sometimes she swears she could feel Peggy’s arm around her. Right now is, unfortunately, not one of those times. Natasha’s knees buckle underneath her as she sinks down onto the tiled floor.

Never in a million years did she think she’d have to do this without one of her best friends. Game nights were never the same, even though the ones who remained tried to keep the tradition going. Peggy would have wanted them to do that, wouldn’t she? In a perfect world, Steve would be there with them too. 

Oh god, Steve. 

Natasha cries a little harder to herself when she thinks of him and the day he broke all those years ago, all of his sorrow and anger came pouring out like a giant unstoppable wave.

Her heart constricts in her chest. Steve and Peggy had been the couple in their friend group everyone was secretly jealous of. They were perfect for each other, always saying that they were best friends first and lovers second. She recalls the way the two looked at each other during their first dance at their wedding. 

Bucky, who served as their ‘best person’, introduced the newly married couple, and Natasha remembers applauding so hard that her hands hurt a little after.

She had danced with Steve and Peggy individually afterwards. Finally, finally , her friends were happy and together, the way they always should have been. 

Peggy smiled at her then, shaking her head a little like Natasha often does with Yelena these days, brushing the tears from her face before pressing their cheeks together as they danced. 

“You’re so silly, Nat.”

Natasha sniffs hard when the front door suddenly opens, Clint and Yelena tumbling forward in a fit of giggles and a flurry of snow. Clint stops when he sees his wife on the floor, who is trying to quickly wipe away her tears and pull herself together. 

“Mommy?” Yelena hobbles over to her mother, her little boots trekking snow all over the kitchen floor.

“Hey, Yelena,” Clint says softly. “Why don’t you take those off and get ready for your bath, hm? I’ll be up in a minute.” For once, luckily, their daughter doesn’t put up a fight. She shouts with glee at the prospect of a warm bubble bath, disappearing down the hall to take off her outerwear. 

Clint picks up a towel that sits on the kitchen counter, bending down to wipe the now wet floor clean. Natasha doesn’t tell him that he’s cleaning the floors with her best dishcloth.

She reaches out her hand and he takes it, moving to sit next to her, his task now abandoned. For the next ten minutes, until Yelena starts screaming for her dad that she’s ready for the bubbles, the two of them sit there on the floor, not letting go of each other’s hands as they remember the friend they both love.

Where does all that love go, now that she’s gone? It remains, just as they do. Is that why it still hurts this much? After all, as the saying goes, grief is just love with nowhere left to go.

Halfway across the city, Bucky sits up in bed as the morning minutes pass him by. He should be getting ready for work, but it seems harder than usual today to leave the warmth of his sheets—and it has nothing to do with how cold and dark it is this winter morning.

He glances down at his phone to quickly check his messages, before throwing it down onto his duvet and glancing around casually at his bedroom, as if there’s something here that will inspire him to get up. It’s the opposite. 

His eyes land on a framed photograph hanging up on his wall, one that’s been there for literal decades. He sees it every single day, but this morning it hurts to look at it.

It’s from a Halloween party all those years ago, when he was still a carefree and reckless college student, ready to take on the world. Steve and Peggy are at either side of him, dressed up as Catwoman and Captain America respectively, their arms slung around his shoulders.

Bucky remembers that night, despite how much he ended up drinking. Steve got hammered, eventually dissolving into a whining mess about how much he wanted to hate Bucky for telling him he was in love with one of his best friends. 

Bucky had good-naturedly taken the verbal beating with a smirk, helped Steve back to his apartment, and helped him onto the couch. Peggy was a little less inebriated, but Bucky still had to help her stumble into Steve’s room so she could crash on the bed.

“James,” Peggy mumbled, grasping his hands as he tried to lay a blanket over her. “Jamie, do you think I should go for it? I really do love him. How cute is he tonight? No, he’s cute all the time. How could I not love him?” Bucky remembers huffing at her in exasperation.

“You’re both idiots, you know that?” But before he could even finish his sentence, Peggy had fallen asleep, her hands still closed around his. Bucky remembers it now and, as much as he likes to act like he’s fine, his heart aches. 

He had loved Peggy too, not in the same way Steve does, but he loved her nonetheless. Bucky had been Steve’s first phone call after he got the news of Peggy’s accident.

He had been on his way to meet Sam for dinner, after finally mustering up the courage to ask him out on a date. They had gone out to dinner, just the two of them, before, but this was a proper date. Bucky had fumbled over his words while asking Sam out, who had laughed good-humouredly at him.

“We’ve eaten together before, Barnes.”

“Yeah, but I’d like to kiss you after, this time.” Bucky had wondered where the bout of confidence had come from. He normally wasn’t so bold. He watched in anxious frustration as several beats of silence stretched between them, Sam’s usual playful smile faltering.

“Oh,” Sam said, pausing for a moment, looking thoughtful. But then, to Bucky’s relief, he had smiled wide before quipping, “Let’s skip the Italian place, then.” 

Taking his advice, Bucky chose a Japanese restaurant just a few blocks from his place. He felt a little silly, a little excited, a little nervous all at the same time while walking down the city streets. 

He dressed up a bit for the occasion, putting on a nice shirt but keeping the leather jacket—he knew Sam would totally roast him for it later, but Natasha insisted he wear it.

“Gives you this sexy biker vibe,” she had said, winking.

But then Steve had called, just before he arrived at the restaurant.

“James,” Steve didn’t sound like himself, and he used Bucky’s given name. Steve hasn’t called him James since the day they met. Ever since, he only ever called him Bucky.

“Stevie, what’s wrong?”

“Can you—it’s Peggy. She... please, can you please come?” At the way Steve’s voice broke halfway through his plea, Bucky didn’t need to be asked twice. Regrettably, he texted Sam saying he might be a little late, but something had come up with Steve. He stayed on the line with his best friend as he sprinted back to his apartment and climbed into his car.

He can distinctly remember weaving through traffic, pressing down hard on the gas as the city streets passed him by. When he finally reached Steve and Peggy’s apartment, Bucky knew what the news was the second Steve opened the door, tears in his eyes. 

The moment Steve laid eyes on Bucky, his friend broke. Steve collapsed in the doorway, and Bucky did his best to hold himself together so he could collect Steve in his arms, his heart breaking with each sob that wracked his friend’s body.

Hours later, Bucky finally found the time after Steve had settled down into bed to call Sam. The latter had insisted everything was fine, this was literally life and death, and their date could wait. 

“Just go take care of our boy. We’ll talk later.”

He remembers helping Steve plan the funeral. He asked for Bucky’s opinion on whether he should have Peggy buried or cremated. Bucky stared at his childhood friend from across the dining table that separated their kitchen from their living room, watching as Steve seemed to disassociate himself from the situation. 

He moved and spoke like he wasn’t even mentally there, moving like a zombie, like the responses had been programmed into him like a computer.

Bucky gets out of bed and throws his covers aside, shivering slightly at the loss of warmth. He walks over to the photograph, running his fingers over Peggy’s image. She smiles widely back at him, her brown eyes sparkling with affection. 

Bucky closes her eyes to try and remember what her hugs felt like. Peggy would wrap her thin arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly to her, her nose buried in the crook of his neck affectionately as she rocked him gently in place.

“Jamie, how are you?” She would ask in her delightful accent, kissing his cheek quickly as she pulled away, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. Sometimes, Bucky would go in for a second hug. He used to always say that Peggy gave the best ones.

His phone rings, shattering the quiet atmosphere of his bedroom. Opening his eyes, he pulls away from the photograph, leaving a little piece of himself with it, to go and answer it. The name on the caller ID, when he sees it, gives him pause. 

It’s not because he doesn’t want to talk to this person. In fact, he might be the only person Bucky can talk to right now. But fear looms in the back of his mind. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the possibilities. Fear of a potential loss, now that he knows, somewhat, what it feels like.

Because Bucky also remembers that he and Sam never rescheduled their date, not in the five years since Peggy’s death.

He swipes the green answer button. “Hey, Sam.” 

As Sam’s voice fills his ear, Bucky quietly exhales in relief. Bucky has loved Sam for years, and even though his friends sometimes describe him as fearless, he is anything but when it comes to Sam. Just as Steve and Peggy had struggled for years, he values Sam’s friendship more than anything else—even more than any potential romantic relationship that might come from it.

Bucky doesn’t know how Steve does it. When he thinks of losing Sam, it makes his breath hitch. It makes his chest ache. It makes him want to shout and sob and throw something against the wall. 

He would die before he would let anything take Sam away, even if it means burying his own feelings. Steve had tried to convince him so many times to take the leap. He and Peggy had, and look at where they ended up.

Yeah, look. One dead and the other an empty husk of his former self. Bucky isn’t listening to Sam’s words as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to dispel the awful thoughts from his mind.

“Buck?” Sam notices, as he always does. “...You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, not really sure whether it’s a lie. A part of him thinks that this pain, this sadness, will pass soon. Another knows that this will be a part of him forever. His loss may not define him, but it will follow him for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know how okay he is with that. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Meanwhile, over the river in Westview, Wanda and Pietro have been trying their best to make sure you’re okay, but that proves difficult when you don’t actually talk to them about how you’re feeling. They can only share their concerns with each other, as you seem to be going through the denial phase right now. But it’s been eight months. Surely, realistically, it can’t go on for much longer, can it?

The Maximoff twins sit next to each other in their favourite booth at the diner across the street from the library, aptly named “Two Men and a Griddle”. 

It’s owned by two polar opposites—Nick Fury, with his eyepatch and more or less permanent scowl, is actually a sweetheart under his tough exterior; Scott, on the other hand, is one hundred percent sunshine and lollipops and rainbows. But the menu remains some of the best food in town. 

Normally, the Maximoffs would have invited you to come with them, but someone has to keep watch at work. Also, the twins have already made plans to meet a friend. Peter, the young waiter, comes back from the kitchen with their sodas and a promise to be back once their entire party has arrived.

The bell on the door jingles with the arrival of a new customer, and Wanda has to hold back her gasp. The twins have already seen Thor since his return to Westview, but it doesn’t get any less shocking.

“Hi, Thor...” Wanda whispers, watching as her friend slides into the seat across from them. He gives her a sheepish smile, but all she does is reach out to grasp his hand. She doesn’t know what to say. Before his return, before she saw how much the last few months have changed him, she had been so angry. 

She shared your conflicting feelings on the subject: it was perfectly understandable why he left... but it didn’t make his departure any easier. 

Wanda had so many questions for him, and she was hell bent on demanding answers. The second she laid eyes on him a few days ago, however, after receiving a text message from him after months of silence, her heart thawed like snow in the sun.

Pietro, however, didn’t even blink. He didn’t even need to ask why. If anything happened to Wanda, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t have done the same thing. He isn’t sure he would have survived. 

Despite Wanda’s anger when Thor first left town, Pietro had completely understood and always kept quiet whenever Wanda vented some of her anger at him. 

Sometimes, the memories are just too much.

Eight months ago, Loki died as a result of a year-long bout with cancer—a diagnosis absolutely nobody saw coming. He didn’t tell anyone at first, thinking that if everything could be fixed with surgery, then there was no need to worry everyone. But then surgery wasn’t enough; he would have to undergo chemotherapy. 

Still, Loki didn’t say a word. Wanda suspects now that it was less about him, about everyone else, and more about you and Thor. How was he supposed to just casually bring up the topic to the two people he loved most in the world?

The three of them order their lunches and catch up, Thor trying to explain why he left. He felt like he owed them that much, because they had loved Loki too. 

Wanda can’t seem to stay angry any longer, exhausted with the effort, and she decides to let bygones be bygones. He’s back now, which is all that matters.

And, obviously, he needs a friend much more than he needs a lecture, especially when he starts talking about his job at the nearby Westview College.

“Sabbatical. Bah! The bastards.” Pietro balks, stealing a fry from Wanda’s plate.

“Well, apparently,” Thor begins, taking a sip from his soda. “It’s not a good look for their football coach and health studies professor to look like... well, me.” Thor gestures down at his changed appearance and Pietro shakes his head.

“That’s such bullshit,” the older Maximoff twin spits out.

“Well, maybe it won’t be so bad. I can use the free time to fix my mistakes.” Thor says, glancing out the window at the library.

“Don’t call them mistakes, Thor. You didn’t do anything wrong, honest,” Wanda tries to reassure him.

“Then—” He can’t bring himself to finish the question. Then why is she still mad at me? Instead, he asks, “How is she?”

“Denial,” Pietro says simply.

“Hm,” Thor wonders if things would be any different if he had stayed. Would he not have changed so drastically? Would you be dealing with your feelings better? Would your friendship ever be the same? “How long do you think she’ll stay mad at me?”

The pause that follows tells him everything he needs to know.

to be continued.

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