#not gloating or anything he's genuinely like “damn you live like this?”

[indelen]

If a guy I'm crushing on hard as a teenager showed up at my door in a new three piece suit, dashing coat and a tie I gave him for Christmas and I'm in my depression era apartment wearing my very worst PJs looking like hell warmed over I would simply pray for Mother Earth to open up and swallow me whole and she would grant me the sweet release of death.

Lucy is stronger than me bc i would actually start crying and ended up throwing myself out the window if my crush showed up to my apartment without a warning and said this to me

[charlotte-headcanons]

Flower name prompts for Charlotte Katakuri and Cracker

Chrysanthemum, Hibiscus, Marigold, Ivy, Violet and Zinnia.

Of course! Thanks for requesting! So excited to get to those flower headcanon asks 💕 enjoy!

CW: violence, death, angst

Chrysanthemum: How does your muse express romantic love? How do they feel about love as a concept?

Since we headcanon Katakuri as aroace, we'll talk about platonic love here, if that's alright! To him, love is all about feeling safe and comfortable. The best indication of his love is when he becomes trusting enough with someone to lean onto them slightly, close his eyes, and rest, spending time with them in comfortable silence. To those he likes, Katakuri will also often bring random trinkets: little gifts, things that he liked or that made him think of the other person. A pearl taken from a defeated pirate crew, a seashell, a picture he found pretty - he'll always give these kinds of things to the people important in his life, hoping that they will like them too.

Cracker is a complicated case. Although he kind of wants romantic love, he doesn't have yet much experience with it, and therefore (although he wouldn't admit it) he's constantly scared of fucking up. While overconfident and loud usually, around someone he likes he changes into a timid, awkward mess. A not obvious but crucial way in which he expresses affection is simply listening to the other person attentively. He's a gloat and yell kind of guy normally, who rarely listens, so once he actually pays attention to the other person...you know he's in pretty damn deep.

Hibiscus: How does your muse view the gentler, daintier things in life? As things worth preserving & caring for, or as things only bound to wither and disappear?

Katakuri likes and protects anything soft and gentle. He will take a step to the side if it means avoiding trampling over a flower, he will pick up a slug from the road to bring it to a safer location. He's a gentle giant, wholesome on the inside, although he has to always make sure he isn't seen doing those things, as it wouldn't work together with his threatening public image he adopts to keep his family safe.

Cracker is like a polar opposite of that. He's a menace wherever he appears, and as we saw in canon, he's absolutely not against destroying an entire forest (with his pure vibes I guess?? The fuck was that technique) just because he can. He'll sometimes pick on those weaker than him, and generally believes that if something's easy to break... Tough luck, natural selection, bitch. The gentler things and people in life need to get the fuck out of his way. Otherwise, they get squashed.

Ivy: What are your muse's views on marriage? Do they believe it is something strictly for love, or an institution rooted in business & social benefits? Do they desire or have they desired to be married?

Answered in detail here! Of course, both are pretty disillusioned in marriage and know well that it doesn't always happen out of love. Katakuri finds it to be a good thing for others but not really something for himself, Cracker on the other hand, would like to get married but only if it's his own choice.

Marigold: Is your muse prone to jealousy? How might they handle envious feelings?

Katakuri is not jealous often, but he does experience envious feelings sometimes. All the time he's lowkey jealous of those who get to live normally, for starters. Rarely, but sometimes he gets jealous over his favorite siblings too: since he doesn't have much free time, whenever he has time to spend with them but they choose to spend time with someone else, he feels something like a sting. He's a quiet-jealous type. Outwardly, he won't say anything, even telling them that it's okay to reschedule. However, he'll (mostly unconsciously) punish himself and them for it by throwing himself into more work and having even less time for them.

Cracker's jealousy is frequent and explosive, especially if he has a crush on someone. His high levels of envy result from his insecurities in the romantic domain; as overconfident as he is, he knows he lacks experience, and hence finds anyone else with experience to be a dangerous rival. He's a territorial guy and will absolutely stare daggers at anyone he deems dangerous, and often no reasoning will work to convince him that he has nothing to worry about.

Violet: How does your muse respond to betrayal?

Betrayed Katakuri is a Katakuri that shuts off. If required by Mama to kill the traitor, he will do so, and then sulk for months. During this time, he'll slip way more into his perfect persona and avoid vulnerability even harder than he did until now. Keeping it all inside, he'll buzz with negative emotions, and snap easily - instantly apologizing to those he snaps at and feeling guilty about it, but not being able to help it. For a visual representation, this meme describes it about perfectly:

For Cracker, it all depends on how close to him the traitor was. If they weren't that close, he'll angrily beat them up to a bloody pulp until they stop breathing, rage for a while, and call it a day. But if he genuinely trusted them, god save Totto Land. He'll make all hell break loose, destroying everything around him out of anger, and might even cry a bit; something that doesn't normally happen to him often.

Zinnia: How has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse? Has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives?

Katakuri can say he's lucky enough to not have lost anyone very close to him yet, being normally able to help it thanks to his precognition and hyperfocused on avoiding risks to his loved ones ever since Brulee got hurt. Of course, he saw plenty of crew members, homies, and Totto Land citizens die, but fortunately, it wasn't yet anyone he'd be really broken over losing. Seeing death all around has kind of numbed him to the idea of dying himself one day (he's completely at peace with that thought) but he's still as terrified of others dying as ever. It feels like his failure every time because if he can foresee something but cannot prevent it... Then it's really on him, right?

Besides that, he has learned to appreciate the lives of those weaker than himself through seeing them fight for survival and die. Seeing their ambitions, seeing some of them smile in their death and other call out the names of their families, it all made Katakuri realize that even the smallest of people have their own great struggles, hopes, dreams. This is something not many of his siblings pay attention to, but Katakuri greatly appreciates regular people and normal everyday life, trying to protect them as much as possible.

If he lost someone very important and close to him, though, Katakuri would basically react the same way he reacted to Brulee getting her scar, except 10 times more strongly. He'd take on even more responsibilities, get overprotective, and try to be in 10 places at once to not ever let something like this happen again. Besides that, he'd visit his loved one's grave way too often, spending every moment of his free time there and actually talking to it to ease the grief he'd feel.

Likewise, Cracker isn't really that close to so many people, so he also didn't yet lose anyone he'd strongly care for, but he saw plenty soldiers and civilians die; and actually caused some deaths, even within his own ranks. To him, seeing weaklings die is kind of a power trip. Death doesn't humble him, it actually feeds his ego: after all, if he's the one surviving, he must be amazing and special.

However, if someone close to him died, Cracker would be devastated. It wouldn't teach him anything good, instead, it would only make him seek out revenge and get obsessed with destruction due to just how pissed at the entire world he'd be. He would be sad, of course, but he wouldn't really know how to accept this emotion, so he'd react with pure, unbridled rage instead.

Thank you for the ask! 💕

[jstlikemagic]

It’s An Everything Thing. - Jeff Wittek Smut

Title: It’s An Everything Thing.

Pairing: Jeff Wittek/Reader

Rating: R (NSFW/Swearing) | Doggystyle, missionary, oral sex, protected sex.

TW: Hints at a small sexual assault situation but doesn’t surround the plot if that makes sense.

Summary: Y/N and Jeff don’t like each other... oh wait.

A/N: So, this contains smut and angst which is exciting! Please reblog and/or like if you enjoyed this! 

Looking around the party, you lost sight of your friend David. He invited you out to his party at his house. Which meant Jeff was going to be there. You and Jeff hadn’t talked since the fight you two had a few months ago that ended up in you two blocking each other on all social media and avoiding each other at all costs. Knowing he was going to be there made you so anxious but also ready to get fucked up.

Walking around, you started to look for the open bar. Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when you spotted it with it’s beautiful Grey Goose bottles and a 750 of Fireball sitting on the bar cart. Stumbling upon the bar cart, you made yourself a mixed drink and walked away to find some place to chill and sit for a while. As soon as you turned into the living room, there was just crowded space and nowhere to breathe. As you tried to navigate your way through the living room someone had accidentally tripped you while they were dancing. All of the sudden, your drink spilled on you as you fell on top of a stranger on the couch.

“You fainted straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes,” Jeff scoffed. Looking up at him and realizing who it was, you quickly stood up.

“Piss off,” you spatted back. You walked away in a hurry to the bathroom, hoping no one would notice that you spilled your drink and it was completely soaking your clothes. Making it to the bathroom, you placed both hands on the side of the sink, looked in the mirror, and sighed deeply. You weren’t sure if you were mad at the person who tripped you, the fact that the drink you had was all over you, or the person you fell on was Jeff. 

“Ya know, I can get you a tide stick or something or I can give you a change of clothes or I can let you go home naked,” Jeff offered while peeking into the bathroom while winking at you.

“Nope, I’m fine. Goodbye,” you tried to shut the door but he stuck his body through the opening, enabling him to slide through.

“Are you really fine though? It looks like ya pissed your dress!” he laughed. You sat down on the toilet lid and put your head in your hands. You started to cry due to the anxiety and frustration of his presence. “Oh no, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you-”

“Jeff, go fuck yourself. You’re a fucking dick and I’m not sure why. Even in my times of need, you still manage to make me miserable. Now, can you please leave me the fuck alone,” you screamed at him through tears. This was it. This was the breaking point. You were done with his egotistical, obnoxious, and annoying personality. He was just too much, especially right now.

“I like to joke around with you. I know you don’t think it’s funny but I always used humor and shit to hide that I was into you. At least twice a week, I watched guys hit on you, my friends ogled over you. I just need you. I know you’ve heard me say it before but I mean it,” he confessed. You just stood there in shock. 

“Funny way of showing you’re into someone, huh?,” you pushed past him and walked out the bathroom while wiping your tears. And there was your answer.

[A week later…]

Scotty was performing at the House of Blues and he invited you to come as a guest and celebrate with the Vlog Squad. Your mindset coming to the concert was that you were just gonna ignore Jeff so it seems like nothing's changed. The other guys had no idea what went down at the party because you told them you had to leave for “girl stuff.” That was enough for them to not question anything. Still, it was irritating to even think about spending at least four hours in a dressing room with a man who had the nerve to make fun of you and then cover it up with some bullshit.

“Y/N, can you hand me another water please,” Scott asked sweetly. Responding with just a smile, you walked to the mini fridge and gave him his water. What you didn’t see though because your back was turned, was that Scott eyed you the whole time. From the point of you swaying your hips as you walked over to the fridge and all the way to you bending down to grab the water. He licked his lips at the sight of you but specifically your ass. Sitting on the other side of the room was Jeff who eyed Scott. There was rage building up in Jeff. Even though you weren’t his anything, he still had this duty in the back of his head to be yours. “Thank you, babe,” Scott said as you handed him his water.

“No problem, Scott. Anything for you,” you dautingly said while shooting a glare towards Jeff’s direction. “Actually, I have a request. Can I have aux, guys? I have a song I really wanna dance to!”

“Sure, take it over!” Todd yelled from the bathroom. Why he was still controlling the music while taking a shit was beyond you but it was whatever. Connecting to the bluetooth of the speaker, you furiously scrolled through your playlists. You came across the “i like to drink and turn up” playlist and found the perfect song to fuck with Jeff. If he actually meant what he said to you a week ago, this might be the perfect revenge. You weren’t normally about the whole revenge thing but Jeff basically made you feel awful about yourself so why the fuck not.

Pressing play, everyone recognized the first few seconds of the song. It was “Or Nah” by Ty Dolla $ign, a very sensual and raunchy song but still loved very much by all of those in the room. With your red solo cup in your hand, you stepped up on the coffee table set up in the middle of the dressing room with your back facing Jeff. Making sure to flaunt your back side, you hiked up your shorts just a little bit so your ass was hanging out just a tad bit but enough to make Jeff go wild. Swaying your hips and dropping low every few seconds, it looked like you were dancing to “Come Get Her” by Rae Sremmurd instead. You knew you got the reaction from Jeff because he just looked up at you in awe, he looked like he wanted to jump your bones.

“Jeff, are you okay?” you heard David scream over the music. You turned around to see Jeff’s knuckles completely white from gripping his cup so hard. He had a straight edge face which brought out his perfectly sculpted jawline. Pausing the music, you just stared at him and he stared at you back.

“No, I’m not fucking okay. Y/N is a fucking bitch and I can’t stand her right now. God damn it,” he raised his voice. In one swift moment, he got up and walked out the door with it slamming right behind him. 

As he walked out the door, all you saw was Todd walk out of the bathroom while saying “Is there something I missed? Why do we look genuinely confused and spaceshot?” Nodding your head, you got up and decided to look for Jeff. Where would Jeff be? Where would Jeff be?

Turning the corner, you saw a little bit more of a private patio with plants peeking out in the back. You saw the back of his head but he was slumped over with his head burrowed in between his forearms. Debating if you should say anything, you kept your distance and mustered up the courage to say “Hey, um- I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’re upset but-”

“You don’t know why I’m upset?” he interrupted. “Y/N, I fucking told you how I felt about you, it was like you were gloating it in my face that I could see you, I just couldn’t touch you or have you. It’s not even a sexual thing. It’s an everything thing.” You could see how frustrated he was. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was so red. In the back of your head, you hoped he hadn’t been crying. You know that you meant to be malicious and wanted a response but you thought that it would’ve been more of a banter rather than the situation now at hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same way. I’m sorry that I made you upset. But to make things clear, I’m not yours and probably will never be. With that being said, get that through your head. You can fuck any girl you want within reason so it’s best of you to stick with that route,” you pleaded. You never actually thought of what it would be like to be with him whether it be platonic or sexual. You for sure didn’t want your mind to go there. Stubbornly, you didn’t want anything to do with him. He treated you wrong all these years and you weren’t sure of where your future even stood with him now after the dancing escapade. 

The truth was that you were scared. Scared of liking, or loving for that matter, anyone because of the trust issues you developed. Many people in your life had fucked you over and Jeff was already on that list. That is why your walls were up completely when it came to him. Maybe I should give him another chance? No, no. I can’t do that. He’s an asshole, Y/N. He’ll always be one. 

“Y/N, I guess it’s whatever right? I’ll just try to move on. Won’t think about you, won’t speak about you. Y/N, who? I just want to let you know that I may never be able to move on but I still hope maybe one day, you turn around, and at least wanna try being friends,” he spoke with sadness dripping from his voice with every word. 

[A year later...]

Sitting in a lawn chair by a firepit, you were just scrolling on your phone. You were at David’s house party and just felt lost. Feeling out a place and out of loop because you hadn’t seen the Vlog Squad in a year and didn't bother to. After the whole Jeff incident at the House of Blues, you thought it was best to give the guy some space. 

“Y/N! Is that you?” you heard David scream from across the backyard. Watching him run over, you laughed at him almost tripping over a rock. He was alway so fucking clumsy when he was drunk. Iyt only took one drink but boy was he hammered  As he made his way over to where you were sitting, he pulled up a chair right next to you. “How have you been?” he asked. 

Biting your lip, you just looked at him and shrugged. You weren’t fine. Not at all. Ever since the Jeff incident, everything played in your head. Every possibility did. Would you two have been dating by now? Would you two have been civil and friends? You wouldn’t know. You obviously couldn’t tell David any of that either. Hearing someone scream his name from inside the house, he quickly got up, said goodbye, and escaped the awkward moment you two were having.

Realizing you were alone again, you decided to get up and actually assert yourself. As you walked through crowds of people you spotted your best friend, the bar. Getting yourself a beer, you settled on one of the breakfast bar stools that sat right in front of the kitchen island. The kitchen was basically empty since the actual party was outside and in the living room. Taking a swig of the beer, you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. “Hey sweetheart. Any reason you’re alone tonight?” the stranger asked while rubbing your shoulders. 

Taking another swig, you turned around. You didn’t recognize the guy at all and he wasn’t the least bit attractive. “Yeah, I’m waiting for someone. Thanks though,” you said nervously.

“Well, why don’t I make friends with you while you wait,” he said while placing his hands on the top of your thighs. Not knowing what to say, your mouth was left agape. You hoped that in this moment someone would fucking save you from this creep. Placing your hands on top of his, you tried to remove his hands off of you. But they were glued onto you and he squeezed your thighs. “Baby, I just want to have some fun. Is that too much to ask?” he whispered in your ear. 

Clearly uncomfortable, you just let him start caressing your thighs. As he started kissing your neck, you felt yourself get nervous and wanted to scream. Not wanting to cause a scene, you just remained silent and froze up. As you looked out into the living room to see if anyone would notice, you spotted him. He was wearing a black Carhartt shirt and khakis. He looked like an angel in the crowd of people. Hoping he would catch your attention, you just stared at him with this sad look on your face. 

When he finally caught your gaze, it felt like when you see someone after a breakup. Shocking but also familiar. He furrowed his eyebrows and right after that you mouthed “help me.” Getting up from his spot, he walked over to where you were sitting. “Hey, man. Get the fuck outta here alright. I’m her boyfriend so I’m the only one who should be touching her like that,” he threatened. Throwing his hands up, the guy slowly backed out of the room.

Both of you had no idea what to even say to each other. Do you say “thank you” or “hi” or should you just walk away and pretend that this never happened. Contemplating in your head, you just got out a “Thank you. Like a lot. I appreciate it.”

With his eyes darting over the place, he contemplated what to say. “Y/N, can we please go somewhere private?” he asked while fiddling his long fingers. Nodding to him, he grabbed your hand and led you to the guest bedroom. Sitting on the bed, Jeff pulled up a chair to sit right in front of you, giving that space that the both of you needed. “Now, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you what I’ve told you before. But I wanna ask if you’re willing to even try being frie-”

“I don’t wanna be your fucking friend,” you spatted out. Suddenly, his face dropped to the ground and you could see the sadness forming. “Jeff, I wanna fucking be with you. I wanna be the only girl you have in the world. I wanna be the one who you wake up to, fuck with, sleep with. Everything.” Realizing that the liquid courage overshot this one, you just stared down at the ground and waited for him to say something.

“Alright, so where has this come from? Last year, I’m pretty sure you wanted to kill me. This year it’s ‘Oh Jeff! I wanna be with you.’ Y/N, did you think I was gonna wait forever for you?” he threw back at you. He had a point. You waited a year to figure out maybe there was something there. I mean tonight he struck something within you because of how he was the only one in the crowd of people that actually helped you in that uncomfortable encounter. He seemed to be the only that cared for you at this point.

Looking up at him with tears in your eyes, you just shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you then. Maybe I actually realized that we could be great together? Maybe love wouldn’t be scary if it was with you? I don’t know,” you muttered. Folding your arms, you fell back on the bed. Grabbing a pillow, you used it to cover your face because you could just feel the sobbing about to start. Feeling his eyes burning through you, you just sighed.

“Well, I know I could cover one of those tasks you want with me,” he said with a smirk on his face. Crawling up to your body, he just smiled at you. Caressing his hair, you pulled his neck closer so your lips met. As corny as this sounds, the kiss was more passionate than you could ever imagine. Wrapping your legs around his waist, his hips lightly ground into yours which made you moan uncontrollably. “You’re gonna let me make you mine tonight?” he asked while you caught your breath.

“Make me yours, baby,” you provoked. With that, he pulled himself off of you, and attempted to pull off your skinny jeans. Seeing that he was struggling to get them off, you laughed. Hearing him mutter something under his breath, he finally got them off your ankles and onto the floor. Looking at your underwear, he could see a wet spot.

“Wow, already wet for me? Just like at the party last year?” he joked. You rolled your eyes. 

“Will you just shut the fuck up and fuck me? God, stop being annoying,” you whined as you threw your head back. Slowly peeling off your underwear, he took in the view. This is what he had been waiting for. All those years, he had been waiting for a moment to get you alone and see this side of you. Not the naked side, he enjoyed that, but an intimate side that the two of you could share.

Moving his face up to your pussy, he just breathed and it sent shivers down your spine. You might've been waiting for this moment all year but you had waited what felt like a longtime for someone like Jeff in your life. Someone you knew that would protect you and treat you like the goddess you are. 

Sticking his tongue, you gripped the sheets in tight handfuls. Moaning through your gritted teeth, you felt his tongue doing circles around your g-spot. Wanting him to delve more into your pussy, you grabbed his hair and brought him closer. Soon enough, he was hitting the right spot and you couldn’t keep back your shrieked breaths and moans. Darting his tongue back and forth, you could feel a knot in your stomach forming. 

It wasn’t a familiar feeling because you had never been satisfied like this before. No guy had ever actually wanted to eat you out unless you asked for it. His first move was to eat your sweet pussy because he wanted to show you that this was all about you and your comfortability. 

Feeling the knot in your stomach tighten, you gripped his hair and tugged it hard. Feeling yourself tighten around his tongue, you let out on him. Licking up your cum, he took a step back to admire what was in front of him. An attractive, vulnerable, and sweet, Y/N. Throwing yourself up from the bed, you whipped off your shirt and unclasped your bra. Reaching for his shirt you tossed it over his head and to the corner of his room. Unbuckling his jeans, he stopped you. “Y/N, I wanna show you what you’ve missed out all this year. No need to pleasure me. Looking at you unfold for me is enough,” he smirked.

“Okay, then how do you want me?” you asked sweetly. Hearing that was enough for Jeff to cum right on the spot. He didn’t know why but the innocence in your voice flipped a switch in him. It made him feel bad about how he was gonna wreck your pussy for the next ten minutes. 

“I want you on all fours. Right now,” he demanded. Taking his belt off, then his pants, and boxers, you groaned at the sight of his cock. It was already dripping precum. Grabbing a condom from his dresser drawer, he opened the package and slid the condom on his hard cock. With your ass in the air, he lined his cock up to your wet pussy. Placing a hand on your back, he slowly pushed in. Hissing at the sensation, he pulled back and said “Y/N, are you okay? I’m not hurting you am I?”

“Nope, I’m fine. Just need to get used to it,” you replied. Trying again, he slowly entered you while making sure to not put all of himself in just yet. After inching in every time, he put himself inside of you. He found his rhythm and was fitting himself completely in your tight pussy. Gripping on your hips, every once in a while he’d smack your ass. 

Grabbing your ass and smacking it, he said “Oh, you like it when I fuck you like that? You like it when I smack your ass, baby?” Nodding your head, you managed to pant out a ‘yes.’ Suddenly, he removed himself from you. Feeling empty, you whined at the awful sensation. He took you by your hips and turned you on your back. 

“Sorry, baby. I want to take you this way. I want to look at you while I cum,” he breathed. Instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips, he inserted himself again. Only this time, he placed his lips on yours which earned him a moan from you. His face then found himself in the crook of your neck and his lips on your neck. Holding on to the back of his neck, you needed the support from him completely fucking you into tomorrow. Every thrust was hard and fast and it was perfect. 

Even though it didn’t seem like the typical intimate and romantic moment, it was. There was a certain closeness you two felt with each other during this moment. He was giving himself to you and you were giving yourself to him and it was perfect. 

Feeling him slow down, you took that moment to catch your breath a little bit and refocus on what was happening. Jeff lifted himself up and supported himself with his elbows. Looking up at him, you could tell he was very close. His face was scrunched up and his mouth was agape. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” he muttered. As he looked down at you, you could see the lust and passion in his eyes. As he intently was locking eyes with you, he let out a low moan and came into the condom. 

Rolling off of the bed, he took the condom off and threw it in the trash. Laying next to you in bed, you were just heavily breathing while looking up at the ceiling. “Did you cum by any chance,” he asked.

“No but I don’t think that really matters right now,” you responded. Turning towards him, you moved yourself closer to him. “What matters is, what do we do now? I mean we fucked and I told you how I felt so,” you pondered.

Pulling you into his chest, he sighed. “Well, we have one of two options. Option one is that we never speak of tonight and we pretend we still hate each other. Or we could do the better option, which is to maybe see where things go between us?” he noted. Looking at him and his arms that were wrapped around you, you smiled.

“Ya know, I’m really liking option number two but can we add an option three to this?” you questioned.

“Which option would that be?” he asked.

Growing a huge smirk on your face, you pulled yourself on top of him and placed your hands on his chest. “I was thinking we see where things go but we also have round two.”

[moonctzeny]

Never really yours

anon: Just wanted to say that "The bet" was absolutely cute!!! If you are still taking requests, I'd love to have celebrity!au + Taeyong + exes + 26 I'm looking forward to your next writings :)!

“Baby, please. Being with you once a month is still so much better than not being with you at all. I can’t live without you” “And I can’t keep looking for flakes of happiness in the same place that I lost it”.

pairing: celebrity! Taeyong x fem! reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 1,734

warnings: mentions of death, drinking, slight body worship, breakups, for the love of god don’t read this if you’re freshly broken up

a/n: sorry for the angst, hope you like it anon!

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How did you get yourself into this mess again?

He looks good, his hair a turquoise shade only he could pull off that well. You wondered how he found time to attend your common friend’s birthday party tonight, it’s been months since anyone in your life had seen him in person. Being a k-pop idol meant having almost no free time and as Taeyong’s ex-girlfriend, you knew that too well.

You don’t know how you found yourself tangled up with him in your sheets.

It started off with an awkward greeting, your friend’s apartment not big enough for you to avoid stumbling upon each other. He asks you about your life, about work, about your favourite TV show ending. You lie about everything being fine, not mentioning the fact that you’ve been waking up crying every night because he keeps visiting your dreams. Hugging your waist, kissing your knuckles, only for you to open your eyes to see the cold spot he left in your bed. In turn, you ask him about Ruby, and when he tells you she passed away, big eyes brimmed with tears and avoiding yours, you insist you sit down with him and share a beer.

Taeyong isn’t a good drinker, but he would gladly do it if it meant spending more time with you. An hour of catching up and you remember exactly what drew you to him in the first place and what convinced you to get in a committed relationship with someone so unattainable. He is so sensitive, so sweet. Attentive to everything you had to say, gentle and encouraging with his words. He always knew how to calm you down, all your problems you shared with him shrinking into nothingness the moment he reassured you everything was going to be okay.

You know you shouldn’t have let him grab your hands, but the circles he drew on them with his thumbs had a drug-like effect on you. You know you shouldn’t have run your hands through his hair, but the little mewl he let as he nuzzled his head against you, made all your constraints fall out the window.

“I can’t stop thinking about you”, he murmurs as soon as the beer can is less than half full and you choose to believe him. He insists on walking you home and you agree, knowing damn well he will follow you upstairs without any complaints from you.

From the moment he steps into your apartment, he has his lips glued on yours. Hungry, fervent kisses were exchanged between you, making you struggle to lock your front door. You move onto the couch, never breaking away from each other and discarding a piece of clothing with each step.

“I’ve missed you so much”, Taeyong whispers against your lips and you want to pinch yourself to make sure this isn’t one of the countless scenarios your mind fabricates for you in your sleep. You want to say it back but you’ve cried it so many times in your pillow that it seemed pointless to be repeated.

He pulls you on his lap, hands running over your sides to unfasten your bra. Sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, his doe eyes look up at you to gauge your reaction. He loves when you tell him he does a good job, that he makes you feel good, such a people pleaser that it makes your heart ache.

“Mmm, yes baby. Your lips feel so good”

His eyes light up in your praise, urging him to flick his tongue over your bud until you’re moaning his name. You know your pleasure is his number one priority but the sensitivity is getting too much and you haven’t had enough of him yet. Crouching down, you pull his hair to rest on the couch’s headrest when you start nibbling on his neck.

“No marks”, he pleads, “I have a photoshoot tomorrow”

Ah, yes, there it is. That stomach-churning feeling that has the memories you’ve tried so hard to repress flooding your mind in a second. That little voice that reminds you that Taeyong is never really yours. Missed birthdays, missed anniversaries, missed calls. Homemade dinner you prepared for him getting cold due to another practice taking too long. Waiting for a week for a mere notification, a voice message. Only getting to hear his voice by turning on the TV, seeing his smile through a screen. Were you his significant other or his fan? Did his most loyal fans know even more about your boyfriend than you? No. Maybe they knew about his favourite number, or his album sales, but you knew how to do this.  

You kneel down in front of him, springing his member out of his boxers and putting him into your mouth. Slurping around him intensely, you let your tongue hang out as his tip hits your soft palate. He moans at the feeling and you gloat over the sounds he is making just for you. You knew how to make him feel good, and you had to prove to yourself that you meant something to him, maybe even as much as he meant to you.

After some more minutes of your pampering he pulls you up, and starts leaving kisses over every part of your body his lips can reach. He murmurs about how beautiful they are, how beautiful you are, how much he missed you. His words were as sweet as they were addictive, so you lead him to your bedroom to shut him up.

Taeyong soon finds himself on top of you, naked and rubbing his cock over your folds that are undoubtedly wet by this point. You haven’t slept with anyone since your breakup but you don’t tell him that. Hell, you couldn’t even admit to yourself that his loving was the only physical contact you were really craving, but the moment he dives into you it’s hard to deny it.

He captures your lips in a devout kiss, contrasting his deepening thrusts. You hold on to his arms to try and ground yourself from the pleasure that is devouring you completely. This feels so familiar, so right that you want to scream. How unfair is it that someone has to rip these moments of intimacy with him, that you need near as damn much as oxygen at this point, away from you?

One of his thrusts soon hits that sensitive spot in you and you moan at him loudly to do it again. He concentrates in pleasuring you more deeply and opens your legs further in the process, pinning your knees onto the mattress. The motion is rigorous and your neighbors must hate you for the thumping of the bedpost against the wall but you couldn’t care less. His eyes are focused on your contorting expressions, widening the moment your mouth drops open at the wave of your orgasm washing over you.

Nothing can compare to the feeling of having the person you genuinely love connect with you through body and soul. In these serotonin-filled moments of your pussy gripping him, trying to coax an orgasm from him, nothing has changed. You’re still together, like those times you sneaked a quicky in his dorms after dance practice. Or those times he managed to stay over at your place to have a movie marathon and binge on his favorite sweet potato snacks. Or those rare times he took you out on a date under the moonlight of the UN Village hills, making promises about forevers.

Taeyong doesn’t take long to cum, panting and glistening in after-sex glow, and you think you’ve never seen anything more stunning. He plops next to you, one arm serving as a pillow under your head, the other drawing abstract shapes over your tummy. You don’t know what to say as the euphoria starts to wear off, leaving you in the uncomfortable realization of what you just did. He is the one who breaks the silence first.

“Sometimes, I sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different”

Oh, God knows you did too. You’ve spent the majority of your relationship daydreaming about an alternative universe, where Taeyong is just your colleague from work that you started dating, where you can go to the grocery store down the street with him, or kiss his hand in the daylight without fearing for his career ending. Your answer was quite different though.

“Don’t. There’s no use.”

He turns his torso around, leaning on the hand behind you to look at you.

“Why?”

“Because”, you sigh, hating the way he furrows his eyebrows like he didn’t agree with your breakup as well, “you won’t give up being a celebrity and I can’t stand only seeing you once a month. We’ve been over this”

“Well, this time it can be different! I can ask for less promotions and you can ask for more day offs. We can make this work!”

“No, we can’t Taeyong!” You move away from him now, using up every ounce of self-control to deny him. “You think I didn’t try as hard as I could the first time around? This isn’t sustainable and you know it.”

“Why can’t we just try again? And if it doesn’t work then-”

“Then what? What will happen when I need you and you won’t be able to be here? Do you know how much it fucking hurts to only hold on to memories of you? It almost doesn’t matter if we’re together or not, I still miss you all the same!”

You get up from the bed, covering yourself with a bathrobe, blinking again and again to keep the tears from spilling out. He is looking back at you with those big puppy eyes that you love the most and you hate yourself for the way they lost their sparkle.

“Baby, please. Being with you once a month is still so much better than not being with you at all. I can’t live without you”

“And I can’t keep looking for flakes of happiness in the same place that I lost it”. It was so hard to avoid his eye contact, so hard to keep yourself from snuggling up to him in the bedsheets and let yourself get carried away in the lie. But you had to be strong, for the both of you. “I think it’s time you should go”

[whereflowersbloom]

Let me heal you

Jason Todd didn’t hate Bruce or Dick. Nah. Waste of valuable energy. In fact, Jason respected, dare he say even admired his ward and brother. What he despised were their inflexible morals, or rather his family forcing their morals on everyone else. Specially him. We don’t kill. Yes, yes. Fine. What exasperated him was when Bruce decided that his morals applied to everyone else that he took issue. Including the black sheep of the family. He didn’t precisely kill, he let himself go for a single minute. He lost it one time. Batman gave everyone unlimited chances at redemption, except the Red Hood. One mistakes and he’s exiled. In the end it didn’t matter. Nevertheless, he was aware that was not the reason he was angry tonight. No. It was entirely something else.

He could hear her anywhere he was, no matter what time of day or night, what state of sobriety or inebriation, critically wounded. In the dark dangerous streets of Gotham, the sparring ring with the smack of fists and bodies, between the breaths he took as he was falling into the arms of Morpheus. He could always hear Raven. Foolish. She was too far from him. He lived and painfully yearned for her. She was soft curves and he was hard edges. She was a fierce and magical Phoenix while he was a fucking jay with broken wings and a delirious mind. What a catch, Jason.

It drove him mad, how much it didn’t make sense, at all. A soldier wouldn’t fall asleep to a lullaby, but rather the drumbeats of wrath and screams of his opponents. But she was that, for in each beat of her heart Jason heard the call to arms. These complicated feelings, he didn’t remember when they started surging in him. He tried to sort out his feelings, even though he knew that would hurt worse than the burning pain emanating from his cracked ribs. Tsk. He could use a cig right this second.

She was probably at the Manor with Richard, staying in the guest room which was Coincidently next to his old bedroom. And here he was alone, in his modest studio apartment. The pain of his bruised and broken flesh and bones was nothing compared to that excruciating knowledge. Jason rubbed his palms over his weary eyes trying to calm himself. Attempt to dampen the burning rage that was about to send him to a dark place in his mind he didn’t want to think about. He had control. He couldn’t lose control over the voices. Feel the boiling anger, burning in his chest, squeezing his heart. Let the eternal agony that burned through his blood and singed his eyes an unnatural green color. He left that fucking bullshit behind. He loathed the Pit for taking his chance to offer her something...relatively normal.

Since Artemis and Bizarro were gone. Officially, Jason was on his own for the first time in a long while. As he pulled his arms up to finish bandaging his wounds, his shoulders stung and in a gasping breath Jason quickly dropped his arms. He was useless. The pain was worse today than it usually had been. Probably from all the previous battles against Black Mask and his personal army of mercenaries. They had become a pain in the ass. Perhaps a short visit to good Doctor Tompkins would have been a better idea. He cursed breathlessly.

A knock at the door was his only warning before he turned around to see her. Raven opening the door and striding in as if this was her room and not his. Not that this was the first time she sneaked into his apartment.

She was here. It wasn’t a vision or product of his imagination or effect of high dosage of painkillers. He swallowed hard as he found himself speechless, mind blank in her presence. With her dark cloak and hood down, serene expression and looking at him with intense amethyst gems.

He paid a high price after using the pit to have his life back and this anew tremendous strength. But there’s something else, something he’d never felt before. A pull in his chest, as though someone had tied a string to one of his ribs and it was tugging on it, gently but insistently, coaxing him towards her...She was his answer. For a half-demon goddess she was the closest thing to heaven to him. The wings of freedom.

“What is it?” Jason growled harshly. It wasn’t a threat. He simply didn’t want her to see him like this. In such a weak position that he couldn’t even patch up his own damn body. Those little bits of his bloody past stopped him from reaching out to her. What right did he have to ask her to love him despite everything? Indeed he paid a high price.

“Came here to gloat, little bird?” He spat poisonous words with a half smirk. Poisonous words and threats were all he ever had. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply, getting air into his lungs, refusing to be beaten by this, refusing to be anything less than civil and let her see right through him.

There was no answer. She watched him closely for a moment before slowly closing the distance between her and him. As if she was nervous that he would order her away. Like last time she had been here, her palm caressing his cheek with such tenderness he had forgotten it existed. Her breath was warm against his neck and he was dying to mutter ‘please stay’.

What a joke. Jason Todd. Unapologetically and insanely in love with the little Raven. A Titan. Each atom of his body breathed longing into the space between them, aching to be with her, love her as a whole as it should be. But with a fractured mind, chained with firm mania cuffs. So hateful and yet insanely in love with this creature capable of drowning him in his ashes.

“I came to offer my help healing you but if you don’t want then...” She studied throughly his figure for a solid minute but at his reaction, furrowed forehead formed a thin line. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to regain her elegant composure, taking a step back.

He quickly wrapped his hand around her wrist to stop her from leaving. It was our of instinct or his body ice cold starved for a ray of light. He kept his face clear of the pain his shoulders felt at the movement, but Raven’s eyes flickered to them. A flash of genuine worry. Why he couldn’t apologize and be a gentleman like the golden boy. Damn it. Manners Todd.

“Are you mad at me?” Raven asked serious. She twisted her body around to face him yet she didn’t pry her wrist from his grip that had gentled as soon as he halted her.

Did she want the truth? No. He was mad at himself for not fighting for her. For being weak. For his wickedness. For all his bullshit. But the beat in his chest was now pounding like a hammer against an anvil, erasing the other sounds around him. He could only focus on her.

“No.” Jason forced a chuckled though it lacked the usual mirth. “I’m not mad at you. Which is surprising considering we are usually infuriating each other every other day, sunshine. Missing me much?” Letting her go was far more unbearable than his cracked ribs. She continued staring at him deciding whether he was telling her the truth or guessing what game he was playing tonight.

He felt his body tense in anticipation of her answer. Did she miss him? Did she think of him as often as he did? He considered briefly sending her away though every fibre of his being rebelled against the action.

Raven knew she shouldn’t be here but yet she found herself coming anyway, despite her rationality telling her to run, to flee, to hide, to forget that she ever came here…But something deeper, something stronger, urged her forwards. She didn’t dare fight it any longer. Yes. She missed him every second since their last encounter. She bit her lip out of habit. She was a Titan and he was an outlaw. Different sides of the coin.

“Jason.” Her free hand stretched for his that had loosened from her wrist. His callouses scraped across her skin and she found herself enjoying the touch perhaps too much for her own good. She recalled the last time they made contact. First he gave into it like a malnourished kid offered a piece of bread, but then he rejected it unreasonably. So adamant on pushing her away. Not this time.

Raven let out a heavy and deep sigh.

“How long do you plan to continue this ridiculous dance? Running around in circles.” She asked him openly with a soft voice. Her heart seizing painfully tight in her chest.

As long as it takes for you to leave me, he thought to himself. No answer.

“Jason” Raven repeated his name until his eyes met hers, it was a combination of lake blue and cyan. Impossibly beautiful and perfect, usually brightening with amusement or laughter, slightly shadowed by regret. Except now they were dull with contained sorrow. Let me heal you. All the hurting parts of you.

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that why you reject me?” She spoke with a cracked voice and glassy eyes. Doubting her worth snd pride wounded.

What. No. No. Hell no. The least he ever wanted was to hurt her. His fists clenched with frustration. How could she ever think he was ashamed of her? He adored her with his broken and dammed soul. He was ashamed of himself.

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Jason said with a shake of his head. “I’m disappointed in my own weakness. I could never be whole...” He admitted out loud with the weight of his past deeds and his unpredictable future. He inhaled deeply as he ruffled his dark curls.

She narrowed her eyes in understanding, wetting her lips before speaking. “Jason. You’re stronger then you think. You can deal with this. Don’t let this ruin who you are and what we could have.” She whispered softly, words caught between mustered courage and steady resolve. Voicing the possibility of a ‘us’. There was no point denying their attraction at this point.

One moment he was standing there. Motionless. Then he was moving, moving towards her, closer, before he’s quite given his body permission to do so because he couldn’t just stand there and not hold her.

At that Jason stopped breathing for a moment and his eyes shot to her. He wrapped his arms around her frame, tightening a fraction. His eyes were filled with something Raven was unsure of how to describe even with her empathic abilities. It was a mixture of emotions she couldn’t keep up with. Something she’s seen in him before but no one else.

Surprise. Fear. Worry. But over all happiness. Yes happiness and divine peace.

He stared down at her, a rational protest rising in his throat, the terrified assertion that she can’t help him, she can’t put up with this side of him. The rage and the voices and his uncontrollable anger. But in her eyes he found the answer. She’d already made up her mind. As if she was saying ‘I choose you’. Him. The damaged not charming and righteous Dick.

She could feel Jason’s volatile emotions call to her, voice hoarse and raw from his injuries but distinct and sharp, piercing straight to her soul. Pleading with his spirit. “Please…Stay with me.” She automatically snaked her arms around his neck. Her touch. Merely touching her used to be enough but now he couldn’t get enough.

He had been terrified by what her touch had inspired in him at first, terrified of what he might be able to do to her body if she let him…The things he wanted ro do to her. But unable to stop thinking about it, craving it, his lips on her neck, his strong, hard body pressing hers into the wall of his apartment, not caring anymore about his own physical pain. He pressed a passionate kiss to her lips.

Jason had never believed in soulmates, that was folks tales for mindless romantics. This didn’t change his mind about the topic. One thing was certain, if there was a person whose edged fit his perfectly regardless of the roughness, that would be Raven. She was darkness herself but in his mind she was the sun encasing him in gentle warmth. The stars were meant to reflect in her eyes. If there was a heaven, Raven was the owner of his.

Small jayrae prompt for @alerialblu @ravenfan1242 @amaati @niahti @jasonrae117 @catyypss 💜💖

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 14 rewatch thoughts, in which there is much ado about Looking

let’s get the most Look heavy out of the way first lol

- the scene of din holding the silver ball is shot from below, like we often get when we’re in baby’s POV because grogu’s almost always gazing up at him. so the camera/audience is looking at him through the child’s eyes still, in a way, just to emphasize the connection even more. h e l p  m e

that firmly established ‘din looks down, baby looks up’ rhythm paying for itself yet again 😭😭😭 also I love the effect that because of the smoke it looks like he’s standing in a serious thunderstorm, while the sky is actually really bright and lit up with only light cloud cover from other angles. it plays into this thing that... this is basically the end of the world for him, and barely anyone else knows or cares. he or the baby never appear in the sequels, din doesn’t have a huge ~*destiny*~ within the Force, his world is so much smaller than what we’re used to in star wars -- his grief at having it come crashing down around him is only a black cloud around him, it doesn’t block out the sun on a galactic scale ala anakin skywalker. he’s not Important. except actually he’s the MOST IMPORTANT, perhaps exactly because of that. (he certainly is to me) y’know? well I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t, I’m not sure I know. but my heart is so full.    

- for a good portion of the scene where din is picking through the ashes of the razor crest (;_____________; still not over it) boba is actually looking at fennec looking at din

more precisely he seems to be looking at her while din is looking at the silver ball, and is looking at din and having some kind of Emotion while din finds the beskar spear

hm. I am now exTREMELY curious to know what boba and fennec’s relationship is actually like in more detail. strictly canonically I’m pretty sure there shouldn’t be enough of an age difference that he could sort of be a father figure, but... there’s something here, some parallells being drawn

the shots of them right before din finds the ball is interesting too -- you have fennec looking at din with a pained flinching sort of sympathy

and then she looks down and glances half towards boba like she’s checking in with him out of the corner of her eyes, but she’s not seeking gaze contact at all, she’s not asking him about anything or even initiating contact (it comes across better in motion but this was the best I could do to show it)

presumably they’ve already decided they’re going to help din, from the matter of fact way they inform him about it right afterwards, but there’s something complicated going on here within fennec at least, I think, it makes me want to know more about her backstory. (boba does look at her when he says they’ll help, and he’s trying to meet her eyes even if she doesn’t reciprocate)

and then at the very end of that scene boba is looking at fennec again, and she’s finally meeting his eyes and they both seem pretty satisfied and pleased (I guess doing the right thing has not necessarily figured hugely in either of their careers lol)   

sideline but boba has so many excellent Stances in this episode, it’s wonderful. he looks so steady and grounded

- also boba and fennec are close enough that the smoke actually affects their point of view for now and darkens their world too. how’s that for a metaphor for empathy hahaha 

- it’s actually quite sweet of boba to take the time to explain his own state of mandalorian-ness to din, like he’s at least eliminating the one source of uncertainty and tension that it’s in his power to remove haha  

(I wonder if he’s also gauging din’s reaction to the concept of foundlings? I’ve seen some people theorize that it might not be a recognized tradition across all of mandalorian space (then again... what even is, the only true mandalorian trait is accusing someone else of not being mandalorian right) and that it was one of the apples of cultural discord in the civil wars)

- the whole journey boba’s face goes on as he watches din with the spear... I do not understand what it is exactly but I am OBSESSED with it, his eyes are doing some things and it makes my heart feel funny

he pretty quickly glances away with a sharp inhale of breath that’s some shade of ‘well. fuck.’, but I can’t quite tell you exactly what’s going on there haha

- okay so honestly -- maybe we find a force user to train the baby and maybe we don’t, but not having din be an active part of that training either way would be a fucking CRIME. din clearly just has so much fun being able to engage with him like that, as does the baby, and it gets results. if someone shows up to help with this I hope they have the insight and flexibility to understand that. (listen to baby’s excited squeal and din’s breath of laughter before he encourages ‘come on, you can do it’! it’s consistently the most engaged and happy we see din and baby obviously feels safe doing this with him when he doesn’t with anyone else, come ON)

- the soft soft mando and baby music kicking in when din gives grogu the silver ball back and tells him he’s special T_______T oh my actual god  

- I love the way boba’s just... studying din all the way through their first meeting, it’s such a look of cold, dispassionate but not necessarily unkind evaluation. that’s the gaze of a bird of prey or something, it’s perfect (his eyes have softened significantly when looking at din towards the end of the episode, I guess that whole father son situation hit a tender spot huh lol)

- din’s shoulders rise up immediately when fennec starts talking about the bounty on grogu :’)

it also seems he’s a little 😬 about being in such a hurry back in chapter 5 that he missed that she wasn’t actually, y’know, dead haha, he slumps a bit uncomfortably and there’s also the “I owe you one” later on

- oh to have the utter yet unwarranted confidence of this storm trooper behind a minigun, still blasting away as the boulder crushes me

- I want to say something to gideon about what sorts of things a man must be compensating for to take the time to gleefully gloat at AN ACTUAL BABY, but thankfully I’m way too classy for that

- fennec shand using her entire strong but slender sniper’s frame to push that boulder off the cliff... poetry

I love that one pose she does jumping backwards off the stones at one point too, it’s so graceful, she looks like a dancer

- this entire scene of boba fett fucking eliminating storm trooper after storm trooper is doing some stuff to me, I can’t lie

it’s so AWESOME to see a mando interact with their armour in the same natural and expert way as din -- bo katan & co didn’t really have that many surprises and tricks to theirs, it’s more sleekly functional, boba and din’s have a different feeling to them, more personal to them and lived in, in a way (probably because they work alone much more often and need some tricks up their sleeves)

bo katan’s armour is for War and has been for generations, theirs is more just to Live as themselves? does that make any sense?   

- I wonder what it feels like for din to try to push through the force barrier - he’s making sounds not just of exertion but with a little bit of pain to it?

- I really like that when boba says “I was aiming for the other one” fennec clearly knows he’s not joking, she doesn’t smile or anything. it makes it feel like they actually know each other quite well at this point

- grogu makes small sleeping baby noises when he’s passed out on top of the stone Y____________Y  

- genuinely touched by how much better boba’s armour looks in the next episode, after him having it back for like a week max. LOVE what this show does with the relationship between a mandalorian and their armour and how it’s almost a living thing when it’s with them, and dead when it’s taken away

- the way boba leans forward a little in his seat when he spots the big ship *chef kiss* it so instinctively reads as him watching something dangerous, and after seeing the way he went through all those troopers like a hot knife through butter you fucking KNOW that if he’s unsettled you’re damn well unsettled too haha

[orsuliya]

Song Huaien is a good boy!

Book spoilers did me dirty. That’s a fact. Ever since I peeked at the last chapters of the novel, I’ve been convinced that Song Huaien was going to go rogue sooner or later. And so I looked upon him as one does upon a ticking bomb, watching him closely for any signs of rot and obvious mwahahahaing.

And that… might have been wrong of me. It’s not like The Rebel Princess ever treated any character’s novel journey as sacrosanct (see: Su Jin’er, Wanru, even Zitan). So what gives? Well, just look at the ever-precious Liu Duanduan. Wouldn’t you want to steel your heart in advance…?

And then the supremely astute @dangermousie came along and made me reconsider what could be done in the scant remaining number of episodes in order to deliver a satisfying ending. I trust The Rebel Princess, so it will be a satisfying ending, 12 cut episodes notwithstanding, and I’m choosing to ignore any contrary opinions! So what could be done? Well, getting rid of Song Huaien’s rebellion and conflict with Xiao Qi seems to be one of the most viable solutions, whether by design or by leaving it on the cutting-room floor. Okay, I’m sold, I thought at once, jumping without thinking as I’m wont to do. But does the drama itself support that?

Why, yes, I believe it does!

What are the actual visible signs of Song Huaien’s potential villainy? There’s the corruption/negligence thing, a pronounced liking for finer things in life and an unrequited love for Awu. That’s it.

The corruption scandal, if it can even be called such, what with Potato suppressing any further investigation attempts, is the biggest strike against Song Huaien. It’s clear that he’s somehow embroiled into unsavoury dealings, but the extent of his guilt is never shown. While I don’t fully believe his story about the birthday gifts being delivered during his absence and accepted without his express permission and/or knowledge, there is also nothing to suggest he’s been explicitly on Xie payroll, secret documents non-withstanding. The record book alone is no proof of guilt – why, the Xie might have simply noted that gifts of certain value had been given and received, not in exchange for a specific service, but rather as a start of a beautiful relationship. You get the drill. I believe if there was a solid proof of Song Huaien doing explicit harm to his own in exchange for Xie money, Xiao Qi’s reaction would have been much harsher.

As it stands, Song Huaien’s guilt is a matter of conjecture. There’s the birthday gift, which Xiao Qi cottons onto really quickly, which confirms that it may have been noted in the Xie secret books. There’s the fact that he may or may not have known about it and may or may not have chosen to keep it. I’d say he did know, if only after the fact, and that he originally meant to keep it. There’s also the damning fact that Song Huaien was the man taking care of logistics from the Ningshuo side. And he did his job really poorly, since multiple deliveries of substandard grain and clothing somehow made it through. But was it out of maliciousness? Was there ever a conscious decision on his part to let things slip? Not necessarily. It looks bad, sure. But let’s not forget that dealing with the capital sharks may be a first for Song Huaien, regardless of his previous experience as a procurement officer. Whatever his experience, it was either at the very end of the supply chain or it was mainly related to supplies coming from the area closest to Ningshuo. The former wouldn’t have prepared him for his present duties. And as for the latter, I think that the Ningshuo province has its own rules and ways, which are in no way comparable to the shark pond that the capital undoubtedly is. What’s more, Huaien really seems to buy into the illustrious capital life; it would not surprise me if he delegated a few things that should not be delegated simply because he was busy taking it all in!

So, intentional crime or crime of negligence? I’d be inclined to vote for negligence. It just fits what we know about Song Huaien up to that point, it fits his current circumstances and it makes Xiao Qi’s reaction quite reasonable.

The second strike against Huaien’s integrity is his love for the finer things in life. But then, is it really such a damning thing? Many of the Ningshuo soldiers must have experienced the same thing upon their arrival into the capital. Here they are, heroes and patriots all, having spent their whole life either on various battlefields or in decidedly non-luxurious circumstances. Why, they must be quite happy if they get enough to eat, which they do only because they have an honest general who cares about them very much. Other armies are not as lucky! And then they are shown all those useless noble scions, some of whom might nominally be officers despite barely knowing how to hold a sword (and even those swords would be ceremonial ones, so mostly useless). I don’t know about you, but I’d be bitter. Some of Xiao Qi’s closest clearly are, although he tends to shut that down very quickly. Also, covetousness is not a crime as long as Song Huaien is not actively taking bribes or jockeying for profit. And there is no proof of that. His manor and his title are both given to him without him ever asking for them. If he appreciates that… well, that is also not a crime and he doesn’t even gloat openly! As it later turns out, he took both as his due, believing that his talents were seen and duly appreciated outside the Ningshuo army.

Sooo… Nothing out of ordinary on that count. And seeing that at one point Song Huaien offers to use his savings to repair the ailing military budget – whether from guilt or from sense of duty – speaks to his advantage.

Now, let’s take a look at his unrequited love for Awu. I mean, is it any wonder he falls for her? I am half in love with her myself, so I totally get it! What matters is what he does with this love. Quite surprisingly, there is no attempt at coming between her and Xiao Qi. Why, Song Huaien actively tries to help their marriage by convincing Awu to return home from the temple. No hesitation there! And while he might realize he’s actually in love very late in the story (by this point it’s obvious to everybody), the realization itself changes very little. He gets very determined to go through with marrying Yuxiu, that’s it. Still no attempts to make a move on Awu. Even that flower he brought back from the Imperial Mausoleum was not an overly romantic gesture – she asked and he did as she asked in order to make her happy, nothing more. There’s also a genuine attempt to get over her. He goes to Yuxiu on their wedding night and despite the initial haziness on the matter, he seems to know quite well she’s not Awu and does his best. Although that bro slap in the morning… Let’s believe he did his best there too, the poor awkward thing. He gives her an actual hug when he comes back from Jiangnan! Progress!

What finally buried the theory that Song Huaien might rebel in order to take Awu away from Xiao Qi was his convo with Wang Su in episode 55. I was so afraid (just as I was afraid on his wedding night) that he might do something stupid. Like asking for Awu’s hand or betraying his romantic intentions towards her. But no. While Song Huaien tells Wang Su that he wants/needs to find Awu, there’s no romantic intent there, only duty towards Xiao Qi’s wife and respect towards a woman who has earned it many times over. If there is anything else, I just can’t see it! Why, during this whole conversation Song Huaien is more broken up about Xiao Qi than about Awu!

Whether Song Huaien manages to get over his love or not, there is no sign he was ever going to do anything about it, not while Xiao Qi lived and perhaps not even now that he’s supposed to be dead. Moreover, he made every possible effort to suppress his emotions out of sheer guilt and feeling of brotherhood towards Xiao Qi. Marrying Yuxiu might have been a bad, bad choice (although I still hope for the best), but it was a choice made for the best of reasons.

So that’s it, right? Well, wrong. Even with all of the above there was still a possibility for him to go the villain route. Except… he actually seems to be redeeming himself in leaps and bounds. Once away from the capital, Song Huaien seems to throw off the capital’s thrall and becomes the best version of himself. Jumping into stormy waters in clear disregard of any danger? Working tirelessly towards a common goal and for the good of the people? That’s pure Ningshuo stock, no moral rot in sight! Now, why would the narrative have him getting back to his old self only to make him regress again?

There’s also no real reason for him to ever go against Xiao Qi. If that was going to happen, I’d have expected at least some signs of bitterness and jealousy to have shown up by now. And yet there’s nothing, at least not towards Xiao Qi. Who, might I add, really does his best to mitigate any potential bitterness in the bud. Just look at the way they resolve the corruption scandal! And I’m not talking about Xiao Qi burning (or not burning?) the incriminating page. What got my attention is what their conversations over the matter boil to. Which is: Listen, brother, I get that you’ve been having some issues, but get your shit together. And please, take care of yourself. I don’t want you to get in trouble, so please remember that there are people watching your every step. No overt accusations, no anger in sight, maybe the slightest bit of sternness, but heavily undercut with roughly expressed care. And it’s the same with their confrontation over Awu. I know what’s going on with you and my wife, but I 100% get it, mate, so take a moment and decide how to proceed from here. Even if Song Huaien was actively seeking a reason to hold a grudge, it would take a truly rotten seed to find one. And a rotten seed Song Huaien is not.

Now, let’s wrap it up by going over Wang Su’s suborning of Song Huaien in episode 55. It’s really something special, as well as the main reason I’m choosing to reject any possibility of SHE/XQ showdown.

Wang Su waylays Song Huaien on his way out of camp. Song Huaien is clearly very emotional at this moment and not really inclined to stop for anybody. Why, I think that he was fully prepared to go through Wang Su if needed. It is also quite probable that his decision to leave for the capital was made on the spot, once he heard about what happened to Xiao Qi, Awu and his comrades. Yet he stops and listens, if only because Wang Su – Awu’s brother and Xiao Qi’s brother-in-law - should be his natural ally in his quest to clear Xiao Qi’s name. As he proclaims to be by announcing his willingness to join Song Huaien on his journey to the capital.

Wang Su (or rather Daddy Wang possessing Wang Su’s body) takes full advantage of Song Huaien’s state. First he breaks out a prop, Awu’s favourite wine. It does not work as well as it could have and I’d say that at this point Song Huaien remains quite astute as to Wang Su’s weird behaviour. His first outburst shows he’s got little patience for games. Awu is your sister and Xiao Qi your brother in law, he reminds Wang Su, who seems very controlled for a man with much more obvious ties to this whole situation than Song Huaien. Wang Su skips around the issue by taking out his ace card, the Empress Dowager’s order. Predictably, it takes Song Huaien off-balance and incites a sense of debt, if not gratitude. An excellent opening from the shapeshifting Daddy Wang! Then Wang Su makes an attempt at aiming Song Huaien at the Empress Dowager… and it doesn’t work. Song Huaien doesn’t care about his own life half as much as he cares about Xiao Qi. Cue a mournful soliloquy! There is no way a man this broken about his brother’s death is going to try to kill said brother in the 13 episodes remaining (less, in fact, since they will not meet until 59 or 60 at the earliest). There would be no build-up! The only way I can see this happening is if Xiao Qi went against Song Huaien first and in a deeply personal way. Which we know he would never, so...

Wang Su makes a brave attempt at corralling Song Huaien’s grief and turning it to anger, for all that he may say that anger will not help anyone; it doesn’t work and self-blame enters the picture. If only I was with him leads to a startling realization: all those honors and the brand new posting were just a ploy. Now, this realization could lead to two different results. Song Huaien could plausibly become bitter towards Xiao Qi –  because of whose very existence his own talents weren’t truly recognized and he himself became a pawn. But there’s nothing to suggest that’s true. It’s more likely for Song Huaien to turn his bitterness over his wounded pride towards the Empress Dowager in particular and scheming nobles in general. Which is what I think he does. There is also a possibility of guilt: he bought into this whole noble life fairytale… and this is what partially facilitated him being turned into a pawn. It may be just wishful thinking, but I expect that in the future Song Huaien will be more wary of unexpected meat pies falling from the sky, however tasty they may be.

Just a moment later Wang Su offers him a meat pie. He’s going to help him take revenge! And Song Huaien swallows it whole – at least for now. This is where a truly interesting thing happens. Song Huaien, a general in his own right, a true hero and a man who’s been acting as Wang Su’s equal while in Jiangnan… folds and takes to a subordinate position like a duck to the water. Tell me what to do, he seems to be screaming with his eyes. And when Wang Su starts to use the word we, there’s a palpable sense of relief in Song Huaien’s whole demeanor. What’s more, he’s not reacting to the idea that he still needs to jump through some hoops in order to become a Wang minion. I’m not sure you’re ready to become my ally, lies Wang Su, knowing very well Song Huaien’s is already in his palm. Where’s the ambition? Where’s the slightest sign that this man may be capable of going for the throne for his own sake and against his brother? I don’t see it!

The Wang family is used to needing to pay their allies in hard coin (or titles, or favours), that much is clear, because that’s what Wang Su tries next. The title of a count is too lowly, he says and then dangles a princely one in front of his victim. If Song Huaien was really as hungry for honours and wealth as some of us were expecting him to be, he’d be all over that. But he’s not. He gives it due consideration, but, if anything, this proposition seems to bring him back to reality. There are no free meat pies to be had and he’s just remembered that. But since this is the best – and likely the only – proposition/offer of help he’s going to get, he seals the deal anyway.

There’s still some reluctance, though. Why, Song Huaien needs to rationalize this decision by reminding himself that Wang Su saved his life and that there’s revenge to be taken since he’s alive (as Xiao Qi is not). Not very eager to take part in a coup, is he? And then he actually makes getting justice for Xiao Qi a condition of this alliance! Finding Awu is the second one, but as I’ve already said, there seems to be no romantic intentions there.

And that’s it, the deal is done. So now, can anybody tell me how is this Song Huaien supposed to go against Xiao Qi? He’s more likely to go for a hug once he sees him alive!

There is no reasonable way to leave in Song Huaien’s conflict with Xiao Qi. There’s just no time and no real build-up to that! The only way to have him go rogue is to have a timeskip with Song Huaien doing a 180 in the meantime. And somehow I just can’t see it happening. But I guess we’ll have to see about that!

[magic-multicolored-miracle]

Leverage: Redemption Ep 1 aka The Too Many Emotions Job

I knew. I knew it was gonna hit me. But I didn’t expect how soon or how much. Like an old sweater, like coming home, episode 1 was pretty much everything I hoped for.

Contextless running commentary of the episode, as usual for these semi-liveblog posts that no one else really cares for but me, under the cut. Although really it’s mostly a lot of me yelling “MY HEART!” 

Oh shit, did they fucking kill Nate?!

Crying Sophie hurt my heart...

This check-ins by the labels he gave them is really sweet though. My heart

One year gone because that's when they found out Tim Hutton was The Worst and they needed to write him out? I like.

I love that for Eliot. And for Hardison. MY HEART. They're doing so much good 😭💖

That Eliot also said the whole thing: "Age of the Geek, Baby"

That that's Parker's (all of their) idea of cheering her up is...perfect.

Just like riding a bike Sophie, you've got this.

I love that they're simultaneously mocking him and adopting him. Kidnapping?

Ooh dramatic cuts for flashbacks/time jumps. I kind of miss the typewriter clicking though.

Boo Harry. "I'm not on anybody's side. I'm a lawyer." I don't like that quote. But also, seeing you work it fits. We can fix you though.

I love Sophie's Distinguished Widow™ look. She’s been wearing it the whole episode but it’s really hitting me now.

Of course Nate was still on Vista. Because he was a crotchety old man.

Aw poor puppy doesn't get it. He will though.

Hovering Mom!Sophie, my heart.

A whole month, we're so proud! That’s a marked improvement over even No Stabbing Wednesdays.

My babies! All grown up but still the same.

God Harry don't you know anything?!

"What an unsettling metaphor." Yeah they're good at that. And can clear a room faster than ever.

Seriously all this Eliot/Hardison time has me LIVING

This isn't part of her act, is it?

I love that Eliot is so quick to try to go to her side.

He's really so overconfident. That sell was almost a giveaway

Harry. Best not to ask any questions. Ever.

Eliot and Sophie and trying to talk about Nate. Its making me emotional.

Damn. I called it YEARS ago. I literally wrote this fic. Fuck me. (Note to self: time for a reblog)

"At least he burned." Feels double-edged.

No Parker, not weird at all. Cus giiiirl me too. 👀

A mobile HQ 😍

Hello? Who are you? Our new antagonist to replace Sterling?

This is a mean audition. Shouldn’t an audition be something they have a chance at? 

But his breakdown of it. 👀😍 and his little bow of respect and actually giving a chance to show what they can do/offering feedback

Aw, poor Harry. :( I genuinely feel for him now. And respect a turn like that.

Damn that's one way to do it. Okaaaay, Burn a Rembrandt. Except he'll get the insurance money and come out on top.

If his insurance company is IYS...

Print a fake 4 hours. Was there ever really the stolen one or was this the plan all along? It's what Nate would do

Oh it was Harry's idea. Nice! He picked up quick.

And then Sophie improved upon it.

Parker is SO CUUUTE!! 💖

🤣 what a moron

Of course you have to gloat, Harry. It's part of making sure he knows he's finished

Hardison laying it out plain. In a beautiful speech. Of course Eliot does. He's...so...my poor broken (though not so much as he used to be) cowboy.

Also, not the first time he's referenced Jewish faith or "jokingly" called himself Jewish. And it makes sense for his character. So I'll be clinging to Jewish Hardison and taking it to my grave thanks

His father's son 😭😭😭😭😭 we have canon acknowledgement that they're Mom and Dad.

[bitchapalooza]

🤪🥸🥴👅🤫

The second one is just a box for me lmao so imma just roll with that, please don't mind my dumb phone

A comedy-fantasy adventure of Prussia and Austria trying to find a magical item said to heal any sickness and break any curse. Sort of a d&d-like feel to it. Simply put, Adventure Dorks AU.

Germany has fallen gravelly ill. Doctors say there's nothing they can do. Sorcerers claim no spell of any kind would work. Prussia, losing hope, begrudgingly contacts his prissy cousin as a last resort.

Austria knows everything. Or thats at least what most are left to believe what with his immense collection of books and scrolls. He doesn't know everything, just the history od the world, no big deal, not like he earned an actual doctorate or anything. He's a historian with a side hobby in reading is all.

When Prussia comes crestfallen on his doorstep, on the verge of begging, Austria could just about laugh. Finally his boneheaded cousin is groveling like the idiot he his! How can he not laugh! He's only proving his point!

Wait.

What was that about Germany being sick?

Prussia explains everything. Germany's symptoms. How they come and go. How he's seemingly not contagious despite it resembling a severe case of the simple little flu. He begs his dear, dear, totally not as annoying as a bleating faun in the early morning cousin for help. After gloating and laughing his fucking ass off, Austria goes through the copious amounts of medical journals he's purchased through the years; only use he's had for them before was the occational read. Nothing helped, however. Next he goes to texts about medicinal herbs. Just as he suspected. Squat-diddley.

Finally, he turns to a bundle of scrolls that was left by his ex-partner some odd years ago. Spain was a curious fellow. Loved learning about magic, be it fun little spells or life threatening hexes. Austria was highly invested in Spain's practices. He's not as familiar between the differences of a spell and curse, but he can spot the symptoms sometimes.

And so he takes those scrolls, albiet hesitantly, and he begins to read them. He and Prussia split the load, but its Austria who figures out that it is indeed a very high level, very dangerous hex as he has suspected. As they can only be broken by the one casted it, or die from it, Austria regretfully tells his cousin that there is no hope.

But Prussia won't go home empty handed. He will not return and let his other siblings and friends know he's failed. He won't let his baby brother down. He stubbornly plants his ass right back down and begins to reread everything, convinced theres some conman-type fine print in between sentences as if it were a goddamn laffy taffy joke under the tab.

Austria tells him to give it up. There was no fucking use. He has no idea what kind of sorcerer Germany had pissed off to have been hexed so badly, just that Prussia needed to leave. To give that young man a comfortable rest of his life, not stress and pain. But Prussia won't fucking listen. Just as he always does. Just as when they were children.

When Austria was about to give this assclown a piece of his mind, Prussia suddenly jumps up. He pushes an older looking, torn scroll into Austria's chest and demands he reads it. Prussia is pacing, clearly holding in his excitement. His tell was that toothy grin of his. Austria frantically read the text but was. Neutral.

A Golden Dragon's Fang? Really?

"This is a myth, cousin." He says, matter a factly. "If you think you can somehow find your way to wherever this is, then you are stupid and reckless. Get your own foot out of your ass and face the facts. He's going to live in agony with this curse or die with it."

Prussia tries to snatch the scroll back, anger in his eyes as he prepares to leave and never look back. But Austria stops him. "I say all that, knowing full well what asinine bullshit you plan to pull to get this thing."

"And so what? Give me the damn scroll and let me go get it."

"No."

"No!?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, cousin, but I hate you. You are insufferable. Bullheaded. A textbook MORON—"

"Blah blah blah, you sound like that talking cow that only insults people who don't pay immediate attention to her."

"THAT MAYBE SO." Austria takes his glasses off, eyes genuine and true. "But that doesn't mean I don't still care about you."

"Now I know a guy. She has her ways of getting information and she might be able to get information on this dragon fang— if it even exists. Its a big IF, cousin. Don't get your hopes up. V does not make promises."

And so with that, they embark on their journey for the Golden Dragon's Fang. Many many many many arguments to happen. Petty insults thrown. Not much bonding because wow nothing changes a cold heart and rat bastard, y'know?

HA! Prussia embarrassed Austria in front of the Great Oracle, someone get a picture I think he's about to piss himself lmao!

Oh the Forest Of Truth? Oof, did Austria really just get owned by a foggy ghost of his ex husband? Damn dude. Well at least Prussis is....

...

Prussia is being assualted by the clown and his balloon sword his father hired for his 5th birthday party. Oh you weird little man thing you...

[ckret2]

how tf do u write sir pen and alastor

Step one: rewatch this and this a million times specifically to focus on how they talk—the way they emphasize words, the cadence and flow of their sentences, pace, sound effects, mood, pitch, tone, etc.

Step two: reread their lines here or here (each one handles the transcript a little bit different—the first one is more comprehensive, the second one more objective, and they disagree on a few words) so that you can more fully absorb things like their vocabulary, length and complexity of sentences, etc.

Step three: keep those pages open constantly so that every couple paragraphs you can refer back to those pages to refresh their voices in your head when you get nervous about drifting too far off the accurate voice of a character who's got less than three total minutes of footage, which will be often.

Now you have their voices in your head.

Step four: Go write their voices!! Here are their voices:

Sir Pentious is pretentious. Alastor sounds like a radio host.

I know, I know, that sounds super obvious.

Sir Pentious will occasionally use vocab & sentence structure that makes him sound old-fashioned and dramatic on par with a parody of a Shakespeare villain. He uses phrases like "[they] dare not hinder [me]" or "the likes of I" or pronouncing "striped" as "stripéd." His vocab isn't wildly complicated—you shouldn't be sending readers running to the dictionary—but nevertheless he sounds intelligent.

Pretend that in his heart he's constantly on the verge of giving a villainous monologue about how his evil plan will let him effortlessly conquer the world, and anything else he's doing—whether it's trying to impress a crush or ordering lunch at a fast food restaurant—is either a practice run for that villainous monologue or a distraction from being able to give it. His casual conversations will have that hint of grandiosity. He's going to be mildly irritated at anything that undercuts his grandiosity—it doesn't have enough style, doesn't have enough class. He'll jump on opportunities to gloat, to talk about his goals & plans, to talk down his enemies—to try to make himself sound good, basically.

And—this is super important—remember that he thinks he's evil and is proud of it. He's not one of those villains who believes he has a just or justifiable cause. He's also not one of those villains who is villainous out of spite/anger/vengeance. He says that he is evil and he is gleeful about it. Don't feel the need to give him sympathetic/understandable/justifiable motives for his actions, because he doesn't think he has any and he doesn't care. He's power-hungry and he's bad and he's having fun. He embraces it. Embrace it when you write him.

Alastor is 100% performative at all times. Imagine that at every moment he's speaking he sees himself as a radio talk show host sitting behind his desk with a packed studio audience and the knowledge that thousands more people are listening live. He's animated and exuberant because he's trying his damnedest at all times to be an entertaining host for that imaginary audience. That's his job: put on a good show for the audience.

So every comment is snappy and interesting, he always sounds upbeat and energetic. When he talks about himself and his own emotions, it never sounds confessional, intimate, or sincere; even if he's talking about something that's genuinely been a heavy psychological weight on him, he doesn't present it like that. He presents it like a guest on a talk show telling the host a funny anecdote about his life, or a comedian telling a story to the audience: even if the anecdote is about something miserable, it's presented as an interesting/entertaining story for the consumption of the audience.

(See: the jokey way he says, "Hahaha, why does anyone do anything? Sheer! Absolute! BOREDOM!" The woe-is-me faux drama when he says "My work became mundane, lacking focus, aimless!" Those straight up sound like two depression symptoms. His voice does not sound depressed.)

So he speaks in anecdotes, one-liners, punchy comments. There's going to be very little "uh-huh" or "mm-hmm" or grunts or sighs or other such wordless sounds—everything he says is going to sound crisp and carefully enunciated for the audience at home trying to listen in over the radio.

(And you can play with that as appropriate: I have his performativeness go down when he's having an actual intimate sincere moment, and I have it crank up wildly when he's uncomfortable, secretive, feeling vulnerable, etc., and he wants to hide that.)

Step five: remember their weird speech quirks!

Hiss! Sir Pentious has got his hiss. Now, listen to me very carefully: if choossse to write Sssir Pentiousss'sss ssspeech ssso that every sssingle sssibilant isss emphasssized jussst like ssso, I ssshall sssneak into your houssse in the middle of the night with a Sssharpie and ssscribble an angry faccce on your forehead.

This is the best essay I have ever read on writing accents. And one of the most important points in it is: don't misspell every word to phonetically match how the character sounds, because it's incomprehensible, silly, and gives readers headaches. That applies to Sir Pentious's hiss.

Now, I feel like you can give him SOME hissing. If there's a word or phrase HE's trying to emphasize—if he's talking Extra Fancy, or if he's spitting an insult at someone, or if he's just being more pretentious than usual. Example: if a hero sneaks into a villain's lair and the villain captures them, the villain might sarcastically say "so nice of you to join us!" When I hear Sir Pentious giving that line I hear his voice jump up on the first word, "so nice of you to join us!" So I could write that as "ssso nice of you to join us!" for that extra emphasis. I wouldn't write it as "ssso niccce of you to join usss!"

Also: you can just not write his hiss at all. That's valid, we'll still hear it in our heads. I don't write his hiss when I'm writing inside of his perspective because he doesn't hear himself doing it.

If you DO write his hiss though, remember that it's not just on the S's. Sometimes he over-emphasizes his H's as well or inserts them where they don't belong. ("hhell will be mine, h'and everyone will know the name of Sir—") That's harder to naturally write into dialogue than the S's, but if you're looking out for opportunities you might naturally stumble across one or two. At least remember to carry the hissed H's in your head.

Radio sounds! Alastor's dialogue is loaded down with radio sound effects—studio audience applause (and different kinds of applause for "applauding a stellar performance" versus "welcoming a guest onto the show"), studio audience laughter, little trumpet sounds, snatches of music, xylophone scales, telegram beeps, drum rolls, the screams of the damned—you know, normal things you might hear on the radio. And less clear things too: a thousand different static sounds, muffled voices like you might hear when passing through stations and getting near but not actually on the right station, garbled humming, little second-long clips of songs he heard earlier.

You don't want to CONSTANTLY talk about the sound effects he's making; but like, also, constantly talk about the sound effects he's making. Strike a balance. Good luck.

Get familiar with sound effects—listen to the radio and pay attention to the sound effects used in bumper messages, listen to the sounds in old game shows, listen to radio dramas, find guides by people who work on sound effects for radio and see what they do, browse sound effect sites to see what kind of categories are listed and that people look for. Alastor shouldn't sound like a radio drama, but you can steal sounds from that. If you can hear a sound but aren't sure what to call it, try looking up lists of similar sound effects for sale and just look at what terms they use in the file names to describe the sounds. (Obviously you don't want to buy a $50 folder containing 500 radio sound effects, but oftentimes you can still see the names of the files.)

And—again, from that essay I linked earlier—the characters don't complain about each other's voices in canon. If someone's going to comment on Alastor's radio noises, there has to be a good reason for it, because it's a divergence from the norm. (Like, I have Sir Pentious commenting on and asking questions about Alastor's radio sounds to show he's curious about/interested in Alastor and how his abilities work on a deeper level than just "oh yeah of course the radio demon makes radio sounds" and to show that he's absolutely not too intimidated by him to risk annoying him—and that's intended as a deliberate exception from the norm, to the extent that Alastor comments on it once.)

Musical numbers! Occasionally Alastor will burst into song. Unless you're desperate to try your hand as a lyricist, I recommend against actually writing full songs for him, for this reason: when we see Alastor's full song in the pilot, it sounds like he's singing, because he is and we can hear it. When we see a full song in a book or a fic, it sounds like somebody's reciting poetry, because we don't know the tune and we can't hear the song in our heads. And "giving a poetry recital" is a very different vibe from "singing a song."

What I do to get around this is, when I think Alastor oughta be singing, I just take a song that actually exists and have him sing that one, and then I can fling the link at readers. Go get familiar with pre-1933 popular songs. I recommend vaudeville and musical theater as easy sources to draw from because it more often tends to be snappy, energetic, and oftentimes humorous, which fits Alastor's vibe. I also don't quote the entire song, just a couple of relevant lines—so that within the fic itself it comes across like dialogue rather than like a poetry recital. If you HAVE to include the whole song, mix it in with actions, description, narration, etc, so that it can still be read as dialogue rather than like a solid block of poetry. He's not just standing in one spot unmoving while he sings, is he? No of course not, he's Alastor. Have him dance and do dumb stuff.

Step six: remember their weird accessories, mention them from time to time.

One of the streams that I don't feel like digging up says that Sir Pentious's hat's facial expressions mirror whatever Sir Pent is currently feeling, even if Sir Pent's own expression is less honest to his true feelings. Personally, I go with that—his hat is always showing his genuine emotions—unless it's off his head, in which case it can have its own separate emotions for a moment (such as: reacting to the fact that it's fallen off its owners head). It's completely psychically connected to him and so it's never going to have a separate/independent reaction to what's goin on, just mirror Sir Pent's. There are other ways to headcanon his hat and so other ways to write his hat but that's the way I do it.

Alastor's microphone cane occasionally talk. In the show we see it do that when Alastor specifically prompts it. We don't know if the cane is its own person or if it's more like a magic ventriloquist doll Alastor talks through in order to banter with himself. I treat it as like, 1/2 a person: it's a direct extension of Alastor, and it's got some low-level intelligence, but like intelligence on the level of a chat bot programmed to try to have conversations with people but that doesn't really think for itself. Since it's an extension of Alastor it doesn't really have any thoughts/knowledge that he doesn't, but it's got a slightly snippier/crankier personality, and it might on very rare occasions say things that Alastor like, knows on a subconscious/instinctive level but is consciously denying. Its primary function is to give Alastor the reply he's looking for when he says something he wants a reply to, or to set him up for a snappy one-liner he wants to make but is unable to make unless someone else says JUST the right thing first. Again, there are other ways to headcanon/write his cane, but that's the way I do it.

Also Alastor has living shadows, one of which might be his own shadow, but like, I always forget about them so I don't do anything with them. It's fine it's cool it only shows up during musical numbers anyway.

Step seven: remember their body language.

Sir Pentious's overall body language is, unsurprisingly, pretty serpentine—he's got some wiggles, he's got some dramatic bends that show off his flexibility—and also rather elegant, or at least making a show of looking elegant. At least when he's busy posing in between doing actual work. And he likes playing with his bow tie.

Alastor's gestures are big and theatrical and his arms are always going everywhere.

However, that's not the part of their body language I want to talk about! That's the normal stuff! I'm here for the weird stuff!

Hood! Sir Pentious's hood is basically always flaring out and flattening down and flaring out and flattening down. (And I do headcanon it as a hood—just fraying along the bottom—not as hair. Every time I see fanart that treats it as hair and they braid it or put it up in a bun or whatever I have a moment where I picture his hood shredded up the length into strips and go "OH GOD, OH GOD.") Like, do not constantly describe every single time his hood flares, because it's every five seconds. But don't leave it out by any means. Pick important moments. Make sure it actually adds to the scene.

Eyes! In canon there's a few shots where we can see that Sir Pent's many many eyes move and blink, and they ten to look toward whatever Sir Pent is focused on. It seems likely that they work. If you want to say they work you totally can. I say they work. If you're gonna say they work, keep in mind what kind of field of view that gives him, and keep in mind what you can do with that knowledge. Like, if he's sitting at a dinner table with someone to discuss some kind of skeevy underground business deal and the other person slowly pulls out a gun under the table and points it at him, he's going to see that gun with his knee-height eyes and be able to kick that dude's whole chair over with his tail. 

Smile! Alastor's single most defining character trait is the fact that he's always smiling. The terrified sinners that named him the Radio Demon should've named him Smiley McSmiles. Therefore, there is no need to tell readers that he's smiling. They'll be like, "of course he's smiling. He's Alastor. We're not stupid." However, it's a good idea to mention from time to time that he's smiling, because like, Alastor's single most defining character trait is the fact that he's always smiling. And when it's that constant, it helps to occasionally bring it up to like, maintain that continuity, maintain that sense of the fact that his smile is always there. So you've gotta strike that balance between "don't just keep telling the readers that Alastor is still smiling because you don't need to tell them that" and "mention his smile from time to time." The way I do that is like, mentioning his smile in conjunction with other things, usually as an indication of his mood. Whereas with other characters you'd show changes in their expression by going "he smiled," "he frowned," "he grimaced in disgust," with Alastor you'd say like "his perpetual smile stretched wider into a more genuine one" or "he pressed his lips together as his smile thinned" or "he fought to keep smiling through the disgust"—that way, you're not telling readers that Alastor is smiling, it's something you're mentioning in the process of telling readers something different and more important about his mood.

Step seven: remember this ain't TV. Keep in mind the difference between how they sound when they’re talking out loud on screen and how they’ll sound when they’re just text in a fic.

To get their voice across, you might have to exaggerate some things in written dialogue that you wouldn’t in spoken dialogue. For instance, Sir Pentious doesn’t always have vocab that makes him sound like a pretentious, sophisticated supervillain. Sometimes he says “No other demon can compare to the likes of I!” but then sometimes he says “You wanna go, missy?” When he says that the latter line in the show, he still sounds pretentious, because his VA is still using his pretentious-sounding voice. In writing, there is no voice. Most readers KNOW what his voice sounds like, and if you’re writing close enough to his voice they’ll be able to hear it; but it’s going to be harder for them to hear it if you have him saying words that go against what his voice sounds like and they aren’t actually simultaneously hearing his voice IRL saying those words.

So, while “You wanna go, missy?” works on screen when we can hear the contrast between his voice and the dialogue, if that scene was written instead, it’d be easier to get his voice across with “Do you want to go, missy?” because it still has the unexpected/humorous casualness of “missy” in there but making the rest of the sentence very formal preserves Sir Pent’s pretentious speaking style.

Step eight: keep in mind that the question I'm answering is "how do you write sir pent and alastor," not "how should sir pent and alastor be written," so feel free to toss out anything that doesn't work for you.

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 4)

Or read all of it so far on Ao3

Chapter Four Nesta

Nesta stared at her reflection in the wall mirror and smoothed her hands over the material of her new dress. It was long-sleeved and made of a thick, grey wool that was surprisingly soft beneath her fingertips. Tapering at the waist, the dress fell into a long, pleated skirt which stopped three-quarters of the way down her calves. The wool was lined with an impossibly soft fleece, and underneath her skirts she also wore fleece-lined leggings and supple leather boots. Nesta had never worn something so short: in the human realms, it was unseemly for a woman to expose her legs, but Nesta supposed she should stop caring about those sorts of expectations now. Even if she did still feel human at heart.

It pained her to admit how much she liked all of her new clothing, and the dress was no exception. It was tasteful yet simple and Mas had tailored it perfectly; the material flattered her unique lines and shapes — a remarkable feat, given that the Illyrian must have started work on the clothing well before her arrival and had not seen how Nesta’s other drab dresses hung off her body, as if she were made of nothing but bones.

Nesta knew that she had lost weight — too much. Yet eating had no longer seemed essential when she had the alcohol to chase the hunger away. The growling of her stomach had grounded her. It had been a form of self-punishment: for living when she had caused so much pain and hurt. It was what she deserved.

But now, as she stared back at her malnourished figure — the sharp outline of her skeleton and the bruised smudges beneath her eyes — all Nesta could see was how frail she had become. In her reflection, she envisaged her skeleton cracking under her weight, and in her ears she heard the sickening crack of brittle bones. She looked away.

The only reason Nesta had dragged herself out of bed was because of Mas. From the moment Mas had taken Nesta’s hands in her own on that first afternoon, the housekeeper had become an unexpected imprint on Nesta’s life. The gesture had been motherly and so unlike anything Nesta had been privy to in the last ten years that she had felt something spear through the underlying numbness that had followed Nesta since the war.

Mas didn’t expect anything of Nesta. Cassian certainly hadn't warned the Illyrian of Nesta’s spiky personality or her alcohol addiction, that much Nesta could tell. Yet Mas didn’t bat an eyelid when Nesta retched her guts up or shook in the corner; she didn’t judge Nesta when she didn’t touch her food but downed the whisky with a trembling hand; and whilst Mas’s role as housekeeper was to look after the day-to-day running of the stone bungalow, she didn’t think it above and beyond her duty to care for an irreparable mess.

The fact of the matter was that Mas cared blindly for Nesta, despite everything that Nesta was. Nesta knew the truth of it like it were set deep in the heart of her bones — knew the Illyrian was nothing but genuine. Nesta read it in the gentle way those rough hands placed the food tray on the bedside table throughout the afternoon; in the smooth lilt in Mas’s voice as she coaxed Nesta into taking the tumbler of amber liquid; or even as she guided Nesta to the bathroom to wash away the relentless sweat and sick that coated her skin.

So Nesta did not attempt to summon the energy to snap or seethe when Mas fluttered into the room everyday at noon. Instead, she accepted her presence. It was better than then when Cassian came to visit her, anyway.

Perhaps it was for that reason that Nesta could tap into Mas’s emotions. Nesta couldn't control it, but sometimes she could sort through the Illyrian’s feelings just as Nesta had always been able to filter through her own. And yesterday evening, Nesta had felt hot, sharp pain that undeniably belonged to the housekeepers. It had been enough to get Nesta out of bed, even if she had only made it to the living room before her headache had her collapsing on the couch.

Then later, just as the clock struck midnight, Nesta had been hit deep in the stomach with a blast of fear and panic. She had known who it belonged to immediately: just as Mas’s emotions were laced with the memory of her scent — of roasted chestnuts and wood shavings — Cassian’s emotions were always tinted with the smell of fresh, untamed air mingled with musk and pine. Nesta hadn’t even bothered to attempt to sleep after that, and she’d found herself on the couch as far away from the log burner as possible, waiting up for someone who she usually couldn’t stand to be around.

It was a cruel irony really, that Nesta’s powers enabled her to feel others emotions on top of her own, especially as she had spent most of her life shutting hers away. Feeling had always been too much — too intense — for her. Nesta didn’t understand how others could bear it. It was why she was now nothing but a numb and hollow mess of brittle bones — she’d rather feel nothing than something. It was why she hated Cassian so damn much; he always made her emotions roar.

Cassian was already seated at the table, a steaming bowl in front of him, when she walked into the kitchen. His surprise to see her quickly turned predatory as his eyes slowly, slowly travelled from her feet to her face as he took in her new clothing.

Resisting the urge to grab the nearest object and throw it at his head, Nesta focussed on calming the pink that wanted to rise to her cheeks, willing all the coldness she could into her veins.

Cassian’s eyes gleamed anyway, as if he had sensed her inner turmoil and it delighted him.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“So are you,” she retorted, sliding stiffly into a chair.

The pain from the dull headache she had woken up with flared again and she tried to blink it away. She was too tired for their word games today. She was always too tired, these days.

“Illyrian’s train from dawn,” Cassian told her, as he wordlessly poured her a smoothie from the jug on the table. His voice had dropped an octave, as if he had sensed that she were in pain. “It’s hard to lie in when you’ve been getting up at sunrise every day since a youngling.”

Not caring for his conversational anecdote, Nesta cut straight to the point. “When are you going to visit Mas?”

To his credit, Cassian did not falter. As swift as an asp, he shot back, “Why, do you plan on coming with me?”

Nesta levelled him with a stare that dared him to deny her. “Yes.”

Cassian sat slowly back in his chair, his expression surprisingly unreadable. Surely he wasn’t going to deny her? He had ordered her to come out into the camp with him that first day. He had even used that authoritative bark of his that Nesta was sure would have most fae scrambling over themselves to do his bidding. It didn’t work on her. It never had and it never would.

The pause extended into a stretched out silence that only made Nesta more resolute.

She did not break his gaze, making sure her stare burrowed into his, digging deeper and deeper until he leaned forward again.

Resting his elbows on the table, Cassian clasped his hands in front of him. “You can come, but you need to join me on some errands first.” Then, as if realising what the upper hand could get him, he added, “And you need to eat a proper breakfast.”

Even though her stomach churned at the thought of eating something, Nesta hissed, “Fine.”

The gloating Nesta expected to come never came. She watched Cassian head over to the stove and pour what looked like oats into an earthenware bowl. Unceremoniously, he placed the steaming bowl and a silver spoon in front of her.

He raised his eyebrows pointedly, as if to say, Well, go on.

Begrudgingly, Nesta put a spoonful in her mouth, even though she wanted to flick the hot oats across the table until it hit him square in the face.

Cassian settled back into the low-backed chair, seemingly satisfied.

“Why can’t we go straight there?” Nesta grilled him.

Cassian paused from devouring his own bowl. He was eating as if he hadn’t been fed for a week and Nesta remembered how he had swayed before he bid her goodnight. How many hours had he flown in the high winds only to go straight to bed? Had she imagined his fear and panic? She had been so sure, but when he had arrived home the only thing wrong with him seemed to be extreme fatigue.

“What I need to do is on the way,” Cassian remarked off-handedly.

It took everything in Nesta to refrain from hissing in annoyance. Instead, she looked for an insult to throw at him. Her eyes landed on the open book in front of him. That would do.

“I didn’t realise Illyrian’s could read,” she said loftily.

An obvious lie, given that she had examined the collection of books lining the shelves in the living room.

Cassian didn’t even bother to look up.

“Most Illyrian bastards can’t,” he replied shortly. “Rhys's mother was kind enough to teach Azriel and I.”

Any power Nesta had felt vanished in a wisp and the subsequent silence fell over them like a shroud.

Slowly, Nesta continued to eat and when she set down her spoon — surprising herself to find her bowl empty — Cassian immediately cleared the table.

Clearly, her words had struck deep. For some reason, she didn’t feel satisfaction at the tense set of his broad shoulders or the way that he placed everything in the sink with an unnecessary clatter.

He turned back to her, his expression tight, those hazel eyes darker than they had been moments before.

“Let’s go,” he said roughly.

***

It might have been freezing outside but at least the sun was already bright when they stepped out of the bungalow.

Windhaven was covered in a light smattering of fresh snow and the white blanket sparkled in the sunshine. On either side of the camp, the craggy mountains rose up above the snow-capped pine trees to meet the blue sky, which was already dotted with Illyrians as they flew about their business.

Straight ahead of them, Nesta could make out the sparring rings on the jutting plateau that overhung the mountain pass. Even from here, the clang of steel rang sharp and the short grunts of males fighting carried on the wind so swiftly it felt like they were right beside her. The sounds made her tense and she swallowed thickly, pushing down the noise of battle that started to hiss in her ears — of screaming men and the sound of steel hacking flesh.

Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, Nesta used the pain to ground her, not caring when she tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue.

The sounds in her head dulled to a whisper.

Pointing half-way up the steep mountain pass to the left — where Nesta guessed the wide clearing did little to shield the battered looking tents from the harsh wind — Cassian said, “Mas lives up there. Do you want to walk or fly?”

“I thought you had an errand?”

Cassian dipped his head in a nod. “I do. It’s at the far edge of the camp, next to the cliff face. We can fly or walk — it’s your choice.”

Nesta surveyed the jagged mountain wall. Despite the snow, she could just make out a path indented in the rock. It was about three-foot wide and ran in a long, steep zig-zag up the mountain, finally giving way to another rock face that jutted out like a tall, roughly hewn tombstone.

The climb looked brutal, but the punishment it promised her body was enough to have Nesta saying, “Walk.”

As if he knew what she had been thinking, Cassian’s mouth formed a tight line, but he started walking without a word. He set a brutal pace, and even though her bones felt like lead, she urged her body to keep up with him. She’d be damned if she let him know that she was struggling.

Thighs burning, Nesta followed Cassian as they wound their way past tents of varying size, some more ramshackle than others. Snow had given way to a slushy mud, which caked her boots all the way to her ankles, and she suddenly understood why her skirts hung half way down her calves: it was for the sheer practicality of living in these conditions.

Illyrian females with downcast eyes hurried past them or sat outside tents, huddled over large iron pots that sat on heavy rocks, no doubt to prevent the fire encased between them from going out.

Cassian was a towering presence and Illyrian’s looked up warily as they passed, as if they could sense him coming a mile off. Cassian nodded tightly in acknowledgement, especially the females Nesta noticed, sometimes saying what she assumed was good morning in Illyrian — Kamusta — and ruffling the hair of curly haired children with miniature wings.

Yet, whereas in Velaris fae smiled and stopped to chat to Cassian, the Illyrian’s greetings were never warm. The most he got was a few nodded acknowledgements before the females averted their eyes to the ground. Some of the males openly glared at him, but Cassian appeared unfazed; as if their dislike for him was something he expected.

The further they progressed through the camp, the more Nesta’s nerves continued to fray. Every crackle and pop of the camp fires came louder than the last, and although she tried her best not to react, she found her insides flinching at every sound as her instincts told her to run, run, run.

They approached yet another tent, and although the fire was trapped between the rocks, Nesta could have sworn the flames licked their forked tongues high into the air as the wood spat and hissed. Behind her, a metal spoon clanged against a cast-iron pot and Nesta jumped out of her skin. To her left, a child screamed. All around her, the wind howled and howled and howled in distress.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. One moment Nesta could breathe fine and then she couldn’t. Fire smoke clawed at her windpipe, the smell of cooking choking her as it caught in her throat. She faltered in her step as she begged her body to suck in rattling breath after rattling breath, and although she willed her limbs to follow Cassian’s broad back, it was as if her body was suddenly disconnected from her brain. Cruel and bloody images flashed before her eyes and her stomach lurched, the sensation pounding and rising all the way up her sternum and into her mouth like a beating heart.

The world spun as everything became too loud, too bright and too — another fire spat and Nesta felt that ice wall around her emotions start to crack.

Screaming and the snap of bones rushed into her ears.

Another crack.

She needed to get away. She needed quiet. She needed —

Worry wrenched through her. The sensation twisted and wrung its way down through her ribs and into her stomach so fast that Nesta clutched her hands to her middle — her hands which were now encased with ghostly tendrils that started at her fingertips and, began to spread up her wrists, her arms…

Nesta managed a whimper of warning but Cassian had already turned sharply; as if he had sensed something was very wrong. Those hazel eyes of his blew wide as her knees buckled, and despite the distance between them, he caught her just before she hit the ground. Strong arms circled around her, as Cassian held her dead weight against him. His eyes were full of concern — a mirror of the worry that had surged through her moments before — as he pulled back to survey her. She watched his lips move, but all Nesta could hear was the thundering in her ears as a mace smashed against that wall protecting her emotions and everything shattered.

Shards of ice flew everywhere with a force akin to a firing cannon, loud enough to blast through the screaming in her head. She watched Cassian cry out in surprise as he turned his face away from her, shielding himself from the fragments. Red flared around them —  encasing them — but Nesta didn’t see it. All she saw was the smoke that had crept up to her shoulders and threatened to wind its way around her neck, down her throat…

Cassian’s mouth moved again, his lips forming her name, but all she heard was the sound of his screams as the King of Hybern snapped his wings. And then she was screaming too. Even though Nesta couldn’t hear it she felt her lungs burn and burn and burn. Desperately, she tried to curl in on herself — to press her hands over her horrible ears, because she couldn’t bear to relive the pain in his cries.

And then Cassian was helping her, those firm hands gathering her to his chest. One arm slid under her knees and then they shot into the sky, as fast as an arrow unleashed from a taut bow. The cold wind eddied around them, the icy gust like a slap to the face as it pushed them up until they were above everything and everyone, and that screaming was replaced by the relentless roar of the wind and nothing else.

Slowly, slowly, the world righted and steadied as Cassian suspended them in midair, those strong, healed wings of his beating steadily.

Windhaven spread out beneath them; the tents and sparring rings no more than small specks on the landscape. And around them there was nothing but wide, open space — endless blue sky and the peaks of snow-capped mountains.

“Breathe.”

A low and authoritative order rumbled in Nesta’s ears. Unwittingly, she obeyed. Her lungs rattled at her first breath but the cold air felt like medicine, soothing her insides.

“Again,” Cassian ordered, but he needn’t have bothered. She was gulping it down now, lungfuls of clean, untainted air. And that ghostly mist that had threatened to consume her receded with every intake of breath, creeping back down her arms and into her fingertips, until the final wisps vanished into nothing.

Without thinking, Nesta buried those fingers into the neck of Cassian’s leathers; as if the action might keep that power from resurfacing. Cassian’s arms tightened around her in response, bringing her closer to his body until his chin dropped to the top of her head.

“Was that the first time?”

His question was muffled by her hair. When he moved his face away from her, she felt cold. Cassian stared down at her; his eyes laced with an emotion Nesta was unable to dissect. It wasn’t pity or anger — it was something else. Something foreign.

“Nesta,” he implored hoarsely.

Unable to speak, she turned her head away from him, but she knew her silence said everything: No.

“Did the alcohol keep it at bay?” Cassian demanded this time.

More silence.

Nesta focussed on patching up that emotional wall, sealing the cracks and replacing the shattered blocks of ice. She slid a last brick into place. It wasn’t as strong before. It was battered and bruised with irreparable holes, just like her. It wasn’t as formidable.

A distressed noise emitted from the back of Cassian’s throat. “Please talk to me, Nesta. Let me help you. Please.”

He started to fly again, bringing them back to the ground behind the stone house — granting them the privacy from peering eyes. No doubt she had caused enough of a scene that the camp would soon be alight with whisperings of the High Fae who had lost control.

Carefully, Cassian set her down. Before she could move away, his hand flew out to grip her arm.

Outrage rushed through her, but as she finally looked at him — really looked — she did a double take.

All over his face were small, thin cuts. They were scattered across his cheeks and chin and nose. On his forehead; a deep, cruel gash was already congealed with dried blood that had run into the dark hairs of his eyebrow. The wounds were already healing, but… she had done that with her blast of ice. She had lost control and she had hurt him.

How many others had she hurt? What about the females and — Mother Above — the children?

The thought had her wrenching free of his grasp. She stepped back quickly and focussed all of her remaining energy on not letting her face crumple.

Nesta wrapped her arms tightly around herself — an extra layer of protection — even though it was her that was the danger.

“I told you to stay away.”

Nesta had intended her voice to come out flat but it cracked. She watched Cassian fist his hands at his sides. He looked as if he were contemplating reaching for her again and was using all of his restraint to hold himself back.

He clearly lost his internal battle as his fingers snagged on hers. His skin was unbelievably warm against her pale, blood-leeched fingers. Fire against ice.

“I can’t stay away. You know that I can’t.”

His voice was broken too.

I can’t. The words she had said to him that day when she had tried to haul him up and away from the King of Hybern.

“Please leave me alone.”

It was the closest Nesta had come to begging since the war but she needed him to understand. She needed him to stay away.

“What? So you can drink yourself into oblivion and let your power control you?” Cassian said sharply. He grabbed for her other hand. “You’re fucking better than that. You know you’re better than that. You’re so strong, Nesta. Gods, you’re the strongest female i’ve ever met.”

The words clanged through her, as sharp as steel on steel. But they were all wrong.

“You know nothing about me,” she snapped, but the malice she had tried to summon flickered and died.

Exhaustion pressed down on her chest, so heavy she felt as if someone had punched her.

“I’m so tired,” she admitted, because her body felt light and far away; as if she were floating above herself and looking down. She felt as if she might faint.

The fire in Cassian’s eyes gave way to a softened expression. He was still holding her hands.

“I know, sweetheart. Can I get you inside?”

He was asking permission — because he knew she couldn’t walk the distance and she couldn’t form the words.

She nodded, the tiredness so overwhelming her chin barely moved. But he caught it, like he always did.

Nesta remembered the warmth of him and the smell of his leathers as he gathered her into his arms, and then everything went quiet.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (139/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[3 December, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

Luffa had become the Legendary Super Saiyan at the age of nineteen, after being captured and tortured for months by merciless alien enemy. At the time, the transformation was a mixed blessing for her, giving her the power to take revenge upon her tormentors, but also changing her into something she neither knew nor understood. At first, Luffa feared her new ability, and even after she accepted it as a natural function of Saiyan biology, she worried about what might happen if she lost control of such immense power. For this reason, she resolved to never again transform into the Oozaru form, in case the combination of the two transformations might be more than her body could handle.

Unlike the Super Saiyan transformation, which was so rare that it had been nearly forgotten, any Saiyan could become an Oozaru. All they needed was the tail they were born with, and the light of a full moon. Somehow, sunlight reflected off a lunar surface had just the right wavelength to trigger a horrific change in a Saiyan's body, turning their humanoid forms into enormous, bloodthirsty apes. There were myths and folk tales, and even some genuine scientific research on the phenomenon, but all anyone knew for certain was that the transformation was real. The moonlight had to be above a certain intensity to work, but that seemed to be the only criteria. And so, whenever she went to a planet with a large enough moon, Luffa always took the precaution of checking the local calendar and wearing sunglasses when needed.

Over time, as Luffa grew accustomed to being the Legendary Super Saiyan, she mostly forgot about the Oozaru power. Many Saiyans did the same, even going so far as to deliberately cut off their own tails to avoid the inconvenience of an unwanted transformation. Weaker Saiyans couldn't even retain their identity in the giant ape form, so they didn't want the hassle of losing control of their actions without warning. For stronger Saiyans, the giant ape form had certain tactical advantages, except that it could only be achieved once in a lunar cycle. Come the dawn, the power would be lost. Most Saiyans considered it more trouble than it was worth. In Luffa's case, she had to deal with the additional concern that the extreme power increase might tear her body apart.

But now, on Planet Nagaoka, deep inside enemy territory, bereft of all allies, friends and family, and with nothing left to live for but a vendetta against her own species, Luffa didn't care about any of the drawbacks. She now stood as a Super Saiyan and an Oozaru at the same time, a form that looked like a 150-foot giant ape with glowing golden fur. Nagaoka's moon was full, and would sustain this new form for another ten hours before morning, when the moonlight would became diluted by the sunrise. But ten hours was more than enough time to tear the entire planet to pieces. And if the strain of it killed her before then, it wouldn't matter.

She roared and beat her chest for a moment, furious at her enemies, and grateful for the glorious violence she was about to unleash upon them.

"You can't do this!" Rehval protested. His true self was on the opposite side of the planet, but he had sent his proxy, an avatar made of earth and stone, to lead his followers into battle. The rock-Rehval was actually a little bigger than Luffa, but its slender form paled in comparison to her splendor.

"I just did," Luffa growled. Her voice was lower, louder, and more primal than before, but there was no mistaking her identity. Unlike lesser Saiyans, who couldn't control themselves in the giant ape form, Luffa was in full command of her faculties.

"But the power is unstable!" Rehval said. "I can sense it from here! I never expected you to actually try to-- No... No...!"

"Yes!" Luffa snarled. "You were the one who gave me the idea, Rehval! You and your constant gloating! Always going on about how you had tapped into the energy fields of this star system. You married your power with this planet, didn't you? Which means you need its moon to keep that arrangement in tact. Too bad. Otherwise, you could destroy the moon right now, and then I'd change back to normal!"

"I don't have to destroy the moon!" Rehval shouted. "Not when I can destroy your tail!"

"Oh, that's your solution to everything, isn't it?" Luffa scoffed. She reached out her left hand, and curled the fingers of her simian paw, beckoning him to come after her. "Well, come on! let's see you try it!"

Rehval commanded his warriors to attack, and they did, only hesitating slightly. There were thousands of them, but Luffa stood her ground. She reared back and howled, then took a deep breath, and spewed what looked like yellow fire from her muzzle.

The Saiyans flew away from the path of this attack, but instead of exploding or damaging anything, the energy formed a massive globe in the air, which separated into white blobs. There were dozens of them, twisting and contorting in mid-air, and then they all sprouted arms, and heads... the heads of ferocious apes.

As the Saiyans quailed in terror, Luffa howled with laughter. It was a childish prank, at least when this sort of technique was employed by a normal Saiyan. The "ghosts" produced by such ki would explode on contact, but when the ki was that of a Golden Oozaru...

"Everybody dies!" shrieked the ghost apes as they flew out in every direction. Their task was simple: chase down a Saiyan and explode in their faces. They swarmed across the basin in a frenzy, and their quarry scattered in a desperate attempt to escape them. Within seconds, the skies lit up and the ground quaked from massive explosions. Even Luffa was amazed by the power she had unleashed. An ordinary planet would have been rendered uninhabitable by just one of these explosions. But Rehval's powers had made Nagaoka much sturdier than any normal world, and so the devastation was merely catastrophic. The crust of the planet was scarred with craters and fissures larger than entire cities, and hundreds of Saiyans were wiped out without a trace. The explosions were so bright that it almost seemed like daylight for a few seconds at a time, but the full moon continued to shine down over the carnage.

Against this backdrop, Luffa charged straight for the enormous likeness of Rehval, tackling it to the ground. That it was larger in size than the golden ape made no difference. At best, the earthen creature could only bring up its arms to protect itself from some of Luffa's thunderous blows. Nevertheless, she persisted, drumming her massive forearms down on Rehval's, and chipping away fragments of his avatar with each second. Rehval's power allowed the dirt and rock to be more durable than either Rehval or Nagaoka would have been alone, but even so, Luffa's onslaught was too much for it to handle.

"You can't be doing this!" he said. "It just can't..." And then one of his giant arms crumbled into rubble. Then the other.

Luffa raised her head up and roared, then slammed her monstrous face into the avatar's exposed chest. As the rock-Rehval screamed, it broke apart into pieces.

*******

On the opposite side of the planet, Rehval... the part of him that was still a Saiyan man, sat upon his throne, and clutched painfully at his chest. That had hurt. It had actually hurt. This was not supposed to happen. His bond with the planet and its mass was only supposed to share power, not pain.

He stumbled out of his seat and paced around in a tight circle, fighting the wave of panic that accompanied the pain. He couldn't retreat from this. With his avatar destroyed, Luffa would surely turn her fury against his followers, and he couldn't afford to lose more of them than he already had. He needed to pull himself together and deploy his avatar again, only this time with more power, but he soon found he couldn't do it as quickly as he had before. His symbiosis with Nagaoka's geological energy gave him vast power. A Saiyan could easily destroy a planet, but only because a planet lacked the will to defend itself. Nagaoka now had a will--Rehval's--but it still took time and effort to bring its immense power to bear.

"Damn it all," he muttered to himself as he gasped for breath. "She was waiting for this! Past two weeks... she was just biding time... None of her attacks were meant to accomplish anything! She was just keeping us busy until the moon was full!"

And then he sensed another pain, this time in his right shoulder blade. It felt like something had struck him, but how?

*******

At the battlefield, Luffa had completely routed her foes. With her ghost apes all destroyed, and the Saiyans in full retreat, she charged a Gallick Gun and fired it in the direction of some of her enemies. Most of them managed to avoid the gigantic purple blast, but it continued on its path, eventually carving a mile-wide trench in the ground. Luffa continued to attack, even when there was no target to hit. There was simply no respite. The Saiyans would sense a ki larger than anything they had ever imagined possible, and then they would immediately sense an even larger power than that. Luffa's battle power just kept rising, again and again and again.

Endive had led a small group to a safe distance-- if the word "safe" could still have any meaning-- and they watched the colored lights from Luffa's rampage. It was apparent that the Golden Ape's attacks were damaging the planet's surface, in spite of Rehval's boasts that this was impossible. At best, his followers believed that this was the ultimate test of their master's power. If Rehval could survive this battle, then he would truly prove his invincibility. His most faithful servants would trust him to rise to the occasion and slay Luffa as final confirmation of his teachings. Endive thought this way, or at least she wanted to, very badly.

Her faith in Rehval was rooted in denialism. She had obeyed him, even to the point of humiliating herself and betraying her most cherished principles. If he were truly divine, then she could at least tell herself that it was all worth it, that the things she had cast aside had never had any real value in the first place. But if Rehval lost, then it had all been a lie, and she would know for certain that she had allowed herself to be enslaved by a fraud. All those nights in his bedchamber would have no spiritual purpose at all.

On some level, she wanted Luffa to prevail, and expose the truth that Endive already knew but could never admit. And then Luffa would kill his followers in short order, so at least there would be little time for Endive to endure the shame.

"What should we do?" asked one of the other Saiyans who was with her. Of this group of survivors, she had the highest rank. And it was this authority, more than loyalty, truth, or shame, that guided her.

"Regroup," she said. "We must stand and fight for our lord, and die, if we must."

If there was any chance of victory, Endive would cling to it. Whatever Luffa stood for, the golden ape would only bring death. If her master really was a fraud and a liar, then Endive's only choice was to fight to make his lies into truth.

*******

Other Saiyans reached the same grim conclusion as Endive, but taking the fight to Luffa was easier said than done. Before, there had been a reasonable assumption that Luffa could be attacked en masse and overpowered. Now, she shrugged off ki blasts from hundreds of Saiyans without even bothering to dodge. The Jindan cultists were the mightiest of their species, empowered by Rehval's alchemy, but against the Golden Oozaru they were like ants battling a dinosaur.

Occasionally, Luffa grew annoyed with their constant distraction, and swatted them aside, but the focus of her offense was directed at the planet itself. Luffa fired energy blasts from her mouth, hands, and eyes, assaulting the ground until there was only bare rock. And then, finally, she broke through to a magma chamber, releasing a torrent of molten lava into the air. Elated by the destruction, Luffa threw her arms over her head and roared triumphantly, the hot magma splashing around her like blood from a wounded animal.

"No! I won't allow this!"

Luffa turned to find Rehval, in the form of another of his avatars. This time, he rose up from the lava itself, forming a body of rapidly cooling igneous rock. "You're not strong enough to destroy this planet! You can't be!"

He leaped toward Luffa, determined to restrain her somehow. Instead, she slipped around him with a speed that belied her bulk, and struck his back with a double axehandle.

"Too bad," Luffa growled. "You shouldn't have cut off your tail, Rehval. Maybe if you'd kept it, you could have become powerful enough to keep up with me!"

"Shut up!" he screamed.

"Some of the Free Companions still have their tails, right?" Luffa asked. "You probably couldn't *wait* to cut theirs off, but you wouldn't have had the time. Maybe some of them could-- oh, that's right!"

He charged at her with a ki blast in hand, but she sidestepped it and reversed his attack into a throw. His blast misfired, and while it was immense, it was also passed harmlessly into space. Luffa ripped a piece of the planet's crust and slammed it down onto Rehva's avatar.

"You don't have any of those Free Companions sitting around, do you?" she said. "The ones who still had their tails, I mean. No, they're all dead, because I made sure to kill them all while I was waiting for the full moon!"

"SHUT UP!" Rehval screamed. He rushed at her again, desperate to connect with any sort of offense. "I won't be defeated this way! Not by your tail, not by a primitive... vulgar... transformation. Not by my own moon!"

Luffa humored him for a moment, allowing his fists to strike, but they did no damage at all. She lifted his avatar over her head and threw him down into the geyser of lava nearby. Then she aimed her finger at him and made a low, guttural noise.

*******

The Vengeance Cannon was Luffa's finishing move. In terms of technique, it wasn't terribly special. She simply focused a a great deal of ki energy into a thin, intense beam, which allowed it to penetrate deeper than more conventional ki attacks. Her name for the attack had been chosen at a whim. At the height of her fame, alien fans somehow decided that she already had a technique by that name in her arsenal, and so she decided to indulge them. Over time, she came to decide that she rather liked its brutal simplicity. What made the attack so fearsome was the user. Powered by Luffa's Super Saiyan form, the Vengeance Cannon could tear through nearly anything. Powered by Luffa's Super Saiyan Oozaru form, the word "nearly" was placed in grave jeopardy.

In his fortress, Rehval felt searing pain once more. He had felt each attack Luffa had made on the planet's crust, but this paled in comparison to the sensation of Luffa's Vengeance Cannon drilling through his avatar's eye. He clutched at his own face and doubled over in pain, and then he felt another agony in his torso. Without seeing or hearing, he knew that Luffa's beam had passed through the avatar, and down into the ground, and all the way through the planet itself. The damage to the planet was echoed in his own body.

His defenses were collapsing. There was no escaping the conclusion anymore. Each attack weakened him a little more, making her next attack that much more effective.

There was no longer any other choice. He would have to go on the offensive while he still had the chance. He forced himself to stand upright, then hurried to the bench where he kept his elixirs. He had prepared certain formulations in advance, in case things didn't work the way they were supposed to. But these were experimental, and meant to be used on others. He had never anticipated that he would be so badly pressured, especially here, at the height of his greatness. As he raised the decanter to his lips, he briefly considered summoning one of his followers back to the complex, but a shooting pain in his leg reminded him that there simply wasn't time.

"T-to the future," he gasped before drinking. It was his traditional toast when using alchemy to enhance his powers. After draining half of the bottle, he poured the rest onto the ground, letting it soak into the soil at his feet. Then he stumbled toward his bedchamber to lay down.

He collapsed after five paces.

*******

Xibuyas saw his chance and was determined to take it. Less than a mile away, the monster that claimed to be his mother was ripping up whole chunks of the planet's surface, while lashing out at any warriors who dared to interfere. They were like mere insects to her, beneath her notice. And this, he decided, would be her downfall. With her back to him, he had a perfect shot to end this nightmare once and for all.

He had never used the Star Seax in battle before. The technique was incomplete and took too long to gather energy, and it was only useful against a single opponent at a time. There was simply no practical use for it. Other enemies could be killed with less powerful techniques. He estimated that the Star Seax could kill Luffa, but he knew she was too nimble to score a direct hit with it.

Now, however, the situation was ideal. Luffa had become stronger--stronger than Xibuyas had ever imagined possible-- but she was also a much bigger target, and much more stationary. And with her attention focused elsewhere, he had the opportunity he had dreamed of for most of his life. As soon as he had finished preparing the attack, he fired without hesitation.

The Star Seax was a thin wafer of ki that flew out from his hands like the blade of a guillotine. It would cut right through Luffa's tail, reversing her transformation. It was strange to think of the humanoid Luffa as an easier opponent, but right now she was surrounded by Jindan cultists, and without her ape form, they could overpower her if they all worked together.

As the young Saiyan guided the Star Seax toward its target, he realized that this was the moment that fortuneteller had told him about! He would surpass Luffa, not by exceeding her power, but by becoming the instrument of her downfall. Once she was dead, he would take his rightful place as the strongest Saiyan of all! He watched as the white energy blade streaked ever closer, and awaited his destiny.

And then Luffa jumped into the air, and the Star Seax passed harmlessly underneath her.

"No..." was all he could say. His eyes went wide with shock. And so, when Luffa moved towards him, faster than he ever imagined possible, he had no other reaction. He didn't even think of trying to escape.

"Nice shot, Katem!" Luffa roared. Her voice was even more horrible than before. With a demonic speed, she snatched him up in her hand and raised him up to her face.

"You were going to die anyway!" she shouted, her hot breath blasting him like a monsoon. "But you had to take your best shot, and face me one last time! So I guess you take after your mother after all! Too bad for you that you chose the wrong side!"

She tightened her grip, and Xibuyas cried out in pain. He could feel his ribs cracking under the pressure, and he knew that this was only the slightest sample of Luffa's full power.

"Then again, you remind me a lot of your grandfather, boy!" she snarled. "He made the same mistake you did. Thought he could stab me in the back and live! Well don't say I didn't give you a chance, son! I tried to show you what you were dealing with, and you wouldn't! Take! The hint!"

Xibuyas felt as if he might black out soon, but somehow he remained conscious. He almost wondered if this was some sadistic trick of Luffa's. A way to keep her victims awake and prolong their suffering. He couldn't stop screaming long enough to ask.

"Well that little stunt you just pulled was the last straw, Katem. You want to be my enemy? Fine! Then you can die like my enemies! Anything for you, son! Anything for you!"

There was a moment of clarity, where Xibuyas began to accept death as the only escape from his fate beneath the long shadow of Luffa, this horror that demanded his birthright. Even if he had managed to kill her, the memory of such a monster would forever stain his honor. And then, just as he expected to breathe his last... Luffa dropped him.

Xibuyas lacked the strength to sit up, but luckily he landed on the ground in a position that gave him a view of what was happening. It felt like an earthquake, and as Luffa turned away from him, Xibuyas could see a figure rising up from the molten lava. He wondered if it was Rehval again, returning in another one of his avatars. But this seemed different somehow. Xibuyas didn't know why, but he could sense something dreadful about this. His instincts begged him to run away, far away, but it was all he could do just to roll over on the ground.

"I forbid it, Luffa!" It was Rehval's voice that Xibuyas heard. What he saw looked nothing like the Saiyan King who had raised him. It was enormous and yellow-hot, like molten metal, with globs of lava solidifying upon its surface. The head of the figure resembled a skull with skin stretched across its features, but no muscle or flesh.

"Well, look who decided to fight back!" Luffa scoffed. Xibuyas couldn't believe her tone. He could scarcely comprehend the horrible energy he sensed from this new form Rehval had taken. All he knew for certain was that Rehval was now pulling out all the stops, and Luffa was still unimpressed. Was she bluffing? Or was all of this truly just a game to a monster like her?

"You're a thing of iron, Luffa!" Rehval announced. "Strong and resilient, but vulgar nonetheless! You golden glow is nothing more than the heat of the forge, where mine is drawn from the very core of the world!"

The Rehval-thing rushed toward Luffa, and the two titans struggled against each other. At first, it seemed like an even struggle, and then Rehval actually shoved the ape off her feet! She responded with a furious blast from her mouth, which spilled across Rehval's body harmlessly.

As they fought, Rehval continued to rave, shouting one final lecture before one of them was destroyed. "The universe teaches men to prize gold. The heavier elements only form in the dying ages of a star's lifespan. Iron is common because red giants fuse it in vain, generating less energy than the cost of the reaction! Gold is formed near the end, but only some, interspersed with so many others! Supernovae spread it across creation! It accumulates in meteors, which crash onto newly born planets, still hot with the fires of genesis! The gold and other heavy metals sink into the mantle, until eventually the planet cools enough. The crust forms, and when meteors impact afterward, they leave deposits of gold, but only in trace amounts! Man finds it in streams, and the purity of it entices him to seek out its truth!"

"That truth lies in the center!" Rehval screamed. "I have concentrated the gold from the interior of Nagaoka! This is the purest, most perfect expression of the bond between myself and this world! You mock me for cutting off my tail, Luffa? Well now I've cut off my entire body to become your better! I do it gladly, for the good of the Saiyan race! For the good of the future! For everything that you are not!

"We're better than you, Luffa! The Saiyans have evolved beyond your brand of thoughtless violence and selfish independence! Beyond the hypocrisy of compassion and honor! Gold needs no such bonds! It dwells among the lesser matter, but remains apart, and always supreme! And I alone know how to teach those lessons to the Saiyan people! I am the master of our destiny! It must be me! And it will be me, for ever and for ever!"

He had been punching Luffa repeatedly with his fists, which now seemed to be made of gold, now that they had cooled off somewhat. Xibuyas understood none of it, but he supposed that what Rehval said must have been true enough if he was winning. And then he heard laughter...

"You really are something, Rehval," Luffa said. "You put everything you had into that."

The gold-Rehval hesitated as she pushed back against him. She slammed her own fists into his gilded body and broke most of the dross off of him. There were dents left in his body from each strike she made.

"You really did it, didn't you?" she asked. "I can sense your power, I can tell it's you, Rehval, but there's nothing Saiyan in there anymore. You really did merge yourself with the planet, didn't you? And that's why you lose."

She struck him again and again, much the same way he had battered her. Each blow sounded like a bomb going off overhead. The difference was that when Luffa took a hit, her body was bruised or bloodied, at worst. Whenever Rehval was struck, his metal body was deformed by each impact.

"I don't get all the details of what you've done to yourself," she roared. "I don't much care, but I've fought enough weird enemies to learn how to figure out what I need to know. You can reshape that body of yours. Add mass to it, pull it back together, or even make a new one if you need to."

She put her hands together and blindsided him with a double-axhandle that twisted his torso into a right angle.

"But you need power to do that stuff, and right now, you're using all the power you have to match my strength. You can't fight me and defend yourself at the same time. Arrrghhh!"

Rehval had contorted his left arm into what looked like an enormous length of wire, and drove the end into Luffa's shoulder like a spear.

"I'm not the only one who's let their guard down, Luffa!" Rehval cried.

"Cute," Luffa said. She reached for her shoulder, as if to pull out the offending object, but instead she pointed at the ground and fired a ki blast. The resulting explosion engulfed them both, and flung Xibuyas through the air like a rag doll.

As the youth tumbled through the air, he marveled at the sheer chaos that surrounded him in all directions. Luffa and Rehval's combined power was so intense that it was difficult to notice anything else. Around him, the ground was cracked and pulverized like the surface of a giant lump of burning charcoal. Orange light shone through the cracks, like open wounds on the back of some impossibly large creature. Xibuyas couldn't sense his Saiyan comrades, but he could hear their terrified screams, and he could smell the familiar odor of death.

In that moment, Xibuyas knew that he ought to be afraid, but he was too overwhelmed by the situation to really feel anything. He seemed like a helpless observer, a passenger in his own body.

When he finally hit the ground, the pain of the impact was almost a relief, since it confirmed that there was at least still a planet left to land upon. As he lost consciousness, he wondered whether he would ever wake up again.

NEXT: The Escape

[yeah-oh-shit]

it started with friendliness. what a strange word to use in connection to draco malfoy and harry potter.

eighth year found draco depressed and humiliated. he was quiet, which was very unlike him, mostly keeping to himself, and really only spending time with pansy and blaise. stranger than a sad, quiet draco, was a friendly harry potter. and friendly, potter was, starting from that first day of eighth year. they were heading out of the great hall after dinner when he walked directly up to draco, held out his hand, and said “lets put all this behind us, shall we?” draco was taken aback, and for a moment time stood still. he was getting just exactly what he had always wanted: potter, offering his hand. it was the first day of first year all over again and he was a scared eleven year old and this was his chance. this was his redemption. but so much had changed, and he didn’t know what to make of this. was it a trick? there was no way potter could be serious about moving on, could he? that was too much to hope. the best way forward had to be to play it cool, so he put on his best blank face, and took potter’s hand, ignoring the harsh pounding of his heart.

a couple of days later, draco apologized to potter. he had decided that potter’s offer of peace was not in jest, and once it was clear that he wasn’t being made fun of, he knew what he had to do. he felt terrible, about many things. and potter was weirdly being nice to him. It was as if, after draco’s fire went out, so did harry’s. they were both so tired of fighting.

then one day, harry invited him to play quiddich. a bunch of eighth years were getting together for a pick up game. draco said no, but added a “thanks,” and hazarded a hesitant smile. the brief flash of disappointment in harry’s eyes in that moment almost broke draco’s heart and he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from shouting after him that he had changed his mind (oh and also would you want to like, you know get married and have lots of sex, and maybe even babies?). but then harry face shifted into an easy smile and with a “see you later then,” he was gone.

harry asked draco to play quiddich two more times before he finally said yes. playing seeker against harry was like re-igniting something inside him that he had thought had died long ago. he felt alive again, like himself again. of course potter would bring it out in him, he thought to himself, shaking his head.

for his part, seeing draco so broken had affected harry much more than he would have expected. he had of course noticed malfoy as soon as they got back to school, at first out of habit: watching him much in the way he used to, suspiciously. but suspicion had quickly turned to concern. He almost longed for the old arrogance. anything to show that not everything was broken, that something was okay, was normal.

harry hated to admit it to himself, but it got to the point where he would have even welcomed malfoy’s bullying: the familiarity, the normalcy of it. he missed the eyes following him in the corridors and the snide remarks. he missed the acknowledgement. now malfoy avoided him at all costs. and it felt wrong. unintentionally, it became harry’s mission to help malfoy, although he didn’t fully admit it to himself. it was as almost like, if draco malfoy could get back to himself, could be okay, then maybe harry could be okay too.

but it was clear that malfoy had changed. maybe they could be… friends? so harry began smiling at him in the halls, and casually saying hello. malfoy, for his part, couldn’t hide his shock at being addressed after so many people had gotten into the habit of simply flat-out ignoring him. and by harry potter, no less. It made harry unexpectedly sad for his former enemy. not in a sick, pitying way, but in a genuine way. harry knew what loneliness felt like, and seeing malfoy, usually so sure of himself, so arrogant, look so lonely? Well, he couldn’t explain it, but he hated it.

so he redoubled his efforts, and asked him to play quiddich. he said no, which harry had expected. but harry kept inviting him every time they went, expecting him to say no, but hoping he would say yes. that first day when they played against each other, harry saw malfoy smile, really genuinely smile, for the first time all year. he saw that glint of arrogance and competition return, if only briefly. harry felt his own heart start beating faster, but of course, that was just due to the adrenaline from the quidditch. right?

harry started walking with malfoy between classes, asking him about homework, sometimes even sitting with him at dinner. and at first malfoy was guarded, suspicious. but harry joked with him easily, despite his heart being in his throat the entire time, and he saw the guards start to melt away. saw something genuine behind those usually mask-like features. something he had never seen before. and it intoxicated him. he began to think about the different ways he could make that mask melt away. what he could say to make malfoy laugh, or even blush. he lived for those little moments when malfoy’s eyes would light up, or redness would creep across those perfect high cheekbones.

draco was shocked at potter’s taking notice of him, of how he was actually trying to be friends, it seemed. at first he couldn’t believe it. no one, not even saint potter, could be that forgiving. if draco couldn’t forgive himself for everything he had done in the last seven years, how in merlin’s name could harry bloody potter, the very person draco had spent those years bullying relentlessly, not to mention fighting against in a literal war? but it seemed genuine. draco could find none of harry’s usual snideness behind his remarks, none of the challenge in his eyes. he was strangely… gentle. sweet.

god, draco longed for that spark of challenge, even as he welcomed the friendliness from harry. he started to feel himself relax in potter’s presence, to let go. the next time they had a pick-up game, they walked down to the pitch together. recently, harry had taken to trying to tease draco, but for the most part, draco hadn’t taken the bait. but harry’s goading had gotten the best of him, and as they entered the stadium, he shot harry a daring look “with all this trash talk, I would almost think you were scared, potter.” and he raised his eyebrows menacingly, holding his breath. “you wish” came the lightning-fast reply, as Harry’s green eyes flashed behind his glasses. full of challenge. and something else. malfoy felt his heart caught in his throat, but before he could respond, harry was in the air.

he flew harder than he had ever flown before, high on the adrenaline of competing with harry. he was doing his best not to be distracted by harry’s flying…he was obnoxiously graceful and a complete show off. draco rolled his eyes, focusing, searching. and then he saw it. a tiny glint of gold in the corner of the pitch, near the goalposts on the opposite side. He was closer, thank merlin, and he had seen it first. he took off, lightening fast, but it didn’t take harry long to catch on, and he was soon right on his tail. he was going to get it! salazar, after years of competing with harry, he was going to beat him to the snitch. harry had gained on him, was next to him. the snitch was inches away, and draco lunged, felt his fingertips connect with cold metal. he pulled up, excited but surprised eyes searching for harry’s.

he expected a look of defeat, he had always imagined this moment. had imagined gloating in harry’s face and seeing the anger in those green eyes. he had imagined the feeling of winning. of beating harry potter. how fantastic it would feel. what he didn’t expect was harry’s  smile. what he didn’t expect was for harry to look so damn happy.

if you asked harry years later, he would say that this was the moment he fell in love with draco malfoy. that prat.

[inkstaineddove]

Fall Together

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary

Summary: After putting the brakes on their relationship after her divorce, Erzsébet visits Gilbert and he has no idea what to make of it. Sequel to Till We Meet Again.

Potsdam, 1921.

Gilbert sat alone in his study, a leatherbound book in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. The room was filled by the sounds of Edwin Edwards’ sliding trombone and Larry Shields’ shrieking clarinet. It was a record he’d played many times before, one that he rushed to get after hearing the damn Amis playing it often on their side of the trenches. It was different and, every time he listened, he was always tickled to think of how much Fritz would hate it, a memory of simpler times.

Through the noise, he managed to hear knocking at the front door. He remained seated for a second before jumping up to answer it. As he walked, he again considered the idea of hiring on a skeleton staff to do all the little things he had gotten so accustomed to ignoring. As always, he imagined the lecture he would receive from Ludwig for his supposed opulence and decided against it once more. Indulgence could wait.

“Hi,” Erzsébet said with a little smile, as if she were unsure herself of why she was there. She scrunched her nose up at the smell of the cigar that he still carried. “Do you have to smoke those awful things around me? Death smells better.”

“Well how could I have known you were coming over?” Always one to please despite his protestations, Gilbert stamped it out on the door frame. He then rubbed the wood in concern. “That wasn’t smart of me, was it? Well, no fire. That’s the main thing.”

Thankfully, she laughed at his mindlessness. All wasn’t lost right away. While he was caught up in staring at her, she cleared her throat. “Are you going to let me in or are we going to stand here forever? I know we have all the time in the world, but…”

“Right, shit, sorry! Come in, you know where everything is.” He beckoned her inside. Once behind her, he checked his appearance in the hallway mirror, disheveling his hair a bit to give himself that boyish look she used to compliment him on. Feeling sufficiently attractive, he followed her into the living room.

Gilbert never felt so self-conscious as she watched him. She had this little smile on her face, as if she were silently laughing at him. Was that why she was here? She travelled all this way to mock him? Fine. If that was what this was all about, then he’d give her no reason to laugh. He’d prove to her just how perfectly well-adjusted he was.

Her voice roused him out of his thoughts. “Gil, are you even listening? I’m here two minutes and you’re already tuning me out.” Where Erzsébet would have normally been annoyed, she instead chuckled. “I didn’t think it was that personal of a question.”

He silently berated himself. Staying in his head would do him no favors. And, while she knew him like nobody else did, he didn’t think she’d suddenly become a mind reader in two years. “I’m sorry I’m…drunk.” Why was that his excuse? And now she was staring at him as if he belonged in the asylum and everything was ruined before it started. “Did I say drunk? I meant in a funk! No, that’s even worse! Forget all that, forget I said anything at all. I’m listening now.”

“O-okay. I just wanted to know how you’ve been?” She eyed him up and down. “Though now you’ve got me worried about the answer.”

“Me? I’ve been great! Don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life!” He leaned against the fireplace, hoping to seem suave and unaffected. “So what that things have been a bit of a mess and the kid blames me for everything that went wrong during the war? I go to a bar and every woman wants me and I don’t have to turn them down! Every night I’ve got another date with a total babe and I never see them afterwards! What more could any bachelor want?” He was lying through his teeth but needed to sell it. He smirked and shrugged, feigning indifference. “Who needs the old ball and chain when you’ve got such unbridled freedom?”

“What a Hengst,” Erzsébet snickered before giving him a knowing smile. “Well, I’d hate to intrude on you and all your fun. If I’m such a burden, I’ve got no problem visiting Ludwig instead.” She pretended to get up from the sofa.

For a millisecond, his façade slipped into genuine panic. “No, don’t be like that! You know, I’ve got reservations tonight for this fancy little restaurant. I was going to go alone – which is so much fun to do too! – but, since you’re here, it would be romant- I mean, it would be so nice to go. If you want, of course, it’s all up to you.”

“What a coincidence. Are there really reservations?” She hid her mouth behind her hand, knowing that if she kept laughing at him, his floundering would increase. “It seems too perfect to be true.”

Gilbert let out a strange little laugh, one that didn’t quite sound natural. “There could be reservations if you wanted there to be. I could call in a few favors, bribe some people if needed, whatever you want and the night’s yours.”

Erzsébet didn’t know whether to be embarrassed on his behalf or flattered that he was this anxious. She settled on both being the appropriate response. “I was hoping to stay in tonight. I’m a little tired from the journey. Surprising how quickly you stop being used to things. Tomorrow, though, if you could call in those favors and make those bribes, then I’d be very interested.” She smirked, a devilish look in her eyes. “Don’t feel the need to stay in because of me though. I don’t want to deprive the women of Berlin their favorite.”

“What other women? Those other women! They’ll be fine! If they could take a century, they can take a night. Two nights, actually, since tomorrow’s our date. Not a date! Shit, it’s a saying.” Dear god, he needed to relax. Out of habit, he sat down beside her and, once he realized how close he was, scooted to the end of the couch. He could feel himself blushing and see her biting her lip to stop herself from laughing and all he longed for was death. “Does that mean you’re staying somewhere in town?” There, travel accommodations. A topic so dull he would be able to compose himself again.

“I figured I would be staying with you, Gil. Is that alright? I don’t want to impose.” She gave him the big eyes that they both knew he always succumbed to and he wanted to curse her for knowing all the right buttons in every situation. “Far be it from me to ruin the bachelor life you’re enjoying so much.”

He batted away her concerns, as feeble as they were, with a flick of his wrist. “Please, why would I want you elsewhere? You’ll be much happier here.” Gilbert exhaled slowly through his nose. He would have the same results if he grabbed his pistol and began literally shooting himself in the foot. “I can get you set up in a guest room.”

The way she stared at him caused him to worry that he had said something incredibly stupid. “Why would I be in a guest room? You know which bed I want to sleep in.” The little smirk Erzsébet had was enough to drive him completely insane. Before he could process everything, she was suddenly much closer than before. She was merciful enough to leave some space, but the lack of it was what drew his attention.

“M-Mine?” As she nodded her head, he took in a deep breath. “That’s fine. I’ll sleep in the guest room…and you’re shaking your head, so I’ll sleep with you. Fuck. Like in a platonic way? Erzsi, can’t you show a man some mercy? I’m drowning here.”

She patted his thigh affectionately. “If I did that, then how would I have my fun? Look at you, you’re paler than you normally are. Let me get you a drink. That’ll put you at ease.” She rose and walked over to the bar that was part of the room.

With distance came peace. Gilbert touched a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat decrease steadily. He watched her move around the bar with expert confidence, not pausing for a moment to ask him where things were. If he thought about it, he was almost insulted that she was so sure he hadn’t changed the layout. “You know, the host is supposed to do all that.”

“My home too, isn’t it?” Though he couldn’t see her face as she knelt behind the bar, he could hear the coyness in her voice. She hummed to herself as she poured them each a glass of wine and beer, respectively. Once done, she returned to him and offered him his drink like a peace offering. “Here. Maybe this’ll knock some sense back into you.”

Greedily, he drank from it. The beer brought no clarity, but the familiar crutch did something to calm his nerves. He swirled it around in his glass, watching the little whirlpool at the center. Anything was better than looking at Erzsébet and risk losing all rational thoughts. “I have to say, barging into my home, calling it yours and then calling me an idiot in the same breath is a gutsy move. Then again, why would I think you’d show up just to be sweet?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her roll her eyes and throw her head back. “Poor, Gilbert. Always carrying the heaviest cross. As soon as you saw me, you thought you knew exactly what I was here to do. You never even asked! You just saw me and went into one your spirals, thinking you had it all figured out!”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. He appreciated that she was now comfortable enough to insult him outright. Her honesty deserved his own. “That’s bullshit and you know it. What was I to think? The only reason you’d come here is to gloat that you’re so much happier now and everything in life is so wonderful and that you’re just here to cut off the last loose end to your old, miserable life. Which is fine by me, I wouldn’t care as long as you made sure to plunge the scissors deep enough into my heart.”

Erzsébet snorted. “Way to prove me wrong. You go through all this trouble to make up some ridiculous little fairy tale that has no basis in reality when it would’ve been easier to just ask me outright. But no! Gilbert and his insecurities have to try and sell me on the fact that he’s supposedly been fucking half of Berlin!” Pausing to sip her wine, she shook her head. “I love you, but you’re pathetic.”

All riled up and ready to go, he’d completely ignored the last bit of what she said. “What else could there be? I know what you’d do, you’d throw out the fact that you’ve got someone else waiting for you back- wait what did you say at the end?”

“Now you want to listen! For anyone with a working brain, it would’ve been obvious to them. How do I always forget that you’re a complete and utter moron?” Needing to calm down, she finished what was left of her wine and got up to refill her glass. “I’m not even going to repeat myself. I’m too annoyed with you.”

Gilbert sat there silently for a minute. He’d felt like an ass many times throughout his life – he supposed that was the price of arrogance – but never had it been so strong. He sighed, deciding now was as good a time as ever to start over. “How’ve you been these past two years?”

“Now you’re going to be normal?” She shook her head. Snapping at him didn’t feel as good as she’d hoped it would. Thankfully, he didn’t seem too surprised or bothered. “I’ve been good. I’ve been spending more time with Feliks again. There’s something to be said about independence and not having to ask permission to travel.” She shrugged, a content smile on her face. “But more so I’ve been spending time at home with my people and enjoying not having to speak in German all the time.”

“We don’t have to speak in German,” with ease, Gilbert switched to Hungarian. “Though I’m probably rusty.” It was an attempt to kiss up, but he was being earnest.

“Isn’t that better? So much prettier too! I’d say ‘no offense,’ but I know you’re used to it.” Erzsébet giggled at his nonchalant shrug and goofy expression. She retook her seat besides him and was pleased that he didn’t run away this time. “I’ve really been doing what I told you I would do, just enjoying that my time is now my own. I’d forgotten what that was like.”

He leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up onto the table. “That was all your great journey of self-discovery was? Shooting the shit with Feliks and random strangers?” He couldn’t prevent skepticism from seeping into his voice.

“I did more than that, don’t be so rude.” Her tone now as she chastised him was far more playful than before. “Without…him breathing down my neck, it’s been much easier to get back into my old hobbies. I got a nice stallion for a good price, found a cabin near the Mátra for a better price, and hid out there for a few months each spring. The game is just as good as when we used to hunt there as kids, maybe even better. It would’ve been perfect, but it was missing something.”

“What?”

“You.” Erzsébet chuckled at his embarrassment as he looked away. “Each time I was there, I would catch myself thinking about you or wishing you were there so I could show you whatever I’d found. Or just to have someone to race.” She sighed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “It happened even when I was back home. I’d see something and want to get it for you or would meet someone who reminded me of you and then it made the whole day feel bittersweet. Two years I spent only to figure out what I’ve always known: I’m my own woman and life’s better when you’re in it.”

When Gilbert at last looked at her again, he donned a sheepish expression. “Should I apologize now or later?”

She nuzzled into his chest and all was right in the world again. “Normally, I would want you to now, but you gave me plenty to laugh at and that’s apologies enough.” He felt the vibrations of her giggling into his chest. “Though why you thought I’d ever believe you’d been out sowing your wild oats is beyond me.”

He rubbed his free hand behind the back of his neck. “I thought it sounded pretty believable.” Her muffled scoff was all the answer he needed. “Fine, so it wasn’t. Maybe I panicked a little. I missed you and I didn’t want to be too obvious about it.”

She cupped his cheek and stroked it with her thumb. Her eyes shone with mischief. “You were painfully obvious about it.” He rolled his eyes and she snickered. “We used to go years without seeing each other, sometimes decades! And now you become a mess after a measly two? What happened to you, kedvesem?”

“Calling me ‘a mess’ might be an exaggeration.” Gilbert leaned his head into her hand. He noticed that it was more calloused than before. There would be more to explore and learn about her and he was eager to discover it all. “That is a question I’ve been asking myself for a couple centuries now. One I think you have the answer to.”

At last, Erzsébet provided him with a mercy and closed the distance between them. Her lips had the bitter taste of the red wines she preferred, but how could he mind the flavor? In his desperation, everything about them was as thrilling as their first kiss. It had been too long and he felt a need to make up for lost time, to convince her to never stay away for that long again. With little urging, she was in his lap and her hands were twisted in his hair and he knew that all of heaven’s riches were worth nothing compared to this.

In between each kiss he gave her neck, he whispered, “I missed you.” By the fourth one, she was laughing with her head collapsed in his chest.

“I get it, Gil. Believe me, I won’t be doing that again.” He hardly felt her lips against his jawline. “Now more than before, you’re stuck with me.”

If that was a threat, it was one he was happy to live with. To be hers again was more than enough for him.

[himbowelsh]

Jet lag & Webgott. I know the theme is PAIN but can I request something mildly to very funny??

a little fall of meme can hardly hurt me now  ( accepting )

‘make it funny,’ you say, at which point i instantly forget the concept of humor

By this point, David has become fluent in Joe’s bitching, whichever language it’s voiced in.

It’s an acquired skill — frankly, one he could have lived his entire life without acquiring — but knowing where Joe stands makes navigating their relationship a lot easier. When it comes to the little things, Joe wears his heart on his sleeve. If he doesn’t like a particular TV show, he’ll say it… loudly. When it’s snowing, he’ll agonize about it until David’s tempted to shove him outside and lock the door; when it’s too hot, he’ll strip without shame, hissing like a disgruntled cat all the while. By now, they’ve been dating long enough that David knows Joe like a familiar book, leafed through a hundred times over. Sure, sometimes he could do without all that context, but a working knowledge of Joe’s quirks makes dealing with him that much easier.

Joe Fact #263: He can’t stand long flights.

It’s not like he’s a nervous flier. He’s just… a lot to handle. Part of it has to do with Joe’s inherent restlessness, a genetic predisposition to never hold still for more than a minute; part of it is just Joe’s talent for being annoying. And he can be… really, really annoying. Damned obnoxious. He doesn’t read, he’s hardly interested in the movies — he just spends the entire flight complaining. Why can’t he get WiFi? Why can’t he order another gin and tonic? Why are the seats so lumpy? Why do you want me to close the window, Web, look at this view, it’s priceless —

Having the window open makes him air sick. Joe knows this.

It’s not a massive problem, but during any long flight, it becomes an inevitable one. Queasiness is just another thing Joe gets to complain about on long flights. Part of David thinks it’s all a ploy; an excuse to get up and move around the cabin, even if it’s just to hide out in the bathroom and try to get WiFi signal. 

To be fair — on their trip to the Amalfi coast, when Joe had to sprint to the bathroom mid-flight and stayed there for over an hour, he probably wasn’t faking it.

Flying with Joe is unbearable for everyone involved… so when Joe announces his new solution, David’s optimistic. They’re two days out from a trip to Hawaii when Joe reveals a bottle of air sickness pills — apparently “the best they sell on the whole Internet, Web, I checked.”

David’s skeptical. “Are you… sure you can’t just make it?”

Joe huffs, genuinely offended by the question. “Fine! This time I’ll just blow chunks all over you. In-flight entertainment’s gonna be The Exorcist. How about that, Web? Fuck.”

David rolls his eyes — but he doesn’t argue anymore. At the time, it seems like a testament to his self-control.

Oh, how naive he was.

The pills make it through customs in their carry-on bag — something Joe gloats about for the next half hour, like he’s just pulled one over on the government, even though David looked it up and medication is allowed on planes. While waiting for their flight, Joe insists on Cinnabon. Insists, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He pouts, he pleads, and finally he just tows David over to the stall without any forewarning and sits him down at one of the tables. (Joe Fact #312: Arguing with Joe while he’s got a pastry craving is like reasoning with a brick wall.)

The cinnamon bun in front of Joe is larger than your average infant.  “You ever heard of ‘tempting fate’?” David can’t help but ask around his own mouthful of pastry. 

Joe reaches over and smears frosting on his chin.

Without any delay, they make it on their flight in record time. Joe waits until they’re sitting, buckled in and watching the flight attendant go through safety procedures, to dig the pill bottle from his bag. A strange sense of unease churns David’s stomach, though he can’t for the life of him say why. Joe glances over, smirking; as David watches, he pops the two pills and swallows them dry.

“There. This flight’ll be smooth sailing.”

With four and a half hours of airtime ahead of them, David can only pray.

Joe’s not the researching sort — that goes without saying — but David has always been. He never takes a medication without looking up the full list of side effects in advance. When, twenty minutes into the in-flight movie, Joe’s head starts to loll against his shoulder, he’s not surprised.

“You alright?” he murmurs, turning just enough to speak the words softly into his boyfriend’s temple. Joe shifts, sighing heavily, and tries to straighten up again. It’s more effort than it’s worth.

“Might just end up sleeping through this thing,” he mutters. “Movie’s a snorefest anyway.”

It’s some movie about a dog. Neither of them have been really paying attention. “Okay,” David replies, keeping his tone casual. “That’s fine, just… get some rest.”

Joe shifts in his seat, making himself more comfortable. For about ten minutes, David stays very still. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t fidget; he doesn’t even breathe loudly.

When he looks over again, Joe’s dead to the world.

Oh, thank god.

David tilts his head back to grin at the ceiling, fist pumping the air without a sound — definitely earning a few sideways glances from other passengers, but he doesn’t care. Finally. After all this time, all this anticipation —

There’s no time to waste. He rummages through the carry-on at his feet, emerging with three large books, and headphones dangling from between his fingers. David drops his tray table, sets up his classical music Spotify playlist, cracks open the first book, and orders a Bloody Mary.

Peace at last.

The amount of long flights he’s endured through Joe’s whining… the amount of poking he’s had to deal with, the amount of dirty jokes whispered in his ear, all the times Joe’s stolen his books or drained his phone battery… he’s earned this, okay? As David leans back in his seat, it’s impossible to keep from grinning. Slumped against the window, Joe’s soft snores are easily drowned out by his headphones. They’ve got another five hours of flight ahead, and David plans to enjoy them.

Which he absolutely does, for the first hour. By the second, Joe’s got a specialty airline pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around him; David’s wallet is thirty dollars lighter, but it’s worth it. He runs his fingers through Joe’s hair absently, still engrossed in his book; after a while, he finishes it, and starts another one.

Somewhere around the third hour, Joe stirs, face smushing up against David’s shoulder. Gently, David repositions his head, only to find his boyfriend blinking drowsily at him.

“Hey, Web…” Joe’s voice is raspier than usual, thick with sleep. “How long’ve I been out?”

“A little while. We’re about halfway there.”

Joe hums, head flopping back against David’s shoulder. After a minute, he becomes aware of the blanket around him; a small huff escapes him, turning into a chuckle halfway through. “Aww, Web. Knew you cared.”

“As though I’d ever hear the end of it if you woke up with a sore neck.”

As though just to spite him, Joe cranes his neck at an unnatural angle to look up at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time we woke up sore together.” He pauses, thoughtful, then grins. “Wanna renew our mile high club membership?”

David shakes him off.

“Okay, okay, shit —“ Joe straightens up, disgruntled. Even sitting up in his seat, he sways a bit, as though rocking to turbulence no one else can feel. Davis observes as he gradually slumps against the window again, all the energy drained out of him. Mile high club — uh huh, very likely.

“These pills have any weird side effects?” Joe asks after a moment, brows furrowed. David rolls his eyes.

“How many times have I told you —“

“Read the fine print, yeah, damn it, Web. I get it.” Joe’s eyes scrunch shut. “They’re just not gonna — gimme an extra toe, or turn me green or anything, right?”

“No.” David diverts his attention, recommitting to his book with new stubbornness. “Orange, maybe.”

“That’s a color I can live with.” Without looking, Joe reaches over. Whatever he’s trying to grab, he ends up smacking David in the jaw. Hard, damn it. As David draws back with a muttered curse, Joe’s hand finds his chest; he gives it a few solid pats, maybe as an apology. “Mind if I sleep the rest of the way?”

“Please,” David rolls his eyes. “Be my guest.”

After a while, Joe’s snoring picks up again — and David is left to read in peace. He makes it through about a quarter of the next book before his eyes start hurting, and he finally has to set it aside. He orders a snack. He watches some late-night show. He doodles a bull shark on his napkin and daydreams about the white sands of Honolulu.

By the time the plane’s begun its final stretch, David is more than ready to start vacation. His pulse thrums with muted excitement, mind racing with all the things he wants to do as soon as they step off the plane. Every slight jolt of the plane as it descends kicks his anticipation a little higher.

By all rights, it should also jar Joe awake… but when David looks over, he’s surprised to find his boyfriend still sleeping.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Rip Van Winkle’s blanket-clad shoulder. “Nap time’s over. We’re almost there.”

Joe groans, shifting in his seat. When David tries again, he blindly smacks him.

“Jesus — will you —“ With a huff, David yanks the blanket away, leaving Joe bare. Suddenly exposed to the plane’s crisp air conditioning, Joe’s face scrunches up. He writhes in discomfort for a moment, fumbling around for the blanket, before at last cracking an eye open to look at Webster.

“You’re a sadist, Web.”

“I’m tired of watching you drool,” Webster retorts, busy packing up his carry-on. “Come on, rise and shine. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

Joe gives a drawn out sigh, as if it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world to ask him to be awake. Still, he props himself up. Over the next few minutes, as the airport tarmac slowly comes into view, he pulls himself from the syrupy haze of half-sleep, back into the land of the living. By the time they’re on the ground, he’s still blinking hard and rubbing his head, but awake.

“At least we’re had an easy flight,” David chirps as they make their way up the aisle.

“I dreamed I was on some tropical island, with a buncha pool floats, and the local girls were letting me eat fruit slices off their chests.”

“I already told you, we can’t do that in public — plus I have to wear sunscreen! I burn! Why do you want to eat fruit that tastes like sunscreen?”

“Just leave a spot bare —“

“I can’t stand tangerines,” Webster declares, cutting the argument off before it can take root. “Find a better fruit. If it’s pineapples, I’ll consider it.”

“That’s because you, like pineapples, are disgusting.” 

Joe suddenly stumbles, bracing himself against the ramp. On reflex, David catches him by the arm  —  but Joe isn’t falling, apparently, just steadying himself. When David raises his eyebrows, his boyfriend rolls his eyes and brushes him off.

“I’m fine, quit lookin’ at me like that.” A second later, Joe is on the move again. “Just a little jet-lagged.”

To be fair… David did enough research on the motion sickness pills in advance to know they made you drowsy. He just… didn’t look up how long it would last. 

By the time they’re collecting their luggage, Joe is lounging on a nearby-bench, half-asleep; David has to haul every suitcase off the conveyor belt on his own. He also has to hail a taxi by himself… and, when they pull up in front of the hotel, with Joe dead to the world against his shoulder, pay for it.

“Come on,” David mutters, dragging his boyfriend out of the car. “Home, sweet home.”

Joe wakes up just enough to blink at him in amazement. “Wow, that was some vacation, Web!”

The bellboy who comes out to greet them blinks at the sight of David, two suitcases braced against one arm, a comatose body against the other. With barely a word of apology, he deposits Joe on the luggage trolley. Joe, who seems delighted with this turn of events, just pulls his legs up. 

Hopefully the hotel has a big bed, because it seems like they’ll be spending their first night in Hawaii getting to know it well.

[babywarg]

Drpepperony with Stephen thinking Tony and Pepper are just using him to spice up their sex life, but they're actually in love with him. The dumbass just keeps leaving before they can tell him and barely stays around unless it's for sex

Hello, anon! May I point you to this excellent fic by White_Sparrow: Stay over if you can, which I believe suits this lovely prompt better? In the meantime, I shamelessly go off-tangent and hope anon likes it anyway, angst and sap and all 💖

Idea came to me while listening to an old fave: “Addictive” by Faithless.

Dependence

Pepper didn’t need to say she was worried about him.

Tony was, too.

So when she proposed that they talk to him, Tony offered no resistance.

“The trouble is getting him to stick around,” Tony pointed out. “Remember that time we tried to trick him into staying for breakfast?”

“I think he stopped taking our calls for days after that, too,” Pepper thoughtfully replied.

Tony made a small sound of assent. “Of course, Wong just said he was busy, so we can’t be sure…”

“He’s avoiding us for a reason, Tony.” Pepper sounded absolutely sure about this. “I just want to find out what. And if it’s a good reason…we can let him go, right?”

The words “let him go” got to him in a bad way. Like a punch to the gut. A wrenching. It hadn’t even happened yet, but it already brought on pain.

Maybe Pepper could let him go easily. As for himself…he wasn't too sure.

He laid a hand on Pepper’s shoulder. As if sensing the turmoil in his touch, Pepper leaned into it.

“I know,” she murmured, in reply to the unsaid. “I’ll miss him a lot, too. But if it’s what he needs, we have no choice.”

 ***

“There’s nothing going on with me.”

Stephen sounded genuinely puzzled. Not to mention a bit irritated. He seemed to be determined to make himself unlikeable, so Tony and Pepper would let him go right away.

…but it was really hard for them to find reason to hate on someone they’d already seen stark naked and begging, skin slick with sweat, mouth hanging open as he skirted the edge of climax.

Tony had to mentally clamp down on his arousal. Was it going to happen every time? The sorcerer would say something deliberately inflammatory, and he would flash back to so many vulnerable moments?

Well, Tony said to himself, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

“If that’s it, I can go, right?”

“No,” Pepper said sternly. Stephen frowned at her. “Stephen…we just want to know why you’re avoiding us.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Stephen argued.

“Yeah? My five unanswered calls since Monday say otherwise,” Tony argued back. “Look - we’re adults. We should just be able to talk about stuff.”

For a moment it looked like Stephen was going to get angry. But he shut his eyes instead, let out a long, slow breath.

“I agree. Let’s be adults about this.” He straightened up in his chair, far from relaxed. “I’ll just lay it out: I have an addictive personality. I’m sensing the warning signs of addiction in myself. So I’m staying away from triggers.”

Tony and Pepper looked at each other, alarmed.

“Triggers?” Tony echoed. “From us?”

“Stephen,” Pepper began in a somber, almost pleading tone, “if there’s anything we’re doing that triggers you in any way, you can let us know. We’ll do our best to avoid it.”

“Damn right we will,” Tony supplied. “So what is it? Sex? Drink? Food? Casual conversation? I gotta say, if you ask me, we haven’t been having nearly enough of any of that - ”

“Please don’t make light of this,” Stephen said, almost too softly to hear. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face in frustration.

“I’m not making light of it,” Tony answered. To emphasize, he leaned forward and laid a reassuring hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You’re talking to a man who knows all about addictions. And the fallout from them. I’m sorry I’m…not as refined as Pep. But I hope you know we both mean it when we say we want to help.”

Stephen took his time answering. It seemed to Tony all the while that Stephen was shrinking from his touch - was all but shrugging his hand off his shoulder.

In the end, however, Stephen took his hand, and pressed it to his lips.

“How can you possibly help,” he asked, without looking either Tony or Pepper in the eye, “when it’s the two of you I’m addicted to?”

On the other side of Stephen, Pepper reached out and quickly took his hand and Tony’s in both of her own. She knew it was not a good time to talk, and Tony trusted her instinct, shut up duly.

“You remember,” Stephen continued, encouraged by the silence. “That first time, in the penthouse of Stark Tower…I said yes only after you said it was one less regret.”

One less what-if. Yes. Tony remembered. He still occasionally gloated to Pepper about managing that one.

“Even now I’m wondering if I regret saying yes.” He finally looked up, met Tony’s eyes. He squeezed Pepper’s hand tightly. “I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. I can’t get either of you out of my head. When I succeed in not thinking of one of you, I get to thinking of the other. And when fate is feeling especially vengeful, I’m bombarded with thoughts of you both.”

Pepper laid her other hand on Stephen’s arm, and Stephen seemed to tense up from that, too.

Touch-starved was the word that came to Tony’s mind. He noticed it that first time in the penthouse. He would notice it again now, even as Stephen seemed to want to avoid being touched.

Triggers, he’d said.

“And you think this is addiction?” Pepper gently asked.

“It can’t be anything else.” The reply sounded absolute. “I recognized the signs some weeks back. When I woke up in the middle of the night embraced by you both. And my only thought was, I could do with a lifetime of this.”

Tony knew the feeling well. He had it several times a day. Whenever both Pepper and Stephen were around.

The thought of it as an addiction…amused him.

And made him realize that Stephen’s lack of experience with the feeling made him prone to misunderstanding it.

He glanced over at Pepper, and knew she was thinking the same thing. They’d discussed how Stephen seemed to be out of touch with his own emotions, a couple of times before.

“If we keep it to sex, and make it occasional, I can manage it,” Stephen said, sounding almost desperate. “If it doesn’t go further…”

“But let’s say, hypothetically,” Tony interrupted, “let’s say it’s not an addiction. Why shouldn’t it go further?”

Stephen shot a questioning look at him. He reached out and touched Stephen’s cheek.

“My point is, you may be confusing addiction with something else.” He gave that cheek the lightest of slaps, before withdrawing his hand. “Which you are highly likely to do, because you are an idiot.”

“Still a doctor,” Stephen protested, his offense genuine. “I did take up the workings of the human body and brain in school.”

“I’m no doctor, but I can come up with a couple of other diagnoses,” Pepper offered. “Fear of rejection. Fear of intimacy. Fear of loss. In a word: fear. Something that has less to do with the human body, and more to do with human emotion. You know…” She ran a hand through his hair. “…that part of you that you seem to like ignoring.”

At that instant, Stephen seemed to have forgotten that being touched made him nervous. He relaxed under Pepper’s fingertips.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered to him. “We’ll take care of that, if you’ll let us.”

He looked at her - confused, but calmer. “What are you…proposing, exactly?”

“Just that we want to get to know you better,” she answered, smiling. “We want to know more than what you like in bed.”

“And we want you to get to know us better, too.” Tony hooked his arm around Stephen’s, grasped his hand tightly. “You’re already a part of our lives, Stephen. We want to be a part of your life, too. And if in the long run, it doesn’t work out -” He winked at Stephen. “- it’s at least one less regret, right?”

Stephen gripped Tony’s hand, and his shaking was undeniable. For only a second.

Then his grip relaxed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, for what felt like the first time in a long time.