#posting this shit feels like presenting a drawing to parents hoping they put it on the fridge

[logicpng]

ah fuck it gonna post this too. i managed to make this in beepbox after the specific melody stuck my head

this isn't much at all but it feels good to actually manage materialize a sound and make it kind of neat?

[avonne-writes]

omg for the prompts i love "— “of course i remembered. it’s important to you, so now it’s important to me too.”" and and "— “can i hold your hand? is that weird to ask?”" and and omg "— “i can’t believe you didn’t know i liked you, i thought it couldn’t have been any more obvious.”" for the hs au pleaseeeeee

I posted the hand holding prompt a few days ago, so I'll exclude it here. The other two I'm going to combine with today's Daily Dose of Austin Butler prompt (this will only be at the end of the drabble).

The boys are 15 here, and this is right after they make up following their first serious fight. (Sorry for any typos, I'm very tired.)

TW for brief mention of child abuse

2. Selfie

"I can’t believe you didn’t know I liked you." Gale smiles softly at the small glow-in-the-dark stars that decorate the ceiling of Bucky's bedroom. They're the only source of light in the cozy night as he and Bucky lie there in Bucky's bed side by side. When Gale shifts, Bucky's hand tightens around his where they rest on Gale’s chest. "I thought it couldn’t have been any more obvious."

Bucky's chuckle is so close to Gale's ear that he feels a hot flush run down his neck. "I thought you were just shy."

"I'm not that shy!"

"If you say so, baby." Bucky laughs and hugs him, giddy and warm as usual.

Gale hugs him back and closes his eyes against the sudden pang of pain in his heart when he realizes how much he missed this. Being called baby. Being hugged.

Two months of dating and this is the first time that he’s staying the night. It feels like a dream, especially considering the past few days, when everything seemed to be falling apart because he lied about all the shit he has to put up with at home. Those stupid lies! Why couldn’t he just say, my father is an alcoholic and my mom doesn’t give a fuck?

Instead, he led Bucky to feel like Gale didn’t really like him after all. He confused him. Messed up the first relationship he has ever had. Bucky broke up with him, and Gale cried and cried and threw out all of his dad's booze just to get the slap he felt he deserved. It was... He doesn’t want to think about it. What matters is that his Bucky came back to him, they talked for, like, four hours non-stop, and everything is all right now. For the first time in a week, Gale feels the sweet draw of a peaceful sleep.

When Bucky kisses his cheek, he opens his eyes to look at the plastic stars again.

A few weeks ago, when Bucky had a cold and he came over to cuddle him for a few hours, Bucky told him that he had put those stars up with his dad not long before his parents divorced, but they didn’t finish the whole ceiling. His dad left and had almost no contact whatsoever with Bucky since. All that remains is the longing, an old sheepskin jacket and the stars on the ceiling. Although Gale wouldn’t mind if his own dad wasn’t around, he tries to sympathize. It’s not like he can ever understand, of course, but... well, he tries to do things for Bucky that he would like himself.

"Oh." He covers his face with a hand when he remembers what he has been carrying in his backpack since before their fight. "I forgot to give you your present!"

"Huh?" Bucky pushes himself up, confused, then laughs along with Gale as Gale fumbles to find the light switch. When the bedside lamp finally turns on, they squint at each other blearily in its glow.

A bit self-conscious in his checkered long-sleeved pjs, Gale climbs off the bed and pads over to his schoolbag, where he hopes his gift survived the past few days. He roots around a bit before he emerges triumphant with the small bag wrapped in a Marvel comic page because Bucky's obsessed with those.

Bucky beams in joy at the sight. "Why do I get a gift?" He asks after he takes it from Gale and starts picking at the wrapping.

Gale plops down next to him and tucks his growing hair behind his ear. "For our two-month anniversary." He says, grinning when Bucky gives him a smirk for using that term.

When his gaze drops back to the package, Bucky’s smile fades. "I, uh, got you some chocolate." He gives Gale an apologetic look. "But after - you know. I ate it."

For a moment, Gale stares into Bucky’s sad puppy eyes, then his lips wobble and he bursts into a laugh. "Oh my God."

"I'll buy you something tomorrow!"

Still giggling, Gale lets himself list to the side until his arm bumps into Bucky’s. "It’s okay. I'm not mad."

"Now I feel guilty though." Bucky pouts, but he throws an arm around Gale's shoulders as the contents of his gift finally spill over his lap.

Glow-in-the-dark stars and adhesive.

What Gale expects is a grin and a kiss, and Bucky rambling on about how he finally has enough stars to fill in the gaps on his ceiling, maybe an invitation to do it together, but there’s only silence at first. It’s unusual enough that he starts to worry. Was it a bad idea? Did he do something wrong? He chews at his bottom lip, but tries to find reassurance in the fact that Bucky hasn't pulled his arm back.

"You remembered." Bucky says quietly.

"Of course I remembered." Gale says, surprised that Bucky didn't think that was evident. "It’s important to you. So now it’s important to me too."

A part of Gale worries that he’s being too emotional, too sentimental. Maybe it's too much after only two months? He tried to research anniversary presents but there was no clear answer on the internet. It’s not like he can do much anyway, he barely gets any money from his mom.

The longer the silence stretches on, the more anxious Gale feels, but then, Bucky finally looks up at him, and the raw emotion in his eyes is enough to tell him that it wasn’t a mistake after all.

"Thank you." Bucky says quietly, then tangles his fingers in Gale's hair and gives him a lingering kiss that makes Gale's heartbeat race in joy. When he pulls back, he drops his face to Gale's neck, wraps his arms around him and starts giggling.

"What?" Gale smiles, stroking Bucky’s back.

After a few seconds, Bucky pulls back and kisses him again. "I was going to ask you if -" He bites his lip, uncharacteristically shaky with his words from some strange mix of joy and nerves that puzzles Gale. "- if you'd help me take them off."

Gale stops functioning for a moment. "You want to take them off?"

Bucky cracks a breathy laugh. "Yeah. I thought about it a few weeks ago. I thought we could - it could be a date, I mean - it's dumb but I feel like I don't need them anymore." He looks away, then back at Gale again. "Because I have you."

"Oh." Gale looks at his hands in his lap, trying to process it.

Bucky, who refused to let even his mom touch those stars, is now ready to take them off with Gale's help because of Gale. It doesn't even matter that this makes Gale's present pointless - the warmth of love fills Gale from head to toe. It kind of sounds like as if he was important to Bucky. More important than a memory from the father who left him. After two months. Gale doesn’t really know what this means, but... He likes it. Feeling like he matters is the most amazing thing he has ever experienced.

Slowly, a smile spreads over his face until he’s grinning at Bucky. He gives Bucky's shoulder a light shove. "You’re the least romantic boyfriend ever."

"Shut up, I can be romantic." Bucky laughs and tackles him back on the mattress. "I'm so romantic, you won’t even know what hit you."

"Your bony elbow?"

Bucky snorts, and they wrestle and banter until Gale’s out of breath from laughing and he’s sure his hair stands up in cowlicks. That’s when Bucky throws himself down next to him with his phone in his hand.

"Let’s take a selfie."

"Now?" Frowning, Gale holds up a hand to cover his face. He’s a mess in ugly pjs, and he's pretty sure he has a red spot on his chin too. Utterly unflattering. "No, come on."

"Gaaale." Bucky pleads, turning to his side to cling to Gale. "I'm bored of my wallpaper."

"Just download something."

"I'm bored of that too." Bucky whines. "Please, we don’t take enough selfies. I want to remember this day."

Gale peeks out between his fingers only to see his half-hidden face and tangled hair on the screen of the phone Bucky holds up above them. Grinning, Bucky snaps the photo, then chortles when Gale groans, closes his eyes and drops his hands in defeat.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

When Gale looks up again and sighs, Bucky turns his head, and they meet each other's eyes. Happiness passes between them like a wave of warmth. With an indulgent smile, Gale leans forward and presses his lips to Bucky's.

Snap.

That last selfie ends up being Bucky's wallpaper for months to come until he breaks his phone playing soccer with Curt.

[thedawningofthehour]

I just saw that post from four days ago about the threats you received, and I liked how you ended it because as a teenager I can say that teenagers are stupid.

I don't like going around saying that I'm better than most people my age, but genuinely, they're all so stupid and irresponsible. I don't understand. Of course, I'm still learning, but as I've gotten more mature I've started hating kids and teenagers because of how stupid they are. Most of them don't even care if they hurt someone else but when I do I feel like the worst person in the world. And then I hide from them for the rest of my life. And developed self-worth issues that may have already been present., but that's beside the point. Teenagers and kids just don't see the reason why people try to be kind. And that sucks, because in history kids grew up way faster than we do now. Something changed, and it could be any number of things. Social Media, Public School systems (by the way, who on earth thought it was a good idea to put a bunch of irresponsible, easily influenced children with a single adult. They're learning bad habits from each other, not good ones from the teacher. It should be the other way around. Kids are meant to grow up with lots of good adult influences). There's just so much wrong with today's society. I can't even write it all.

"It is important to draw wisdom from many different places." -Iroh (ATLA)

I'm very religious, so I don't swear, drink, smoke, stuff like that, and I think those standards and my parents childhoods definitely played a part in how I think today. Of course, everyone's lives are different and anything could cause anything, but I'm really sad how unhappy and careless people are nowadays. Kids should be taught to be kind to others, not just striving for their own joy. True happiness always comes from gratitude.

(If you haven't seen it already, check out Nothing Ever Changes by Nico Collins)

The world is stupid. A lot of people are cruel, and it shouldn't be this way but people don't care enough to change. It's sad, honestly. I've really enjoyed when you touch on stuff like that in Third from the Son because I feel like someone else sees the same things I do.

Good luck navigating the absolute monstrosity that is today's world, and thanks for providing us all with such an amazing story.

- A kind of sort of maybe mature teenager.

...Well. This is a lot to unpack.

So first of all! I do not think that today's children are any stupider or less mature than my generation or the generations before. Quite the contrary-I think you guys are doing great considering the 'gestures to everything in the world'. You guys are well educated and you want to make a difference. You want the world to be better. I think that's wonderful and I'm really proud of all my younger readers.

It's just that...teenagers are dumbasses. All of them. You guys have limited experience and your brains just aren't braining all the way. Even the smartest, most mature teenager is going to be fathoms wiser in ten years-if they aren't, something's gone wrong. That's just how wisdom works. Even if you're starting with a strong base, you still need time and experience to develop that. (this circles back to my thing about Donnie doing a bunch of dumb shit in the show-because yes, he's a genius, his brain is so big it literally alters the shape of his skull, and he's also a moron because he's fourteen) I know a lot of teenagers will really dislike hearing that, lord knows I hated hearing it when I was in high school. But five years from now you're going to be a greatly improved version of yourself and you're going to look back on your current self and roll your eyes. Maybe smile with fondness. But you will be different, and hopefully you will be better. I graduated in 2013 thinking I was super wise and mature. I'm wiser now, and in 2035 I hope I'll be wiser still. (if we're even still here by then)

And the idea that 'kids grew up faster' in the past is just false. Kids worked more, sure. They got sick more, died more, experienced loss more. But the whole idea that kids were considered full-grown adults the moment they hit puberty, married off and forced to start having babies and shit? Patently false. For one thing, people historically lived in multi-generational homes, so a lot of the things we associate with 'growing up' now-moving out, supporting yourself on your own income, blahblah-just really wasn't a thing. And apart from the nobility, people didn't marry and start families much younger than they do now. It was pretty common to wait until your twenties. Late teens sometimes, but those were often "shit I'm pregnant quick marry me so we can pass the baby off as an eight pound preemie" situations. (we really underestimate how many illegitimate babies were born before birth control, in many cultures it really wasn't a big deal) Teenagers of the past had more responsibilities, yes. They were still stupid about them. And often that stupidity had bigger consequences than their dumbassery immortalized on the internet.

I'm glad those responsibilities aren't on them now. That was messed up, kids shouldn't have been responsible for raising their siblings or making sure their families were fed. I love public school. I love education, it's actually very good for children developmentally to progress with peers rather than just trying to copy adults. I think social media is very much a double-edged sword, I think there are advantages to having it but I can't deny the negative effect it has, especially on kids and teenagers. It's a complicated issue and I haven't read every study there is about it, plus I want ice cream and don't feel like going into it right now.

And dude, I graduated from a Catholic high school. I knew a lot of kids who thought their godliness and purity made them more mature and put them above their peers. For one, most of them started partying like crazy the moment they got to college and got into tons of trouble that way, but they were all still idiots. There's nothing inherently immature about cursing or drinking a beer. It's absolutely fine if you're not into that scene, I wasn't either and I'm still not. But it doesn't make you better than the people who are.

I'm sorry if this comes off as dickish, that's not my intention. When I was eighteen I also thought I was better than my classmates. I was not.

[repo-net]

HOLY SHIT

I'm still trying to find the right words to type down as I just finished this, and what I'm going to put here probably won't be enough to express just how much this entire post means to me. To start, seriously, thank you for tagging me on the post, it was a pleasure to work with you again and I'm always happy to do so, hoping we can collab some more in the future.

I don't usually talk about why Nagisa is such a favorite of mine; but I think this entire comic sort of sums it up for me. He's an overworked, exhausted, and flawed kid who can't handle rejection and failure because of the way he was raised and how attached he gets to any sort of light that might lift him up and give him the praise he's so hungry for. My parents are the sweetest in the world; so thankfully, I never had to deal with this kind of abuse, at least not from them. A lot of my struggles were a byproduct of them loving me so much that just the thought of disappointing them made me feel like the lowest person on Earth.

This shouldn't be a post about myself; but I did at least want to take a moment to just express one of the reasons why I like Nagisa the way I do, he's just the product of a child broken by the people he was supposed to trust, and yet despite all of it; he keeps going, he does what he does best - and works his ass off to prove to himself and the people around him that he's actually worth loving.

Enough with that though, about time I got to the art itself because there's just so much amazing things of note here for me to point out. The gray background that dominates the majority of the slides, that even continues all the way up to the latest ones where he's in the moment just after killing his parents, it's his thoughts being clouded with all the memories of the abuse he took and how he convinces himself that this needed to be done, no matter how shaky his heart is. Just... him still saying 'I'm sorry' despite everything he's been put through by these two failures for parents sums it up, really.

The internal dialogue is exquisitely written and paced out wonderfully. One aspect about writing flashbacks that's important is making sure that everything is in order, so that it leads up to the big reveal either in the climax of their backstory or the huge moment in the present times; making sure that all of it gets built up so the important scene punches you in the gut is key. The journey is just as important as the destination, and I can definitely say that this was a beautifully done bumpy and rocky ride considering everything Nagisa had to endure.

There's of course, the drawings themselves. I'd just like to say that I appreciate how you designed Nagisa's parents (or at least their silhouettes), they look real good and I can tell easily that the child in the middle is their kid. One creative choice that I especially applaud is the way you emphasized a lot of the more key items, realizations, and figures in Nagisa's life by marking them in pink rather than in white, that's great usage of colors right there, helping the art stick out more while helping in defining the things Nagisa himself most remembered.

This post has already been going on for a while, and I've said quite a lot already, but I'll just add on to say that the minor detail in the last slide where all the Warriors of Hope are looking at Nagisa with a face of worry and concern, while Monaca just stares blankly and indifferently to the scene before her is a great touch and adds to the storytelling aspect of the entire comic.

I probably don't even have to say it at this point because it's likely obvious with the sheer amount that I wrote; but this is one of, and likely my all-time favorite artwork centering around Nagisa by any artist ever. Everything just hit the right buttons for me; apart from being pretty to look at, being able to weave a world and story that I value a lot, being a writer myself. It's fantastic. Can't ask for anything more. The work here is nothing short of above all my expectations, Wyndi.

Here's something I've been working for quite a while now - a Nagisa-centric comic! It's quite a bit darker than my usual content, so I can only hope I was able to do it justice. The style is a bit experimental in places as well, hope it's not too bad.

Massive thanks to @repo-net for helping brainstorm ideas together, and for proofreading my writing! Couldn't have done this without you man. (There miiiiight even be more of these coming in the future, who knows 👀)

It's a little long, so comic below the cut!

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song." 

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention. 

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard." 

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night." 

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked. 

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking." 

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band." 

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right." 

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid. 

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring. 

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!" 

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!" 

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation. 

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover. 

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?" 

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me." 

"What does it look like?" You asked. 

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one." 

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told." 

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it." 

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned? 

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back. 

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine 

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner. 

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table. 

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this." 

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care." 

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-" 

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor. 

"It was a gift." He finished anyway. 

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head. 

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much." 

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered. 

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering." 

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me." 

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.” 

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage. 

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help? 

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition. 

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly. 

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack. 

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975 

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile. 

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you. 

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?" 

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy." 

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music. 

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush. 

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone." 

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans." 

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?" 

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side. 

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

[if-mirrormine]

for the MC game: my MC for your game is a short "girl" who wears a lot of oversized stuff in the early 2000s. when they come into modern day and see the discussions of things like being trans and nonbinary and the difference between gender identity vs gender presentation, they feel a lot more comfortable dressing femininely (still loves oversized tho, aint nothing wrong with that) while identifying as nonbinary. it results in a gradual confidence boost and, whereas their loved ones remember my MC as constantly cracking jokes but the sense of humor being very self-deprecating, their sense of humor evolves into being a lot less based on their self (after reading "yo that wont help your mental illness" online) and now they actually, finally, start laughing at their own jokes

they go from this "my resting face is a small smile and im awkward and shy" to being very giggly and still awkward but more outgoing (bc now a baby's got a sense of self-worth and doesnt mind taking up as much as space as they used to). one of those "i like being around you bc your laugh makes me smile and you laugh all the time" kinda people, yknow?? plus, very polite. Alex's parents probably really liked them; they were always on their best behavior and would put down the game controller to offer to help Alex's parents with cleaning the dishes or set the table kinda kid?? sometimes that makes things awkward, because its VISIBLE when those people feel like a bother (esp in someone else's home), but still. manners are nice, yknow?

they were in college to be an animation student and rip them, technology in animation has changed a LOT since the 2000s, we dont even call the program "(Adobe) Flash" for Flash Animation (think Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, that style is called Flash) "Flash" anymore, the program is called "(Adobe) Animate" now smh gotta retake ALL of those tech classes, your drawing fundamentals are good, but the times have changed alas. it kind of sucks bc they were good at studying and actually took notes and would actively practice, just trying to be a good student and now most of their notes are outdated and not relevant to the industry

im trying to think of what else would be fun and helpful. they probably played with people's hands a lot, just bouncing their hand on the palm of someone else's, holding hands and swinging arms, tracing circles with their thumb on the back of your hand-- lots of casual PDA and yet would turn VISIBLY FLUSTERED at any flirtation or kisses anywhere, just fully flushed deer in headlights kinda moment as they bluescreen and process and their skin starts heating up. definitely is the type where the ideal date, always, has been hanging out at Target and Walmart and the like

to be naughty for a second tho (no minors allowed):

:readmore:

definitely the type that was like "am i supposed to be considering giving them road-head rn? bc i will give them road-head rn, or just oral in the parking lot or at home, period, if they are interested" in reaction to their date taking them to a bookstore and proceeding to buy my MC several hardcovers/concept art books post-time-bubble. like. c'mon. that shit's sexy as fuck and my MC is trying to be subtle in their now looking disrespectfully at least

(i hope the Read More attempt worked btw, otherwise this is awkward lmao)

pls your mc's so cute i love them😭😭

im gonna say alex would work well with your mc! bro just trust me they can help guide your mc through the modern world and help them explore their gender identity further. they'd bring out your mc's more playful side and with alex being the extrovert that they are, they'd definitely have a lot of fun together!

[sukunastoy]

hey, srry to be the one to rant in ur inbox but i saw u were open to anons and ur one of the few ppl ik in this fandom space thts around my age group and i was just wondering. how??

ive been on tumblr and in fandom/fanfic communities since i waz around 15, its basically my main hobby and pretty much the only social outlet i have, and ive just been so down and so lonely because ive been feeling shunned and excluded pretty much everywhere once i disclose my age and i absolutly completely understand WHY bc there r so many younger ppl in these places, but i dont know what else to do. it feels like nothing is fun anymore. the general consensus seems to b that i should just fck off and have some kids and pay bills until i die. how do u deal with it?? are u ever bothered by it? i feel likr a creep for even being here still, but it’s one of the only things i still have tht brings me joy. srry if that was a lot, i feel bad even compareing myself to u in any way because im nowhere near as talented as u are, absolutly delete this if it makes u uncomfortable whatsoever

hope u are doing well yourself 💙 ty for being u

First of all, NEVER be sorry to rant to my inbox!! And I truly feel appreciative for you to tell me all of this. This is a safe space and you're always welcome to it! My reply is a bit long, I didn't want to flood anyone with a super long post, so the rest is beneath the cut.

I completely understand how you feel, about the age thing and the ever present societal norms of "Must be an adult, must have kids, must do this, yada yada". Its depressing as fuck.

I've been into anime and manga since around 13-14 years old (apart from Pokemon which I've loved -And still do!- since the age of 5.)

I always wrote fanfics, always did fanart, even if I thought it was absolute garbage, I was still so happy just doing it. It has been something that got me through the toughest times in my life. I struggle with suicidal depression, always have for as long as I can remember, even back in my single digit days before even becoming a teenager. When I started to reach the age of "adulthood" I started to shy away from what I loved doing because I felt as an adult, I wasn't allowed to enjoy what I truly loved anymore, cause I needed to "grow up." And I did that. For a while. I rarely acknowledged anime. I sold all of my manga, my wall scrolls, my merch. I stopped drawing/writing it as much cause I needed to focus on being an adult, paying my bills, going to college, all that crap.

But, I got worse in my depression. I self harmed, had to go to therapy, had to start medication, and at one point I actually wrote that final goodbye note because I couldn't handle the norm of "being a mature adult" so I figured I must be useless otherwise. If I wasn't happy playing my adult role in society, what was the point of me even living?

During this time I went to college for 3 years, stressing, crying, working on a degree that I didn't even want because I thought it was expected of me. (I've always wanted to go to an art school and get a degree there. But my parents and everyone else in family told me, thats not a real degree. So I left it behind...) For 3 years I wasted my time and money and sanity to try to appease the people who don't pay my bills, don't put food in my mouth and certainly don't do shit for me otherwise, and I finally stopped and thought...

WHY?

WHY am I trying to impress and fit in with people who don't even really know me or provide for me?

I dropped out of the college that was stressing me out. I lost that money, but oh well, I was miserable, and my mental health is more important to me.

I don't want kids. I don't want that boring life of "just work til your dead". I don't want to have boring hobbies that I don't even like just to fit in with the people of my age range who I could care less about.

I'm turning 30 in a few months, and I regret wasting a few years of my life trying to fit into this norm of, bullshit. (And please note to whoever is reading this, if doing a lot of the 'norm' and having a family with kids and everything IS happiness for you, that is beautiful!! I am only referring to the people who don't want that life, and it should NOT be forced upon them.)

I love anime. I love drawing it, writing fics for it, interacting with other people over it, and I don't know why I ever tried to deny that.

I was afraid to return online in the fandoms because surely everyone must only be young teenagers right? Actually, not at all!

I've interacted with SO MANY people near my age range, and, it is truly amazing.

There are lots of people close in age, sometimes they're just a little difficult to find, but they are there, I promise, and they are amazing. I've enjoyed anime more in my adult life now than when I was younger tbh because I stopped caring about what others think and that my age is literally just a number. I'll be 30. So what, that doesn't change what I love. My body is getting older, that's all. I am still ME.

My fiance and I still go out and play Pokemon Go, collect Pokemon cards, like, I have BINDERS full of cards. The store we go to is ALWAYS packed with other people our age and way older who love Pokemon, Digimon, YuGiOh, and all sorts of other anime things they offer there.

These people are out there!

I started being more open with my likes and interests with strangers and coworkers, and I found out a lot of people really are into this, but felt they had to keep it hidden cause they didn't want anyone to think they were weird because of their age.

I surround myself with those who I know are supportive of me, or don't have a problem with my likes and interests and I stay away from those who try to shame me, and I kick them out of my life because I don't need that negativity in my circle. Some people my age who aren't into anime don't have a problem with me being into it at all. They've never shunned me for it. If anyone does, goodbye.

Life is short, its hard, its shitty. It doesn't need to be made worse by trying to appease those who aren't providing for you or feeling like you're not allowed to love what you love. So enjoy the things you love to enjoy. If there's something that you can latch onto that brings honest happiness into your life, cherish it.

I hope this helped in some way...even if just a tiny bit...

I know it was long, but I wanted to explain as much as I could so you don't feel like you're alone or left behind in the fandoms because of age. I tried to deny what brought me joy, and it only brought me more misery. I hated it.

I'm so much happier now, and I truly hope this type of peace comes for you soon as well.

Always feel free to drop in my inbox as anon, I would NEVER delete something like this.

Again, I hope this helped. If I didn't acknowledge something, or seemed to entirely misunderstand, I dearly apologize and please correct me if needed!!

💕 (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

(❁´◡`❁)~Stay shameless!

[ramblingguy54]

You know, Marcy being stuck in the tube reminds me of jeri being trapped in the d-reaper(hell, marcy reminds me of jeri in someways)

     My apologies for not getting to this ask in awhile. I’ve been busy with stuff and also admittedly lazy to an extent in my free time, too.

     Anyways, this parallel you're presenting of Marcy & Jeri being similar is certainly something to consider. They're both kids who wanted to to a different world because they wanted to be stronger people in not just an emotional sense, but physically speaking too.

     Leomon commented on despite how tiny & frail Jeri looked, she had the spiritual strength of something greater than that or as he said in the English dub, "You're such a little thing, but you have a lion's heart.", which showed the underlying potential Jeri had in overcoming her serious demons, if she simply applied herself more in whatever the kid wanted to do in life. 

     Marcy has an arc of development in this same sense, due to wanting to travel to another reality where she could become stronger. She didn't want to be always seen as a clumsy know it all, who can’t fend for herself. Marcy did have Anne steal the Calamity Box in order to keep them together as friends in a different reality always, but it wasn’t just this reason alone. This girl has a defined low self-esteem, which she looked for validation in her friendship through Anne & Sasha. When Marcy’s parents dropped the news about moving away outta state she flipped out because if this girl can’t have the sense of validation, being two best friends for life, surrounding herself, than what does that make Marcy Wu, overall? You can apply this same mindset to Leomon as well, given how much Jeri admired, respected, and loved Leomon as the father she never had.

     This brings me into a more speculative territory, once again, when looking into the potential core dynamic Marcy Wu could have with her father, akin to Jeri’s complicated relationship against the other. I do believe there’s a good chance Marcy’s relationship with her father is the most problematic and not so much the mother, honestly. After all, who did Marcy put a shit ton of her trust into? King Andrias. Who crushed Marcy’s hopes, dreams, and plummeted her self-esteem to a greater level? King Motherfucking Andrias. Andrias presented himself as an outlet parental figure Marcy could put her faith into and so much more. Marcy didn’t feel like she had anyone to truly turn to after the actions this kid committed in having Anne & Sasha steal the Calamity Box for her as a last ditch resort to flee from their reality. 

     Marcy was riddled with guilt, so she thought this strong, authoritative, and seemingly compassionate adult, who lent her an open ear and shoulder to cry on, if need be, would give herself so much needed relief. Sadly, this wasn’t the case for Marcy’s faith in Andrias, or tragically Jeri’s short time spent with Leomon in Tamer’s run time. These two young girls looked for a sense of closure in these two respective adult male figures, who could’ve saved them from their inner demons. Andrias’ real intent was to only use her as a figurative chess piece then brutally toss the girl aside afterwards. Leomon’s unfortunate fate at Beelzemon’s hands was basically out of his control. Leomon wanted to prove to himself, Jeri, and most importantly Beelzemon that having serious strength isn’t “real power”, rather it’s the bonds you obviously form with other people making you so in the long run. This costed Leomon his life & Jeri’s little self-esteem she was barely holding onto, as long as he was apart of her life forever.

     These two young girl leads suffered greatly from putting their trust into who they thought were responsible adult fatherly role models, where one in relished deceitful manipulation of this kid’s heart and the other was killed unjustly by another emotional wreck of a Digimon named, Impmon. Jeri & Marcy were dealt serious low blows by their connections to these two respective figures. Their faith hadn’t been just shaken, but torn to pieces because said admiration led these two down a path of serious heartbreak. Marcy was given a brutal wake up call from Andrias having to realize he never truly loved, nor cared, about her well being. All he saw was some tool for a means to an end, nothing more or less. Jeri was sent into a broken state of depression from Leomon’s sudden murder at Beelzemon’s cold blooded slaying of him. Jeri had already lost her biological mother years ago and didn’t have a healthy relationship with her hard-lined father or new step mother either, which made Leomon’s passing all the more devastating for her.

     These respective heroine’s didn’t want to be alone, as it was anything far worse than the most unimaginable pain one could physically inflict upon somebody, period. Jeri resigned herself to viewing Leomon’s untimely death as, “Loneliness, is my destiny.”, which the D-Reaper feasted upon those feelings of dreadful heartbroken defeat. Andrias very much pulled a D-Reaper in calculating the reveal of Marcy’s hidden true colors, by laughing in front of the main trio of girls about how his most “favorite associate” brought them into Amphibia’s world to begin with all because she didn’t want to be forsaken to a life of solitude, based around wherever state her parents were going to move to. 

     Marcy’s optimism, pride, and hope in Andrias were shot down instantly by a malicious ruler, who didn’t care about what needed to be done for universal and dimensional conquest. Even if it meant absolutely shattering a child’s hope in finding an adult that finally understood her needs, basically. I still do firmly stand on the theory that Marcy’s father, while well intent, doesn’t know how to properly express his compassionate side. Much like Jeri’s father, it’s very likely he does care for Marcy, but had a hard time understanding the kid’s needs or how she emotionally differed from other children, possibly. Marcy’s father could indeed share the problem Jeri’s had of not being a good parent still very much wanting to change their ways, but not knowing how to go about doing it in the proper manner.      Whenever I think back to the father’s line, “Marcy, you have to understand. Come back here, young lady!”,  I’m under the impression he’s trying his hardest to connect with Marcy, though for whatever reasons we’ll find out in Season 3 soon enough doesn’t seem to get how being empathetic toward his daughter works. Jeri’s father had this exact same issue of empathy, where instead of trying to teach her daughter harsh lessons of responsibility, like say going from school and back home without vehicle transportation, he should’ve comforted his kid more about his previous wife’s passing.

     Throw in a mechanical menace taking advantage of their fragile state of mind and emotion giving us on Hell of an unsettling parallel between two kids, who’ve been dealt a seriously bad hand by their own separate series of events. If Marcy’s father turns out to be a problematic parent after all, then this detailed post of mine will age like a fine wine in how much Marcy & Jeri share as children with serious emotional baggage stemming from parental trust & affection. Season 3 has me legit scared for what could happen to Marcy in how Anne & Sasha will have to break Andrias’ master’s hold over their dear friend, if it goes the route people have been speculating about severe possession over her free will. It would make the ultimate tragedy for Marcy’s characterization, since she wanted to be free and now must suffer under an existence of control from a creature that feels no pain, remorse, or empathy for who it chooses to hurt.

     The parallels you can draw between Marcy & Jeri is so scary it aint even funny. This is like some serious uncanny valley territory shit right here.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

can you write something to rowaelin based on the song lost without you by freya ridings please 🥺 i love ur fanfics

This was supposed to be angst but it ended up being only a it angsty and a little fluffy? Idk, it’s quick and I think it’s cute. I would have posted earlier but I wanted my friend’s opinion first. Hope you like it!

Lost without you

--

Rowan knew he and his girlfriend were different.

He had known since the moment they had met, and every second after it.

Rowan was quiet, usually kept to himself. He liked nothing more than to study anything related to law and spend time with his girlfriend. Aelin, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She was lively, cheerful. She was constantly dirty with paint, constantly sweaty after working with her sculptures. They had started dating in the beginning of junior year in high school, and the difference had never been something bad.

Until that Friday.

That day, as Rowan stared at his acceptance letter into Orynth College— the best college he could go to if he wanted to do pre law—, the difference weighted on him.

Weighted on him because Aelin wasn’t going with him.

She had gotten her acceptance letter the same day he had, but it had been a different one. A program, she had been offered, to travel the world and learn from some of the best artists alive. It was an extremely rare and exclusive program, and the fact that Aelin had gotten in made him so, so proud. He knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t— let it pass.

And that broke him.

Broke him because his girlfriend was going to leave for four years, and he didn’t know what to do. Neither of them liked the idea of a distance relationship, and there was only one other alternative then.

Breaking up.

Rowan loved Aelin like he had never loved anyone else, and he knew she loved him just as much. He thought it would have been easier if they didn’t love each other as much, thought it would have been easier if it was just a high school fling, but imagining his life without Aelin’s cheerfulness and mirth made his chest crack. Imagining his life not loving Aelin was brutal.

The following days had been hard. As both of them accepted the entrance, it looked like they were drifting apart more and more everyday. They tried to desperately hold onto each other, savor the last weeks together for the next four years. Rowan took her to every place they had ever been in a date, and Aelin drew hundreds of sketches of them. They tried to act like the loving couple they were, tried to joke around as if she wasn’t about to leave in two weeks. But it weighted on both of them, and they only let it show during the nights when they held onto each other so strongly sometimes it left bruising marks.

Now, standing on the platform Aelin was going to catch the train to Banjali, he wished he had held her a little while longer. She was hugging her parents and Aedion. She had already said goodbye to Lysandra, the brunette smiling at her best friend but tears rimming her green eyes.

“If you stop calling, we will hunt you down, fireheart.” Rhoe said, only half jokingly. He gave one last kiss on his daughter head and jerked his chin in Rowan’s direction.

The moment Aelin turned to him, her face crumpled a little, tears rolling down her cheeks. Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug, peppering her head with kisses as she buried her face on his chest. “I will miss you so much, Ro.”

“I’ll miss you, too, fireheart.” He said, the words feeling too big in his tight throat. “I’ll miss you so, so much.”

“I’ll come back, you know? In four years.” She sniffled. Face still on his chest. “And I would never ask you to wait for me, but please don’t forget me. Or treat me like a stranger when I come back.”

“I would never, Ace.” He said and she cried harder. Aelin had always been close to her family and to Rowan and Lysandra. To be letting all of them go at the same time must have been brutal for her. Rowan wished he could do something, make her feel better in some way. But he also knew Aelin was strong and even though she was hurt right now, she would be happy eventually.

“I would stay. If you asked me, I would stay.” She said quickly through the tears. Rowan’s chest constricted, and a selfish part of him wanted to ask. Wanted it so bad. He wanted to have his girlfriend in the same college as him, doing all college shit together. He didn’t want things to change, and he knew that in that moment, if he asked, she would stay.

But he also knew that she was saying that because it was hurting, and also knew she would regret it later. And she wouldn’t regret Rowan, but herself. And Rowan wouldn’t be able to live seeing her regret the past everyday because he had been selfish.

“Do you wanna see the world, Ace?” He asked softly, his voice not that sad anymore.

She raised her face to look at him. It was pinkish, a few strands of her golden hair stuck on her cheeks because of her crying. Gently and smiling, Rowan rubbed his thumbs on her cheeks, taking away the strands. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. Even crying, Aelin was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“I want to see the world.” She said opening her turquoise and gold eyes, voice firm.

“Then go.” He smiled at her again, leaving her embrace. She smiled sadly at him, but five minutes later she raised her chin, puffed her chest and got into the train.

And then she left, Rowan watching her go to conquer her dreams. The whole world if she wished.

And Rowan felt so, so lost in that instant.

————————

It had hurt like a bitch.

Rowan had never felt so lonely and cold. Had never felt so lost without her.

Aelin was a walking flame, burning wherever she went. And now that she had left, Rowan realized how used he had gotten to her presence, how much he loved her.

Much more than he had realized before.

Rhoe put an arm around his shoulders, taking Rowan away from the platform. Rowan was glad Rhoe was there as they walked home. If not, Rowan might have bumped into so many pedestrians, normal people just wanting to go home to their own lives, completely unaware of the girl who had left minutes ago in a train.

“She’ll come back.” Evalin, Aelin’s mom, said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And she’ll be pissed if you spend four years single and moping.” Aedion muttered, and Rowan scoffed.

“I know that too.”

When Rhoe and Evelin dropped him off at home, he went straight to his room. His fingers itched to call her, but they had agreed that for their break up to be effective, they had to distance themselves a little, at least in the beginning.

He just stared at his ceiling. And stared, and stared and stared.

He loved her so much, and missed her just the same. Rowan knew he was in love with Ace, but missing her made him realize just how much.

He had been quiet and sad for the next few days. A little bit better the next week.

And slowly, Rowan learned how to live without her.

He would go out, he would laugh and joke with his friends. He busted his ass off studying for the next four years, always thinking about the LSAT.

He went on a few dates. Dated a girl named Lyria for a few months, a girl named Remelle for a few weeks.

Even when his life was back at normal, when it had been years since Aelin had left, a part of him still held on to that love he had felt when they were younger. It was hidden in the deep of his mind, a dormant part of it. He would think of her from time to time, smile at their memories and even feel a pang of sadness, but it didn’t feel like it was going to consume him.

Rowan had never forgotten her, and she made sure of it. They didn’t call, not once in four years, and she had never come to visit. But to every city Aelin went, to every beautiful place she visited, she would sketch a small postcard and send it to him. Never with a message, no pictures of her or whatever she was working on. Just the sketches and the name of the place in the back.

A reminder. She hadn’t forgotten him either.

By now, Rowan had hundreds of sketches, all inside a box under his bed. He would sometimes look through them, seeing how her drawing was improving. He remembered that sculpting had always been her area of expertise, and to see her drawings become so flawless made his chest burst in pride. He would smile every time a new handmade postcard arrived, and would eagerly wait for the next one.

Rowan would have never forgotten Aelin, even if she disappeared for ten years and didn’t give him any news.

But he had to admit, he loved to know that she was thinking of him from time to time, too.

—————————

“Rowan Whitethorn, future lawyer.” Aedion smiled, clapping his best friend on his shoulder. “Sounds rather adult-y, doesn’t it?”

Rowan laughed, taking off his green cap. Today had been their graduation day, all his friends receiving their diplomas in different areas. Some of them were ready to go to work, like Lorcan and Vaughan. But he was going to law school now, the same way Fenrys and Aedon were going to med school.

“We are adults, Aedion.”

“Don’t you ever repeat those cursed words!” He said, and Rowan laughed again. “I have the soul of a dumb eighteen year old. Forever. End of story.”

“I’m sure Lysandra is delighted by the fact.” Lorcan said, and Rowan almost laughed at the vision of his friend. It was probably the first time Rowan had seen Lorcan in something that wasn’t black, and bright green and silver silk weren’t really his thing.

“Even if he acted like an adult, Lysandra would still be miserable.” Fenrys added, a smile on his lips as Aedion tried to smack him. Vaughan and Connall only shook their heads, laughing quietly.

“Ok, ok. Now the present for the grad.” Aedion said, and all of them turned to Rowan, almost scary smiles on their faces.

“We already gave out presents. And they were terrible, by the way.” Rowan said, confused. “Who the fuck needs a bright red silk underwear, Fenrys?”

Fenrys smile became more sarcastic as the others laughed. “I thought it would bring out the green in your eyes, Roro.”

“I don’t want any more presents from the five of you.” Rowan said, almost pleading.

All their smiles widened further, even Lorcan’s. Fenrys was almost hopping on his feet. Aedion was the one with the biggest smile, excitement almost pouring off of him.

“It’s not our present.” Aedion replied, and his blue eyes shifted for something over Rowan’s shoulder.

Rowan’s brows furrowed and he turned around.

The sight almost made him drop to his knees. There, standing in a plain spaghetti strap black top, tight dark jeans hugging every curve and black heels, was the girl who remained the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Thick golden blonde hair falling in waves until her waist, creamy white skin tanned from her years of travel, pinkish full lips pulled into a huge smile and turquoise and gold eyes gleaming with mirth.

Aelin winked at him, and Rowan’s mouth pulled into an equally big smile.

She held up her fingers, a handmade postcard with the word home in it between them. She flicked her wrist, showing the other side with a sketch of Orynth. “I thought it would be better if I gave this one in person.”

Rowan laughed with so much happiness as he walked back to Aelin.

And Rowan felt as if he had found himself in that instant.

Tags:

@abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @lexflame

[anarchyduck]

Peas in a Pod

Day 20 Alt Prompt: De-Aged 

(posted it on AO3 yesterday, forgot to post it here oops) AO3

----------------------

“So let me get this straight,” - Tony massages his temple in effort to soothe his growing headache - “There was a wizard.”

“Yeah,” Ned nods. “And he was shooting off fireballs, like real fireballs, and it was awesome and kinda scary and-”

“Ned. Ned. Find the shortcut to the point. Because nothing explains” - Tony gestures towards the couch - “that.” 

Ned blushes with embarrassment and nods . “Right! Sorry, sir. So, uhm, Pete was fighting the wizard guy and he was doing really good! Was totally kicking his ass! And then the wizard like, shot him with some kind of purplish black energy ray stuff? Like it shot right out of his hands. Then the wizard was gone and Pete was… like this.” 

Tony eyes the kid on the couch. Same curly brown hair. Same doe brown eyes. It’s everything else that’s wrong. Peter is sixteen, a teenager, and this kid looks like he’s no more than five years old. 

As for Peter, well, he looks content watching videos on Ned’s phone. Some children’s cartoon about dogs or something, Tony didn’t quite catch it. But the kid likes it and he isn’t crying anymore so Tony counts that as a win. Judging from the confused state the kid was in upon arrival, it’s safe to assume Peter’s memories are wiped. Or, rather, memories of his life in the present day which is a problem in and of itself.  

“So,” Ned’s drawl catches his attention. “What are we going to do?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “We?” he shakes his head. “No, no, you are going home.” 

“What about Peter?” 

Yeah Stark, what about Peter? 

“He’ll go with his aunt.” Tony says simply. Easy enough solution. 

“You mean you can’t like, fix him?” Ned asks. “What if he ends up staying like this forever?” 

Tony waves off the teen’s concerns. “He won’t.” he assures. “Whatever the wizard guy hit him with will probably wear off in a couple hours. Easy peasy.” After all, the kid couldn’t stay like this forever, could he? That is just absurd. 

----------

The effects don’t wear off. 

Two hours later and Peter is still a child. Ned is gone, reluctantly dragged out by Happy who also delivered clothes that fit the kid better so he’s no longer swimming in the Doctor Who shirt Tony assumed belonged to one of the boys. During that time, Tony contacts May to fill her in on what’s going on. The woman is stuck at work (“We’re incredibly short staffed today, it’s ridiculous.”) and unable to leave before her shift is over. 

It leaves Tony in charge of the kid which, while normally wouldn’t be an issue, he suddenly finds himself out of his depth. Teenagers, he can handle. No problem. They could be reasoned with. But small children? 

“Mr. Tony?” 

Tony jumps, spinning on hell with his hand pressed firmly against his heart. “Holy shit!” he gasps.

Peter flinches back, eyes wide and looking as startled as Tony feels. Then his bottom lip begins to quiver. 

“No no, don’t cry.” Tony says in a rush. “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid. You snuck up on me. Ought to put a bell on you someday.” 

That earns him a giggle which washes away the rising guilt. “Uncle Ben says that too.” Peter says. “Says I’m really good at sneaking.” 

“You are good at sneaking.” Tony affirms. “What are you doing down here anyway? Thought you were watching TV?” Least that’s where Tony left him. Kid was content with watching the cartoon with the dogs and he figured he could get some work done tracking down the wizard guy. 

“I was, but it’s over now.” Peter says dismissively, his eyes already wandering the workshop. Then he actually begins to wander. Tony watches him, contemplating on whether it’s a good idea to let a four year old wander his workshop. It isn’t exactly kid proof and if he knows anything about kids (which is very limited) it’s they like to touch everything. And put things in their mouths. 

“What’s that?” Peter asks and Tony leans to the side to look past the monitors and equipment to see what the boy is pointing at. 

“Oh that’s DUM-E.” 

The robot chirps in response, clicking it’s claw as it peers curiously at the boy. Tony takes a couple steps towards them, immediately thinking Peter might fear the robot. Much to his relief, the boy’s mouth is agape with wonder and eyes equally wide. 

“Wow!” he gasps. “Hi DUM-E. I’m Peter.” Peter reaches up to pet DUM-E’s extended arm, giggling as the robot chirps at him. “So is he a robot?”

“Yep. I made him.” 

“You made him?” Peter gives him the same look of wonder and amazement. “Wow. Are there other stuff you’ve made?” 

“I’ve made a lot of stuff.”

And so Tony gives the kid a proper tour of the workshop. Like his older self, Peter is sharp minded and incredibly smart. He asks questions Tony doesn’t think a four year old would know to ask and hangs onto every word Tony says. When he introduces Peter to FRIDAY, the kid is so ecstatic he can’t sit still. It warms his heart to know Peter keeps that same excitement as he aged. 

After the tour, Tony brings him into the kitchen to feed him a late lunch. The kid sits on the kitchen counter next to him, watching Tony’s every move. PB&J sandwiches are the easiest thing he can fix and turns out to be the kid’s favorite.

“So you’re a superhero?” Peter asks curiously. 

“Sometimes.” Tony replies as he spreads the peanut butter onto the bread. 

“Like Batman?” 

“Kiddo, I am way cooler and richer than Batman.”

Peter giggles and Tony thinks it might be the cutest goddamn thing he’s heard all day.

“My daddy is like you.” the kid says suddenly.

“Oh yeah? How so?” Tony asks, finding himself equally curious. He knows through his early research into Peter Parker that the boy’s parents are deceased. Father worked for OsCorp, mother worked for some type of law firm. Aside from the atrocious choice of working at OsCorp, both of them seemed relatively normal. 

“Because he makes stuff. B-But not robots like you do. He makes other stuff and-and he white wears a coat and he helps people.” Peter gives a long, wistful sigh then and adds, “I want my daddy and mommy.” 

Tony freezes, butter knife stuck in the jar of jelly. Quite suddenly he remembers something else about Peter’s parents. 

They both died in a plane crash. 

When Peter was four years old.

The man internally panics, mind going blank on what to do, what to say because what can you say? 

“Mr. Tony?” Peter’s little voice draws him from his internal crisis. He tilts his head, looking at him curiously and, dare Tony say it, concern. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Tony sniffs and finishes up the kid’s sandwich. “Yeah, totally fine kiddo. A-OK. So you want this cut up?”

“Yes.” Peter replies, apparently moved on from the incident. Yet, as Tony puts the knife to bread in order to cut, the kid shouts, “No! No no, not like that! You have’ta make the X.” 

“Huh?” Tony looks a little helplessly from the kid to the bread.

“The X!” Peter leans over and traces an X on the sandwich. “Like that!” 

Tony cuts it up according to the kid’s desire and it’s only then that he sees what the kid means. “Yeah, guess it does look like an X when you cut it, huh? Well, here you go kiddo. Eat up.” He slides the plate to the boy’s side. 

Peter takes a large bite and hums with approval as he chews. “‘Ood yob!” he says around his mouthful. It’s the additional thumbs up that makes Tony chuckle. He grabs a juice box from the fridge for the kid, something teenage Peter would have rolled his eyes and grumbled about. Toddler Peter says a polite ‘thank you’ and picks it up with fingers covered in grape jelly. 

He decides to capture the moment for May and pulls out his phone. “Heads up, kiddo.” he says and takes a picture. Peter is caught in a half smile, peanut butter smeared on the corner of his mouth. There’s a glob of jelly on his shirt that’s run down the image of Thor’s hammer. 

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Peter instantly demands. 

Tony moves to stand next to him and flips the phone for the kid to see the picture. Peter grins and immediately reaches for the phone. “Uh uh, sticky fingers.” Tony says, which gets the kid giggling about being called ‘sticky fingers’. He moves the phone out of reach and sends the image off to May. 

“So,” Tony says. “What do you want to do after lunch? TV? Go play with DUM-E? Whatever that wannabe Merlin did to you took away your powers, or maybe just suppressed them. Maybe we ought to run some tests to figure that out.” 

On second thought, maybe not. Teenager Peter detests needles; he imagines little Peter hates them just as much. 

“DUM-E!” Peter says excitedly. 

“You’re going to spoil that bot, kid.” 

---

“Thank you so much, Happy.” May says as she steps into the Tower’s elevator. “You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have drove.”

Happy directs FRIDAY to take them to the penthouse then shakes his head. “It’s no problem.” he says. “Boss wanted to make sure you got here quickly and with that guy who attacked Peter still running around-”

“Right.” May sighs. “Well, guess he could have done worse things than turn Peter younger. At least him and Tony seem to be hitting it off.” She smiles fondly as she recalls the image Tony sent her. She only hopes Peter has been good while they wait for her.

“Yeah, well, the kid’s grown on him.” 

“I feel a little jealous, honestly.” May admits. “Peter was so cute when he was little.” 

The elevator comes to a stop, the doors slide open to the entrance of the penthouse. It’s oddly quiet inside and the lights are dimmed. “Tony?” Happy calls out as he and May walk through the foyer into the living room. 

It looks like a tornado hit it. There are papers thrown about with childish drawings covering them. A sheet covers the kitchen table which has been pulled away from the dining area and there are mini marshmallows covering the floor with some sticking to the large windows that overlook the city. A device that looks like a mini catapult sits on top of the table next to a pile of marshmallows and markers. 

May follows the chaos, finding the TV on with the Incredibles playing on a low volume and both Tony and Peter fast asleep on the couch. Peter is still a toddler in every way May remembers, sleeping with his head on Tony’s chest. There are stickers on their faces and she spots marker smears not only on Peter’s arm but also on the hand that’s resting on Peter’s back. 

“Did you find-” Happy starts, quietened as May shushes him. He comes to her side, expression softening at the sight. “Least they kept each other busy.” he remarks. 

May nods in agreement as she pulls out her phone to take a quick picture of the two. “Like two peas in a pod.” 

[devotedwaywardangel1]

Of Treaties and Nervous Rekindling

Leon x Male!Reader

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Word count: 1667

Warnings: Nightmares

A/N: This is a third try of writing this as they kept turning to multi chapter stories, if I turn the original into a multi chapter fic I’ll post it on AO3. See if you can find the small film reference.

Tagged: @fandom-star​

~~~~~~~

Being in the great hall has got to be the stupidest thing that you have ever done and there is a long list. If Constantine, your idiotic King, got us killed out of good intentions you swear to Furies that you’ll kill him in the after life. A black domino mask covers your face as you kneel at King Arthur’s fury. He is yet to know who you all are yet and boy he is going to have a heart attack, fun times. Sloane has her raven black hair covering her face as she is shoved to her knees, making you growl at the cocky knight who thought he could be boastful. Zathrian’s auburn hair has been un-neatened by an almost comically large man. King Arthur’s voice booms across the hall. “Who are you and what is your business in Camelot?”

“I am Constantine, King of Dumnonia.” He speaks in an authoritative tone. 

“What?” The King seems shocked

“A letter was sent informing you of our arrival a month ago, we are here to simply renew a treaty.” 

“Merlin! Get the documents on my desk now.” He growls.

A scrawny servant runs from the King’s side past you. Minutes later he and other knights enter and you see Leon. It had been over a decade since you last saw him and damn he grew up, probably taller than you now, hair hasn’t changed one bit. You’re now thankful for the mask you were wearing otherwise he would have known it’s you straight away. The serving boy hands the king the letter and you can see the embarrassment on his face as it proves your innocence.

“I apologise for the misunderstanding, we thought-” The King started 

“That we were here to kill you, don’t flatter yourself.” Sloane snaps.

“Slo, play nice.” Constantine tells her sternly before standing up.

You follow suit. “It was an honest mistake, do you want to try again on the first impressions.” Constantine rensures.

The King looks shocked, but having Uther as a parent would make him think he was going to be punished for a mistake such as this. You brush yourself off, in an attempt to be somewhat presentable. “That would be appreciated, your Majesty.” Arthur nods.

They made their introductions but you were busy scowling at the now apologetic looking knight, Gwaine, who shoved Slo on the ground. Until she elbows you in the ribs causing you to grunt and childishly stick your tongue at her. She flicks your nose and laughs as it scrunches up. Zathrian is smiling. “Behave.” Constantine turns around after shaking the King’s hand to scold us. 

“But…” Zath tries.

“No buts or ifs. My apologies, they are children I swear.”

“What are your names?” Gwen asks, you didn’t even sense her coming in the room.

“Zathrian, m'lady.” He bows down respectfully.

“Sloane.” She nods.

“Ulrich Von Liechtenstein.” you smile coyly, why you said that you don’t know.

Zath and Slo double over laughing and Constantine gives you a glare but you just shrug it off. “That’s not his name, he just thinks he’s funny.” 

“(Y/n), at your service sir and on the contrary I’m hilarious.” You smile, removing your mask stuffing it into a trouser pocket.

You look at Leon and he is smiling, oh gods that smile it felt like everything good in this world smacks you in the face. You smile back. “(Y/n)? Your name sounds familiar.” Arthur asks.

“It should, your father did torture me after all.” I raise my eyebrow, where is my damn filter you think. All traces of happiness dissipate from your face with all fairness. You do look scary when you appear monotonous. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, you turn to get Constantine’s approval he nods.

“I used magic to save a child’s life.” 

“You have magic.” He looks at you with anger and disgust.

“Yes, sire.” You remain stoic with your jaw tensing.

The knights of Camelot tense up, Leon eyes them before looking at you. That's when you know he doesn’t hate you. He’s worried. You shake it off and bow down at the King’s feet and mercy. If he were to kill you a war may start but it would be against a dishonorable man, if he shows mercy and a willingness to learn there is hope for Albion yet. “Rise, I wish to understand not to do harm.”

“Oh thank Clementia, really I thought I was going to die.” Shit that was out loud.

“One condition, it's not to be used to harm any one.” He adds.

“I can't, my magic lies in the art of healing, transformation and a few other things.” You explain.

“What do you mean?” The king asks 

“Everyone’s magic is different, I can’t use spells that purposely inflict harm unless threatened.” You shrug.

“Good to know.” He seems to relax.

“That��s why I stab people instead.” You smile.

“(Y/n)! Stop trying to be funny. It will get you killed!” Constantine nearly shouts.

The knight with shoulder length hair starts to laugh hysterically. You just smile and look down holding in your laugh, looking at Leon he’s smiling. Constantine looks ready to cry, out of frustration probably. The King is unable to respond. Zath grabs my shoulder and pulls you out. “Us two are leaving before the wanna be Menander kills himself.” He drags you out without another word.

You sigh in relief as the doors of the great hall close behind you. “Thanks I couldn’t stop.” You rub that back of your neck awkwardly.

“No problem, tavern?” He suggests.

“Are we allowed to go without Slo?” You ask seriously.

“It gives an opportunity for Constaloane to happen.” Zath justifies.

“Fair lets go.” You agree.

~~~~

Both of you came back after a couple of tankards and Zath is drunk off his ass, lightweight. While you’re a little fuzzy. You spot the serving boy from the hall. “Kid!” You catch his attention.

He turns around smiling as he walks up to you. “Hi can I help you, Sirs.” He asks.

“Don’t worry about titles, but could you show us to our rooms if we have them.” 

“Of course, follow me.” He whispers seeing Zath close to asleep on you.

You drag Zath to his room, and put him on the bed. “Thank you…”

“Merlin, Sir (Y/n).” He smiles and nods.

“Thank you Merlin.” You return the smile.

You enter the guest room and collapse onto the bed and sleep overcomes you in a matter of seconds.

A crack of a whip resonates through a dark cell a pained groan follows, another crack and another. Chains rattle as a boy pulls on them in an attempt to break free. High pitch whistling signaled trouble brewing under the surface. The boy’s skin started to crack golden light seeping from the cracks turning pure black. (E/c) eyes started to well up with tears as he felt himself being torn apart. Screams erupt from his throat and the boy is replaced with a mass of hissing black smoke.

You bolt up sweating and panting. You groan and stretch, the sun is peeking over the horizon so you decide to change into your armour and head over to the training field that you had spotted the previous day. There is a training dummy already set up, you draw your sword and begin hacking into it aggressively and it takes mere minutes for you to destroy it, yet you feel no better. You look around desperately for something to take out your rage, fear and sorrow on. You hear a cough, your head snaps at the direction of the noise. It's Leon. He walks up to you slowly as if you were a scared animal. “(Y/n), we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday.”

“Sorry.” You look to your feet.

He backtracks quickly “No it’s not an issue, obviously you were nervous being back here.”

“Eh you know, son of Uther kinda scary.”

“Arthur has grown.”

“I know.”

“But I’m not here to talk about Arthur.”

You smile and shake your head. “I suppose not.”

“You left without me, why?”

Well that escalated from a trot to a full on gallop. But you manage to get words out. “I couldn’t uproot you from your home and family.”

“That should have been my choice to make.”

“You know what, I don’t feel bad if that’s what you want. I was tortured, I got literally torn apart. You would have got killed, and that would have been on me!” You defend.

He looks taken aback. “What?” 

“Slave traders, I suppressed my magic then boom… a lot of people died.”

He touches your face and you want to lean into the touch but you can’t seem to. So he initiates the hug instead keeping you in a tight hold, you hesitate to return it seeing it has been a while since you’ve been held. You both stay like that for a while, before Leon breaks the hug with a heartbroken expression. You dread what he is about to say. ”Do you think we could ever be possible?”

“I don’t know… I’m not the same man you loved all those years ago.” 

“Then let’s get to know each other again, let me fall for you all over again.”

“Sounds like you already started.”

“I started as soon as I saw you smile.”

You smile up at him. But inside you are conflicted, if this were to work out how will it work. You love your new life, Constantine is more than just your King he is your friend he gave you a chance when no one else would. Sloane was the one who pulled you out of rubble after you exploded. Zathrian forge your nobility papers to get your foot through the door of knighthood. But you guess you’ll cross that bridge later and pray it goes well for the both of you. 

“Come on we have a treaty to deal with.” You start walking.

[togetherwearerapture]

Feel It (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Elle Valentine)

Warnings: Death at the beginning, very explicit NSFW scenes

Notes: This is my second very angsty fic that has been sitting on my laptop for the best part of a year, I’ve been slowly chopping away at it. I aimed to post it before the start of OH2 but that didn’t happen. I have modified it slightly but some details (re: Aurora) may be a little behind canon. I have also changed the name of my MC from Lucy to Elle (from my first fic “Awake”). All characters belong to Pixelberry/Choices. Hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 5k+

*********************

Ethan glanced at his watch, and then at ECG on the defibrillator. Asystole, still.

“Elle,” he said, his tone defeated.

Not moving her gaze from her palm, the young woman continued to pound steady compressions against the small chest.

“Elle, it’s time. You need to stop.”

“No…we need to keep going,” Elle panted, blonde strands from her messy ponytail falling all around her face. “One..more..round”

Ethan glanced at the nurses, who were standing motionlessly around the resuscitation trolley. Their heads were bowed, expressions solemn.

“We’ve already given 3 loads of amiodarone-”

“Three…more…seconds!” Elle gasped, then finally stepped back from the child’s motionless body to watch the defibrillator. The 2 minutes of the latest round of CPR was up.

Nothing.

Ethan watched as Elle’s eyes, wild with adrenaline and desperate hope, filled with tears.

“She’s gone, Elle. We need to let her go.”

He gently touched her arm, her skin glistening with exertion and burning hot underneath his fingertips. Finally, she met his gaze, and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Ethan took a deep breath, and then looked at his watch.

“Time of death, 22.16.”

Elle stepped forward, surveying the little girl in front of her. She reached for her hand and squeezed.

“I’m sorry, Katie.”

Without another word, she turned and left the room.

Ethan put his hands behind his head and sighed, as the nurses soberly moved over to the bed and began to clear up.

7-year-old Katie Phillips had been transferred over to diagnostics at Edenbrook just under a week ago, with a case of atypically-presenting sepsis, which had delayed her diagnosis at her previous hospital. Together, Ethan and Elle had figured out her condition within the first 30 minutes of her arrival, and commenced treatment, to which Katie had responded extremely well.

Katie had no parents, and lived in a children’s home. She had also taken a terrific shine to Elle.

On many an occasion, well after her shift had ended, Ethan would pass by Katie’s room and see Elle sitting on her bed, both of them erupting with laughter, or drawing together. Two days ago at around 3am, Ethan was walking through the diagnostics ward on his night shift, and heard a pretty voice singing a soft melody. Following the voice took him to the doorway of Katie’s room, where he found Elle holding the young girl in her arms, stroking her hair and singing to her as she whimpered from the pain of the intravenous antibiotics.

But, they were working.

It was all looking so good.

They were unable to take any family history, of course, on admission, or perhaps they would have decided to order an echocardiogram. Katie had no cardiac symptoms at all, until she began to arrest just under an hour ago. A quick ultrasound in between cycles of CPR showed she had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

Katie had presented with such a complex illness, but the combined brilliance of Ethan and Elle’s minds had cracked it, she was getting so much better, making so much progress, she was going to live. But it was so devastatingly simple, and yet so unavoidable.

Sudden Cardiac Death.

***

Some time later,  after finishing his paperwork at the nurses’ station, Ethan turned instinctively towards the family room. He suddenly felt a pang in his chest, remembering no one was waiting inside for Katie. There were no parents to inform, no family, no one at all.

Ethan expected to feel somewhat relieved at not having to undertake the usual sad process, but his heart felt all the heavier as he took in the silent, empty room.

The one person who he knew would feel Katie’s loss so deeply was…

Elle.

The thought of her flooded Ethan’s mind.

A tapping on the computer behind him roused Ethan from his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the nurses who had approached the station.

“Hey…have you seen Dr Valentine anywhere?” he asked.

“I saw her heading towards the shower room,” the nurse replied.

“Thanks,” Ethan replied, hurrying off down the corridor.

***

Ethan hadn’t been in the changing rooms for years, since his intern days. It was dark when he entered, but the auto lights torpidly flickered on.

Empty.

“Elle?” he called out.

He poked his head around to the shower cubicles, and saw the floor was wet. Someone had been in here not long ago, and he was sure it was Elle. The steamy air was filled with the scent of her shampoo.

It wasn’t even odd to Ethan that he remembered the exact smell of Elle Valentine’s hair. Two months ago, his face was buried in it as she reached up around the back of his neck, his hands on her hips as they made passionate love. He had memorised every tiny detail of that night, including every smell, taste, and feel; the last time they would be together before “everything went back to how it was.” Every night since, Ethan had replayed those moments in his mind, laying awake in bed. On many occasions, the memories even followed him into his dreams.

They even chased him to the depths of the Amazon rainforest, which Ethan had fled to in his hopes to get over her. Instead on his return, every moment alone with her, every touch of her hand, every moment of eye contact that lasted just a little too long, had made his longing for her intensify.

Ethan shook his head, sighing, and made his way back out of the locker room.

***

After grabbing his coat from his office, Ethan made his way wearily back down the hospital halls, a feeling of unease growing in his stomach. He had no idea where Elle was, and she was obviously in a state of distress when she had left the room. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he walked into the parking lot, concern for the young doctor eclipsing his dislike of texting.

He had only managed to pull up her name in his contacts, before he saw her. She was leaning against the wall of a shrub bed in the middle of the parking lot, half hidden in darkness. Ethan sighed, putting his phone back into his pocket.

Elle didn’t look up as he approached, staring down at her interlocked hands in her lap.

“Hey. Are you ok?”

She didn’t reply. Stupid question, Ethan thought.

“I was just about to text to see where you were. I…was worried, about you.”

Finally, Elle looked up at him.

“I had a cry in the shower,” Elle said, letting out a short, humourless laugh. “I’ll be ok. Not right now. But I will be. You don’t need to worry about me.” She returned her gaze to her hands.

“You need to know, Elle. I know you built up a really good bond with her, but there was nothing we could have done. The sepsis treatment was working, and there was no way we knew about the cardiomyopathy, there was no way we could have known.”

She didn’t reply, so Ethan continued, checking off mental notes in his head, almost strategically.

“Wasting time on an echocardiogram would have been a pointless test that would have distracted from the sepsis treatment. Besides, there was no indication to even order an echo. There was-”

“Ethan.”

She suddenly looked up, meeting Ethan’s gaze. Her green eyes were sharp and wide under the parking lot lights. Ethan found himself quite speechless, perhaps from the interruption, or maybe from the intensity of her gaze.

“Ethan, sometimes things are just shit. You don’t always have to try and fix everything. You don’t always have to solve someone’s pain, like you’re solving a case. Sometimes the best thing is to just be there, and let them feel it.”

There were a few moments of silence, as Ethan took in her words.

“I’m sorry this happened,” he said finally.

“Me too.”

Ethan hesitated for a moment, and then, almost awkwardly, raised his arms. Elle looked at them, and then at him.

He wondered if it was a mistake, and was about to lower his arms and apologise, when she slowly stepped forward from the wall. He saw his own hesitancy mirrored in her features, but nevertheless, she stepped forward into his embrace.

A flood of bittersweet warmth surged through Ethan’s body. This was the first time he had held her in so long, and oh how he missed the way she fitted so perfectly into him, her petite frame enveloped in his arms. She too seemed to relax into his embrace, her head resting against his chest, undoubtedly hearing his pounding heart beneath. Ethan tightened his hold on her, which she reciprocated. He rested his head on top of hers and closed his eyes. He let the feel of her warm body and the sweet cocktail of her hair and perfume envelop him.

They stood together, swaying on the spot slightly. Ethan wasn’t sure exactly how long they had been embracing, but it was the mental feeling, that it was too long to not be something. A silent line had been crossed, unspoken feelings straining in both of their chests, screaming into the silence.

After what felt like both not long enough and an eternity, they pulled away. A gust of cold autumn wind whooshed over them, and Elle shivered.

“It’s freezing out,” said Ethan, eyeing the tiny leather jacket she was wearing. “Let me drive you home.”

“No,” she said suddenly. “I…don’t want to go home.”

“My roommates are having a movie marathon tonight,” she hastily explained. “Elijah’s invited his new girlfriend too. I’m not really in the mood, I’d just want to go straight to my room and then I’d look rude.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Ethan said. “Or to your roommates if you did go to your room, for that matter. You worry too much about others’ feelings, and not nearly enough about your own.”

“I-”

“But I quite understand. We won’t take you home just yet.”

Ethan removed his thick black coat from his shoulders, offering it to her.

“Oh no, I’ve got one, you’ll be cold.”

“I insist. Your hair is still wet too,” he added, gesturing to the damp tips of her blonde locks. “Let’s get you in the warm.”

Elle offered him a small smile, before slipping into the coat.

“Come on,” Ethan said, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her towards his car.

***

They shared a comfortable silence on the short ride back, both enjoying the sound of the gentle concerto from Ethan’s stereo. The warmth of the car served a welcome contrast to the bitter cold air outside.

Elle glanced over at Ethan as he finally pulled the car to a stop.

“I see we’re at yours.”

“We are indeed. Is that…is that okay?” he asked, somewhat anxiously.

Elle smiled.

“Yeah, it is.”

He opened the car door for her, and they made their way up to his apartment.  

“Make yourself comfortable. Wine?” he offered, as they both stepped inside.

“Please.”

Ethan headed over to the kitchen, watching Elle over the counter as he opened a bottle of Merlot. He smiled to himself as she carefully removed her ankle boots, placing them neatly next to his own running shoes by the door. Typical Elle. It reminded him of when she apologised for the non-existent mess in her spotless bedroom when he had stayed at her apartment.

He really should stop thinking about that night. It was one thing doing it alone in bed, late at night, but the memory felt all the more tangible now she was in his apartment, just feet away from him. He had almost forgotten it had all been real.

“What?” Elle asked bemused, clocking his expression.

“Nothing, just simple observation,” said Ethan, a small smile playing on his lips.

Elle raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly.

“Your people-watching sessions are a little less incognito when it’s just the two of us in your apartment, Ethan.”

“My apologies. Just admiring your attention to detail,” he smirked.

It was so damn cute, he thought.

Elle rolled her eyes, but a slight blush crept on her cheeks as she peeled off his coat and her jacket.

Ethan sat down on the sofa, as she turned away from him and stretched up to hang them both on the coat rack. Ethan couldn’t help but stare at her short jumper dress, clinging to the all the right places on her body. How his hands yearned to roam it again. Ethan blinked hard, forcing himself to look away. He drank deeply from his wine glass.

Elle settled down on the sofa beside him, picking up her own drink. Ethan watched carefully as she took a long swig, then swirled the remaining contents around the glass, staring into space.

He racked his brains for something to say. He didn’t want to try and distract her completely from the rawness of Katie’s death- how could he- but he didn’t want to focus on it either. He tried to think of small talk. He fucking hated small talk. He had never felt the need to. But for her, he was trying so hard, to fill the silence, to make things that bit more bearable for her, in any way he possibly could.

What was happening to him?

“So,” he started, “how are you finding Boston then? You’ve been here a while now.”

“You mean to suggest I don’t spend every waking hour at the hospital working on cases?” she scoffed. “I mean, yeah, it’s good. I’ve found some good running spots, some nice cafés, I guess. It’d be nice for me to get out with people and explore it all a bit more, but I can’t remember the last time me and my roommates all had the same shifts off.”

“You all seem pretty close.”

“They’re my rocks,” Elle beamed, taking another drink of wine. Ethan smiled at the way her face lit up when she talked about her beloved friends. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“Have you found a new roommate yet?” Ethan asked. She had mentioned to him before that Dr Olsen was transferring to Mass Kenmore, and he’d seen flyers up advertising the spare room pinned up around various break rooms.

“Not yet. I offered it to Aurora, but-”

“Aurora?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, she doesn’t want to stay with Harper anymore. I think it’s a good thing, her stepping out on her own.”

“No, I heard about that. I’m just surprised you reached out, I always thought she seemed quite cold to you last year.”

“Yeah well,” Elle shrugged. “Harper was putting a lot of pressure on her. Plus, half the hospital fangirling over her because of her surname, it’d be enough to put anyone’s back up. She’s not as bad as everyone says, people just need to put themselves in her shoes.”

Ethan watched her carefully. That was the thing- one of many things- about Elle; she always saw the best in people. No matter how cold they may appear, how brusquely they may act towards her, she had such warmth, such empathy, she could see past it all and understand.

Even him.

Inexplicably, he felt a wave of tenderness wash over him, and suddenly had the desire to just reach out and be close to her, to touch her, to hold her hand. Almost involuntarily, he found himself shifting slightly closer to her on the sofa.

“And then, if Aurora doesn’t want to move in, Bryce said he’d be interested.”

Ethan stiffened, and it must have been enough for Elle to notice that he had come closer, because she looked up at him.

“The scalpel jockey?” It was a piss poor attempt to keep his tone indifferent, casual. He knew exactly who Bryce fucking Lahela was.

“Yeah, him,” said Elle.

He knew they were friends, but Ethan had seen the surgeon checking out Elle’s ass on far too many occasions for him to know it was more than friendship on his mind. He was clearly a touchy-feely kind of guy; slapping his senior surgeons on the shoulder, throwing arms round his friends when he joined them at the nurses’ station, but for Elle…it was different. Ethan had seen his hands settle on her waist, on the small of her back, in all the non-platonic places, for just a little too long.

Ethan drained his glass, then rose from the sofa to retrieve the bottle of wine from the kitchen counter. Elle watched him; noticing the change in his demeanour.

“I bet he’ll love that,” Ethan snorted, refilling their glasses.

“Why?”

“Because,” said Ethan, placing the bottle down a little harder on the coffee table than he had meant to and dropping back down to the sofa, “he makes no secret of the fact that he likes you.”

“Bryce is just a friend,” Elle laughed.

“He doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Bryce is a quick fuck in a shower kind of guy, not the romantic dinner and candles type.”

Ethan almost spat out his wine.

“Excuse me?”

“Look,” Elle sighed. “Me and Bryce are friends. I know he has a bit of a thing for me, the girls have told me. But I don’t like him like that. He came on to me at our housewarming party, after everyone had gone, and offered…well, that.”

“I see,” said Ethan stiffly. Jealously began to rage in him like an inferno, yet his blood seemed to turn cold. “And was it good, your ‘quick fuck in the shower?’”

Why the on earth did he ask that, why did he even care? He knew he sounded like an asshole, he was supposed to be making her feel better, but instead he was prying. The wine felt potent in his stomach- maybe that was part of the reason why his tongue was loose- but either way, he just needed to know.

This time, it was Elle’s time to choke on her drink.

“Ethan!” she spluttered. “No, I didn’t have sex with him!” she giggled. “I do friends, not friends with benefits, and it’s much harder to friendzone a guy after you’ve had sex. Me and him laugh about it now.”

As relief flooded through Ethan, Elle started to roll around the sofa laughing, the last dregs of wine in her glass teetering precariously close to the edge. But Ethan didn’t care. She was so damn beautiful when she laughed, and he was so glad to see her laughing. It was hard to imagine that a couple of hours ago, she had been performing chest compressions on a child.

He laughed too, although he didn’t think it was that funny. The wine was definitely a good idea to lighten both their spirits.

But as suddenly as she started laughing, she stopped.

“Elle?”

“No…no I can’t.”

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. Ethan scooted closer to her, and her entire demeanour had changed. Suddenly, she was so still and sad. He stretched an arm around her shoulders, placing his other hand on her thigh.

And that was all it took.

The simple intimacy of the action was a static shock between them, and her eyes snapped up to his in the dim light of his living room. Suddenly Ethan felt his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at her face, and it was as if he had just realised how impossibly beautiful she was for the very first time.

“Elle, what is it?” he whispered gently, his fingertips pressing ever so slightly into her thigh. There was a mere millimetre between skin and skin, the flimsy fabric of her tights.

“Oh god, what am I even doing?” she breathed.

“What do you mean?”

“I should be feeling shit about Katie, I watched a child fucking die tonight! I should be feeling shit about Bryce, I should be feeling shit about missing Elijah’s movie night, he’s been going on about it for ages. And I do feel shit…but I’m also sitting here getting drunk with my boss, and fucking enjoying it! And wanting to…”

Ethan desperately wanted to ask her to finish her sentence, wanted to know what she wanted. Wanted to know if it was the same as him.

Instead, he focused, as much as his mind would let him, on the fact she was in a bad place. He needed to step up, and offer some emotional support. This was why he had taken her back to his place after all, wasn’t it?

“You don’t have to feel any kind of way. It’s like you said, just let yourself feel it. Grief is a complex, multi-dimensional thing. You think how you’re acting isn’t right, but there is no right. Whatever you feel right now, in this moment, is right. How do you feel?”

Both of their breaths were heavy, and Ethan could feel his fingers pulsing on her thigh.

“I feel…I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, to not know. If you don’t know how you feel, go with what you want. What do you want?”

Her eyes pierced his, Ethan swore she could see right into his soul. Suddenly, there was no wine, no living room, nothing else. Elle was the only thing in the whole damn world.

“What do you want, Ethan?” she whispered.

Their gazes met; his eyes full of ravenous hunger. Unconsciously, almost, his hand reached up to the back of her neck, twining in her golden locks.

“You. Only you. Always you.”

He saw the look on her face only for a second, before he crashed his mouth into hers, his hand still at her neck, the other gripping her thigh for dear life. She kissed him back, hard, her arms snaking around his shoulders. The dam was broken.

Only when she bit the bottom of his lip, and Ethan let out a moan of pleasure, did they finally come up for air.

“Ethan…” she breathed heavily.

“I need you, Elle. Please-”

Before he could finish, Elle answered him with her mouth. Ethan pulled her tight onto his lap, her knees straddling him. His tongue danced with hers, relishing in the warmth of her mouth, their lips never breaking.

His hands slid up her thighs, grabbing the hem of her jumper dress and pulling it up and over her head. Ethan’s eyes drank in the sight of her torso.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed.

He brushed his fingers over the rise of her heaving breasts, bulging out the top of her black lace balconette bra. Elle gasped as he slipped his fingers into the cup.

“This is too small for you,” Ethan growled, hands tearing ravenously at the clasp. There was a loud ripping sound. “I’ll have to buy you more lingerie,” he muttered, somewhat apologetically.

Impatient, Elle reached behind her back with nimble hands and unclasped the torn bra herself, tossing it to the floor.

“My god, Elle…” Ethan groaned, drinking in the sight of her bare chest. “You are a goddess.”

He seized her ample breasts in both hands, kneading and massaging carefully. Elle let out a groan of pleasure.

“Ethan…oh!”

He took one of her breasts in his mouth, circling her hard nipple with his tongue, his thumb taking care of her other. They felt so good; so heavy and warm and full on his face and hands. He wished his head could be buried between them forever, these breasts carved by the angels.

Elle threw her head back in pleasure as Ethan alternated between sucking and biting. She began to grind in his lap, and he could feel her heat through her thin tights against his stone hard cock, the sensation arousing him even more. Not removing his mouth from her breasts, he snaked his hand underneath the waistband of her tights.

“Fuck!” Elle gasped, immediately rocking harder against his fingers that hadn’t yet slipped under her panties.

Ethan almost lost it at the feeling of her hot arousal all over her fingers. Steeling himself, he focused intently on prolonging her pleasure, pushing past her panties and massaging her clit.

“Take..them…off,” Elle commanded between gasps.

With pure carnal desire, Ethan ripped the tights clean off, and pushed her panties down her thighs. At the same time, Elle fumbled with his belt and flies, making quick work of exposing him quickly.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he moaned, “Elle, oh my-fuck!”

Panties tossed to the floor, Elle re-positioned and sat on him fully, and Ethan almost came there and then from the feeling of being inside her once again. Oh how he had longed for this, for so long. She was so slick for him, so perfect and tight, and he fitted into her perfectly. It was although they were made for each other, Ethan thought, in more ways than one.

Throwing her head back, Elle began to grind on his lap, and Ethan could not withhold his primal moan. He closed his eyes, drowning in pleasure, but forced himself to open them, not wanting to miss the sight of the woman on top of him.

Her hips danced tantalising circles on his cock, circling, bouncing, grinding.

“I’ve dreamed of you like this…for months…every…fucking…night.”

Fire roared in Elle’s eyes as she took in his words, the confession appearing to spur her even more.

‘Oh my god,” Ethan groaned as she changed her pattern of gyration in just the right way.

How was she even real, how could sex be this fucking good? It was otherworldly.

“Since the Amazon?” Elle panted.

“In the Amazon. Every night. And before then…before I fucked you for the first time….and every night since…how could I ever forget?”

He traced his hands over her mesmerising hips, gripping them hard, as if seizing on to the moment itself, making sure it was real.

Elle was such a vision. Her blonde locks cascaded over her shoulders, her bare breasts bouncing up and down, her taut stomach moving in time with her hips. And her face; her beautiful, perfect face, a picture of bliss and pleasure, all for him.

He moved his hands down to her ass, roving over the soft, full cheeks. Elle moaned with pleasure as he slapped and squeezed, hard. He guided her up and down, and returned her vigour with his own thrusts, in perfect harmony.

“Oh…Ethan…I’m so close…I want it to last,” Elle gasped as she slowed down, and Ethan looked up to see her face a mix of strain and pleasure, trying desperately to withhold her climax.

“I know sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning up to kiss her breasts again. “Come for me. Let yourself go, I’ve got you.”

“Ohhh!” cried Elle a few seconds later, her eyes hammering shut as she lost herself in pleasure. Ethan watched as she threw her head back, the sounds she was making and the look of pure ecstasy on her face making him delirious and come, hard.

“Elle!”

He could feel her contracting around him as he filled her, her thighs shuddering and twitching as she rode out the last of her orgasmic waves.

After a few moments, they began to come down from the high. Suddenly filled with a surge of determination, Ethan sat up, lifting Elle effortlessly into his arms, and strode towards the bedroom. The empty wine glasses shattered onto the floor in their wake, like the barriers that had been shattered between them.

“Ethan!” Elle yelped, as he kicked open the door and laid her gently on the bed, by the pillows.

“I’m not done,” he said huskily. “I want to make you feel so good, Elle.” He hastily unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor. “Look at you.”

Moving slowly towards the bed, he drank in the sight of her naked form; he a lost man wandering the Sahara; her body a desert spring.

“You have no idea what it does to me when you look at me like that, Ethan,” she whispered as he crawled on to the bed, running his hands over her body.

“And you have no idea what you do to me by just existing.” He planted hot kisses over her neck, slowly making his way downwards. “What it does to me when you’re in the same fucking room as me,” she shivered deliciously as his beard scratched her collarbone. “When you take off your white coat and I see you’re wearing one of those goddamn fitted dresses, and then I can’t stop thinking about what I know is underneath.”

His kisses lingered on Elle’s breasts; his hand travelling to her clit.

“It’s harder now…” he breathed; the sweet moans coming from her mouth at his ministrations were music to his ears. “Before the first time, I could only imagine what it was like to have you…but now I know how sweet your pussy is. I thought those two months would make me forget…but it’s only made me want you more.”

Suddenly, Elle knelt up, and Ethan gasped as her hand curled around his cock, hard again already.

“Show me,” she demanded, eyes wide and blazing with desire.

“All those times I know you’ve held back, when I hold your hand, when you touch my cheek, when it’s just us alone together. I want you to show me everything you’ve been holding back. I want you to fuck me, hard, Ethan. I need to feel it.”

Her assertiveness roused Ethan even more; she pressed her lips to his and worked her hand up and down his cock to assure him further of her consent. That was all he needed.

Effortlessly, he curled a hand around her tiny waist and flipped her over on the bed onto all fours.

“Mmm…yesss,” she moaned, arching her back to invite him in.

Ethan took just a few moments to indulge himself, relishing in the sight of her like that, willing and ready for him. Then, he couldn’t wait any longer.

They gasped simultaneously as he plunged into her smooth, soaked folds.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, beginning to rock against her. “I love being inside of you.”

Elle arched her back even more, crying out in pleasure as the angle of his penetration hit her in just the right spot.

“Oh my god…Ethan.”

She threw her head back, and Ethan reached forward, pulling on her blonde locks.

“YES!”

He picked up the pace, the sound and feel of her ass clapping against his hips drawing him ever closer to the edge. His fingers roamed beneath her, seizing as much of her bouncing breasts as his hands would let him. He circled his thumbs over her hard nipples, and Elle groaned and pushed back against him.

“Harder Ethan…don’t-fucking-stop!”

Grabbing her hips, he rammed himself into her furiously. All the restraint, every modicum of self-control, all the excruciating, agonising professionalism that had been towering between them, dissolved away more and more with each thrust.

“I’m going to come again…” Elle’s fingers curled into the bedsheets, knuckles white. “Oh-oh-OH, ETHAN!”

Elle’s repeated cries of his name became lost in whimpers and moans as he reached around to massage her clit, and she exploded into blissful climax once again. Ethan knew he was a matter of strokes away from the same.

Ethan slowed himself, gently holding her waist, supporting her as her knees buckled on the come down from the high.

“You can finish in me again,” she panted after a few moments, “I want you to.”

She began to arch her back again, but Ethan turned her over to lie on her back with a surprising tenderness.

“I want- I need to look at you, Elle.”

The thick desire in his voice was suddenly mixed with a gentle tenderness. He entered her again, his strokes slow but firm.

Something in the atmosphere had changed. The raw, animalistic passion and pent-up lust, had morphed into something else. Something more.

Ethan moved one hand to brace himself against the headboard, the other caressing Elle’s cheek.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He moved his hand to hers, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed, and he squeezed back.

Their steady rhythm led Ethan closer to his climax. He stared into her brilliant green eyes, and she returned his gaze with wonder.

“Ethan..”

Her eyes became glassy, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Inexplicably, Ethan felt a tear of his own began to fall.

“You’re everything to me, Elle. Everything.”

Finally, Ethan felt the heat that had been steadily building in his lower abdomen roar into flames.

“Oh, sweetheart, Elle…ELLE!”

He cried out her name, desperately. There was a loud crack as the headboard that Ethan braced himself on split, but neither of them seemed to care. Ethan let his vision fill with the face of the woman below him. If this was his final sight before he died, Ethan would die a happy man.

After a few hazy seconds, Elle let go of his hand, and reached up to stroke his back, almost cradling him from beneath. Ethan removed himself from her, panting hard. He laid down beside her, gathering her into his arms.

“That was…that was..” Elle began.

They both chuckled lightly, and Ethan squeezed her close.

“Incredible,” he finished for her, and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

They laid there, wrapped in each other for a long while, before Ethan reached up again to caress her cheek.

“Are you ok, Elle?”

“I’m…”

She trailed off. The ecstasy was over. The pain of the world and the previous events of the night slowly ebbed back into reality.

“I’ve just had amazing sex, and I’m here with you, Ethan. I’m ok.” She smiled.

Ethan knew that she was still in pain, and a feeling of guilt swelled in Ethan. He knew so much of that pain was from him, from not being together. Pain she did not deserve, pain Ethan wished he could take away completely.

“Elle, I…” he propped himself up on one elbow, staring into her eyes. The familiar storm of conflict and desire played out within him. Another tear fell down his cheek.

He wanted so badly to say the words, those words. The words he felt for her with his entire being, and had done for such a long time.

Elle reached up, wiping his tear away.

“I know.”

There was a deep and bittersweet understanding in her eyes.

She pulled him back down for a kiss, before snuggling closely in his arms.

***

Ethan and Elle slept deeply that night, curled up in each other. There was so much pain in their life, in their profession as doctors, so much pain between them. But so much of something else.

Even if he couldn’t say it yet. But that night, he wanted to make sure that Elle could feel it.

And felt it, she did.

[theschizoidblog]

Snape, the Schizoid

Blog 4: 30/07/2020

While I usually write about how Schizoid personality disorder affects me, I think there’s a lot to be learned from drawing comparisons to fictional characters. In fact, before I got my diagnosis, I was writing fanfiction in which I poured very large portions of my soul and very being, often without realizing I wasn’t really writing about other characters, but I was exploring my own inner self. I loved writing about outcasts, about recluses and sometimes I didn’t know if I just was in a sort of love with the characters I wrote about, or if they were me.

At the age of 18, we’re talking about 2001 here, I got into Harry Potter. And with that I mean: I got into Severus Snape. Described as an ugly git and a mean bastard, I still loved him to pieces. (And Alan Rickman portrayed him beautifully, RIP)

And here might be the reason why he lured me in straight away: Snape is a schizoid, like me. And that only clicked when I got my diagnosis a few months ago. 19 years after first encountering the character. And after rereading some of my own fanfictions, I started realizing that what I’d described as Snape’s problems and needs in those stories, were my own. Strange how that works!

In this blog, I’m going to run over some traits of SPD (schizoid personality disorder) and explain how Snape fits into the criteria.

This post serves three purposes:

To people who have no idea what schizoid personality disorder is, this is a means to familiarize yourself with the disorder by exploring the traits while you imagine a character you already know.

To people with schizoid personality disorder, this is just meant to be a fun little blog where maybe you can recognize some traits of yourself. No worries, I have not forgotten we’re all on a spectrum and each schizoid is different.

To fans of the Harry Potter novels, I hope that you come to realize that people can identify with flawed characters for very personal reasons. Don’t be mean to fictional characters (unless they’re Umbridge I guess XD), because you never know who identifies with them. Your rejection of a character can feel like the rejection of a person who struggles with the same things. Anti-culture, in all fandoms, has to end. It’s not adult. It’s not wise. It’s mean. It’s exhausting.

I also feel like I need to make a statement about JK Rowling’s intent: I doubt she knew what SPD was when she wrote Snape. She said she based him off of one of her old teachers – no idea if that man had SPD or was just generally unpleasant. The way that Snape matches SPD is eerie though, just like Luna matches schizotypal personality disorder rather well. (More on that later.) An actual psychologist might disagree with me and say “No he’s not schizoid because….” – and hell, I’d love to hear it. I don’t mind it if this post, written by a schizoid but not a psychologist, starts a discussion that will help people understand the disorder even better, even if I’m wrong in assessing Snape. Or if we can learn to understand Snape better because of me being wrong, that’s also a win-win situation.

Ready? Let’s dive into it!

Cause

SPD is said to be caused by a combination of genetics and environment – as is the case with many other personality disorders. But ask around in schizoid groups, and most will tell you that there were issues in childhood with abuse, lack of warmth or understanding at home, or the presence of a “bad parent”. According to webmd: “Some professionals speculate that a bleak childhood where warmth and emotion were absent contributes to the development of the disorder.”

We all know that Snape’s early childhood was not a happy one. He had an abusive muggle father and grew up at Spinner’s End, the opposite of what you could consider a happy childhood home.

When you grow up in a loveless home, it ruins a lot of your own enjoyment of life. You get trust issues, you become awkward, and so when Snape finally arrives at Hogwarts, he gets bullied. He’s already rather isolated (he only had Lily), and they picked on him because kids can sniff out weaknesses and he was an easy target.

The bullying did nothing to stop the disorder from developing further. Many schizoids have gone through bullying themselves, and it does nothing to help you grow closer to human beings as you get older, quite the opposite, a bond of trust is broken and it’s incredibly hard to heal that. You’ll be suspicious of everyone you meet once that sort of thing happens. The more bullying you receive, the more you hate the world as you grow up. Maybe that’s not true for all people or all schizoids, but I bet some can relate.

You might say: “But Harry also got bullied at the Dursleys and he turned out fine!” Well, I guess he did. That’s the thing with many heroes – their tragic backstories make them poster boys of “look what they overcame and how he saved the world!” – but it’s not that realistic, and if you’ve got a genetic predisposition to develop a personality disorder instead, you’re screwed. Let’s also not forget that Harry’s first year in life was a very loving one. The very first year in a child’s life is crucial, and if things go wrong in early childhood, that leaves scars that most people carry with them for the rest of their lives. Snape never had that steady sort of home, not even for one year, or if he did, there’s nothing to indicate he did.

Diagnosis Criteria

Okay, time to get digging! According to the DSM-V, you need to display at least four symptoms in order to be diagnosed with SPD. Also keep in mind that these traits need to be present for longer than just a few months or a year or so. You might recognize some of these traits as something you’ve gone through yourself if you’ve ever been depressed – it’s when these traits last for what seems like your entire adult life, that a diagnosis with the disorder can be made. (I’m also not familiar with every other trait of every other disorder in the DSM-V, so as I stated in the beginning, it’s possible that other personality disorders are even more fitting of Snape, but that I just don’t know them yet.)

The seven criteria are:

Lack of desire or enjoyment for close personal relationships

Always chooses solitary activities

Little or no interest in sex with other people

Experiences little pleasure from activities

No close friends other than immediate family

Indifference to criticism or praise

Emotional detachment and lack of emotional expression

➤ Emotional detachment and lack of emotional expression

While this is usually at the bottom of the list, I want to put it on top. This is what they also call “flat affect”. You can give us a present, and it might seem like we’re not truly grateful. We may laugh with a joke, but the light never reaches our eyes. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem to an outsider like there’s a lot going on, and if it is, it’s going on so deeply within our souls we’re hardly aware of it ourselves. Think of Snape’s monotonous voice when talking. Now Alan Rickman is a brilliant actor and emotes with very very small signs sometimes, and it’s not like when talking to me, you’re talking to a wall. (But my empathic mask makes me appear rather normal to most folks.) (I don’t think Snape has a mask like that.) Other characters that have schizoid traits are, for example, Mai from Avatar the Last Airbender or Geralt of Rivia from the Witcher. If you know and visualize these characters, you may understand better what I mean with the “lack of emotional expression” then. Also, Snape being a great Occlumens? It’s because he’s the reigning champion in suppressing his emotions, like all schizoids are. We would make wonderful Occlumens, I think. XD Snape being mean? Not all schizoids have a good amount of empathy, they’re too emotionally detached for that. (Others are very empathic to some causes, but might be picky in what they are empathic about. For example: they can be empathic towards animal cruelty and Black Lives Matter, but don’t give a shit about other causes.)

A lack of empathy is what makes plenty of people an easy prey to fascists. Without empathy, what moral compass is going to stop you from becoming a bigot? (And I also want to state that within the disorder you’ll probably find people of all political leanings – many schizoids also seem to have a thing for the underdog, and thus seem to often lean towards the left instead of the right side of the political spectrum. But as with ‘regular’ people, you’ll find people swing both ways.) But here, in Snape’s case, his hatred for his bullies and his father (a muggle) pushed him right into the Death Eater’s arms, and they were glad to welcome a man of his skill, maybe even giving him the illusion, for a while, that he had found a new family. It didn’t last, and eventually his eyes opened to what the Death Eater’s really were. He was too young and naïve to see what they wanted of him (and the one person he loved), and it basically ruined his life. He was a teenage fool, and after losing Lily’s friendship, he had no one left to keep him out of that bad group of friends.

  ➤ Lack of desire or enjoyment for close personal relationships

Does Snape strike you as the social type that’s trying to make new friends all the time? Have you ever seen the man enjoy the company of another character in the books? Not just tolerate, not just need, but ‘enjoy’? Even when it comes to Lucius or Karkarov, it seems he is just keeping an eye on them, observing them rather than offering true friendship.

Maybe McGonagall might be an exception. He seems amiable towards her, in a competitive way. He might get a kick out of their arguing. She’s certainly an intelligent woman so he might enjoy her company for intellectual reasons.

  ➤ Always chooses solitary activities

We see Snape engage in a few activities at Hogwarts, such as going to Quidditch matches, or being present at the Yule Ball. Death Eater meetings and gatherings in the staff room might be social activities, but let’s not pretend Snape has a lot to say about whether he attends those or not. As a teen he already excels at potions, a solitary activity, and when we are given a glimpse of his “summer” lifestyle at Spinner’s End in Half-Blood Prince, he’s just reading. He certainly doesn’t entertain a crowd in his spare time, like, for example, Slughorn does.

  ➤ Little or no interest in sex with other people

I hear you coming now. “BUT LILY!” Schizoids are often asexual, but not necessarily sex-aversive. When asking around in a schizoid group, about a third of the schizoids seem to be in relationships or are even married, perhaps even more. And many of the others have had sexual relationships in the past. Many have tried to make relationships work, only to realize at a later point that that sort of life was not for them and that they would never be truly happy in a relationship. Other schizoids are happy in relationships – so it exists! It’s not impossible! (Remember: you need 4/7 traits, not 7/7 to be schizoid.) Also keep in mind, if Snape really was interested in sex, why would he pine after a dead woman for 16 years? He’d be over her way sooner and into someone else’s pants way sooner too. Lily was the first person in his life that gave him any kind of warmth, so him pining after her is not strange or inexplicable behavior. She offered what he craved, what he lacked, and he mourned her for the rest of his life, because he feared no one would ever give him that warmth. (And he kind of turned that into a self-fulfilling prophecy by being such a recluse.) He dreamed of love, but we have no idea what it would have been like had he actually ever had his affections returned. Maybe he’d have enjoyed a relationship with her for a long while and she would have been the only person he could have tolerated, or maybe after a year or so he would have thought “this is suffocating” and ended the relationship.

  ➤ Experiences little pleasure from activities

Can you recall Snape laughing in any scene? Smiling, even? I can imagine him to feel rather content when brewing potions or studying the dark arts, and he does have passion for what he does. But to a schizoid, passion and pleasure are not necessarily the same. We experience emotions differently. In some ways we don’t experience them at all, in other ways, we might feel like there’s a wall around our emotions, and we have no idea how to get over that wall and check what the currently active emotion is. But with logic, we can determine “I guess I’m happy now that I’m doing this thing I like doing.” Intellectual pursuits are fun too – like solving a puzzle, it gives a little boost of dopamine when you make it to the next level, so it’s not surprising he excels at Potions.

  ➤ No close friends other than immediate family

Basically, Snape only really had Dumbledore, and that bastard only used him to win the war. (I have beef with old Dumbledore, okay?) But Snape confided in Dumbledore, and the other way around, and so I think it’s safe to say that there was a true friendship between the two. When Dumbledore died, Snape was truly alone. (Which is incredibly tragic and heartbreaking when you think about it – in the last year of his life, Snape had no one, really no one, as he tried to keep Hogwarts ‘safe’ and eventually died. And everyone hated him for killing Dumbledore, not knowing the truth about his allegiance. Everyone who had once spoken kindly to him, like the other professors at Hogwarts, now considered him arch enemy #2, behind Voldemort.)

➤ Indifference to criticism or praise

Compliment or insult a schizoid, and it’s not like they won’t give any response at all. They might say “thank you” or they might get a little defensive about the insult, but they won’t always lose a lot of sleep over it. It kind of depends on who the praise or criticism is coming from. I can imagine that it did mean something to him if it came from Dumbledore, whom he cared about. I don’t think it meant anything to him what his students thought of him, since he didn’t give a personal level of shit about them. There’s also a moment where Umbridge shrieks “You are on probation!” and it’s described as “Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised.” Then she says that she expected better after how highly Lucius Malfoy always speaks of him and she dismisses him. Snape then gives her “an ironic bow” – he really doesn’t give a rat’s ass and I love him for it.

These are the 7 criteria that you need to fit 4 of to be diagnosed with SPD – I managed to link all 7 to Snape – so I think it’s not unlikely that Snape is truly a schizoid. Now, for the next part I would like to highlight some other comorbidities which many schizoids also have, that seem to appear in Snape as well.

Comorbidities

➤ Depression In about half of all schizoid patients, depression is or has been present. How do you notice that in Snape? The greasy hair, among other things. Bad teeth. Always wearing the same outfit. If you’ve ever suffered from a bad depression, you know how difficult it suddenly becomes to shower at a regular interval, how you can go days without brushing your teeth, how wearing comfortable clothing is more important than looking fashionable – how it is absolutely meaningless to look fashionable because who the fuck cares anyways. Snape doesn’t seem to give a hoot about himself or his appearance, which strikes me as a sign of depression. And what does he have to be happy about? He knows Voldemort is going to return and he’ll have a cursed job as a double-spy. He knows he’s probably going to die. I wouldn’t be happy either.

➤ Anger Outbursts/PTSD Not all schizoids have this, but it’s something I have myself and which I’ve written about extensively in one of my previous blog posts. I look at it as a way of my inner self breaking down the walls and coming out to say “I know that I’ve been quiet for the past 37 years but what the fuck I’m really angry about this and have been for a while and I’m not going to contain it any longer” – and then the anger comes out disproportionately. It’s hard to impossible to really control such an outburst. And often, there is a very obvious cause to the outburst. Sometimes it’s PTSD related. For Snape, while he does not emote often, you see a few outbursts – like when he is face to face with Sirius Black in the shrieking shack, his childhood bully. He seems mad at that moment, not at all composed anymore, the sign of a real anger outburst. (I think it’s PTSD helping that anger build.) A few moments later, he thinks he has turned in Sirius Black to the Ministry, Sirius, who he holds responsible for the death of James and Lily (and it’s especially the latter’s death he can’t cope with), so when Sirius escapes, he loses it again. Then the next time he gets really angry is when Harry enters his “worst memory”. That’s a few years later, during the Occlumency lessons. While he’s no longer shrieking, he’s white with rage. My pro tip: don’t impose on the privacy of a schizoid, we get mad. XD In Half-Blood Prince, he’s got a moment where he’s like “Don’t call me coward!”, looking ‘inhuman’. I too can get anger outbursts over false accusations, and this one must really hurt, because at that moment, he’s trying to save Harry’s freaking life while the boy is all like “lemme at you I’mma kill you like you killed Dumbledore for fun!” – Snape was probably grieving the loss of his only friend and confidant and knew he was on his own from that point onwards, and then you get this bloody teenager trying to drag you into a wizard’s duel you’re not in the mood for, calling you a coward, which is the last thing you are. Man it has to suck to be Snape. I also want to state that there are many moments when things go wrong in class, but Snape never loses his temper like that. He’s not pleasant and he punishes students, but he doesn’t get mad – he gets even. That makes it all the more interesting to analyze the moments that he does go bananas.

Random Thoughts

Before I finish this blog, there are still a few small things I’d like to get out of my system about Snape and SPD.

➤ Snape and Luna

They are my favorite characters, but also because they’re very, very alike and very, very different at the same time. Both didn’t have a great childhood (Luna lost her mother at a young age) and they get bullied as kids at Hogwarts. Snape is called Snivellus and Luna is called Looney. All the suffering they endure, affects them differently though. Snape gets meaner, Luna only seems to get nicer. I see them as two sides of the same coin. One dark, one light, both a little eccentric in their own way. When you look at it from a personality-disorder point of view, then they both have personality disorders that are related to one another. Snape has Schizoid Personality Disorder, Luna has Schizotypal Personality Disorder. Schizotypal Personality Disorder is where you’ll find a lot of eccentric people who believe in conspiracy theories. Both are class A personality disorders. Some people might even have the two personality disorders at the same time. Schizoids seem to be rooted in reality with their thoughts, schizotypals can really start believing strange things if they’re not careful, alienating them from others And, in case you’re now wondering: “So many schizo-personality disorders! Is this also schizophrenia?” No – schizophrenia is when you have delusions and hallucinations as well. Read up on those disorders if you’re interested, because these descriptions of mine are too brief and don’t do it justice.

➤ Snape was a bad teacher

Not fully, and yes, he was. I think knowledge-wise, Snape was way better at Potions than Slughorn ever was. You notice when Hermione can’t keep up in her sixth year while Harry is sailing through Potions thanks to Snape’s book. Snape’s a genius and would have been able to instruct his students to be more efficient when brewing potions. But personality wise? Don’t put a schizoid in front of a classroom. And for that, I kind of blame Dumbledore. Snape wasn’t asking for a job as a teacher, but that’s all Dumbledore had to offer, and thus he put Snape and his unwilling students in a room together where none of them wanted to be. I think Snape would have been better off as some kind of a scientist, just him and his books, inventing spells or potions. But he was not given much of a choice, and he was forced to socialize with teenagers (ew, gross), and that must have drained him terribly. It’s a wonder he was usually roaming the hallways at night because I would have been too exhausted to get out of bed. That makes you realize it’s truly a work of fiction because who on earth has that kind of stamina? :-P (No, in all seriousness it’s probably also depression at work, keeping him up.) Snape was a jerk to Harry and Neville and Hermione on various occasions, and not all of it was to “keep up appearances” to the Slytherins. He seemed to even enjoy a bit of sadism here and there. You could contemplate why he poisoned Neville’s toad. Was it just to spite poor little Neville, or was he hoping his student would perform better under pressure? (Which Neville did.. The toad didn’t die.) It’s a cruel way to teach a lesson, but I think he must have thought the end justified the means. But what a traumatic experience to Neville, who then had Snape become his greatest fear.

➤ Purity culture vs Snape

We’ve seen a shift on both Tumblr and other social media where fandom is about purity culture. Back in 2002 folks were like “We love the baddies, deal with it”, and the people that didn’t love the baddies actually dealt with it and you could joke with people who preferred the Gryffindors and just poke a little fun at one another, but it was fun fandom. But over the years I’ve seen fandom change. Nowadays you can’t even express love for Snape without someone seeing it as their moral obligation to remind you of what a “bad person he really was”. To them I can only say that I like him for his best qualities, and forgive him for his worst. And honestly, I don’t need to justify liking a character to anyone. If I want to put Umbridge-posters in every room of my apartment, are you going to stop me or call the cops on me? Purity policing is weird. Very American, too. (Though I’ve seen some Dutch folks go apeshit as well over purity concepts.) And as a Belgian I don’t have time to put up with that shit. XD And purity policing also is just nasty when you consider that some folks are like “I relate to this character” and the next person is like “THIS CHARACTER IS EVIL AND DESERVES TO DIE!” My response to that part of fandom is: “Just fuck off already, jerkface.”  Personally I was heartbroken by his death, because I feel like he could have made up to the people he’d hurt, I would have loved to see relationships mended between him and McGonagall and him and Harry and such, but instead we were left with him passing on some awkward memories to Harry and then dying. (Tbh I’m not the greatest fan of his crush on Lily, but whatever, I can accept it and understand it. She was the only light he ever knew.) It’s not his fault he didn’t get to redeem himself as a character, not fully - and that’s what makes fanfiction fun. So if people want to explore that in fic, let them. A character like Snape is too much of a treasure to shove under a carpet and pretend he never existed. Write all the things about him, have him have all the adventures! 

I think I’m done now! If you stuck around until now, 10 points to Slytherin or whatever house you’re from. (Probably Slytherin if you’re reading about Snape.) What do you think? Feel free to leave a comment, send an ask, or whatever!

[lalahbug]

False Ring - Levi x Reader

Fandom: Attack on Titan Word Count: 2,296 My Masterlist Warnings/disclaim: general Modern Office AU Author’s Note: Continued under story Originally posted on DeviantArt, under the same username, on 12/25/2016. Revamped/edited in 2020. ___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting.  Story under cut

          “Hanji! Take down that mistletoe, now!” ___ barked at her while walking up to her.

          “But it’s Christmas!”

          “There will be no kissing in the office!”

          Hanji kept complaining and trying to defend the decoration.

          “Hanji. I let you get away with going overboard on the decor for Christmas, decorating everyone’s desk, the lobby, the breakroom. I am drawing the line at the mistletoe!” ___ was lecturing Hanji basically in front of the entire advertising and marketing team. Hanji was one of the top managers, behind Erwin and Levi, of course.

          ___ is the CEO but always has a degree in advertising, so a lot of her free time was spent there. Being hands-on and knowing about every campaign and making sure they all appealed to a wide audience.

          “But, ___-”

          “Hanji, you can put it up at home and the Christmas party tonight. But please just, not in the office.” ___ sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

          “___!” Hanji whined.

          “Oi! Shitty Glasses, ___ said no, so get away with that shit.” Levi stood next to ___.

          “Come on, Hanji. I’ll help you with decor for the party, okay?” Erwin wrapped an arm around Hanji, dragging her away.

          ___ took a deep breath. “Thank you, Levi.”

          “Tch, whatever.”

          “Will you be at the party, tonight?”

          “No.”

          “What, why not?” ___ tried to not let the disappointment show in her voice.

          “I don’t like Christmas, it’s over-done and all about presents, nowadays.”

          “That’s why I am holding the party without presents, though. So we can all get to know each other better and spend time with each other and our families.”

          “I have no reason to go, nor do I want to be around all of the brats and lovey-dovey couples.”

          “Oh, okay. I’m sure you’d rather just spend time alone with your girlfriend anyways.” She gave him a sweet smile. Levi just glared at her, making her sigh and look away. “I know, I know, you won’t talk about your life outside of the office.” An awkward air settled between them. “Well, I hope I get to know your personality better in the new year. I’ll see you after News Year’s, I need to tell everyone to go home now.”

          ___ gave a quick surprise to all of her employees, telling them the only reason for them to come into work on Christmas was to clock in and get their bonus check. Telling everyone Merry Christmas, go home and she was looking forward to seeing them and their families at the party.

          About an hour after everyone had left, ___ was sitting at her desk, finishing some paperwork.

          “What are you still doing here?” ___ jumped a bit, at hearing Levi’s voice, which made him click his tongue at her. “Go home to your family.”

          “Oh, there’s no one waiting for me at home. And this paperwork needs to be finished.” ___ gave him a small smile before looking back down to the papers and filling them out.

          “Isn’t this supposed to be mine?” Levi had walked over to her desk, taking the paper from her.

          “Hey, put that back.”

          “Why are you doing my work?” He glared at her.

          “I’ve been taking half of your’s, Hanji’s and Erwin’s work lately. We got a new client and I know you guys are already overworked. Since it’s Christmas, I wanted you all to be happy and not too stressed out. I prefer being at the office, so I always find where I can lighten the load of others.”

          “You do this often? My work?”

          “Yeah, not just yours, though. It’s not like it’s too hard to do or anything.” She shrugged and opened her hand to Levi. “Come on, give it back. Go home, have a goodnight.”

          Levi sat down across from her. “When are you going home?”

          She stared at him for a moment, confused. “About 3 hours before the party, so I can get ready and get there before everyone. To make sure Hanji didn’t go overboard. But I’ll be back here tomorrow.”

          “Are you going to be there all night?”

          “Yes, of course. I am the main host after all.”

          “What time do you think you’ll go home?”

          “Um, I don’t know. Probably sometime tomorrow. Why are you asking so many questions? This isn’t like you, you normally don’t care.”

          “Do you ever go home?” Levi glanced around, avoiding her question, his voice was getting harsher and judgmental.

          “Sometimes. I usually just go home to shower and get a bit of sleep. But I have a bed in my side office for days where I just would rather get more work done. I have a week’s worth of clothes here. So I guess I mainly just go home to get clean.”

          “Wait, you sleep here? How often?” Now, his voice was belittling and demanding.

          “I don’t know, like 4 times a week maybe.”

          “Tch.” He seemed truly annoying with her.

          “Don’t you click your tongue at me, boy. You’re acting hostile and demanding. I don’t need this from my employee, go home.” She snapped at him. Levi stared at her for a moment.

          “Did you just call me, boy?” He almost growled at her.

          “Ackerman. Go. Home. Now.” ___ let authority coat her every word. It was rare she used his last name or ever had to use an authoritative tone on him. He stared at her for a moment, before clicking his tongue again and leaving her office without another word.

          “Hanji, thank you for not going too overboard.”

          “Erwin reeled me in.”

          “Then I guess I should be thanking him.”

          “Nah. You both look beautiful by the way. I didn’t know you had tattoos, ___.”

          “Thanks, but yeah, I’ve had them for a while, sometimes I forget about them.”

          “It’s awesome to see so much for your skin, it looks so soft!” Hanji rubbed ___’s shoulders, making her smile then push her away. 

          “Stop it.”

          “Where did you get your dress?” Hanji was feeling the soft material. ___ just smirked at her and looked down at her red strapless dress.

          “Um, I think my mom got this for me last year. So I’m not sure.”

          “How are your parents?”

          “Oh, they’re good. They couldn’t make it over to me this year and I have too much work, so I couldn’t go to them, but I’ll be seeing them for New Year’s, I should be done with all of my work by then.”

          “Why do you have so much work? Hanji and I finished everything the other day.”

          “Oh don’t worry about it.” She gave them a heartwarming smile.

          “It’s because she’s doing some of our work.”

          ___ turned on her heel, to see Levi standing right behind her.

          “You what?!” Hanji screamed, gripping ___ and shaking her by her shoulders. “You’ll never get babies if you keep overworking yourself! You’re going to end up in the hospital again for overworking yourself!”

          “Hanji! Stop!” 

          The brunette stopped shaking her boss. 

          “I love my job. I’m not worried about having children. I won’t overwork myself, again, that’s why I put that bed in my side office.”

          Erwin groaned and Levi stared at all of them.

          “Wait, that’s why you were hospitalized for a few weeks a couple of months ago?” Levi wanted confirmation.

          “Yeah, I came to her for some signatures and she was unconscious at her desk,” Erwin stated.

          “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

          “You didn’t ask and we didn’t want to tell too many people.” ___ shrugged.

          Erwin and Hanji then continued to bug ___ about giving them their work back so she could go see her parents sooner. Eventually, she caved in and told them she would give them their work back tomorrow.

               “I can’t believe you showed up, just to tattle on me about helping out with work.” ___ grumbled as she and Levi leaned against a wall, drinking some wine.

          “I showed up because Erwin told me to. Ratting you out, after calling me boy, was a bonus.”

          “You were mad at me for calling you, boy? But you’re younger than me by a few years.”

          “I’m not a boy.” He growled.

          “Uh, huh. Sure," she giggled at his anger.

          Levi moved so he was blocking her path and his hands on either side of her head, making her blush.

          “I’m not a boy. I am a man.” 

          “Oh, okay.” She was too shocked to say anything else. Levi moved back a bit to look at her.

          “You’re blushing.” He smirked at this, which only made the crimson dusting her cheeks grow darker; because she had never seen him smirk before. “You’re blushing more now.”

          “Shut up. Why are you teasing me?”

          “Because I didn’t know you were single before.”

          “What?”

          “The whole office believes you’re married.” This made ___ burst out.

          “No! Oh, that is funny.” She kept giggling. “No, no. I don’t have a partner, I mean I have some people I have crushes on. But I have no interest in letting them know that.”

          “Why is that?”

          “I like how things are now.”

          Levi and ___ hung out together most of the party, well, he hung around her while she talked with many different employees and told stories.

          “So, ___. Tell me,” Jean piped up. He was a new customer service employee. “Is the rumor true that you and Levi are married?”

          ___ almost spit out her drink. “What? So not only was the rumor that I am married is going around, but to Levi?”

          “So I take it’s not true?” Jean chuckled. “Then how would you like to get dinner sometime?”

          “Just because she’s not married doesn’t mean she’s desperate enough to go out on a date with you, horse-face,” Eren sneered as Mikasa glared at Jean before he could retort.

          “If anyone takes her to dinner, it’ll be me,” Levi grumbled, making everyone quiet.

          “So you’re dating?” Jean was the only one stupid enough to ask.

          “None of your business.” Levi glared at him. “Come on, ___.” Levi turned on his heel.

          “Oh, um. I’ll see you guys after the new year. Have a wonderful holiday!” ___ chased after Levi. “Levi, what was that all about? Why did you confuse them like that?”

          Levi scoffed. “Because I meant it. It’s none of their business, but if anyone is to take you out anytime soon, it’ll be me.”

          “What are you talking about?”

          “Oi, you’re stupid for being smart. I like you, clearly. That’s why I got mad anytime you asked about my nonexistent girlfriend or offered to have me come to dinner with you. I thought you were married. Anyone would with that ring on your finger.”

          “Oh.” ___ was blushing and looking down at the ring on her finger, she had stopped walking.

          Levi turned to face her, standing in front of her. “Why do you wear a wedding ring?”

          “It was my grandmother’s, she didn’t have much, but being her only granddaughter. It was the only thing she left me. I just wear it because she was like a mom to me. Plus, it kept away creeps. I didn’t mean to confuse everyone, though, or push anyone away, especially you.”

          “You’ve been visited by the Mistletoe Fairy!” Hanji giggled while holding a stick with mistletoe hanging from it.

          “Hanji, no!” ___ scolded her, pointing a finger at her. Levi glanced up at the small green branch. Levi clicked his tongue before grabbing the back of ___’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

          ___ squeaked while Levi pulled her to him, but she quickly let her body relax against his.

          Levi smirked as the tension in her body disappeared, he kissed her gently again, before pulling away, letting his grin slowly fade away.

          “Can I expect Levi babies soon then?” Hanji squealed.

          “You’re just being stupid now,” ___ giggled. Erwin had popped up and dragged away Hanji so Levi and ___ could be alone. “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Levi.” She beamed at him.

          He froze for a second before pulling her into a hug. “Thanks.”

          She pushed back a little. “What for?”

          “You’re the first person to say that today, a lot of people seem to forget my birthday because of Christmas.”

          “Oh, I even got you a gift. I was just going to give it to you next year, but since you’re here.” She smiled and pulled away from him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him over to the coat station. She asked for her purse and pulled out a small box.

          “I got it last week. So, happy birthday, Levi.” She offered it to him, he cautiously took it. “Well, open it.” So he did.

          He pulled out a couple of sturdy tins. “Is this really Jungpana and Glendale loose tea? This is expensive shit.”

          “Is it? I just went to a tea shop with great reviews and told them you really love tea, that you like to be clean and your birthday was soon. They recommended these.”

          “They are really good, they have good taste, but pay attention to pricing brat.”

          “You like your gift right?”

          “Of course.” He pulled her close to him. “I can’t wait to see more of you, you’re the best gift.”

          “That’s not what I meant!”

          “Well, you being single, is the best news I learned today, so that’s the best gift. But you won’t be single, much longer.” He rested his forehead against hers.

          “Well, if that’s the case, I think you should invite me to test that tea out with you.”

          “Tch, don’t tell me what to do. But you should come over soon.”

          “It’s a date.”

          “Damn right it is.” He pulled her close, keeping an arm around her most of the night, showing no signs of leaving her side anytime soon.

Author's Note: Continued As far as I know, Levi’s b-day is Christmas, so this fic was written for his b-day.

[t4tbruharvey]

ok lots of asks incoming jdhjs i just picked random-ish numbers and names but yeah anyway!! hope you're having a good night :)

past (for q): 3, 6, 8; present (for gabi): 8, 9, 12; and future (for perlah): 2, 7, 8

omg omg omg ok. cool. ok. thank youuuuu

PAST: q

3 - describe their family. who raised them, and who had the most impact on them? did they have any siblings? who were they closest to? what were the family dynamics like?

q is the only child in a fairly affluent family - rich enough to send hir to a boarding school, where ze spent most of their time with ellie, the only other queer kid that ze knew of. hir parents are quite distant, and very traditional, constantly emulating the looks and values of old money folks, which unfortunately meant that for all of hir teenage years, q's only confidante was ellie. school was an extremely isolating experience for her because ze was closeted everywhere, and ze was in the girls' dorm while ellie was in the boys' dorm, so ze only saw her in class/leisure hours, and ze tended to feel really lonely at night.

6 - did the location they grew up in affect them significantly? do they still go there?

ze has literally no love for that place. it's a pretty joyless area, no matter how many brownstones they pass or how many trees are planted on the streets. wrought iron and spring leaves can't make a place feel like somewhere people live, which is why q hasn't been back there since ze left home at 18.

8 - what was their childhood/teenage bedroom like?

q's bedroom at home was COVERED in whatever heavy metal posters they could find in innercity record shops, apart from one wall, on which ze put up paper before proceeding to write all over it; diagrams, homework equations, bad poetry, song lyrics, swear words, you name it. it was very much a typical 'rebellious teen' bedroom, partly to piss of hir parents and partly to make hir feel more like hirself when ze was in there. none of that was present in their dorm, though. that had white walls and sensible carpeting and a desk, and that was it.

PRESENT: gabi

8 - what hobby or pastime of theirs do they consider most important to them and why?

bullet journalling. he genuinely does pride himself on organisation, and this is something that actively encourages it, as well as being an outlet for the impulse to put everything in order that doesn't involve wrecking the apartment or committing a crime.

9 - what kind of place do they live in?

he lives in a really really nice apartment on the fourth floor of a building that was retrofitted in the 70s. you know it's a nice apartment because, despite rent being extremely low citywide, they had to get a fourth roommate to cover the rent. he shares a room with cora, which is mostly pretty dark (black and grey sheets, gothic full-length mirror on the black closet), with his desk being the most colourful thing in the room: it's covered in different brands of brush pen, post it notes arranged in a grid on the wall, a gantt chart printed out and stuck to the side of things he has coming up, a t shirt he's been drawing a fractal on for a week now, shit like that.

the only other room gabi frequents is the kitchen, which is mint green with white tiles and mismatched wooden furniture. it's a pretty standard kitchen in terms of mess levels, and gabi is under no circumstances allowed to change the order of anything in there or cora will go ballistic. she's the one who uses the spices most, so it's only fair she gets to decide how they're arranged. (no system of any kind other than 'vibes')

12 - if someone mentioned their name to someone else, what would they immediately think of (i.e. defining characteristic, appearance- or personality-wise)?

when he was in school, it probably would have been 'size', because he was built like if lady dimitrescu went to high school and had a very unremarkable bob. currently, however, it's definitely the hair, which consists of a raspberry-pink grown out mullet and turquoise fringe. personality wise it's that he's gives off the same vibe as a violin bow that's been tightened to the point where it's just about to snap, but hasn't snapped yet.

FUTURE: perlah

2 - are they content with their future situation? is there anything they would change?

i'll be honest: she probably wouldn't be too pleased she's dead. or that she's being used as a martyr, or that her death is justifying a manhunt for cora.

7 - are their friends still a part of their life? are there people they are no longer in touch with, or newly important people?

well, in the most literal sense, no. in a more figurative sense then somewhat? everyone assumes katy is 'the girlfriend' and that gabi was manipulated by cora, and that cora was scheming to kill perlah and take her money or something all along. so they're all involved in the news coverage, and katy has finally met perlah's parents, who held her hands and sobbed a lot.

8 - would they become a mentor figure for anyone?

no, unfortunately. despite exuding grace and easy charm, perlah wasn't a role model for anybody, unless it's to be used as a cautionary tale about mingling with the criminals in the masses.

[struwwelzeter]

So I read your reply to Nyarisu's comment on Lionheart and I'm really intrigued by your comments about how people understand punk compared to what it was initially. Could I possibly ask you to expand on this? Pretty please?

Yes you could! This is a very (very?) personal point of view and I know a lot of people will disagree, but here goes nothing, I guess. If you disagree with me (and somebody will), that’s fine, but I will not engage with anything that’s not a constructively put argument. I’ve spend too much time thinking about this for a “I don’t like what you’re saying and that’s why you’re wrong” anon to change my mind. Just putting that out there - with love 💜.

The thing is, especially on tumblr but I think just in generally aswell, the idea of punk is presented as this ... Robin Hood kind of thing. Beat the system, stand up to bullies, live your own truth, all of that, but it always is presented as something that is supposed to come from a ... dare I say, nice place? Like those pictures of people in studded and sprayed leather jackets rescuing puppies. All of that, you know? And I don’t want to say that is wrong, because it isn’t, and I love the idea of that, it’s just not the entire truth.

Especially in the early to mid 70s, when arguably punk started, there was a lot of fatigue between an old and stuffy establishment and the lovey, dovey peace and love “let’s all be happy” movement of the hippie scene. I was at Force Attack in 2006, which is a punk festival (and possibly dirtiest place in the world) that got established in the early 90s and went on til 2008 (?), and even then some of the “death to hippies” sentiments ran pretty deep. And I know the counter argument to that will be a well meaning “well, that’s not real punk,” the problem is that I think it actually partly is. (Please keep the partly in mind for the rest of this argument.)

The problem with having the exact choice between “get a good job, built a nice house, think of what the neighbours will say, and don’t ask me about what I did in the war” and “we’re all a big part of one human family, and isn’t nature beautiful, lets all make peace, and btw we would have never done what our parents did” is that both models aren’t a sustainable life style for everyone. That’s why you get alot of people saying this is all fake bullshit, and they start being purposely offensive. This is why you get alot of Swastikas around the sex pistols, you get all these artists singing about suicide and incest and rape. It’s not that uncommon for some of those early acts to play with Nazi imagery, or claim that homosexuality is disgusting (despite the scene always being full of LGBTQ+ people), or idk, thinking it’s fun to piss on someone while they’re asleep. It’s alot of outcry, of saying life actually is this shitty and disgusting and I am gonna be that because in a way you will hate me either way. And it’s not always nice. Disdain and hate and petty selfishness are common human emotions and many of them are low and unhealthy, and honestly not nice or helpful or inclusive, but they are there, and I think alot of that early spirit was just about stopping to pretend that they don’t exist.

I think a reason for why we don’t think of the scene that way anymore is that many people very quickly outgrew that, and said “actually, we’re better than that, that’s not who we actually are. I sadly can’t find that interview right now, but Die Ärzte are actually a good exemple of that and they even admit it themselves, that there was a sense of “enough with the happy hippie bullshit, let’s disgust them” and then later going “uhmm - maybe that went a bit far.” I mean offensive or not, but ultimately a scene that is centered around artistic expression always ends with that question of creation, maybe like “if the world isn’t like what we want it to be, how do we make one we like?” - and then you end up with having to come up with answers that are more than just destruction. And then it turns into something else - something that I think is alot more like what tumblr seems to think punk is. And that’s a wonderful thing. Still - a side of punk, whatever that is, has always been what people like GG Allin (please read the wiki for context) have taken and pushed to the limits, and it just - isn’t nice. And here is where things get a bit tricky.

Because against that backdrop, things like John Lydon (Johnny Rotten) suddenly being a dirty old Trump supporter aren’t that surprising anymore. And then you get these 20 year olds “cancelling” the Sex Pistols, and I think there is just a bit of ... missing the point going on. I’ve read a comment on here recently, that basically said something like Richard should stop supporting the Sex Pistols (because he has that album in the back of the studio), and it’s just ... asking for a history to be erased that has rightfully been made obsolete but has still happened and was necessary at the time. You can take any of these early bands and pick their lyrics apart and find something that from our perspective now is disgusting, mean, exclusive, or outright racist. Songs about Fucking? Part of that record is a mysogynisy shitshow, something they were very aware of even at the time, and they still did it anyway because being disgusting was part of the point. The thing is though, the Sex Pistols were hugely influential, and alot of the positive things that grew out of that wouldn’t have been possible if kids like young Richard, or any of the bands you love that were influenced by them, wouldn’t have gotten that moment of “finally a place where I can put all of my petty hate”. It matters, and just because that moment is overcome, it doesn’t mean it should be forgotten, or stops existing in the people that lived through it.

I understand that the question of how much we should justify things with “it was the time” and how we deal with the result is an ever ongoing debate and their are many good arguments for why maybe we shouldn’t try to defend the wrongs of the past that way, and I want to point out that while I rarely agree on that in the first place (because I understand history as a natural learning curve where people aren’t perfect at the first try and it’s doing a disservice to humans just doing their best, but I digress and that’s a bit of another duscussion), I want to point out that I don’t want to defend anyone, rather I want to say “actually, being that horrible was often calculated, part of the point, and if you don’t like it, just leave it, fight it or debate it, but don’t pretend like it was a “missstep” or just a few black sheep of a scene that was never as nice or perfect as you want it to be.” You don’t get to erase half of a movement simply because you wish it wouldn’t exist the way it does - or well. I guess in this case mostly did - past tense.

The ugliness is part of the story to me, and it’s actually the bigger part of why I love this scene. I don’t need “punk” to define my politics, I need it to soothe my soul, and so did many, I think. The Sex Pistols breaking happened 20 years before my time, but I still feel connected to that world, and in particular the ugly parts of it. I often feel like I look at the world, and there are people that seem honestly shocked by the idea that maybe sometimes I find doing the right thing really hard, that I want petty, self serving revenge, that I don’t find it easy to not be selfish and unkind or sometimes want to hurt people because I am hurting myself and see an opportunity to do that. Obviously those aren’t nice things and I don’t want to be that way, but are you honestly telling me you don’t feel that? I find that hard to believe, and it leaves me with an ongoing question of if I am just worse than most people or if most people are just more fake. Both scenarios are equally shit. The ugly side of punk provides - not an answer to that - but maybe a partial solution, at least for me.

Another discussion we have all the time is about how what we consume or allow in artistic expression is influencing how we act as people in real life and how we want the world to be. Where do we draw the line? What is still ok? If I put me entertaining ideas about murder on a canvas, is that still good? what if it’s racism? What if it’s rape? We argue alot about how providing a safe space in art for those feelings is actually preventing us from acting on it in real life, how it’s an outlet of something we would never actually want or do, but then where is the limit to that? I am putting this intentionally controversial, but if we admit that most of us grow up with internalized racism and mysogyny, by that logic, why can’t I paint something that is blatantly hateful if I have those feelings? Maybe that is my way of fighting it, you don’t have to look at it? Not saying that’s what I am doing or would want to do, but what if? For some people Rammstein singing about not wanting to be Angels is crossing that line, for some of us that line is drawn alot later. Who is right? Isn’t that just personal sensitivity? Can you honestly rationalise that? Isn’t it just processing our different levels of petty hate in different ways? I don’t have the answers to any of that, it’s just questions I often have and that I think have to do with this, because alot of the nasty bits in punk will justify it exactly that way, as artistic expression. Alot of it isn’t as political as this scene is made out to be, it’s simply asking those things. I personally relate to that alot, as someone who arguably would draw the line of “we should stop doing this” in art very, very, very late - and certainly later than my own personal comfort zone.

I’m not sure if any of this makes any sense at all. I hope it does - and if it doesn’t it’s probably because I don’t know either, or because I don’t want to fully blow this up into an essay (sorry, too late?) or because I suck at making a point, or maybe because we simply disagree. All I know is that I sometimes see these posts of “what is punk and what isn’t” and it leaves me with this taste of “you’re describing a utopia and it’s cute and I want that too, but it’s not everything punk as I know it is, and it feels like you don’t want to see something that mattered too - even if it was brutal and disgusting.” And everytime I see it I feel alien, like something that mattered to me so much as a teenager and young adult gets taken away from me and made into something so sleek and pretty it becomes something unattainable to be that I simply don’t manage to live up to in the way I would like. I guess that is a petty, selfish way of looking at it too.

«It's a repressive society where you can't be horrible, I'm not horrible, they made me horrible, I'm just honest.»

- John Lydon