#remember a single thing about his past he has no frame of reference for what a family is or if hes ever had one himself

[hecksupremechips]

Mizuki and Date though like. Imagine being 8 and your parents are filthy rich and going through a bad divorce. Your mom treats you like shit, lashing out at you, hitting you, saying she wishes you were never born all because you were behaving like a child. Your dad is more comforting, but he doesn’t do anything to stop the abuse and he spends his time invested in a completely different family, a girl who you love and look up to but he loves her more than you and it fucking shows. Then your dads new friend, some fucking bachelor in his late 20s, is just like "wow you guys are the worst fucking parents ive ever seen" and next thing you know your dad is sending you off to live with him. And it’s just a massive kick in the head cuz you go from a rich lifestyle to living in some really shitty tiny ass apartment with this guy who’s clearly never been around a child in his entire life and he doesn’t know how to behave and does a really bad job of censoring himself like he has a bunch of dirty magazines that he can’t hide very well cuz it’s literally a studio apartment and also he talks to himself sometimes, it’s really weird. He doesn’t even have the slightest clue what he’s doing

And he’s the best parent you’ve ever had

Because fuck, it all really hurts. You have to cope with having never received any love from anyone, and with the fact that your parents clearly don’t want you and can’t even be bothered to send you with anyone even kinda responsible. And this guy has a scary job with crazy hours and you don’t know anything about him and neither does he. But still, he never once hits you or tells you you’re not allowed to cry. He just gives you space and doesn’t push you to feel any sort of way about him. And sometimes, he’s even kind. He makes you some stew, even though it’s a bit chunky. He lets you sleep in the bed and takes the couch for himself, even though he complains about the massive back pain he’d never trade his spot for a second. He pays attention to events at your school and gives you your favorite stuffed animal when you make good grades, even though you called it ugly. He gets worried sick when you come home with bruises and puts on a goofy voice and trains you to defend yourself and you develop some highly deadly skills and even though it’s really abnormal, he buys you a bench press so you can get stronger. There’s this distance there, and you feel really weird caring about someone who you aren’t related to, but you find yourself wishing it was meant to be like this all along, that maybe, he’s secretly your real dad and he loves you like his real daughter

And when you say "I’m back" he says "welcome home"

[soleilapproves]

Play fighting with Boxer!Sukuna

Note: Reader is referred to as girlfriend at one point.

Masterlist

“Babe.”

“Not right now.”

“Babe.”

“Sukuna, I promise I’ll be done with this book soon.”

He huffed and fell back onto the couch. He had been trying to get your attention for the past 30 minutes but you were adamant on finishing your book. This is all the fault of that damn community book club your coworker recommended you join. Now whenever, you’re off work and Sukuna doesn’t have to train, you’re reading. Usually the two of you spent almost all your spare time together but now you spent half of it reading your newest book for your weekly discussion. You always did your best to spoil him with kisses and cuddles but it was never enough.

Book club be damned, he needed you to be superglued to his side every single second.

“My girlfriend has a side man and he’s made of paper.” He huffed to himself as he watched you intently read. What was so great about your book anyway? Was it worth ignoring your gorgeous (and shirtless) boyfriend? He even had a tattoo of your name on his left pec and you were still choosing to smother a book with your attention.

Sukuna’s wallowing turned him creative- he stood in front of you, trying to make sure your guard was down. You didn’t look up which meant that you were still engrossed in your book. His hand swooped in and swiftly snatched the book from you. “Sukuna.” you groaned. “Give it back, I was at a good part.” You got up to grab it from him but he raised it above his head. “Kiss me.” You glared at him and gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Done, now give it.”

“No.” He nonchalantly replied. “But I kissed you.” You wondered why he was being particularly irritating today.

“That was me begging for a morsel of your attention. Now cuddle me if you want it.” He said and cheekily smirked.

You ignored him and hopped trying to get your book. Sukuna simply dodged your sad attempts and laughed every time you missed. “I don’t even know why you’re trying.” You gave him a pointed look at his comment.

“Okay, fine, you can have your book if you beat me in a fight.”

“What? That makes no sense.” You couldn’t believe this man. “It seems like a fair challenge to me.” He said as he walked to a particularly high shelf and placed your book on top of it. “You know I can just use my stepping stool for that, right?” You said before scoffing at him.

“Then it’s a good thing I hid it.” His sarcastic smile was now pissing you off. “But you literally fight for a living. You have the upper hand.”

“I’m in love with you. Use that as a distraction. Come on, let’s go to the ring.” You were speechless as he dragged you to the fighting “ring” (also known as your bedroom).

Since you had a smaller frame than him, he agreed to let you have the first hit. You sighed and braced yourself. You didn’t have much of a strategy except for charging at him with such a high speed that he’d fall on the bed and would accept defeat.

But as soon as you were in close distance, he caught both your arms, turned you around and threw you on the bed. He didn’t give you a second to get up before he straddled you. “Haha!” He exclaimed. Seeing you all riled up underneath him was a sight he was used to but it never failed to awe him.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” He asked as he began to lower himself to face you. “This is so unfair! You’re like 200 pounds, I can’t even move you.” You said as you tried to push him off. Sukuna grabbed your hands that were fighting him and he playfully wrestled them. Who knows what would’ve happened if he used his real strength.

Thank goodness for your quick thinking because you remembered that Sukuna was extremely ticklish so you pulled your hand out of his grasp with all the strength you could muster up and started poking his sides. “Babe!” He yelled before toppling over to his side. It was your turn to straddle him and before you could pin his arms beside his head, he caught yours and pulled you down to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. Your cheeks were mushed against the very tattoo of your name.

You were literally stuck in one position. The more you tried to move the tighter he’d hold you. “Sukuna, you cheater. Why do I always do this to myself?” You sighed, accepting defeat.

Sukuna kissed your forehead and laid you both on your sides, still not letting you go. “Sweet, sweet victory.” He whispered to himself.

-•-

I need to be (lovingly) smothered by a beefy nerd. Someone like Clark Kent.

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Really, we shouldn’t be surprised by now but I have more amazing jily AU fics to share because the writers of this fandom are incredibly talented and I have my screen report to prove it.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

serendipity by desperateforsanity (on ao3)

Modern college/uni AU. Dearest Students and Staff, I am pleased to announce Hogwarts University’s fourth annual Pen Pal Program. Upperclassmen and sophomores likely remember and cherish the memories of their previous penpals and are excited to make another friend this year.

TW: for the later chapters for discussions of grief and its effects on one's mental well-being. For the most part, though this is a fun fic full of great banter!

The Frenzied Misadventures of Balcony Man and Window Woman by @clare-with-no-i

prompt: "It's 3am why are you outside my window- are you trying to rob me?"

It feels necessary to preface this entire thing with the fact that, yes, James had good reason to be dangling precariously from a third-floor balcony, and anyone who says differently is simply attempting to smear his good name.

At least, that’s the story he’s sticking to.

Hijinks & Shenanigans

mellow is the man (who knows what he's been missing) also by @/ clare-with-no-i

Earl's Court. 24th May, 1975. Led Zeppelin live in concert like you've never seen them before.

FEATURING: prolonged eye contact, deeply metaphoric descriptions of cigarette smoke, painful levels of detail about makeup, and a special one-time performance by Two Teens In Love! OR: the "we made eye contact at a Led Zeppelin concert but my friends pulled me away to mosh before I could come say hello" AU

So when I say that I saw this unfold frame by frame in my head, I mean the writing is on another level. The way that I could almost smell Earl Court ... I regret waiting so long to read it. Also, found out this is written by the same author as one of my favourite jily fics foreigner’s god so that explains it “I'm not a religious person but I do sometimes think God made you for me.” ― Sally Rooney, Normal People

but he’s a little bit too far away by @firefeufuego

Historical AU. A decade after they met as cadets for The Times, the toll of James chasing stories in war zones is starting to hit home for Lily.

Taking A Shot At You by @annabtg

Modern AU. Lily Evans, pharmacist, has to work all day and night on New Year's Eve - and ends up ringing in the new year with a bloke who just got himself a dog bite.

The Right Track by BeeDaily (on ao3)

Co-workers modern AU. When James is first handed the train ticket, his immediate reaction is to laugh openly in his father's face.

the horoscope by lirians

Modern AU. James stops momentarily to give way to a bunch of rambunctious teenagers on the pavement before he regains his step. Lily has come to a halt a bit further, waiting on him.

“Horoscopes?” he asks as they move onwards. He’s relieved that any awkwardness between them is apparently gone. “How so?”

“Marly sent me mine this week because it said I would meet someone from the past again,” she explains. “I’m still not sold on the idea of it, but isn’t this weird?”

I was inspired to read this by this art

The Falcon and The Squid by @jfleamont

There's a Lego Millennium Falcon that needs to be built. There's also a bet, a ring and a bike.

Put it all together and what do you get?

Leda's jily will always be a favourite of mine. They're idiots in love your honour

Glastonbury by elanev91 (on ao3)

Prompt: we're at a music festival and you crawled into my tent when drunk and fell asleep, now you've woken up bewildered and to be honest I should be more annoyed but you're just so good looking

One Day at Time by @sweeethinny

Single-mum-lily AU. One day at a time is the mantra Lily uses to keep peace inside her mind, but there are days when it's simply impossible and in the end all she needs is a glass of wine, a cozy hug with her boyfriend, and a serious talk with her son.

Note that you can read this as a stand-alone one shot but it's part of a series that takes place in this AU

For All My Life by aheartcalledhome & SecondJadeofLan (on ao3)

When saving the bees ends in a happy family.

pumpkins and blueberries by evotter (on ao3)

Modern soulmate AU. In which Lily Evans hates puzzles, Marlene McKinnon is a coffee-making goddess, and the stuffy manager with the unkempt hair just so happens to be Lily's soulmate. In the wise words of Mary Macdonald, nothing is scarier than a relationship. Especially if it's with your soulmate.

After Moon by lovesickjily (on ao3)

When the universe sent Lily back in time for some inexplicable reason, she didn’t realise that she’d fall for the charming, messy-haired Prince along the way, nor did she realise that she’d see him once again.

here's to never growing up by elixirsoflife (on ao3)

Chat fic where a group chat documents the lives of four highly dramatic teenage boys as they navigate their A Levels.

Or, like, die trying.

Okay, I rarely ever read chat fics, they're just not my thing. BUT this one had me wheezing on my way to school. It's crack. Just treat it like crack

Ice Baby also by elixirsoflife

Modern college/uni AU. In his defence, James never expected to meet his soulmate at thirteen minutes past eleven on a Sunday morning when he’s aiming a puck at Sirius’ balls.

Or: call me sweetheart again and I'll punch you in the throat.

Not a Clue by PotterandEvans (on ao3)

Modern college/uni Quarantine AU. Lily stood in the doorway of the flat, looking at the boy in front of her. She had spent most of the last two years keeping her distance from the annoying piece of work, staying away from his ego mostly. “Come in.” She said, stepping away from the doorway to let him into the flat that she usually shared with Remus.

"Ah, so kind." James muttered as he walked inside, his heavy bag weighing him down. This really was not the ideal situation, for either of them. But he had nowhere else to go, so staying with Lily Evans it was going to have to be.

they were zoommates (requires an ao3 account) by elanev91 (on ao3)

Modern college/uni Quarantine AU. Lily's on lockdown and, because she can't help herself, signs herself up for a whole bunch of extra (and free) work with her ad agency. Minerva, her boss, assigns a cheeky social media manager to her team to help her. Also, Marlene discovers TikTok (this is nowhere near as important to the narrative as its inclusion here suggests).

And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies!) by @wearingaberetinparis

Fame AU. Lily Evans is a Grammy-winning singer-songwriter and global superstar, who recently broke up from her latest and long-term actor boyfriend Amos Diggory. James Potter is a professional football player who plays as a forward for Manchester United and has never been quiet about his celebrity crush: Lily Evans. When Lily Evans thus plays at Wembley Stadium - a place he is more than familiar with due to his being part of the England team - he just has to go and see her perform, embracing his inner, besotted fan boy, while the woman on stage is completely oblivious to his presence. Or is she?

The most unrealistic part was man u winning (but it's James so that explains it). Regardless, I started this fic while waiting for my final grades from last year to come through, and while they were disappointing, this sure wasn't. I was crying so hard that I fell asleep. Then I woke up and continued the fic and suddenly I was giggling along with Lilly. Anything and everything Mary writes is a masterpiece. Thank you for sharing this wonderful story.

it continues (the beginning doesn't matter) by whitesunlars (on ao3)

She is the last person he expected at his door at that exact moment, despite feeling unsure about the fact that she managed to track down his address, he agrees to go out to coffee with her. A lot could be said about James Potter, but nobody could claim that he had good self-preservation skills.

They meet in a bar. Mistakes happen. They learn to keep going.

[bluebellhairpin]

Thou So Long Hast Mourn'd

Bruce Wayne X Batmom!Reader

Summary: After Jason's passing, your grief and anger combined causes you to leave Gotham - swearing only to return when you have a perfect chance to kill the Joker for what he did to your son. (Part 2 to 'Hell Hath No Fury')

Warnings: Loss and Grief (Mentions of a funeral and repeated mentions of Jason dying. We miss Mumma's Boy Jay a lot :( ). Bad coping mechanisms all round. Clark Kent acts as a marital buffer. (Reader is fem coded; has she/her pronouns; is referred to as ‘wife’ multiple times. Has the hero name of 'Valentine'.)

Listening to: 'Skyfall' By Adele - "I know I'd never be me without the security of your loving arms keeping me from harm."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress, - 

Jason’s funeral was attended by a very small number of people. Yourself, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred all front and center. 

For days, weeks, the media pestered asking question after question. “A tragic accident.” Commissioner Gordon would reply. It became you answer too, like a well-rehearsed prayer. 

A tragic accident. Tragic. Accidental tragedy. Accident. 

Except it was no such accident. Someone killed Jason. A man, who still walked free, murdered your son. 

Even now, a month after you buried the child, as you sat listening to rain pat against the window panes in Wayne Manor, you remembered what you’d told Bruce the night he brought Jason home for the last time. 

“I’m going to kill him.” you said. “I’m going to kill the Joker.” You told Bruce you’d do what you’d vowed to never do again. You promised yourself to avenge your son, to make sure no one else would ever lose a child to that monster ever again. 

Ever since that night you’d felt a wedge slide between you and Bruce. Dick, only sixteen and having lost the closest thing he had to a brother was feeling it - you could see it on his face, and they way he held his shoulders at dinner. How you were feeling, how little Bruce was doing about it - none of it was doing Dick any good. 

Aside from the anger, you didn’t know how you were feeling. You never thought you’d ever be a mother - you had no idea what to do to help anyone. So you left. 

Bruce was out on patrol - he dove into Batman head first, a bitter feeling in your stomach had you thinking he was compensating. Dick was out - gymnastic practice, which Alfred was in charge of tonight. You were left alone in a huge house, and you couldn’t stand to stay there any longer. 

A small bag was packed with basics - clothes, cash, a few weapons from the cave, and a single family photo taken while on vacation just that past summer (stolen from its frame and folded into a jacket pocket close to your heart). As you walked past the main living space, you stopped, and looked up towards the item hanging above the fireplace. 

The sword - Excalibur - a god-given gift to humankind to exact true justice, now resting as a collectors antique catching dust. You knew if you took it that you would be able to do what you needed to. During your time using it there was no greater pull than to execute Joker - yet something always stopped you. 

You knew it was Bruce. 

Even already, your own guilt over what you meant to do wouldn’t let you take it with you. 

Naturally, on that night, Alfred brought Dick was home first. It was already nine thirty, and while Dick would be up for a long while, he knew the boy wasn’t sleeping proper anymore. 

Alfred sent him up to his room anyway, reassuringly with a hand on his shoulder, telling him to go try and get some rest. 

But Alfred knew something wasn’t right in the Manor the moment he stepped inside. It was too quiet. Like it had been empty as long as they’d been away - even though he knew full well you should’ve been there to keep the house alive. 

Although not trained, the butler had a sixth sense for a lot of things - he was a natural at whatever he sent his mind to (in his youth it was acting, and hence so seeing through lies and reading rooms (for improvisation, obviously) went with it). He set out to find you. Looked in all the usual places, and the unusual ones, in the big rooms and the small ones. 

In the last week or so you’d taken to spending time sitting in the walk-in-fridge. He worried about you a lot. While Dick still had school and his friends, and Bruce threw himself into Batman, you only really had yourself. It wasn’t healthy. 

But no matter how much he looked, or where he looked, you were nowhere to be found - not in the house, nor in the grounds. You’d said nothing about going out when he left, he would’ve remembered. In a last ditch effort to find you, he looked in one last place. 

But you hadn’t been in the Batcave since Jason came home. 

It was there, as he walked down a set of stairs, that he noticed a piece of paper haphazardly taped to one of the center computer monitors. 

He grabbed it, and flipped it open, reading quietly to himself the words inside, scrawled in your handwriting. 

‘Bruce, Don’t look, you know I won’t let you find me. I’m going to do something you will hate me for - probably forever. I can’t keep living like this knowing Jason’s killer is out there killing more mother’s sons. Take care of Dickie. Don’t take Alfred for granted.’

The older man found himself sinking into the chair beside him.

He had a hunch this was coming - he wasn’t in the cave the night Bruce brought Jason home, instead at the time he was upstairs taking a call from an excited Dick who was recalling his day spent doing a treasure hunt around Blüdhaven for a school camp trip that lasted the whole week. Alfred had no idea how you first reacted - he didn’t know how Bruce reacted to your reaction. 

He knew it wasn’t good. Especially since in your note you didn’t even say goodbye to your husband. 

You’d been hiding in a place you knew Bruce wouldn’t ever look - he always hated visiting Metropolis, the city was too bright.  

You knew no one there would snitch on you - most didn’t even recognize you, and the one person who did, conveniently the man who was the closest thing Bruce had to a best friend, wouldn’t ever snitch on you. Not for this. 

‘I needed a break,’ you’d lied, ‘Couldn’t handle being in Gotham after…’ You never finished, and you knew Clark could see through a lie like glass - but the grief he could see. He could also see the anger simmering underneath. He never called you out for it though. 

You’d been there a while, waiting, watching Gotham from a distance Bruce wouldn’t see you from. You kept tabs mostly on Batman - although interviews with Bruce having to explain where his wife went were entertaining (in a sick, satisfying way). Sometimes you were sick, others you were out of town, most times you ‘weren’t feeling up to it’ - the latter two would be closest to the truth, not that he’d know that. 

You often looked fondly at whatever information came though about Dick - he took out the gymnastics first place for his age bracket in the Gotham state. The picture made your heart ache - his smile was wide and toothy, but even though your printed newspaper you could tell it wasn’t reaching his eyes. 

Who you were watching most, though, was the Joker. You combed through old reports and new ones. Even called up Harley Quinn a few times, just to get a perspective on him from someone who was - at one point - much closer to him. She asked you why you wanted to know. 

“I need to know.” 

“O-kay. And where exactly have you been Val?” she’d said, voice crackling down the hotel landline, “You ain’t locking yourself up in that Mansion are ya?” 

“No. I’m not in Gotham right now.” 

“So what’s even the Joker to ya if you ain’t even here huh?” 

“When I come back,” you said, “I’m going to kill him.” 

You became a Joker expert in almost one night.

You got a late night visitor less than a week after that phone call. Clad in red and blue, with a gaudy cape and that stupid ringlet you and Bruce would always bitch about on late nights under bed covers. 

You were a little happy to see Clark - you actually had nothing against him, it was all just in jest (or solidarity because Bruce was your husband). He was let in pretty quickly. Mostly to avoid questions from the nosey couple who’d been staying in the room next to yours for the past three days. 

He stood around awkwardly while you watched him from the seat next to the room’s microwave, posture screaming Clark Kent, journalist, even though he looked like Superman, world-know superhero. 

“I’m, uh -” he started after you stared at him hard, wordlessly willing him to speak, “- I’m worried. I think you should go back to Gotham soon. To Bruce, specifically.” 

“And why’s that?” He looked at you like you’d just said you had Kryptonite in your pocket. 

“Because you’re in trouble.” 

“I’m here in Metropolis, I’m with you right now, I couldn’t be in less trouble if I tried.” 

“You know I have super hearing.” he said sheepishly. It was like he was telling his Ma he ran over her peonies with a bicycle. You put two and two together quickly though. 

“You’ve been spying on me?” 

“For me!” He said, stepping back with his palms towards the sky, “I feel better about not telling Bruce if I know what’s going on with you.” 

“And so what part of your spying brought you here tonight?” Both your arms and legs crossed, you could tell from his face he didn't mean for you to get so offensive so quickly. 

“You were talking to Harley Quinn?” 

“Oh that,” you scoffed with a wave of your hand, “Even Bruce does that. She’s not so bad. Taught me how to roller-skate you know.” 

“About the Joker?” 

“That happens often when my husband is being a pain in my ass,” you said, “Reminds me he could be much, much worse.” Clark motioned his head - ‘fair’, but then he returned serious once more. This time it wasn’t a question. 

“You said you were going to kill him.” 

You knew he couldn’t read your mind, but he could hear how your heartbeat picked up. He had to know you knew you’d been caught. He sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for your answer in the most approachable way he knew in that moment. 

“I’d be doing everyone a favor.” 

“Bruce - I don’t know what he’d do. He could hate you.” 

“I’m sure he hates me right now anyway.” 

“You can’t believe that,” Clark said, looking up at you with blue eyes that almost looked like Bruce’s. “You don’t really believe he hates you right now?” You took a great interest in the patterned carpet. Clark said your name, and you reluctantly looked back at him. 

“He misses you.” 

“I miss my son.” You bit back at him bitterly. His face remained hard. This was suddenly no longer Clark. You were talking to Superman now. 

“I’m not sure how to say this kindly,” Clark said with a firm voice, “But you’re so focused on the child you lost that you’re abandoning the one that’s still here. Bruce misses you, but Dick misses you even more. He doesn’t need to lose another Mom.” 

His stare was hard, stubborn - he wasn’t going to let up. Your stare was hard too - sour and angry, not because you didn't believe him, but because you knew how right he was. 

“I think you can leave now.”

Two weeks later, after a late night grocery run that consisted mostly of chicken noodle cups and instant coffee, you found a lump of black sitting in the dark with its back against the door of your room. 

Clark told Bruce. 

He didn’t seem to notice your approach, but once you stood toe-to-toe with his polished Oxford shoes, you kicked his leg. 

“Get up.” 

His head of messy hair lifted, and when his brain fully processed you - his wife, finally! - standing before him, he almost jumped to his feet. Uncharacteristic of him outside his prior - and now ditched - playboy persona. 

He breathed your name, stepping forward with hands outstretched as if to hug you. You took a step back. Clark, apparently hadn’t told him everything - if he had, he was taking it very, very well. 

“Where’s Dick?” 

“With Alfred,” he said, hands falling to his sides again after you hummed in acknowledgment. You both stood in silence for a while, before you gestured to a door with a full hand. He got the hint, stepping away, then taking the bags away from one hand as you fumbled for your keys. 

The quiet continued as you let yourselves in, you sat the shopping on the bench, and he made himself at home at the table near the door. You sat back down in the microwave chair, the furthest place from him you could be while still staying in the room. 

“Been keeping busy, Bruce?” you asked, he turned to fully face you in his seat. 

“Not really,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you. Never thought you’d be here,” You almost smiled, thinking about how right you were for coming here. Almost. 

“Heard you went to Saudi Arabia while I’ve been gone.” 

“It was nothing. Really.” 

“You couldn’t have been looking too hard if you were able to take a ‘nothing, really’ trip to the Arabian Mountains.” 

“I’m not here to fight with you,” Bruce said, resting a palm on his knee, “I’m here to ask you to come home. We all miss you.” his last words came out very quietly. “It’s been months. Nothings going to get easier if you stay away.” 

“Are you listening to yourself?” you said with a soft scoff, “He who literally spent every single night after Jason died away from home. He who spends every moment he can down in a dark damp cave rather than with his family - I don’t think you get to tell me where I should be.” You felt tears well in your eyes - hot and fat if they fell, but you willed yourself not to let them. Bruce’s shoulders softened, and he stood and walked closer slowly, coming to kneel before you with his fingers just touching yours. 

“We both haven’t been doing well, have we?” his head shook and his voice was barely audible. It was like he was speaking to himself. His admission - finally, his own pride and stubbornness aside, and it made yours disappear like dust in the wind. 

“You need to see my bathroom,” you said. His head cocked, a sly smile twitched onto his lips. 

“Oh?” he said, “And what might I find there?” But you weren’t smiling. You were trying to be honest.

“Just go look.” you said, turning away from him, bringing your hand away. Telling him with your actions that you weren’t going to be talking until he did. 

He stood, opening the bathroom door behind you and flicking on the light. You could feel how still he was. Taking in the room, and what was inside it. 

All across the mirror and walls were taped up newspaper clippings and photos and articles printed off from the library, old and new, a few of him - Batman - but most of the Joker. Beside the toilet was a case - one he knew would hold parts of a rifle (parts he'd seen you pull apart and put back together in a minute flat) - and across the sink were knives and gun magazines. 

Bruce stepped off the carpet and onto the tile. There was a little list in the center of the mirror, written in red and with the last line underlined.

‘Kill the Joker’. 

When he returned to you, he was holding the list in one hand. 

“When were you planning on doing this?” he asked. You weren’t able to meet his eyes when you answered. 

“Whenever I go back to Gotham.” His body went rigid beside you. Audibly, he let out a breath.

“I’ve thought about it too. Just getting rid of him like that.” he admitted, voice quiet and with a rough edge, “But I know it won’t help. It won’t bring him back.” 

“This isn’t about bringing him back. If I knew it could bring Jason back I’d have done it weeks ago.” You looked up at Bruce as you spoke, watching as his face crinkled in disbelief. 

“You’re so serious about this.” 

“How could you still think I’m not serious?” you said, standing to help convince yourself you weren’t as unsure as you felt. “I will do it. A time will come when that monster dies - wherever it is I will be standing by watching.” 

He watched you. Analyzing your face and the way your eyes moved. His face set like stone, hard and sure and you knew he was much more upset now having found out than what he was when you were missing. He took a step back. 

Bruce was moving towards the door. 

“I won’t stop you. I couldn’t bear to.” he turned, hand on the door handle, “But Batman still will.”

As far as you knew, you’d made it back into Gotham City undetected. 

You knew the route’s Bruce - no - Batman, took while out on patrol. You knew the surveillance he constantly would check. You knew because for years you’d helped him do it all. 

Thankfully, you had a not-so-little little helper - Joker assassination aside, Harley was more than happy to put you up for a while. After you’d killed Joker you’d planned to turn tail and leave again - maybe hide someplace in Australia where no one barely goes. It wasn’t like you had to put up with her long anyway. 

Harley was great, but you’d have to love her a whole lot to live with her longer than a week. But you weren’t planning to stay that long. 

You’d tracked Joker to an apartment complex near Arkham - you knew he wouldn’t stay there forever, so you needed to act fast. 

Your weapons of choice were clean and ready to go, your escape routes A through to D were memorized, a hood and bandana combo were acquired to hide your identity long enough for no one around to know it was you. By all means and definitions you were ready to go. 

You left Harley’s place wordlessly. You were sure she didn’t even know you left. 

A cloak and the shadows of night concealed you from most passersby. Slowly, slowly you stalked towards where you knew the Joker to be. When you climbed the fire escape to find your vantage point, you almost didn’t make it all the way there because you saw Him. 

Sitting, lounging. Acting like there was not a single thing in the world to worry about. It made you so angry you could scream, claw your eyes out, you could do so many things all because that man couldn’t care less about your son dying. 

In fact, you didn’t make it to your original vantage point. 

You settled right there, three levels lower than planned, and took the rifle off your shoulder. Clipping on the scope, twisting the silencer on, packing the magazine in. Settled your body into a comfortable position, then raised the gun to look at your target through the scope. 

With greasy green hair and yellow teeth, you watched him smile through the crosshairs. With a sneer you flicked the safety off. You were ready to take the shot.

A flash of red, green and yellow came in front of the Joker. You frowned, confused. Pulling the scope back you looked again with a wider range and saw something that made your heart drop. Someone was tied up and presented to him like a present. 

The Joker had Robin. 

Your Robin. Your son. Your Dick Grayson. 

Suddenly this was more than just a chance to avenge Jason. A switch flicked inside your heart. This wasn’t a chance to avenge Jason anymore; this was you, saving the son you had left. This was you not giving that monster the chance to keep you in black. 

The lethal rifle was ditched right there on the fire escape, not caring if a lowlife found it before you could return. The knives you’d stashed - ‘just in case’ - were now your swords. Their piercing blades becoming the only thing shielding those who stood in your way a feral beating from bare fists. 

No one was standing in your way of taking Dick home safely. 

Your veins pumped white hot, you saw red all over. This was not going to happen a second time. It wasn’t ever going to happen again. 

A goon at the door stood in your way, he was met with a knee to the crotch and a wound to his shoulder to keep him down. More on the stairs were thrown over bannisters. One had his head smashed into the doorway of the Joker’s apartment. Another was given a hard elbow to the back of his neck. 

You weren’t aiming to kill - you were aiming to get them out of your way, and keep them that way. 

When you reached the room which window you saw through, there were only four other people aside from yourself, your son, and that murdering bastard. They all stayed quiet, goons waiting on a call to action from their boss. You missed the way Dick’s eyes widened as he realised his Mom was here. You were busy staring down the Joker, trying to make him feel just how much pure hate you had for him without a single word. 

“Give me Robin,” you said, voice low, venomous. Dangerous. 

“Well if you want him so bad, and since you asked nicely,” His smile spread wide and uncanny. “Come and get him.” 

So you did. 

Like a blur of back and blue, you had all four men either out cold or groaning on the floor. The Joker himself was under your kneeling form with his teeth now stained red and an eyes swollen shut. 

“Listen well because I’ll only say it once.” You said, your hand a rough fist in his hair to make sure he looked into your eyes and saw exactly how much of a threat your promise was. 

“I spared your life today. I will never do it again. I am not the Batman. The next time I find you trying to pull something with one of my Robin’s and you see me coming you'd better run the other way because I will kill you.”

After untying Dick, retrieving your abandoned gear, and throwing Joker into Arkham, you reconvened with Dick on a nearby rooftop. 

You barely stood upright on two legs before he barreled into you, arms thrown around your waist with his face squished right into your collarbone. He’d grown taller in the time you’d been away. You felt tears fall as your arms wrapped around him in kind. 

“I’ve missed you Mom.” he mumbled into your shirt, “Please don’t go away again. Please.” 

A hand raised to the back of his head as you pressed your covered nose into his hair. You took a deep breath with your eyes closed, then opened them, peeling you both apart just enough to take in each other's faces. Even with his mask on you could see how much he was pleading with you to stay.

You brushed his hair away from his face - he needed a haircut soon. 

You wanted to stay, you never wanted to leave him ever again, not after tonight. But would Bruce let you? 

Out the corner of your eye you saw a black drop fall onto the rooftop a little ways off. Batman. He stood, tall and intimidating. In that moment you had half a mind to take a step back even though he made no move closer to you. 

Instead you just held Dick a little tighter. 

Bruce's hand reached out to you, palm open, outstretched, and empty. Waiting for you to take it. 

“I think we can go home now.” he said, “We all can.” Like that, Batman disappeared. Bruce was here. You guessed he bluffed - when it came to you Bruce was always there. 

Things were not going to go back to normal. They weren’t for a while. But the best thing you could do was stay together, all together. As a family. 

Nothing was going to push that away from you again. 

- And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;

[lightpeak]

a totally original shower thoughts video - script

I have a personal vendetta against the number 7. It’s the oddest of the odd single digit numbers. It’s just… there. That, and it’s the only single digit number, other than zero, with two syllables. I remember as a kid, hating it when a number was something like seven hundred, seven thousand, seventeen. It just felt crowded. But I suppose it’s a hopeless endeavor to hate it. It’s not like I can change it.

But what about hopeless? I think it’s the most despicable word in the English language.

Not because of some arbitrary linguistic property. But because of what it means, and the fact that humanity has deemed it necessary to express its meaning. That suffering perpetrates life in such a way to extinguish, however temporarily, a person’s hope. 

What about the obviously dumb words? Like how we park on driveways, and drive on parkways. Shipments are carried in trucks or cars, but cargo is carried on ships. 

Or what about discombobulate? Well actually, that one makes sense. It means to stun or confuse, and I pretty much always feel that way when faced with that word.

And then there’s taradiddle. This more or less means that something’s pretentious. Does that mean that my entire personality is taradiddlous? Taradiddleful? Taradiddliousious?

Have you ever looked out your window in the morning and seen canines and felines plummeting from the heavens? No? Then why is “it’s raining cats and dogs” a phrase? And what about buckets, and striking them with our feet, makes us think of death? And is breaking your leg not the worst case scenario during a performance? Why do we wish that upon others?

English is a giant… joke. 

Speaking of falling animals, why do we say we are falling in love? What about a growing fondness for someone, makes us think of helplessly succumbing to gravity? Maybe it’s something to do with the duality of falling. How, thanks to relativity, falling is indistinguishable from floating, other than the air rushing past you. 

This is because gravity is not a force within the universe, but a distortion of the universe itself. All lines are straight lines, except where gravity bends the space those lines occupy. This is also due to how acceleration works, and how movement is irrelevant without a reference frame. Long story short, we say we’re falling in love, because we also feel like we’re floating. We feel free. Yet we’re reminded of how helpless we are in the things we can’t control. Love is not a thought. It’s not something you have conscious control of. You will love, whether you like it or not.

Gravity is all fine and dandy, until someone wants to get off the planet. That someone being a selfish billionaire whose only goal is self preservation and destroying twitter. But I digress. It’s so interesting, how there are so many jobs, whose workers hope for the worst. Phone companies love it when you break your phone. Or when its ability to function correctly suddenly drops, due to no fault of the manufacturer. Or how cops want people to commit crimes to fill their quotas. Mostly people who are already in desperate situations, totally not systemically by design. Mechanics want your car to have problems, so they can charge you extra for repairs you didn’t even know you needed. 

Going back to that billionaire that ruined twitter, he wants to install chips in people’s heads. Supposedly, to allow people to use technology just by thinking about it. Which I guess is cool. Except when you realize that we already have brain to technology interfaces. They’re called our hands, using keyboards, or controllers, or touchscreens. I swear he’s like a League Of Legends player, trying to get his input lag down to zero. 

Speaking of video games, some games can be kind of like therapy for people. Just a way to escape the world, or be a cuddly wholesome environment to make your own. Others, however, might make you need therapy, with how dark and gritty their worlds are. All forms of media can inform us of who we are and what we care about. Others are just fun, and you shouldn’t really think much more about it.

Some may say that getting entrenched in a story can be meaningless. You’re just wasting your time in a fantasy land you’ll never visit. But they forget that these worlds are inspired by our own. Or are idealistic versions of the world we inhabit. Maybe it’s not so bad to hope for our world to look a little more like the one on the screen or between the pages. I don’t think it’s ever a bad thing to hope.

Now if someone can make a world where the number 7 doesn’t exist, you’ll know where to find me.

[saltwatersweets]

hope its okay to share my opinion on finale too all good if not. I really liked it for the most part, its just I think there were points where it made c!tommys need to target c!dream come out of nowhere when c!dream should know why c!tommy would attack him giving the chase seen after prison break, and the talk he had with c!tommy after doomsday about how their story would never be over. It was a surprise to me seeing c!dream so shocked to see c!tommy there after what he put into c!tommys head and I say that as a c!dream and c!tommy apologist. Another thing was c!dream talks about how they could have been friends and how there was destruction but there were moments in the past where c!tommy saw c!dream as a friend but c!dream referred to that as business, and there were moments were c!dream caused destruction and chaos before c!tommy had. I can understand why the ccs wouldn't remember every single detail of the dsmp though and since lore wise c!dream went through a year of being tortured, his memory probably isn't the best and he focuses more on the big picture than little things like Im mentioning. I've watched the finale in full many times now, I still don't understand the reset plan that c!staged duo had but Ig the point was that they didn't get it either. They wanted to kill everyone and revive but also didn't want to disrupt the balance but it was different to what they said in the stream before it, I feel like c!tommy was too sympathetic because in response to pitying c!dream, c!dream tells him he deserved torture which does frame it in an odd way to me even though it was in character.. that and exile being mocked. I love that the finale showed that violence wasn't the answer and didn't repeat things but sometimes it did feel very lobsided on who was sympathizing for who, and who was blamed the most when the intention was trying to write it as equal for both sides. The reset and nuke itself imo was fine because in s2, the characters were going to regain their memories eventually anyway but it sucks we never got to see that.

(/dsmp /rp) i unfortunately can't really give a good answer to this because honestly i'm still kinda looking into it myself, and i don't really consider myself the expert analyst on either character despite my love for both of them </3 so take this all with a grain of salt !!

my thoughts on why c!dream was so annoyed at c!tommy seeking him out to kill him likely was mainly because c!dream hadn't seeked c!tommy out for a while at that point, to be fair. i view what he said to c!tommy after doomsday as trying to intimidate him again. a lot of how c!dream behaves around c!tommy (especially after exile) is intimidation and exaggerating his "evilness", like him saying that he did doomsday because c!tommy is "fun" or a lot of staged disc finale like what he tells c!sam. so even though c!tommy has good reason to believe dream is intimidating him, a lot of it is just that: intimidation.

to me, the reason why c!dream does this is to keep c!tommy in line, because from what he's seen c!tommy continues to annoy him but less so when he's scared of him. and, like cc!dream said, to make. him believe that c!dream was his only friend and all. i think this goes into c!tommy saying he saw c!dream as a friend but c!dream didn't - i think this is just the truth; during exile c!dream was trying to get c!tommy to view him as a friend, but i highly doubt that c!dream viewed him as a friend, ykwim? when he says that they could have been friends, i think he's referring to EARLY early dream smp when tommy was going around causing problems. i think he views c!tommy joining as the root cause of all his problems on the server (and c!tommy views c!dream's Everything as the cause of all HIS problems. they both have a very negative view on each other, and this view is both founded at times and unfounded in others!!)

as for c!dream saying c!tommy "deserved" torture, i'm super interested by this line!! to me, c!dream isn't like, say, c!sam or c!quackity who i believe base the people they hurt on if they "deserve" it or not (like dream himself in the prison; the two both seemingly wholeheartedly believe he deserved what he got). for example, c!dream doesn't kill c!vikk and c!lazar because they "deserve" to die, he kills them because they're useful towards his goals.

on that note c!dream and "deserved" pain is very interesting to me - he tells c!sam he didn't deserve to be tortured, and that he hates him for letting him be tortured, but in basically the same conversation says he understands c!sam letting him be tortured, says he understood the risks when he got the revive book, and says he might have done the same thing in his position. bro literally rationalises his own torture to the person who let it happen </3 he also asks c!sam if c!quackity deserves torture and even threatens to torture him in an act of revenge (something he doesn't end up doing or even attempts to do for over HALF A YEAR, despite how much he clearly hates c!quackity). i think its entirely possible that part of him genuinely believes c!tommy deserved his treatment in exile, but it is important for me to say that i don't believe he treated him cruelly BECAUSE he believed c!tommy "deserved" it.

as for c!dream calling exile torture yet also minimising it, again this is SO interesting to me because in my opinion, i don't view exile as torture. it was awful and cruel, yes, but not torture, and c!dream, who was tortured for at least two months, calling it torture is veryyy interesting to me. torture is something that's terrible for anyone, no matter who it happens - it would be just as bad for c!dream to be tortured as c!sapnap, or c!quackity, or anyone, because torture is terrible for anyone. meanwhile, what happened in exile was a much more personal form of manipulation that was more specific to c!tommy. if, say, c!purpled was exiled and got the same treatment that c!tommy got in exile, i don't think he would be NEARLY as affected by it, because exile's events were more specific to c!tommy who views his loved ones in a much different way than c!purpled does.

this post isn't even me answering anything anymore this is just me dumping my own thoughts LMAO 😭 c!dream, canonically physically tortured, calling what he did to c!tommy torture is just so interesting to me. just shedding some light on how i view their dynamic and thought processes i suppose!!

(and as for c!dream's and c!punz's plans to reset the world i genuinely have no idea what the actual plan was there LMFAO. and also with basically everything i said above: it is somewhat important to note that c!dream had lowkey been high on copium for like. two years straight at that point 💀 bro has been in a mental spiral for a WHILE and c!punz, bless him for being the only one still loyal to him, is his number one enabler. a lot of what he says isn't going to make complete sense at times; a lot of what he says isn't what he completely believes, and he often threatens to do things he doesn't do. to me both he and c!tommy are really similar like that: they both say things and try to make themselves "bigger", at least somewhat as a defense mechanism.)

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x reader // ch 5

summary: You tumble a Grisha in more ways than one ;)

warnings: violence, fighting, cursing, SMUT, fingering, masturbation??, praise kink, not proofread. 

A/N: this is all over the place, forgive me y'all </3

WHEN you awoke the next morning, you found a single glass of water placed on your night stand. Your head pounded as you tried to recall the blurred events from the previous night. All you remembered was catching up with Alina and then finally leaving her room. From there it was as if everything had muddled together to form a single incoherent memory. The sun had just begun to peak through your window.

While you were away last night, a servant must have stocked up your closet with clean clothes. They had mainly been a few soldiers' uniforms and some new nightgowns. Along with a few robes, each one as soft as a rabbit's fur. The gold kefta still remained in the dresser, collecting dust.

You changed out of your dirty clothes that you had slept in, and placed them in a neatly folded pile on the corner of your bed. After throwing on a clean uniform and putting your hair into a low bun, you rang for a servant. You asked her to bring breakfast to you. It seemed like there was no use in eating with the other Grisha. Where would you have sat? You weren’t a Corporalki, Etherealki, nor a Materialki. You certainly weren’t the Darkling either. There would be no place for you if you’d chosen to eat there with Alina.

Soon enough, a light knock echoed on the wooden door. “Come in!” You said, and the servant strolled in with a cart. She placed down a golden tray in front of you. You were served sweet pea porridge and fresh figs with a tall glass of water. You thanked the servant before she dismissed herself, leaving you to your food. There was another covering that laid on the tray, no plate under it. As you shoveled another spoonful of the porridge into your mouth, you took off the covering. Under the dome laid your weapons, cleaned of the dirt and blood that caked them. You placed your weapons back onto their respective places: a pistol and dagger at your hips, a knife securely tucked into your boot, and the last knife hidden away in your sleeve.

Just as you finished your food, another knock resonated in your uncomfortably quiet room. You beckoned them to come in. A Grisha with a red kefta came in, the black stitching signifying that he was a heartrender. You gave him a polite smile as he stepped in.

“Hello. I am Fedyor. I am to escort you to the training grounds today.” He explained.

“Oh no, it’s alright. I don’t need an escort. I know my way around the palace, thank you though.” You assured him. Sitting on the corner of your bed, you put on your boots. You were surprised to find them in the normal place you had put them, at the foot of your bed, near the very corner. It was a habit you had since you were a child. Every other orphan at Keramzin always placed their boots either to the left or right of their beds. It was understandably easier than leaving your boots where you normally had, yet you couldn’t shake the habit.

“The General himself required me to accompany you. As you must know, I cannot obey the General’s orders.” He stated. After lacing up your boots, you made your way to the tray your breakfast was on. You put the small plate that once housed the figs into the empty bowl of the porridge you were served. Picking up the tray, you began to walk towards the circular table near the door and left the tray there so it’d be easier for the servant to clean.

You turned to him, arms crossed on your chest as you sighed, “Fine.” You examined the new jacket you were issued, it wasn’t the same as the frayed one you were used to. The hem of your sleeves were intact, unlike your old one when you had picked apart the stitching when you were nervous. The only thing that you were particularly happy about was the fur lining. Yours had matted from being used so much and slept on.

“You know, it’s quite odd that you’re staying in the General's hall.” You let out a hm, questioning what he meant by that. “Usually guests stay in the guest hall. The General never permits for anyone to stay in his. He’s the only person allowed to sleep in this specific hall.” He whispered as we walked past a group of Materialki. They were huddled amongst themselves, whispering and giggling as they made their way to their training rooms.

“Maybe it’s because I’m Alina’s friend? Perhaps he feels like he needs to watch over me himself since he has also taken her under his watch.” You said. You took a deep breath of the crisp winter air as the two of you stepped outside.

“Perhaps. But why is Alina staying in the vezda suite? Wouldn’t it make sense for her to be staying in the General’s hall as well?” Fedyor did make a good point, if Alina was the most important Grisha of all, why wasn’t she across the hallway from the Darkling?

“It truly is a mystery I suppose. But if I were you, I wouldn’t question his choices.” You teased. You thought you might’ve offended him until he lets out a short laugh.

“Saints know what he would do if I had.” He replied, making you giggle. Your laughter died as you arrived at Botkin’s training area. Grisha alike had already been paired up and were sparring. Alina had been paired up with a girl she had mentioned last night, you couldn’t remember her name. Madia? No that wasn’t it. Narie? It wasn’t that one either. Noticing a late arrival, Botkin walked up to you.

“Botkin has never seen little girl before.” You tried to suppress the surprise you felt when you heard him refer to himself in third person. “Who is she?” He asked Fedyor. By now some people had stopped training to hear the conversation. You noticed Alina was still sparring with her friend, unaware of your arrival.

“She’s here as Alina’s guest.” At the mention of her name, the girl stopped fighting. Finally taking notice of your figure, she let out a surprised gasp.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she came closer.

“Training. If I’m going to stay at the palace I don’t want to rot away and do nothing.” You said, rolling your shoulders to loosen up your muscles.

“First Army girl wants to train with Botkin.” His voice, although baritone and guttural, brought a strange comfort to you. “Choose your opponent.” You surveyed the crowd, looking for someone who could pose a possible challenge. Your eyes landed on a tan skinned girl with raven black hair, bangs framing her face perfectly. Her black eyes stared into yours, challenging you.

“Her.” You stated while nodding your head towards her. Botkin weaved his head in the direction you had nodded off to.

“Ah, star pupil, Zoya!” So this was Zoya, the girl who told Alina that she reeked of Keramzin. “I have trained her since she was ten.” The raven haired girl offered you a way out, which you immediately declined.

“Fighters ready?” You put your fist up, getting into stance. “And..Fight!” You waited for Zoya to come to you first. She walked up to you, her fists hung up. You circled each other, playing the waiting game. You were about to make a move when you saw Zoya moving her right fist towards your face. You ducked left, managing to move in time to avoid the punch. With her back still to you, you jammed your elbow into her side making her hunch over.

She came at you again, this time with more veracity and anger behind each swing. Except she didn’t land a single blow. You were able to avoid each one as you let out a giggle, staggering a few steps back.

“Is that all you’ve got, star pupil?” Your comment only seemed to spur her on more. She ran at you in full force, this time you let her land a hit on you for the fun of it. What you didn’t expect was for her to punch you so hard that she drew blood. You sniffled feeling a drop of blood come from your nose. You began your attack with a right hook followed by a left one. In return she used her arms to block each time, leaving her abdomen vulnerable.

You were able to land a hard blow or two before you found yourself briefly soaring through the air, your back meeting the hard wall that was originally ten paces behind you. You let out a wheeze as you feel one of your ribs break.

Botkin had begun to reprimand Zoya, looking at her you could feel her shame as she upset her mentor. You couldn’t help but smirk as she looked at you, at least now she knows how someone from Keramzin fights. Her gaze hardened, about to walk up to you once more before she was taken away by some guards.

“Oh my Saints, now the General is really going to have my head.” Fedyor said in a panic. He helped you stand as he called for a healer.

“I’m quite alright.” You ensured, but the wince in your face gave you away. Alina came running up to you, giving you a once over before taking you from Fedyor and into her embrace.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that.” She whispered into your ear. “It’s too dangerous for you.” She made a movement to grab one of your cold hands, giving it a squeeze.

“Everything’s a risk for me, Alina. The Doctor made that clear.” When you were younger, you were diagnosed with a heart condition. It was nothing serious really, and only acted up once in a blue moon. The tugging and squeezing feeling only lasted for seconds, but the pain left you feeling unstable for hours after. “The risk is always worth it.”

“But what if one day its not?” She pulled away from you, resting her hands on your shoulders. “The Doctor himself said there was no cure for this, no remedy that could help.”

“It’s worth it if it means protecting our honor.” You replied honestly.

“I don’t need you to protect our honor.” She protested. “I need you to protect yourself. Even if that means backing down from a fight.” You remained silent as a healer began to work on you. Starting first with your broken ribs then moving onto your bloody nose. After a few minutes of sitting still, the healer finally told you that you could leave.

Alina and Fedyor accompanied you back to your room. “What do you think will happen to her?” You asked. Alina shrugged her shoulders as the heartrender went to respond.

“She will probably get reprimanded by the General too. Zoya knows not to use her powers while training. Respectfully, especially not against someone who isn’t Grisha.” He commented.

You must’ve really gotten under her skin then if she went against all those years of training and discipline. “Good. She needs to know her place.” You snarked. “Now I’d like to get some rest.” You glanced at Alina, her gaze unwavering. “Alone, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be fine. If I need help I can always call for the General.” You replied, placing your cold hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. With great reluctance, she nodded her head. Fedyor and her leaving to return to combat training.

As you close the door, you feel your resolve break. Wincing as the pain and exhaustion came back. As you grew up, your condition continued to tire you. You couldn’t fight nor run the same way you could two years ago. At this rate, you’d probably be dead in the next two years because of your heart condition. That was if the war didn’t kill you first.

The sun was nowhere near close to setting. You still had most of the day to kill yet you didn’t know what to do. You thought back to one of the places the Darkling had shown you, perhaps you could go to the library. Gathering whatever strength you had left, you returned to the calm and composed front you had always put on.

The walk there had been time consuming, nauseating even. But you were determined to snatch a book or two to read while you were cooped up in your room. The library of the Little Palace was grand, filled from floor to ceiling with various books. If you ever had the chance to visit the Grand Palace, their library would definitely be on a list of places of visit.

You ran your finger along the spines of the books as you walked through the shelves. There were two things that you loved most in your life: the feeling of the sun on your skin and the smell of books. Strangely enough, the smell of the books had reminded you of Keramzin in a way. Probably because you spent most of your childhood with your nose shoved into a book. Collecting two books, you were adamant on getting to your room in time to be able to sit in the sun and read a couple of chapters. All of a sudden the smell of incense and mildew had taken over your sense of smell.

“My Saints, where is that smell coming from..” You whispered to yourself. Unexpectedly you heard a shuffle behind you. Turning around you saw a greasy man in a robe.

“Hello, y/n.” Said the man.

“Do I know you?” You replied cautiously, reaching for the knife you had hidden in your sleeve.

“I am the Apparat, a priest. Advisor to the King.” He stated. Knowing who he was didn’t make you any less tentative, your fingers still gripped the handle of your knife.

“Okay...right. Nice meeting you. I’ll be on my way now.” You said, trying your best to move around him but he stopped you. He latched onto your arm that had been reaching for your knife, effectively rendering your weapons useless.

“Do you remember?” He acquired his answer from the confused look on your face, “Oh, soon you will remember. Everything will face into place.” You ripped your arm out of his rough hands and ran out of the library, never looking back.

When you were finally in your room, you threw the books onto the floor as you rushed to the tub. There hadn’t been any warm water around but you didn’t care. You filled the tub with lukewarm water as you began to strip yourself of your clothes. Skewing them across the floor as you picked up a velvet robe and tossed it on a nearby chair. Stepping in, you grabbed a loofah. Scrubbing yourself clean of the Apparat’s lingering touch. You scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. After dunking your head underwater to wet your hair, you picked up a soap. It smelt of lavender and honey. In the First Army, they had always given you a singular bar of soap to last you a week. Showers came scarce due to the fact that the soap practically diminished once it touched water. Gently lathering the soap in your hands, you cleaned your hair first. The repetitive circular motions of your hands had started to calm you down, almost lulling you to sleep. Quickly finishing off your hair and the rest of your body, you found yourself smelling good for the first time in a while.

Feeling satisfied enough, you let out a sigh, letting yourself relax as you rest your arms on the edge of the tub. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap. You thought. After all, you fought a Grisha without the use of your weapons and came out somewhat victorious. You let your hair dangle outside of the tub to dry as you close your eyes, sleep taking over you.

-

“Stop it!” You screamed, you could feel someone splashing cold water at you. Wetting your hair and dress. “Aleksander, stop!” You said while laughing. You could hear him let out a laugh before coming up behind you and taking you into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around your belly as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The stubble from his face tickling you.

“How are you today, my darling?” He whispered into your ear, making you shiver. He began to pepper kisses up and down your neck, making your legs feel like jelly. Your hands flew to his in order to stabilize yourself.

“Good. But it could be better.” You teased, egging him on. One of his hands travels your hips, bunching up the fabric of your skirt to give himself better access. The other hand made its way to your core, ghosting past your eager bundle of nerves.

“Look at you, already so wet for me.” He shoved aside your underwear, plunging two of his fingers into your heat. He paused at the sound of your moan, “Taking my fingers so well.” He set an agonizingly slow pace, let out a few groans himself as he rubbed himself against you. His long fingers search for the spot he knew so well, the one that would make you mewl and fall apart in his embrace. He hits it once, twice, before extracting his fingers from you. He placed his slick covered fingers atop of your dry ones before guiding them back to your wet entrance. You were able to slide in with ease as he guided your movements.

“I can’t..” You breathed out, the feeling of his fingers and yours combined had been too much for you.

“Yes you can.” He purred, tilting your head with his own to get better access to your neck. “You’re almost there, I can feel it.” Just as he said that, he felt you briefly clamp down, signaling you were close. He guides your fingers deeper, nearing your g spot as his other hand lets go of your dress and goes to your clit.  

The action makes you come undone as you moan his name repeatedly, your juices coating both his and your fingers. You let out a whine as he removes his fingers from you, only to place his hand into his mouth, sucking your cum off of him.

“Sweet, as always.” He gently grabs your chin and turns you to face him, his dilated pupils meeting yours. “Here, have a taste of yourself.” His words alone made another wave of heat pool at your core. He grabs your hand before inserting into your mouth. You wrap your lips around your fingers, staring into his slate gray eyes all the while. After lapping up your juices, you release your fingers with a pop!

Even in your dream state you could tell this man looked suspiciously like General Kirigan. They shared the same face structure, their cheekbones rested at the same angle. His eyebrows were as perfectly sculpted as the General’s. Lashes equally as dark and long. The only difference was that the man-- Aleksander, had a near clean shaven face and his hair was grown out to reach his shoulders. The General had a beard and sported a slicked back look. Yet the two looked identical.

Your eyes searched his face, his body, for anything that could tell you anything. You spotted a mole near his right collarbone. Nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt, small but it would have to do. Without thinking, you reach up to grab his face to pull him in for a kiss.

“My Aleksander.”

-

YOUR doors opened with a bang, startling you from your sleep. The person entered without even knocking, alerting you to three possibilities: someone had broken in and now was here to kill you, you were being kidnapped, or the Darkling was here to brutally murder you. You let the first two options leave your mind, knowing how well guarded the Little Palace was. So there was no possibility for an intruder to get so far into the grounds. Yet the third option did little to ease your mind.

Realizing you were still in the tub, you got out. Not wanting anyone to see you naked. Not like it hasn’t happened before. You thought, thinking back to your time at Caryeva. You quickly threw on your robe, haphazardly tying it while you grabbed one of your knives and unsheathed it. You threw the knife just in time, the person emerging from the curtains being nicked by your blade before it landed on the trimming of the bathroom entrance.

“Oh my Saints, I’m so sorry…” The Darkling stared at you, surprise flicking on his features. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was asleep.”

You walked to the side, picking up a towel to clean up his wound. You dipped it into a bucket of clean water, wringing it out afterwards.

“In the bathtub?” You gave him a nod, a blush forming on your cheeks. “Well you certainly sleep wherever you can.” He joked. As you shifted closer to him, you felt that familiar wetness in your thighs. Fuck. You thought, your blush becoming deeper. You’d been so caught up with the idea of someone coming to kill you that you had forgotten about your dream.

“Are you alright?” It should’ve been you who was asking the question since you nicked him after all. He awaited your reply as you gently pressed the towel against the cut.

“I am. Nothing serious happened to me.” You replied, assuming he had heard of the events that had taken place earlier that day. “Are you?” You asked, “I mean, you seemed very alarmed when you barged in.”

“My apologies for that. You just...you weren’t responding to my knocks or my questions. I’d assumed the worst.” He said, struggling to find the words. You didn’t know how to feel, in a way you were glad that he cared for your well being, yet it slightly made your gut lurch. You’d been here for less than a week and he seemingly cared more for you than Alina. Then again, you didn’t know what the two did behind closed doors. You stopped cleaning his wound, the bleeding had stopped. The two of you remained close, only an arms distance away from each other.

“Why do you care so much? After all, I’m only a guest here at the palace. I’m not a Grisha like you or everyone else here.”

“You're my guest. It’s normal for me to worry about my guests.” He explained. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyebrows furrowing as you listened to him.

“Yes, but..” You paused, “Yesterday I was Alina’s guest. Now today, I am yours. So which is it?”

“Whatever you’d like.” He whispered, taking a step closer to you. His gaze flickering to your lips then back to your eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.” He replied, giving you a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

“Have we met before?” You asked, making the General freeze in his place. His posture goes rigid, you struggle to read the emotion on his face. “.. I could’ve sworn that we…” You doubled over, your left hand clutching your chest as your right hand flew to his shoulder. The pain had never hit you twice in a day. Not even twice in a month.

“Alina..g-get her.” The General called for a servant to fetch her along with a healer. In his panic, he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bed. He laid you upon it as he took your left hand into his. In a haze, your right hand began to wander, weakly pulling at the collar of his shirt. The pain went away as a moment of clarity came over you, General Kirigan had bared the same mole that Aleksander had. As you placed your hand on his face, the pain came rushing back.

Before you allowed yourself to give into the darkness that called you, a tentative whisper left your lips, your eyes searching his.

“A-aleksander?”

-

Mizpah tag: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost@telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard @thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter​ @sarcastic-and-cool​ @poulterfilms​ @spookybooisa​ @stickyknightflowerbailiff​ @hollandsweetie​ @yungkvte​ @evyiione​ @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23​

mizpah taglist closed </3

S.a.B. forever tag: @deceivedeer

[xxxavo]

JUST PROCCUPY

JA'FAR x READER x SPARTOS

Summary: The reader is hired by Al-Thamen to assassinate King Sinbad in Sindria. After disguising herself as a new member of his harem she has Sinbad’s fate set in stone until he offers her an unexpected request;

“There is somebody I’d like you to entertain for me.”

PROLOGUE:

No Conditions and Bad Decisions

It had been quite some time since you were granted access to enter what was commonly referred to as the Fire Pit. Most rooms in Al-Thamen’s Heliohapt branch were hard to gain admission to in the first place, but the Fire Pit was by far the most private of them all.

Placed at the top of the ten-story building, the Fire Pit was guarded by two mages cloaked in red stood on either side of the golden-edged door, which could only be described as a black void, sucking anyone who walked through the entryway into a place of chaos.

You felt like a school girl again, a life you only briefly remember living, sat outside the principal’s office because you’d decided to be a trouble maker. Perched on a simple wooden bench alongside the wall was your designated place to wait until you were called. Neither guard spoke a word to you, nor did you speak to them. There was a mutual agreement that nothing was to be exchanged, not one single word.

Minuets upon minutes ticked by until it felt like hours of just staring up at portraits of unrecognizable faces. One of them in particular intrigued you. It was a picture of a small child, pale and somewhat malnourished with long black hair braided in the most elaborate of ways. He was gaping past the frame.

The child looked almost innocent as if questioning why he was being painted in the first place. It would have been cute, if not for his red eyes and demented grin.

Click.

You’re head swiftly snapped to witness whatever was going on over in your expected destination. Another hooded figure, wearing the usual red attire, poked his head out of the Fire Pit to converse secretly with the other two mages, whispering things you couldn’t quite make out. The way they acted made you question what you were really doing here. Of course, you knew what you were doing here, in Al-Thamen’s Heliohapt branch bordering on the continent of darkness.

A future killer in the marking, you were chosen by Al-Thamen and trained at a tender age along with others, brought to the sand lands to be hidden and stored away until you were needed. Many of your mentors had spoken to you and the other children about missions.

What missions exactly? You weren’t entirely certain, though you had a haunch that if they were teaching you to throw knives and to identify poisons you weren’t exactly going to be working in a kitchen. At least not in the traditional sense.

It had taken blood, sweat, and tears just to survive Al-Thamens courses, others who were not so successful sold to slavery or killed as an example. But, to be quite honest, you had very little experience in the field, almost like they were shielding you . . .

The organization was smart not to let you mingle with the others as children; It meant no connections, no loyalty, no love. Just them and the empty promises they made. If you were being honest, you hated it here, but it was all you knew.

“My Lady.” It was the latter of the three men that addressed you, the two from before still staying silent with their heads down. “The Master shall see you now.” Now that he was looking directly at you, his face could be made out in the dim torchlight. He was an older gentleman, perhaps around fifty, even sixty. His kind smile did little to trick you, his eyes showing the murderous intent that everyone else around these parts carried. With that, he turned and shrunk back into the little gap he came out of, and then suddenly all the motions were put into place.

Clawing their nimble fingers around the golden hinges, the mages heaved the void the rest of the way open, the Fire Pit now exposed to your undeserving eyes. At first, the sheer intensity of the light inside blinded you. It forced you to swing your hands in front of your face, adjusting your irises.

“Enter, my child.” This time, the voice that spoke was different. It was no longer the third man cloaked in red, but a much deeper, strong voice, belonging to who you strongly assumed to be a male. Hands now to your side, you took careful steps into the Fire Pit, taking in all the surroundings. It took on a much different appearance from when you had last seen it all of those years ago.

Back then, you were just a ten-year-old girl told to circle around the cauldron in the centre of the room with the other unfortunate kids. The walls were black marble, the torches, which were a flaming sapphire blue, symmetrically placed on all five white pillars that led towards the lavish purple throne at the back. Everything was the same, except for a few minor details.

Firstly, the floor, sand-grained floor mind you, had a red carpet stretching all the way to the door, under the cauldron, and towards the throne. Secondly, on the walls now hung different scriptures you couldn’t understand a word of, their language unreadable to you. Thirdly, the light from the flames was much stronger, as if a force you’d never quite met before was fuelling their power, casting unforgiving shadows on the golden sand beneath your feet. Then, finally, at the end of the room sat on the foreboding throne was a person. Never before had you seen him, but it wasn’t hard to guess who it was, after all, you had just been told.

It was the Master.

For some reason, you did not expect him to be an actual civilian of the country this particular building inhabited. A man with tan skin, bright white hair, and a big beaming smile didn’t exactly read ‘I run a terrorist operation’.

If it wasn’t for the door slamming shut the moment you laid eyes on him, you wouldn’t have even flinched.

“There’s the promising one I have heard so much about!!” Unlike the others he did not wear red. Instead of wore robes of white, decorated with blue ribbons and golden jewels. It made you consider that the colour of clothes had more meaning to them than you had first suspected, considering all of the trainees either wore green, like you, or brown. Then, there were the Master’s underlings, covered in blood-red silk. “Tell me, child, what’s your name?”

As if on instinct, you were quick to spill the anticipated information to him. It made him chuckle gleefully, crossing his bulging legs one over the other like some esteemed noble in a palace. “Such a good listener, but I suspected as much. Commander Hashim has been watching you for a while now, we’ve been looking for someone. Someone strong and reliable. A soldier. Someone like you.” You assumed Commander Hashim was the one who had beckoned you in by the look of pride that had taken over his face. He snaked his arm around your own, swiftly tugging you to walk forward along the carpet with him and up to the cauldron. He only stopped making you walk when your noes was inches away from sizzling in the festering fire stemming from the object of witch-craft.

Silence. You took that as your cue to speak.

“What exactly have I been chosen for?”

“A mission.” Swooned the Master, dramatically waving his arms around in delight. “It’s a big one too, child. You should be honoured. I feel like such a proud father.”

“What’s the mission?” In the past, you had fought other rising assassins in the building, though never had you been assigned anything. The excitement from the Master’s face settled, replaced with a sombre look now, as he contemplated the delivery. It must have held great weight to it, for him to have changed his demeanour so drastically.

“Do you know why you wear green, my Child?”

“No Master. I do not.”

“Back in Kou…” Now, the heliohaptian man leaned forward, his great big blue eyes boring into your own through the flickering flames of the cauldron’s fire. “To wear green means to be a commoner. That my child is what you are here. A common assassin. What do some of your other friends wear hmm?” Friends was used sarcastically, almost in amusement, seemingly the Master took joy in every single one of his ‘children’s’ isolations. “They wear brown. A lowly, mucky colour. And why? Because they’re no good. They’re not common assassins, they’re broken ones. Unlike them you won’t be disposed of. You will be used.” Sitting upwards once more, the Master cricked his neck, a disturbing sound echoing from the walls. “Your mission is to assassinate the King of Sindria, Sinbad.”

Surely you couldn’t have heard him, right?

“The holder of seven Djinns?” You practically bristled, ripping your arm from the commanders hold almost in a panic. “I haven’t been trained for this, it’s practically suicidal!!”

“Only if you do it wrong.” Interrupted the Master with a laugh. “And we haven’t put all of our precious time into nurturing you for you to do it wrong. Child.” Commander Hashim now wrapped his wrinkly hand around your forearm before tugging it towards him, pulling out a needle and pricking it into your skin before you could blink.

You knew better then to resist, gritting your teeth as the droplets of blood fell into his free palm. Once satisfied, the old man released you, thrusting the loose droplets into the blazing fire and you watched almost in a daze as the crimson liquid combusted into ash, forming into a black figure that rose its head up high, revelling in the sensation of the heat as it thrusted to and frou.

Much like yourself, the figure was conflicted between escaping its invisible cage and staying put.

After all, if you were to deny the mission and leave you would be killed for insubordination, yet if you were to accept the mission and travel to Sindria, a place swarming with powerful enemies and a strong monarchy, you were likely to be executed. Either way you couldn’t win, but at least in Sindria there was a chance of success. Besides, like the Master had said, you hadn’t been taught to do your job wrong.

Out of everybody in your learning group you had excelled in all elements you’d been taught and relayed. They’d moulded you into a machine they believed could sneak swiftly into Sinbad’s chambers and out again without a single suspicion.

To throw away this opportunity was to throw away your life’s work.

With a new found resolve, you firm gaze met the Masters and you nodded swiftly. “I accept.” The Master found it endearing, finding it cute you answered as if you had a choice in the matter.

“Good.” The white-haired man hummed lowly; eyes now predatory.

“On one condition.”

“Oh?” That seemed to have caught his interest. “Does my child have a mind of her own? It seems like the Commander wasn’t entirely right about you, little bird. You seem much livelier than anticipated…” You didn’t give him much time to mull over if he should change his mind or not, opting to continue with your condition.

“I want to know what that was? What did you just do?” You were smart enough to know curse magic when you saw it. If a man takes your blood and throws it into a cauldron, what else was he going to do? Pulling a rabbit out of a hat seemed unlikely, especially for this kind of crowd.

As if your question had triggered some sort of beast, the figure in the fire let out an ear-piercing screech, wings feebly trying to hoist it up into the air yet the orange flames ate away at its body like puranas at the flesh of human skin. The sound did not disappear until the creature of ash was terminated, and once it was gone the flames swirled around like a dance before dispersing into thin air.

The Master made no sudden movements. All he did was nod his head, urging you to take a look inside the item of sorcery. You were hesitant at first, but curiosity killed the cat, did it not?

Inside the midnight cauldron lay an array of pumpkin tinted feathers, fluttering gently as feeble black eyes peered up into your own. It was a tiny orange bird. Despite the warmth that filled your chest, the scorching sensation on your forearm did little to let you revel in the attachment. It was quick, albeit painful, but once done indented onto your arm was a small black sun, fully in bloom as if it was at its highest point in the clear blue sky.

“Time is ticking little bird; you best be on your way.” You realized he no longer referred to you as child but instead little bird. Now, you were just his pet.

[ktinastrikesback]

Alright, here it is: The meta post about Eddie Diaz and mother figures and how it all leads to Buddie (I think). Thanks to @yramesoruniverse for your help with this, and @kitkatpancakestack and @evanbucklies for inspiring it! I really have been thinking about this nonstop and had to get it all down. This got quite long, so I'll include a cut in order to spare everyone who doesn't want to continue reading!

We first get an idea of Eddie's complicated thoughts surrounding mother figures throughout his whole storyline with Shannon in season 2 when he romantically reconnects with her for Christopher's benefit. I do want to keep the focus here trained on Eddie in season 4, but I want to point out a season 2 line that is pretty fitting. As much as I don't want to use a Shannon quote as a starting point for a meta, I think this one is actually pretty useful: "...Eddie always knows what's best for everyone...God forbid you stop for a second and actually ask them what they need." While it's harsh and spoken out of spite, Shannon does make a point here which becomes relevant at the end of season 4.

We don't know a whole lot about season 4 Eddie (thanks writers) aside from the fact that he's working on being a single father (he tells Marjan in the crossover that he's "doing the whole single dad thing") and being a support system for Buck and the rest of the 118. Eddie's "arc" this season is moving on from Shannon and beginning to date again (a very small and limited arc, which hopefully season 5 will remedy). Of course, because it's Eddie, the core of this arc is him wanting what is best for Christopher. And it seems pretty clear that what Eddie thinks Chris needs is a complete family with a mother figure (note how he asks Bobby if he's "happy now, with Athena and the kids" and just assumes that Bobby is talking about Ana Flores), but the universe pushes against this idea throughout the whole season. There are a lot of examples in season 4 of unreliable mother figures (for example, the alcoholic mother who causes the wreck in Blindsided), but in order to save some space here, I'll list and discuss those in another post. The main thing I want to point out is that we've seen that mother figures aren't always perfect, and they aren't the end all be all that Eddie thinks. And canonically, the show suggests several times throughout the season that the partner that Eddie needs/wants and who is best for Chris is actually Buck.

In Breaking Point, while Eddie is on his date, it's Buck who is at home taking care of Christopher and getting him through his nighttime routine (which establishes that he knows the routine and has gotten Chris ready for bed before, hence the reference to his "cautionary tale"). On the date, when Ana says that no one has been in his life since Shannon passed away, Eddie noticeably looks uncomfortable (the will reveal makes this scene and that particular comment and Eddie's subsequent reaction so rich. Eddie knows that what Ana is saying is completely untrue, because the person he trusts most with his son is with him at that exact moment). Later, when Eddie tells Christopher about his new 'friend', he says "it's a woman." And...to be honest, what the hell was that? He could have said, "I'm dating someone" or "I have a girlfriend." But he says it like this? And it's weird...right? Christopher is the one who has to say "girlfriend." Also his tone of voice when he says it...it's suspicious to me. Anyways...Eddie talks with Ana about Christopher's reaction and her first instinct is to take a break and wait for Christopher to warm up to the idea so as to not cause him more pain. Meanwhile, Chris is out the door, in an Uber, and on his way to Buck, the person who actually gets Chris to talk about his feelings and who fixes the whole mess. So while Eddie is talking with Ana, Buck is playing a parental role AND promising Chris he isn't going anywhere, completely juxtaposing everything Ana has said and done in this episode (throwback to Fools, anyone?). Just like we see in 4x14, the perfect partner that Eddie is looking for is already putting in the work, no questions asked (and this is all before Buck knows about the will!). Yet Eddie is still trying to force it with Ana.

We see this again very briefly in Parenthood. Eddie and Buck are seen agreeing on parenting ideals on a call, similar to how we saw them work together in Future Tense to talk Chris out of playing video games. At the end of the episode however, when Chris asks to join the movie, Ana just jumps ahead and lets him in, not consulting with Eddie. Of course, this isn't a serious issue and Eddie is happy to have Chris join them, but it still carries on with juxtaposing Ana with Buck. It's also a bit interesting that Chris sits between them, parallel to the video game scene from season 3. But again, it's a very brief scene, so I don't know how much value it has overall.

We see all of this come to a head in 4x13 when Eddie becomes invested in the single mother and her son from the balcony call. Interestingly, this call happens after Eddie's conversation with Carla ("make sure you're following your heart"). On the call, Eddie flirts with the mom. This is interesting because we've seen many times in the past that Eddie...doesn't like flirting, especially on the job. Eddie openly flirting with the mom here may be his way of fighting against what his instincts are telling him Carla's comment was about (him liking Buck/a man). Eddie quickly becomes invested in Charlie (the son) and takes a liking to his mother because he relates to her. You can kind of see the gears working in Eddie's head when he's at their apartment...he's admiring her and perhaps maybe fantasizing about having a partner who gets it. And he sees a mother taking care of her son...reinforcing his love for the mother figure. But of course, we all learn by the end of the episode that this mother figure is extremely warped and not at all what her child needs.

The best part about this plot is the way it plays into the shooting scene at the end of the episode. Just before he gets shot, we see Eddie in an interesting framing choice (I am genuinely serious when I say that I want to sit down with Brenna Malloy and ask her about her directing choices for this whole scene):

The mother and son are placed into separate ambulances, and Eddie stands between the two vehicles. Visually, Eddie is literally placed between the mother figure and the son, and Buck is standing in front of him (at a slight distance). As (thank you to @kitkatpancakestack for pointing this out!) the ambulance with the mother drives away, Eddie says "shoulda gotten here sooner" to Buck (who replies, "That kid is just lucky he met you." He knows how to reassure Eddie and recognizes what is good for the child). Then of course, Eddie gets shot. But let's focus instead on why this framing before the shooting is important: the universe does scream, and it sure as hell was screaming at Eddie this whole episode. Carla calls him out for not following his heart, he idolizes this mother only for her to end up being horrid, then he gets shot with his partner standing right in front of him (you know, the same person who takes care of his son for the entirety of the next episode).

This can be read so plainly: Eddie has been fighting hard for what he thinks is best for his son, and he's stuck in this relationship with Ana because he thinks she is what will make Christopher happy. Meanwhile, Buck is in front of him and has been there the entire time putting in the work with Chris and making him feel heard, loved, and important. This ties right back to that Shannon line: if Eddie had simply asked Christopher what he needs/wants, it's very possible that his answer would be "Buck." Eddie doesn't need to be stuck in the middle of this relationship he doesn't care about because Chris' happiness is not dependent on having a mother figure.

Of course, we didn't see very much of Eddie in 4x14 so we don't really know what is going through his head regarding the shooting or Carla's comment just yet, but I'm hoping we see a lot of him working through all of the events that took place in 4x13/14 throughout next season. Because of the way the mother/son storyline ended up and the way they framed Eddie in the shooting scene, I'm willing to bet that he's going to be reevaluating just what Christopher needs and what he already has (with his Buck).

(Also side note--the welcome home party scene...when Buck is watching Eddie greet Christopher, notice the framing there too. The photo of Chris and Shannon is on the right side of the frame, Eddie and Chris in the middle, and Buck to the left. You already know what I'm going to say, so I'll leave it at that...)

Anyways. Edmundo Diaz is confused about what he and Christopher need, and it's actually a brilliant way to dive into a storyline about his sexuality and his feelings for Buck. Remember that post-finale interview with Tim where he said Eddie is always concerned with what's best for Christopher? That there will be a lot to explore with Eddie? I take everything Tim says with a grain of salt, but looking at all of this, there's quite a bit here pointing in the direction of pining Eddie. It's not wishful thinking, it's in the text.

I'm literally just applying basic film analysis to these scenes...and everything is adding up to a larger picture. I'm really excited to see what Eddie's arc in season 5 will be because there's so much set in place for it to be really great.

[anonquack]

| Chef Q |

Alex Quackity x Reader, Oneshot, Requested by: @anotherdreamsimp !!

Word Count: 3328

Warnings: Some curse words, mainly just some fluff !

Summary: Quackity hasn't been streaming recently, and decides to come back with a cooking stream. Featuring you as a special guest.

Lately, Quackity had been studying like crazy for his final exams. That meant no streaming. He'd take a break from it to focus entirely on his studies. Absolutely nothing else.

He claimed to have his priorities straight, and had the goal to pass all exams with high scores in order to keep his grades looking wonderful.

This also meant there was rarely any time spent between you two, beside the occasional snack breaks you forced him to take so he wouldn't die at his desk.

It was tough not being able to show him a random video you'd found on the timeline, or walking up to chat with him whenever you wanted, but you knew this was very important to him. So you gladly supported him and offered as much support as possible.

Thankfully, all of his studying paid off and he passed with flying colors. A teacher had even informed him that he'd received the top score for one of his final exams.

You were the first person to hear the news, and you couldn't help but feel the adoration coursing through your body at how excited he was to tell you. Jumping up and down and shaking you lightly as he told you about his scores.

You'd offered to take him out for a celebratory meal, to treat him for all his hard work and also since you missed the fun outings with him. There was no way he was saying no to that.

—

After a day out and about, you two had made your way back home. Both of you were pleasantly full, having enjoyed the meal and also dessert. His request, for "doing so well on his finals." How could you possibly deny him that?

You both were also very content, a warmth and comfort surrounding the air around you two the entirety of the outing.

One thing that was impossible not to notice was how he'd become exceptionally clingy as soon as you two were out of the car. Gripping onto your hand tightly as you singlehandedly unlocked the front door.

"I've missed you so much these past few days." He murmered as you finally got the door to open and pulled him inside.

"I've missed you too." You hummed softly. It was always nice hearing him say these things. You locked the front door, and gently pulled at his hand to lead him back to your room.

It didn't take much of a pull for him to willingly follow you. "Can we cuddle or something?" He asked softly, almost as if he was a bit embarrassed to ask. You turned to him and gave him a grin, along with a small nod.

You'd missed him, even if you two had been in the same apartment this whole time. You'd especially been missing cuddles with him, considering he studied pretty much all day. There wasn't enough time being shared together so you gladly agreed to some cuddling.

Sooner than later, you two found yourselves in your pajamas, laying in bed peacefully as you scrolled through tiktok, screen tilted in order for him to see as well. It really was so nice finally being able to be this close to him again.

After some time, you found yourself looking through tweets on the timeline. A certain one caught his attention and he asked you to stop scrolling.

It was a tweet from a fan, saying they missed Quackity since he hadn't streamed in two weeks, but that overall they hoped his tests were going fine.

"Has it really been 2 weeks?" He asked aloud as he clicked on it and looked through the replies, all agreeing with the original tweet.

"Mm.. two and a half, I think." You answered, looking at him curiously as a guilty expression appeared on his face.

"Hey." You called out once you saw the expression wasn't leaving. He turned to you with a small frown.

"It's fine. You had a good reason for being gone so long. I'm sure they understand. Plus, you'll be back soon, right?" You asked, to which he nodded before sitting up from the cuddling position you two were in.

You sat up as well, noticing how his eyes widened slightly, and a small smile made its way onto his face.

"I just got a great idea." He exclaimed. "Y'know, I was going to just spend the next few days with you since I missed you but– how about we stream something together? That way I can enjoy both, and the fans get a stream too."

You stared at him in surprise. The fans did know he was dating someone, but you rarely ever came out on streams, not because he didn't want you to but because you didn't deem it to be necessary.

The few times you had been on, you'd received tons of love and support from the chat, so you didn't think anything too bad would happen if you were to appear on his stream again.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked curiously. The other times you'd been on were him playing horror games and an extremely scuffed IRL stream.

"Well.. I haven't done a cooking stream in a while." He began, but you quickly shook your head.

"Oh no. Don't tell me you're going to make us eat some monstrosity‐ like your past cooking streams." You visibly shuddered at the thought. You remember having to help clean up the mess after. And no matter how funny it had been, the actual cleanup was awful.

"No no– I was thinking maybe we do a serious one, y'know? Chat hasn't really been able to see my cooking abilities, and well.. I'd say I am pretty good at it." He grinned. He was unfortunately right.

You relaxed at the mention of it being a 'serious' cooking stream. It could never really be too serious when it came to Quackity, but it meant not eating dog food or poorly made pizza. You were in.

"So we'll make an actual.. edible.. meal?" You questioned again, just to be sure. To which he nodded.

"Yeah, and we can enjoy that meal after. Like a date. What do you say?" He was beaming. It was his creativity rolling in. And he was probably so proud of himself for finding a way to spend time with you yet also give chat the stream content they'd been missing out on.

"Alright. I'm in."

You hadn't seen him this eager to get out of bed and head to the grocery store ever before. Chat was really in for a fun stream tomorrow.

—

He'd tweeted it out several hours before you two planned on starting the stream that he'd be streaming today with a special guest, and that he had his chef hat ready to go.

As you scrolled through Twitter you could see the timeline freaking out over 'COOKING STREAM' and 'SPECIAL GUEST'. Lots of discussion over who it was.

You couldn't help but feel a bit bad since the fans were probably speculating that he'd met up with his online friends, but in reality it was just you. In that case, you'd try your best to make this a fun stream, and your presence an enjoyable one.

As the time for the stream to start got closer, you helped him set the ingredients you'd be using onto the table, in a way where it was in perfect view for the stream to see and follow along if they wished.

"We're supposed to start in 5." You called out as he slipped his beanie on, fixing the few hair strands that were sticking out a bit too much.

He smiled and made his way over to you, cupping your face and giving you a small kiss. "I'm so excited to do some cooking with you. They're all going to love you."

You couldn't help the warm feeling that spread over your chest at his words. It was like introducing you all over again. He'd recently gained a lot of new followers, and that meant they probably had no idea who you were. Always fun going through that again.

He dealt with some last minute editing and placing, checking all ingredients were there and that everything was set, before hitting the 'Go Live' button.

It didn't take long for the viewers to increase after the tweet notification went out, and the starting soon screen was the only thing really protecting you two from the roaring chat.

Everyone was dying to know what was going on, who the special guest was, and whether this would be yet another scuffed cooking stream.

You stood behind the camera as the starting soon screen finally disappeared and he began greeting the viewers, thanking all the subs coming in, and eventually also giving them a little update on how he'd done on his exams.

You felt so proud as you watched him boast about how his studying had paid off, and how he talked about being the happiest he'd been in a while. He deserved all of it. And chat thought so too.

After some rambling about his test scores and what they'd be cooking today, chat finally became too impatient and asked for a reveal of the special guest.

"Fine. Fine. Since you guys are so fucking impatient." He huffed, watching as chat flew by, telling him to 'get on with it' and to 'TELL US WHO IT IS'. You couldn't help but laugh at the relationship he had with his chat. Always bullying each other but usually knowing when to stop and send love.

"I've actually had them on multiple other streams, not so much recently.. but they've been on my horror streams.. some IRL streams.. and they are really really special to me, chat!" He said with a big smile. Some of chat was confused as to who he was referring to, while older fans began to question if it was YOU. They were very smart.

"Some of the viewers might not know of them, so this is like I'm introducing them to chat all over again! Come over here." He finally directed the last part at you. You couldn't help but feel the sudden spike in anxiety, but chose to ignore it as you smiled back at him and headed into the frame beside him.

With a small wave and a greeting, you watched as chat completely broke. A mess of question marks and your name being spread in chat. You couldn't help but laugh. It was an overwhelmingly positive reaction as Quackity explained to new viewers that you were his partner, and that older fans were already aware of this for a while now.

The amount of 'y/n our beloved' and people asking if quackity's partner was single were abundant in chat, and you couldn't help but feel stupid for thinking the newer viewers would hate you or something.

Having the approval of Quackity's chat also made you feel lighter, it made it easier to let go and just enjoy the cooking stream.

You two began to explain what you'd be cooking to chat, and you made it very clear that he actually had to try and cook this time, to which chat agreed wholeheartedly.

He'd taken a recipe from his mom for one of his favorite meals, one he hadn't had in a while. He explained to chat that he wanted to see how well you and him could recreate it until you two took a trip to visit his family.

"Hopefully we don't disappoint her too much." You mumbled as he placed the chef hat onto your head, fixing it so you looked presentable.

"She can't be because we're actually gonna try." He stated before beginning to explain to chat what the meal was since many of them might not have even heard of it before. As he did that, you began to set aside the ingredients you wouldn't be needing until later.

After everything had been explained, it was time to get cooking. His concentration to try and recreate his mom's recipe was adorable, and chat agreed on that too.

This stream wasn't loud and messy like the others, but it was still enjoyable in its own way. Quackity was radiating such wonderful light and energy, cracking jokes and genuinely enjoying himself. It was all thanks to the stress and worries being lifted off his back. You really enjoyed seeing him like this.

Chat was able to follow along later if they wanted with how organized you guys were being, but the banter he had with you and chat made it entertaining to any casual viewer. He always found a way to make it fun.

Not only that, but chat was able to see a new side of him. The Chef Q side. More often than not, a message would roll in saying they were amazed by how good Quackity actually was at cooking. You could already imagine some of the edits that'd come out of the stream.

His mom had told you two beforehand how long it would normally take to cook this meal, and it was perfect for a usual stream and some extras where you two would actually get to try the food.

There was moments where chat was warning you two that the food would burn or that he'd accidentally set the kitchen on fire, but overall you were enjoying yourself so much.

And chat was enjoying your presence too!

By the time you two managed to finish the meal, you both plopped down onto the chairs he'd set for the supposed 'breaks'.

He had some of the sauce on his cheek and his apron, but still managed to look good. He'd also smeared sauce onto your cheek, and at this point some strands were sticking out of your hat in such a messy way since the last few minutes had been rather hectic, food almost burning and all.

"Chat. We did it." He called out before cheering loudly and clapping his hands, to which you swiftly followed along, chat beginning to cheer as well.

"I think its only right that we try what we made, don't you think?" You ask, to which chat quickly types YES in all caps, wanting to see the finished product and also find out if it even tastes good.

Quackity let out a chuckle as he smiled over at you. "Not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous. We haven't even seen it so it might just be black. Burnt to a crisp. Or what if it tastes like shit? Y/N i don't know what I'm going to do if the food tastes like shit. Thats what we're supposed to eat on our date." He whined a bit.

You shook your head, "It'll be great. And if not, we can just order takeout. It'll be fine big q." You smiled reassuringly. Chat became a frenzy of calling him cute for the state he was in, declaring their love for how supportive and kind you were, and melting over your relationship.

Before you knew it, you were both revealing the meal to chat, and pleasantly surprised by the results. The presentation of the meal itself looked really good. It looked like what you'd expect from such a plate. Quackity had even gone as far as saying it looked similar to how his mom made it.

You gasped, smiling in surprise at him. "Really? Did we really do that good of a job." His face turned into one of regret, and a long segment of silence engulfed you two before he nodded hesitantly. You both broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Okay okay, seriously. Chat's waiting for you to try it." You placed a fork in front of him, earning a loud scoff from him.

"They want to see you try it as well." He mirrored your actions and you gladly took the fork.

"Alright. First bite. Let's see if all our hard work paid off! Chat, are you ready?" You grinned and watched as the 'YES's started rolling in, some viewers telling you both to get the fuck on with it, and others gushing about how the food actually looked good. You could only hope.

You watched as he began to dig in, mouth full and chewing slowly, truly trying to savor the first bite. You did the same, and the stream was silent for the first time in a while. Chat was in suspense as well, question marks and incoherent rambling rolling through the chat.

"Chat..." he finally spoke after swallowing his bite. "Chat. It's." He paused before showing a small smile. "It's not bad at all. I like it. It's good."

You nodded your head in agreement, "It's nowhere near as good as the ones your mom makes.. but I think you and I make a pretty good team."

"I think so too. And not just for cooking." He grinned, earning himself a playful eye roll and shy smile from you.

The stream proceeded to you two feeding each other bites of the meal, asking each other if it was good, and just enjoying yourselves for a bit longer before Quackity deemed it was time to end.

"Chat !! Thank you so much for tuning in and watching this.. actually coordinated cooking stream. I had so much fun and well, I ate yummy food. I'm happy." He laughed, thanking a few more gifters before doing his signature Bye, and ending stream.

He hurried over to your side, pulling you into a hug. "Thank you so much. I truly had fun. And they definitely loved you, but not nearly as much as I do."

You chuckled at his words, giving him a small kiss before cupping his face. "I had a lot of fun too. Thank you for always being so nice to me." You paused, observing how cute he looked with his chef hat still on. "I think I like Chef Alex." You reached over and fixed his hat a bit.

"Yeah? Should I keep it on?" He teased, coming a bit closer. You couldn't help the warmth that spread over your cheeks at how blunt he was.

"Yes, but you need to help me clean this up. Maybe after we finish the food, hm? C'mon. Don't think I forgot our deal."

He whined, already feeling too lazy, but he quickly followed after you as you two sat down to actually eat. Still wearing the silly attire he'd bought for the stream, far too unbothered to change just yet.

Through a mouthful he asked, "Cuddles and a nap after we're done?"

You smiled and nodded, to which he gave a silent cheer. That was enough motivation to get you both up and cleaning after finishing the meal.

—

Wrapped in each other's arms again. He couldn't seem to get enough of it. You were once again scrolling through Twitter, this time scrolling through his indirects, wanting to see what people were saying about the stream.

He'd ask you to stop to read certain ones he found funny, and even 'aww'd at the ones he found cute, mainly those talking about how cute you two looked.

Surely enough, there was already edits using the clips of him cooking, and you'd openly admitted to him that he looked "so fucking good." To which he responded by cuddling closer, if even humanly possible.

Quackity found the numerous clips of you two feeding each other to be the best part of the tweets. You two rewatched, saved, liked as many as you could before he became tired.

And with that, he was pulling you close, and leaving small kisses anywhere he could on your face. Eventually, his chest slowly rose and fell as he entered a deep slumber. You smiled, glad to see he was finally getting the rest he deserved.

"Goodnight, Alex." You whispered, leaving a small kiss on his cheek before closing your eyes as well.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Midnight Dances

Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Summary: Upon your first week settling into your estate as a newlywed couple, you share a moment alone.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol, fluff, kissing

(aesthetic made by the lovely @heloisedaphnebrightmore )

It has been three days since your arrival at your new estate across England, and still, you have yet to see the entirety of its beauty. It was extraordinarily perfect in every way one could imagine, and impossibly grand for two newlyweds who spent most of their time in each other’s presence. In just three days time, you felt as though maybe you’d only seen just half of your newfound home, and you were determined to change that.

You huff out a quiet sigh as you stare up at the ceiling once more, not a single bit of fatigue as you lay awake. The same could not be said about Benedict as he lay tangled with you, soft snores puffing into your skin lightly. Nothing could get you to sleep; not the warmth of his skin on yours, not the late hour of the night, not the breeze seeping in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of flowers and fresh air. Any and all efforts to be swept into a blissful sleep were rapidly proving to be futile as the minutes passed.

With an exasperated sigh, you untangle yourself from him as carefully as you can manage, a smile gracing your lips as you watch his face nuzzle into the pillow. You slip on your night robe with a fond shake of your head, tying it closed before heading towards the door. You offer one last glance at your lover, at the grand details of your bedroom and the way the curtains fluttered under the breeze blowing against them. You slip out of the room and pull the door closed quietly, making your leave down the hall.

Your footsteps go unheard on the navy colored rug, not a single tassel out of place as they lined the entirety of the hall. Warm lighting illuminated the space in a dim glow, just enough to navigate but not enough to wake those trying to sleep. You were quite sure everyone in the vicinity had been asleep, everyone in the town even, everyone except for you.

The windows you pass by overlooked the gardens, perhaps the most brilliant and extravagant you’ve had the pleasure of seeing. It was hard to believe that it was yours. Finely manicured bushes were assembled in a meticulous pattern, almost maze like. And there were as many flowers as one could possibly imagine and then some, each different in color and type, each just as beautiful as the last. The blossoming trees were what had enchanted you the most, with the way their petals rain down in a flurry of pale pinks with just the slightest gust of wind.

You descended the marble staircase, your hand sliding down the smooth and cool stone railing as you made your way down the curving steps. It felt impossible to look at any one thing at a time, for everything was too glamorous and too wondrous to do so. Even down to the candles melted at varying heights as they sit in their rightful candelabras, ready to be lit again.

Shortly you arrive at the first landing, the familiar skylight coming into view as you continue walking down the stairs. The arched glass structure tucked amongst the lavish detailings on the ceiling lit up the first floor with a natural glow, the stars glimmering just beyond it. You found you liked it better at night than in the light of day.

You pass through familiar halls, ones you’ve frequented most often since arriving there but a few days ago. You passed familiar rooms such as the library, too grand and full of books for your own excited good. You passed the kitchen, still smelling of honey and cinnamon from that night’s dessert. It was the kind of scent that carried with it warmth and the feeling of being truly at home, regardless of the fact that this estate was still very new to you and most likely would be for a little while as you adjust.

With what seemed like a daunting amount of wandering through gorgeous hallways, each just as vacant as the last, you finally reach unfamiliar territory. Maybe you’d already been there, things tended to look quite similar when you were lost. The sound of ticking clocks had been apparent just about anywhere you’d been and anywhere you will go, as was the consistent artwork adorning every other wall in small glimpses of other worlds in depictions of nature. The only noticeable difference was the navy rugs had since changed to a soft lilac, fluffy golden tassels lining the perimeter.

With a few more steps, your brow raises at the sight of the unfamiliar double doors standing tall before you, adorned with intricately carved woodwork as gold sparkled on its surface. You have yet to see what was on the other side at all, and now you were taking full advantage of the opportunity to with your newfound time.

Upon pushing open the doors, you’re met with a sight so grand and enthralling you hadn’t quite expected to be presented with such beauty. Perhaps the most wondrous ballroom was contained within your very own home. It’s cream-colored walls were lined with carved framework at every edge and every corner, a metallic bronze detailing every curve and bit of linework lacing along its perimeters. Several paintings lined them, each encased in a carved and complex frame to house each nature scene captured within them. The far end of the large room held rather tall windows, nearly floor to ceiling, the very tops arched with a matching set of mirrors to adorn the walls between the glass structures. Not a single smudge was to be found.

Ruffles of silky cream curtains frame each window, pooling on the polished wood floors. Through those very windows, the moonlight had been streaming in so brightly it illuminated the room much like any candelabra could. It’s moonbeams reflected off the several chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the myriad of crystals that dangle from each one casting little flecks of light on the floor and over your skin. The ceilings were made up of several sunken ovals, the same bronze detailing encircling each one. The murals inside had made you feel as though you were standing underneath the sky itself, and it was so meticulously painted you hadn’t known how many hours it must have taken. Surely far too many to wrap your head around. The ceiling in its entirety was so impossibly detailed and intricate you could give yourself a headache thinking of the effort put into creating it. It was delightfully busy.

Your eyes fall on a grand piano sat in the corner next, sleek and pristine with its ivory keys on display and waiting to be played. And the silky upholstered seats spaced out throughout the room. It was spacious, so vast you felt as though it could house all of England if they’d been invited. Though selfishly, a part of you wanted to keep this all to yourself.

“So, this is where you’ve run off to?”

You spin on your heel, a smile pulling at your lips once you see Benedict standing in the doorway. His arms crossed over his chest, the buttons of his shirt only half done and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a haphazard attempt to look decent as he roamed the halls in search of you. His hair was a mess, however, dipping over his forehead as the corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. A grin that never fails to uncage butterflies in your stomach. You were unaware of just how long you’d been gone.

You smile, twirling once in the grand room as your nightdress flutters at the action. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I quite like it,” he says with a shrug, pushing himself off the doorframe to make his way over to you. “Though I do believe that some things in this room are far more beautiful than others.”

You turn to face him fully, a blush staining your cheeks that had fortunately gone unseen in the lighting. His smile widened as he raised a brow at you, a laugh falling past his lips when you rolled your eyes.

“What? I was referring to the chandeliers, of course,” He quips with mischief, his eyes crinkling with his grin as you swat at his arm lightly. Your attempts to evade his grasp were futile as he grabs your hand, turning you to face him again as his lips press to your cheek. “I am only kidding, my love.”

“You really are terrible sometimes, you know that, don’t you?” You ask, a lightness in your tone as he drops a kiss to your neck.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” He says, his hands squeezing your own. “Though I suppose it’s better than being terrible all the time, is it not?”

You roll your eyes once more as you turn away from him in an effort to conceal your smile at his antics, walking over to one of the large windows. Just outside was a different angle of the garden, a view aiming straight down a long pathway of perfectly imperfect trees. Fluffy hydrangeas appeared just under the stone window ledges in varying hues of pinks and purples, vines climbing up the far wall of the building.

It hadn’t been long before you felt his arms snake around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“We must take a walk through the garden tomorrow,” you state, your heart fluttering at the feeling of his lips on the exposed skin of your shoulder. You could barely remember what you had planned to say next, until you’d forgotten altogether. “Are you listening?”

“Certainly, we must,” he responds with a soft laugh, pressing his lips to your cheek again. “And should it rain?”

“Then we shall take an umbrella,” you say as if your answer was entirely obvious as you slip from his arms with a delighted grin and a tap of your finger to his nose. You left him to look after you with parted lips and a shake of his head. He was awestruck to say the very least.

You wander about the room again with a bounce in your step, running the tips of your fingers along the soft curtains. Upon closer inspection, you discover the detailed linework you had seen moments before were in fact sculpted and carved vines and flowers spidering up the walls. Such a beauty nearly made you swoon at the very sight of it. Everything just kept getting better and better the more you gazed at it.

“What could be the need of a ballroom this grand?” You ask with a laugh, your eyes falling on Benedict.

“Perhaps to dance in,” he says with a shrug, an amusement in his features. You huff out a sigh though you can’t seem to fight your smile this time.

“You know what I meant. Of course it is made for dancing. ”

“Would you be so kind as to have this dance with me, then?” He asks, a teasing tone still weaving around his words as he offers you his hand.

“If I must,” you huff lightheartedly.

His nose scrunches at your counter and he promptly pulls you close, eliciting a squeal to echo into the room at the sudden action. His hand envelopes your own and his arm encircles your waist in the rightful position of a slow dance. Though this time, it was much less formal with the absence of watchful eyes and the need to execute every move with a flawless ease. For you were quite sure bare feet and slippers, night robes and half-tucked in, half-unbuttoned dress shirts were not of appropriate attire for such things.

No music was needed to find your own rhythm, no music was ever needed when the two of you were in your own world.

“I apologize…for waking you,” you say after a few moments, meeting his gaze once more.

“I was barely asleep, not with all your tossing and turning,” He says as you sway.

“Your snoring tells me otherwise.”

A look of faux surprise and offense crosses his face as he twirls you, wrapping his arm around you once more, “I do no such thing!”

An incredulous scoff leaves your lips as he tugs you close, your brows knit together and he continues to act as though he had entirely no idea what you had been talking about.

“I suppose I’m just hearing things then,” you state, far from being earnest as he nods along, “Perhaps it may have even been me.”

“Perhaps it might’ve,” he repeats in playful agreement, halting your frown from deepening as his lips press to yours in what surely would not be the last of many kisses that evening.

You sigh softly as your lighthearted bickering falls silent in favor of enjoying each other’s presence, enjoying the very fact that this was your home. This was your life now and you couldn’t think of anything better than that. He was ever so tender when he kissed you, when his fingers grazed up your side each time you fell out of rhythm. He claims it was just to hear you laugh, and rightfully so, but it was also in a playful payback for your sleepy dancing skills or lack thereof.

He was patient regardless, for the technicalities of the dance were not of much importance, they never were. Not even in a formal setting did he care if it was done perfectly. He cared about the fact that the most wonderful person in the world had been in his arms, and he loved you for all that you are and all that you will be. He hadn’t even needed a fancy ballroom to want to dance with you, hadn’t needed a large estate to be happy with you. He was perfectly content dancing with you in the field of flowers he’d spotted just two days before, and he made a mental note to take you there the following day.

For a while it was silent between the two of you, save for the occasional giggle when his fingers brushed over your skin. Or the patter of your slippers on the hardwood floors. Or his boisterous laughter he cannot contain when your lips ghost over that very sensitive spot just under his jaw, the fading scent of his cologne still lingering on his skin.

He twirls you before drawing you back into his arms, not without you stumbling into him, of course. It was as if your own two feet had been out to get you, and the undeniable grin on his face was telling enough that he’d been up to no good. Not after that.

“Remember that one dinner with my family?” You sigh in mild exasperation as you groan and look away from him at his words, fighting your smile nonetheless. “You had been so nervous you’d sent a spoonful of peas all over the floor. And—if I recall correctly, you proceeded to knock your wine onto my lap.”

“Am I to assume that you shall never let me live that down, Benedict?” You ask with a squint, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yes, you would assume correctly, Y/n.”

“It is only your fault, you have a dreadful habit of making me flustered after all,” you defend with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

“I very well see that,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

You bite the inside of your cheek to stave off your grin, he did not deserve that satisfaction. Instead, you lean on your toes and press your lips on his, effectively kissing away the teasing smile he once had in favor of basking in the feeling of the warmth of your lips brushing over his own. In the feeling of your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck once more. His arms tighten their hold around you out of instinct, a soft hum escaping him.

“Perhaps I should bring it up more often if this is how you choose to quiet me,” he suggests against you, stealing another kiss.

“Or perhaps you shouldn’t.”

You pull away from him much to his dismay, and he finds himself chasing your lips for more. You laugh softly, your hand settling on his cheek as his once teasing smirk turns to that of a fond smile. The crystal reflections of the chandeliers above glimmer down over you, the moonlight illuminating the loving gaze that had been focused on you and only you. He couldn’t help but to capture your lips once more, for now that he had the opportunity to do so just as much as so he pleases he finds he can’t get enough.

Your hand falls from his face as your giggle brushes against his lips, his embrace sending you stumbling back a step or two.

“We’re supposed to be dancing, are we not?” You ask, breaking from his hold and spinning away from him, leaving him to smile after you in a lovestruck daze as you twirl in the glow moonlight.

He stood back to watch you for a moment, the way you seemed to beam more beautifully than any natural wonder ever could. The way you captured his attention far more than the lavish ballroom you currently resided in. Of all the luxuries he’s seen, of all the dashing estates and elegantly decorated soirée’s he’s been in attendance of in his life, there could be no greater beauty than you. There could be nothing in the world that is more enamoring, more effortlessly alluring.

He never knew the profound effects of love until it came along and grabbed hold of his heart, the feeling lancing through him with a wholehearted certainty that it was real and it was all-consuming. He knew love, of course. The Bridgerton family was large and filled with an unwavering warmth and welcoming one could surely wish for. He knew unconditional familial love amongst numerous siblings no matter the bickering that was bound to take place, serious or not. But this—this was different.

This kind of love was wonderfully and delightfully dizzying as it crashed down upon him in waves, immeasurably intoxicating with every fleeting moment that passed him by.

“Are you going to stare at me for the entirety of the night?”

Your teasing voice had stolen his attention once more, his attention that had been so distracted focused on you. It was then that he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off your feet, suddenly spinning with you in playful retaliation for noting his gawking and telling him all about such a thing. Your laughter rang out into the glorious space while his lips pressed a flurry of kisses up your neck, your hands settling on his shoulders as his breath danced across your flushed skin.

To marry your best friend, whom you truly love endlessly is but a wonder indeed, a fate many dream of but very few experience. It is a feeling most incomparable to all else.

He set you back on your feet but his kisses never cease, his lips brushing along the underside of your jaw with his laughter left to linger against your skin. They travel upwards to press tenderly across your blush stained cheeks, to the very tip of your nose, and perhaps most giddily and passionately to your already kiss swollen lips.

He doesn’t know how he manages to stop; perhaps it’s your constant yet soft laughter breaking the two of you apart, or perhaps it’s his desire to see the way your eyes sparkle in the glowing light. Or the way your face is illuminated so beautifully that it has him fighting the urge to grab his sketchbook, but he does not want to leave you not even for a second. Perhaps it’s both and it’s almost entirely too much for him to handle all in one moment.

“Why ever are you looking at me like that?” You ask, amusement in your tone.

“Because,” He says with a breathless laugh, “because I love you. I burn for you.”

A fond smile pulls at your lips immediately as you look at him, and it is impossible to ignore the warmth blossoming in your chest, lancing through you. It is impossible to ignore the insurmountable love coursing through every part of your being as you gaze into the eyes of your lover.

“I love you, Benedict,” you murmur, “I burn for you.”

He finds his smile unable to be contained as his forehead drops to rest on yours, noses brushing. His hand once again finds yours, his arm encircling your waist, and you sway. In the ridiculously large ballroom, to a melody unheard by anyone else. You sway and twirl and laugh in a slow dance all your own, a midnight dance.

—

Tags: @dreaming-about-fanfictions @valwritesx

[jessikahathaway]

Ambrosia - Prologue

Park Jimin (Aphrodite) X Reader

Genre: GreekGod!AU, Genderbent Aphrodite!AU, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn and Smut (Future)

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, Jimin in a SUIT, Namjoon being a lil nosy, profanity (if I forgot anything please let me know!)

Words: 3.1k (YA GIRL PROCRASTINATED TOO LONG AND DIDN'T GET THE FULL CHAPTER DONE SO WE'RE DOING A PROLOGUE. K? K.)

Summary: Cast out of Olympus with the task to find his one true love, Aphrodite is certain his match will come to him. But as the years drag on, what happens when the God of Love, gives up?

Days in a flower shop in the middle of a decent sized town can pass by fast or slow. There can be days with what feels like hundreds of orders coming through the tiny store, and then there are the days where the employees just wind up looking at their phones the whole time and not one soul passes through the door.

But on special days, all it takes is one person to walk through those doors and everything changes.

This is a story of one of those days.

--

Tuesdays could seriously go fuck off for all you cared. This particular Tuesday was proving to be a test on every ounce of your patience and every single time you heard that door bell ring as the gates of hell opened, your shoulders sagged a little more. Something about their flowers wasn’t right. The blue wasn’t like the sky but like the sea and that’s an issue. The flowers look wilted. Always something.

But, like you did every day you turned to the customer and gave them a huge smile, ready to help them with whatever they needed. Even if it meant losing your sanity little by little.

The day passed this way, going on and the clock didn’t seem to be moving at your desired pace. So, you sat on the chair behind the desk at the front and gazed out the window.

It was a warmer spring day.

The trees were budding and life was returning after a long winter. You loved this time of the year. Everything becoming new again, alive and welcoming. But, it also means more work for you. It’s never been a problem, but this past year has been particularly hard.

Your younger sister passed away.

She’d been fighting a long illness, one with a poor prognosis. At a young age you and Sana were placed in the foster system, living with a decent enough upbringing. The foster parents were never mean or cruel, but they weren’t your parents. Whom you barely remembered now. So when you turned eighteen you asked if you could become her legal guardian. Your foster parents had agreed, wishing you and her the best of luck...

But luck had never been on you or your sister’s side.

Her illness started to rapidly progress, causing more and more doctor’s visits and more money being pulled from your measly savings. It wasn’t enough. You were having to take out loans and everything just to keep the lights on in your apartment.

Sana, however, kept her spirits high no matter the situation. She was the positive one. The bright one that everyone gravitated towards in school. She was your light. And now your life is duller. Your sister loved to go through the streets in her wheelchair, looking at the budding leaves and flowers that were growing on the trees.

“Look Y/N!” she’d squeak. “They’re so beautiful. I want to open a flower shop, and I’m going to sell the most beautiful flowers to people.”

As her birthday present you decided to open the flower shop.

It was her last one.

Looking out at the spring blooming in front of you it was hard to be happy, knowing how much your sweet Sana would’ve loved it. Life often wasn’t fair, but you hadn’t expected it to be so. You weren’t a bad person, but bad things had happened. But you were alive, and had a life to keep living.

As much as the flower shop was Sana’s dream, you couldn’t sell it when she died. It had become your safe haven. A little place to call your own. Even if it was Sana’s dream, you had made it real. Real enough for the both of you, and now you gotta keep it going. Even if the loan to open it made your wallet want to cry, it was enough. Plenty.

Because it was yours.

A single tear fell down your cheek as you thought of your beloved sister, and her cute cheeks and beautiful eyes that never held an ounce of fear or regret. A few petals fell from the blossoming tree outside in the wind and fell to the ground in a swirl of pastel hues that made you smile.

More tears moved down your cheeks and you wiped them away in frustration. She wouldn’t want you to be upset, she’d want you to be happy and to continue with your life. Keep going and make something of yourself.

Sana used to say that you were always Y/N the big sister and never just... Y/N. And you knew it was true. You were supposed to take care of her, but now that she’s gone... T-There was no one to care for but yourself.

You’d have to be enough.

Suddenly, the bell above your door ran proudly, making your teary eyes refocus on the person entering the store. Those tears were quickly replaced with a look of wonder.

A man walked through the door, head held high and his eyes scanned the area like he was inspecting it. Wiping your already sweaty palms on your apron you approached him with a gentle smile.

“Welcome to Sana’s flowers, how can I assist you?” you asked, coming towards him. The man took in your appearance and a calm expression steeled over his face.

“Hi, are you Sana?” he asked, referring to the name.

“No, Sana was my sister,” you said, swallowing hard. The man seemed to understand.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to impose,” he said, bowing lightly.

“You’re fine, no worries. How can I help you?” you asked, looking at his apparel.

He was dressed in a fine suit, tailored to his every inch, must’ve been expensive as hell. You could probably open a whole new section of your shop with the money he was dripping in.

You weren’t known for having an upper class clientele, not that the occasional businessman came in and asked for a bouquet of your finest flowers. Sometimes two... Shaking your head you focused on the man in front of you as best as you could. But, his features were so striking it was hard to keep your eyes from wander...

“Park Jimin,” he introduced, holding his hand out politely.

“Y/N,” you said, extending your own hand and taking his in yours. Shaking gently he gave a smile that could rival the very stars in the sky. This man was more breathtaking the longer you looked, making your palms start to sweat even more.

“A pleasure, Y/N,” he said. “I’m having an event to celebrate my family's company. It’s the 125 year of it’s business and we are looking to source from the local populace instead of corporations to provide a more intimate setting for the investors and other members of the company,” Jimin said, rambling off a lot of information for your sleep deprived brain.

“I see, so you’re looking for floral arrangements?” You asked, heading towards your book of options. Jimin followed you over, leaning towards you so close you could smell his cologne. A spicy scent that wasn’t overpowering but more... alluring? Inviting?

Shaking your head you pulled up your options of centerpieces and the like, showing him what styles you had available and Jimin paid close attention to each set. Asking questions about what flowers would look good in what vases and if they did better in foam or water.

“For events I prefer the foam personally. Less likelihood of someone knocking a vase over and water getting everywhere. But the flowers are more mobile in the water, so it’s about what you’re looking for in regards to the feel,” you said.

Jimin seemed to weigh his options for a moment. “I like the traditional styles you showed me. The simple little flowers decorating around the larger arrangements, it looks classy and provides the color I’m looking for,” he said, nodding.

Making a note you grabbed a notepad to start writing all the information down.

“So when is your event? A month, two?” You said, throwing out a few different times.

“Two weeks,” he said. You froze, swallowing hard.

“Ah, I see,” you said, biting your lip.

“Is that a problem?” He asked, looking up at your pained expression.

“It’s just, the flowers might take a minute to get here. And I arrange everything by hand, so it takes me a little longer. How many tables were you going to have and the garlands for the stairways as well?” You asked.

“Well as for tables I have 150 dinner tables, 50 cocktail tables and 8 large banquet tables. There are two main stairwells that wrap around to the main area so there will be about 400ft worth of garland necessary,” he calculated slowly.

“Okay,” you said, rubbing your temples slowly.

“How many people do you have on your payroll?” He asked, looking around and noticing the empty space.

“Just me. My friend Namjoon likes to come and help sometimes but he’s a full time nurse so,” you shrugged.

“Would you be able to do this in two weeks with just by yourself?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I can always try,” you said, giving a gentle smile.

“How much would it cost?” He asked.

“Depends on the flowers you want, you already picked the style so one second,” you said, grabbing your calculator and running the numbers really quick. “I can do expedited shipping on the flowers to get them here faster but then you run the risk of stems getting broken and not having enough. But I can order more to compensate but then that’s more money,” you said.

Finally you had a total and you frowned.

“It would be around $2,156 if we did the expedited shipping and ordered more flowers to compensate for the potential broken ones,” you said, biting your lip. That was a lot of money to spend on flowers for a simple dinner event. You knew it, but with everything he wanted and the time frame it was the best you could do... You didn’t even charge him for the probability of Namjoon helping. Because then it would jump up to the 3,000 dollar mark and you weren’t going to push your luck.

After a few moments, Jimin pulled out his checkbook and started writing the check out. Your eyes bulged when he pushed the piece of paper towards you, his pen clicking with a sense of finality.

“What kind of flowers should we get?” He said, a smile on his face. You looked down and almost flung the check right back at him.

$5,500

This man had just dropped over five thousand dollars without blinking.

“Th-This is too much,” you said, trying to push it back towards him.

“You charged me for base flowers, and it’s super short notice. Take the extra as a tip,” he smiled.

“I-I can’t accept over two thousand dollars as a tip. If I get audited I’ll be screwed,” you said.

“No you won’t, it’ll be fine. Please, take it,” he encouraged, placing the check back in front of you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep yourself from panicking. You did have a large loan payment coming up, and this would lessen that blow significantly...

But wasn’t it wrong?

“Alright...” you trailed off, taking the check and stamping it before putting it in your deposit bag.

“What type of flowers do you recommend using?” He asked, looking at you with a gentle gleam in his bright eyes.

“Peonies and hydrangeas are a great combo with complementary color palettes. I always love doing grass pieces as a nice natural moment but, baby's breath is a classic and more traditional if that’s what you’re looking for,” you said.

“Can we do the soft blue hydrangeas and white peonies?” He asked, looking at the sample photos you had.

“Yes, the white peonies would bring a nice fullness and the hydrangeas can add the color,” you explained.

“Perfect, let’s do that then,” he said, nodding.

“Okay! I’ll get the order to go in and get the expedited shipping and we should get them by the end of the week. They’ll go into the fridge and that should help keep them fresh,” you said.

“Here.”

You turned around to see a small card placed on the table in front of you.

“What’s this?” You asked, lifting the small thing to your eyes.

“My number,” he said, grinning. “Message me when the flowers come in.”

“O-Okay, absolutely!”

Jimin smiled then, a bright dazzle expression that had your mouth drying in longing.

“I look forward to hearing from you, Y/N,” he said.

“I look forward to it as well, Mr. Park,” you said politely. Jimin tutted and shook his head.

“No, Jimin will do just fine. Have a great day Y/N,” he waved, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

You looked at the numbers and sighed.

God you were so fucked.

—

“So, let me get this straight,” Namjoon said over the phone. “Hot guy in a suit comes in and orders a fuck ton of flowers you know you can’t do yourself and you agree because he dropped an extra few grand in the check? Y/N! You can’t do that, I’ll only be able to help you arrange the bouquets the day of. So you’ll have to put them all together yourself! When will you sleep? Eat? Poop!?!” He yelped.

“Firstly, my bowel movements are none of your concern,” you stated. “And second of all, I can’t refuse that kind of money! The next loan payment is going to fuck me over if I don’t have this padding. Please Joonie, tell me you can help me at least the night before,” you pleaded.

“I really can't Y/N, I’m working night rotation. So, I could maybe stop by in the morning but then the flowers have to sit longer,” he reasoned.

“Yeah I know... Can you switch?” You said, a soft voice replacing your whining.

“I wish I could, but there’s hardly any staff that night as it is. And we’re all pulling hours we don’t like. I can’t ask them to do more. Poor Taehyung has already covered me this month and I would rather throw myself in front of a car than ask again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and I’m desperate, but... I’ll figure it out,” you said, rubbing your face in exhaustion.

“What kind of asshat doesn’t come in until last minute to order a huge ass amount of floral arrangements?” Namjoon asked.

“An asshat named Park Jimin apparently,” you said, twisting the stem of a flower in front of you.

“You-You mean the Park Jimin?” Namjoon stuttered.

“I don’t know how many of them there are, Namjoon. I just know what this one looked like,” you said.

“Doesn’t he have like, neon pink hair or something?” He asked.

“Um, no? It was blonde-ish when he was in here,” you said.

“Plump lips?”

“Yeah?”

“Eyes that command the panties of women to drop?” He asked.

“Sir, my panties stayed firmly in place so I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,” you huffed.

“For now, Y/N, for now. Anyways,” he said dismissively. “If this is the Park Jimin we’re talking about you need to be very careful.”

“What? What are you talking about,” you whispered.

“He’s like a sex God or something. He’s got game better than Jordan, okay? But he never commits to anyone,” he said, seriously.

You rolled your eyes, even though the man couldn’t see you.

“My heart isn’t in danger here, Namjoon. We’ll be fine. I can handle an attractive businessman,” you said.

“Yeah, but can your cum thirsty twat handle it?”

“Sir, I’m gonna hang up,” you warned.

“As a nurse I demand to know the last time you got laid,” he said. “It’s for you health of course.”

“That should be a HIPPA violation,” you complained.

“Yeah, not a friendship violation though. Tell me when was the last time you were left boneless between the sheets my guy,” he said.

“I don’t see how this has to do with floral arrangements,” you sighed. “But since your bitch ass needs to know it was about a year ago.”

“Well, maybe it is time to get back in the ring,” he reasoned.

“Namjoon, there’s no need to get me a suitor. You’re not my dad trying to get another cow on the farm or something,” you joked.

“Do you think Park Jimin would give me a cow if I gave him you?” He asked, sounding too serious for your liking.

“I’m really gonna hang up now,” you said, pulling your phone away from your face.

“Just, be safe Y/N! Don’t work too hard, I love you!” You heard screamed from the receiver.

“Yeah love you too Joonbug,” you said, hanging up and looking at the clock. The numbers glared back at you like they were judging you for being up this late. But you simply shrugged and went and took a much needed shower.

That man had you sweating like a sinner in church.

As you bathed you tried to think of your next plan of attack, but the water was too warm and soon you found yourself relaxing into the stream happily. Once you were done you cracked open a can of beer and sat down in your living room ready to start the night right, when a message floated across your screen.

Joonbug: IS THIS THE CULPRIT?!? Jpg.1013

You stared at the screen with an unamused face, but picked up your device anyway. Namjoon had sent you the picture and you could tell the fucker picked the first one off of google images like the lame hoe he was, but you looked regardless.

And, surprisingly, it was him.

The cherubic cheeks and wide smile, bright eyes and an alluring body. You sighed and texted him back.

Y/N: Yea, that’s him.

Joonbug: OH REAAALLLLYYYY???

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Joonbug: You can’t resist. THIS.

Y/N: I’ve resisted your rat poison for years, I think I got it.

Joonbug: EXcUSE MEEEE??? I am at least some kind of like, sexy poison???

Y/N: I’m dying either way, why do I care if it’s sexy or not?

Joonbug: :((((((

You left the conversation at that, but your mind began to wander. How were you going to finish this order and not embarrass yourself in front of a multimillionaire?

Maybe you bit off more than you can chew...

[bigskydreaming]

I’m a big believer that Dick’s independence and self-reliance isn’t in any way rooted in him just being stubborn, prideful or self-destructive. I view it as being in his eyes a necessity….because on a deep, fundamental level….Dick doesn’t trust anything to be permanent. 

I’ll always go back to the fact that his character archetype isn’t that of the everyman, because he was of lower class origins compared to Bruce’s extreme upper class background.....but rather that given that Dick Grayson was allegedly exceptional from his debut, a child prodigy capable of feats of acrobatics few in the world could match....he could never actually be classified as an everyman. Rather, his core archetype is that of the fish out of water. The individual taken from the comforts of his original pond and thrust into a limelight of an entirely different nature from the one he grew up in, with the two not at all being interchangeable, and necessitating he change and adapt in dramatic and often unanticipated ways just to keep his footing in his new environs.

Its not incidental that his initial tragedy wasn’t JUST the loss of his parents, but rather the loss of his old routines, extended family, environment, way of life, expectations for the way his future would play out....it ALL vanished on the same night, never to return again. The loss of his parents was tragedy enough all on its own, but its really only one part of what Dick lost that night. He lost his entire footing. His frames of reference. Everything his life had previously prepared him for and everything he could have used as a familiar comfort or source of stability to lean on, if it had been ‘just’ his parents that he lost.

And I fundamentally don’t believe you ever get over THAT loss, no matter what peace you make with the loss of your loved ones or specific elements of that. Once you’ve experienced a shake-up of that size, once you have a bone-deep, visceral awareness of how completely your life can change in the blink of an eye, how you can effectively be set back to zero as though nothing you’ve previously accomplished matters (remember, he went from a kid whose name drew crowds on its OWN merits, based on what HE was capable of due to his own work and skills, the youngest of the Flying Graysons, capable of an acrobatic feat barely anyone else in the world could master......to being a kid who was only ever identified as in the context of Bruce Wayne having taken him in, as though his existence and worth were defined by someone else’s act of compassion rather than based on anything he’d ever done on his own, when the fact of the matter is even by age eight, he’d already accomplished a LOT)....

Like, the point is, you can’t go through a shake-up like that and ever fully FORGET how complete and total a change it was, how big a rewrite of your entire life story. 

That’s a trauma all its own, one that goes largely unacknowledged, and one that I don’t think Bruce and Alfred or anyone else fully realized was even there TO need addressing in the first place. So of course how could they ever fully address it, without realizing a need?

And I think Dick’s constant moves and self-reliance are actually born of that primal awareness that there are no guarantees, that nothing is truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in an instant.

He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to be taken away again - as people have pointed out in other posts, Dick can never seem to have nice things. Even the apartment building he lived in while in Bludhaven….that wasn’t some height of luxury by ANY stretch of the imagination…was lost to him, along with all the friends and neighbors and community he’d built among them, something evidenced by how highly they all spoke of him, even to a total stranger. And that’s not even getting into how even the CITY he sought to establish himself as a guardian over, like, he lost the city itself. The CITY!

Dick, I believe, insists on holding down 9-5 jobs and paying his own way and only touching money that comes from Bruce originally, when like…he has no other option or its to help someone else….just like he’s resistant to ever fully putting down roots, at least none so deep that he can’t uproot himself and quickly relocate without ripping off a piece of himself and leaving it still buried in the ground behind him. 

Because deep down, he’s always bracing for the next seismic event that’ll rip everything away from him, and he wants to be prepared. He WANTS to make sure he never takes anything for granted. That if he loses it all - hell, if he and Bruce fight again and Bruce decides once and for all to take it all away from Dick, cut their ties, something that would very much be a deep-rooted insecurity for a kid with as massive of abandonment issues as Dick must have given his childhood and a number of events after that…

Dick I think needs to trust that he’ll be capable of surviving, of standing on his own two feet, if the worst should ever happen again and he’s left on his own again. His self-reliance and obsessive need for independence aren’t a REJECTION of anyone else or anything Bruce or others have ever done for him.

They’re simply the defense mechanisms of a boy who was once upon a time torn away from everything he knew and in certain origins was then on top of that plunged into hellish circumstances before finding a refuge with Bruce….

And the man that boy grew up to be, who is determined to never be caught in a situation like that again, where his very survival might otherwise require the kindness of a stranger….with Dick knowing better than to count on lightning striking twice there, and him getting lucky a second time.

So in a lot of ways, my core perception of Dick having spent more time growing up in the luxury of Wayne Manor than any of the other kids is that its largely irrelevant to who he grew up to be. Because he was still more than old enough by the time he arrived that he had formative experiences all his own that no amount of time was sufficient to overwrite and exchange for new ones.

His experiences are so extreme in terms of the loss of all forms of stability, that the SHAPE that stability takes in the periods where his life IS stable, is largely unimportant. Because its the absence of stability that’s the defining recurrence in his life. Even the stability offered by his childhood in Wayne Manor eventually gave way to canon where he left the Manor before he was even eighteen, as well as canon where no matter how it was ultimately reversed, he was for a time affected by having the ability to call the Manor his home STRIPPED AWAY FROM HIM. Thus even when Bruce did ultimately welcome him back, there still retained an awareness that even the fact that this had happened in the first place was a reminder that even THIS was something Dick could lose, that no matter how stable his childhood there had been at times, it couldn’t in and of itself be COUNTED as a source of stability due to the simple fact that his ability to call it his home HADN’T turned out to be an irrevocable constant. 

And so this is another of those areas where I think its fundamentally an oversight to have members of the family commenting on Dick’s self-reliance or tendencies to relocate himself, let alone in any kind of critical capacity......

If there’s not going to be an acknowledgment within the family or by the people raising these criticisms like, what kind of a role the family themselves have played in Dick feeling a NEED to have these tendencies in the first place.

If someone doesn’t trust in any place he lives in to ever truly be a constant in his life, truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in the right circumstances....and you yourself have done something that has made him feel or given him reason TO leave a place he’s found stability in at some point in the past....you kiiiiiinda forsake your right to be critical of his inability to see any place as permanent or constant, y’know?

Like, insert Miranda Whatshername gif or Meryl Streep peering down her glasses and going oh I see, you think this has nothing to do with you.

So I’d argue that Dick’s insistence on simulating the average person’s reality of livelihood, even when he has other means and funds available to him….just as his insistence on being as solely responsible for the well-being of the place or people he sees as his responsibilities, being single-minded about relying only on himself for tasks that he sees as ultimately having nothing to do with someone other than himself, etc....

All that is in my opinion BECAUSE he’s so firmly attached to the reality that anything and everything can be taken away, at ANY given moment. That he can be reduced to having nothing and no one he can depend on BEYOND just his own innate skills and experiences, the only things he trusts to be truly unable to be stripped from him by others.

If you ask me, one of the core aspects of Dick’s characterization throughout his adulthood in canon is SPECIFICALLY his fear that everything he cares about, or trusts, or relies on…can be taken away from him or lost. 

And his determination to make sure that he’ll be able to survive even if that should ever happen again.

[spasmsofthought]

rituals. (zuko x water tribe!reader)

+This turned out to be far longer than I anticipated it to be, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I’m sorry if Zuko feels out of character; I tried my best to not make him so. I wrote him in my mind to be older than 16 and with, at least, a year of Fire Lord experience with him. All of the things he says in this fic may not be completely on point, but I hope I made sense of his character in this situation and kept an accurate frame of reference for you to hold onto! 

I’ve been thinking: What would it have been like to marry the Fire Lord if you were an outsider, from another nation/element? And where that question led me is what produced this. 

I tried my best to have accurate research, but if something’s off or wrong, please kindly let me know! I’m not an expert about the fandom here. 

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this mess of fluffy Fire Lord Zuko and a Water Tribe OC just trying to navigate the way between two different cultures. 

Read Part II here! 

Like, comment, reblog! 

--

“Thank you.” You smile softly as some Fire Palace officials make their way out of the giant, ornate room. Their faces are more stoic, but there is one older man who gives you a slight quirk of his lips before they are back in a thin line. He’s been the only one who has been semi-kind to you. The rest of them have just been rigid and downright insufferable. It takes a few moments before their footsteps recede and you are surrounded by silence. 

It turns out that the Fire Lord asking you to become his wife comes with a lot more than you thought it would. 

And of course, you had never been blind to the fact that Zuko is of royal lineage. His family has passed down the title and office of Fire Lord for generations. The people of the Fire Nation have known this family for over a century. 

The blood definitely feels thicker than water here, though Zuko’s own familial situation may testify against that. 

How naïve of you to think any of this would be simple and easy. Nothing about this past century has been.

You press your head to the solid table beneath you, hand-crafted and polished so that it shines like the stars you remember seeing at night back home. Frustration and stress knit your shoulders together, your arms curling in towards your midsection.  

Deep breath in, the voice of your mother reminds you. You can barely remember her face now, lost to time, but her voice still somehow stays clear. You hope it stays that way for a long time. Now let it go, she says, too. 

If you close your eyes, you can almost picture your little family’s home. The sea squid hanging out to dry so that it can be prepared for supper and her bed disheveled but lined with furs that keep you both warm at night and during the coldest days. It’s probably empty now, a home to no one. 

You exhale, forehead still pressed against the table. You repeat the process a few more times, trying to somehow expel the tightness of your shoulders. The weight stays. Despite whatever you may lose,  being with Zuko is the closest to home you will ever feel now. 

You get up from your seated position at the table and move to a window, looking down at the picturesque landscape of a quiet pond garden. You lean against a pillar supporting the ceiling and try to absorb yourself in the peaceful scenery. You close your eyes and try to listen to the sound of the soft breeze rustling the leaves of the tree. You just want it all to go away for a second.

“Have they exhausted you yet?” A gravelly voice behind you asks. 

You turn to see Zuko standing in the open doorway. He’s dressed in all his formal attire, of course, but he seems to carry his own weight on his shoulders today. 

Idiot, you think, of course he looks stressed and weighed down. He’s trying to re-establish peace among four nations after the 100-year war his ancestor started. 

“Yeah, sure.” You mumble and smile softly. 

The moment doesn’t last long before you turn back to the pond, stomach churning now. The grief and the stress mingle together. You miss home, you miss the weather and wearing your furs. You miss your parents, who have been gone for four years; your father to the war and your mother to sickness. The ache never seems to go away, but it dulls when Zuko is able to be around. 

Zuko makes his way to stand beside you, saying nothing as he directs his gaze also to the peaceful pond, undisturbed by people or the noise of the outside world. 

Despite what you had been told about the Fire Nation your whole life growing up, and what you’d been told about Zuko during the War, you’d always appreciated when he did this. Despite his title and the lineage he carries, he’s always treated you like an equal. You are no less to him because you are female, and you are no less to him because you come from the Water Tribe. 

If it had been a few years ago, you wonder if he would have thought differently. Or perhaps he has always been able to understand honor more than most since he was a child, and that was part of the reason he was the one who was destined to be Fire Lord all along. 

You take in the side profile of his face for a moment, trying to gather the strength you’ve always had inside you.  

“I don’t want to worry you,” You begin, turning back to the view of the pond. 

It’s still and quiet and sounds like a great place to escape to in this present moment. 

“I’ll let you know when I can’t handle it,” His sardonic tone answers back. 

You know he means it as a joke, but there’s a stark truth to his words. He’s handled much more than a trivial conversation about what may be bothering you.

You take a moment to organize your thoughts so that you don’t come across as an emotional train wreck. Zuko has always seemed to have infinite patience with you while you express your emotions, but emotional intelligence is new to him as well. You don’t want to burden him with trying to figure out your emotions while he’s trying to cope with and understand his own. 

“I just... I didn’t know how difficult this would be.” 

“What?” He sounds a bit surprised. 

“Adopting your culture as my own,” Zuko opens his mouth but you stop him before he can even begin. “From a shallow frame of reference, I had always known your culture and your people would be different than mine. And the time I spent traveling back and forth from the Water Tribe to here when I was only your girlfriend gave me some exposure, but I didn’t know. Not really. Most of your people have been so indoctrinated by nationalistic propaganda that our union wouldn’t have really even been conceivable a few years ago.” 

There’s another moment of silence as you take a breath and exhale it. In and out. Zuko doesn’t try to interrupt the moment with platitudes or words of comfort, and that’s another thing you’ve grown to love about him. 

He doesn’t say something he doesn’t mean. It’s not in his nature to do so. 

In allowing each of you to struggle with the weight of your words and emotions, he honors your emotions without dismissing them. Sometimes, it leaves you speechless because the practice is so ingrained in him, there are times he doesn’t even notice he does it. 

“I can adapt. That’s not what I’m worried about. My people are strong because we are so willing to adapt to change, just like the ocean: strong and flexible. I can belong here without losing myself. I just don’t have anything to bring with me. There is no recognition of my culture, and since these meetings have started a few days ago, I get shut down every time I try to bring something into what should be the happiest day of my life.” 

You turn to him also and take a step closer. His expression remains neutral and you can tell it’s going to take some time for him to digest all of this. For a moment, you place your hands on his chest, clothed with the finest robes available in the Fire Nation. 

“When I said yes to your proposal, to the reality of a life with you, I meant it with all of my heart. I still do. But I have nothing tying me to my homeland or the place of my birth like you do here.”

He looks like he has a thousand things to say, but then the words fade away before they even make it out of his mouth. Zuko’s face turns back towards the outside, looking out at the pond as a soft breeze again disturbs the tree by the water. He always gets this look in his eyes when he’s in deep thought. The dilemma is less with him and his position as Fire Lord and more with how to integrate you in his world without making you “fit in” in ways you were never supposed to. 

“If I’ve learned anything over the past few years,” He begins, still standing straight and looking outside. “It’s that nothing in the world is right if there is no balance.” 

He reaches inside his formal robe and pulls out a box. Your brows furrow in confusion, because Zuko is not one to give gifts. 

“I was going to give this to you later, but it seems like the right time now.” He shrugs and hands you the box while a hand goes to rub his neck. 

He always does this when he feels shy or flustered. It’s kind of cute to see the “decisive Fire Lord” act like a teen aged boy. He had rare opportunity to act like one before. 

The box is like a square and a silk ribbon is tied around it. Your fingers work at the knot while you raise your eyebrow at him. You place the ribbon on the windowsill once it’s unraveled and gently pull the lid off the box. It may have looked inexpensive, but you never truly knew in the Fire Nation. 

The thing inside almost takes your breath away. It’s all blue, every single bit of it. 

It’s a betrothal necklace. 

You didn’t even know Zuko knew they existed, let alone what it would have meant in your culture if he gave you one. (Granted, he’s already asked you to marry him, but for the moment you dismiss the thought.) 

It’s true, most marriages are arranged by parents or parental figures in the Water Tribe. Most people at home are not as lucky as you have been to freely choose a partner, whether inside the Tribe or outside of it. Sometimes it seems a more hollowed out gesture when neither party is truly looking to get married for love. But the ones that do always give the necklace its meaning and purpose. 

“I asked Katara for some help,” He began to explain as you stare at the necklace. “I didn’t know what I was doing or where I should go, so she was the one who guided me. She gave me some ideas of what the carving in the stone should represent, but in the end, I came up with the design by myself.” 

Zuko rubs the back of his neck again as you glance between him and the necklace. 

The choker is dark blue as always, but the color gives you some semblance of peace. Blue isn’t a very prominent color displayed in the Fire Nation. Indeed, the stone fastened to the choker has already been carved into. The design is somehow intricate and simple at the same time. It is intimate without being gaudy or overdone. It is all blue and reflective of the culture you grew up in and the one you still carry with you. 

“You carved it yourself?” You whisper, not doubting the answer but still needing to ask it. Zuko just nods and your eyes well up with tears. He doesn’t even know how sacred this necklace is to you in a place where no one else will ever understand its full importance and meaning. 

“Will you put it on for me?” You hand the necklace to him as you also discard the box on the windowsill and turn your back to him. You’re thankful your hair is already tied back (still adorned with various blue beads from your background) as you sweep it to the side so Zuko can clasp the necklace around your neck. 

The weight of it is unfamiliar but grounding. It anchors you to the truth. It reminds you that no matter what marrying Zuko looks like, you carry your culture with you wherever you go. The way you treat others, hold yourself, and what you, hopefully, pass down to your children is far more important than what traditions you do or don’t adhere to in a ceremony. 

“I’ll talk to the officials,” He offers as he clasps the choker together. “You should be able to have all the customs that are important to you when we get married. You have always been my equal, but this time it will be a fact and not just an assumption.” 

You touch the stone with your fingers as you turn back to face him. The tears are already sliding down your cheeks, but you also give him a sweet close-lipped smile. He knows but he doesn’t. And that is what makes him so beautiful. 

You cup his face between your palms and feel him relax a little. Physical affection had never been a priority in his childhood or adolescence, but you can tell he’s starting to understand why you think it’s important to give and receive it. 

“Thank you,” You say, smiling wider. 

You close the distance and bring your mouth towards his. The kiss is steady and soft but also full of unrestrained emotion. Zuko gives you a second one before you both pull apart. He just shakes his head. 

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.” He whispers back as he brings you to his chest. 

He is home now, and that is what matters. 

[animated-moon]

tug of war

pairing: zhongli x gn! reader

warnings: SPOILERS FOR LIYUE’S CHAPTER OF ARCHON QUEST! reader works at bubu pharmacy, not proofread we die like real idiots 🤞🤞 i also made references to some of the liyue npc’s idle dialogues that people made into memes because it was too tempting not to

word count: 1.1k

a/n: i lowkey hate it but i guess we all just have to learn to adapt

☆。*。☆。

The almighty archon Rex Lapis has never lost before. Never once has he given in to the enemy’s demands, no matter who or what was at risk, and never once has he cowered to someone in battle, no matter how strong the enemy.

That was, until you came along.

“Hey! What are you doing out in Jueyun Karst all alone? It’s dangerous, sir!” He turns around, seeing a small frame running towards him. He’d just finished fending off a group of hilichurls, as per the Traveller’s request. He’d gotten a few scratches and part of his neat suit was torn. Sometimes, he forgot that he wasn't the unbeatable Morax anymore.

“Oh? You’re that new hot topic in Liyue, aren’t you?” He nodded, tucking his spear away.

“My name is Zhongli, consultant of the Wangsheng funeral parlour. A pleasure to meet you…” You chirped out your name, and he took a mental note of it. He’s heard your name around before, since you worked part time at Bubu pharmacy. He recalls that Baizhu was pretty fond of you.

“We should patch you up, Mr Zhongli. I happen to have some herbs that can numb the wounds for a bit. Please stay still while I apply them onto your arm,” you said, taking his arm gently as if he were made out of porcelain. He’d barely felt your hands on his skin before you clapped your hands ceremoniously.

“All done. Make sure to be more careful in the future, sir!” Before he could state his thanks, you’d run off, leaving the god speechless and charmed.

“Hey, Li!” Your voice stood out to him amongst the sea of chatter and exclamations. It's always been like this with you. “Wanna play tug of war?” He smiled.

“I’d never say no to a challenge,” A simple reply, like the simple man he now was.

This war between both of you started as a lighthearted game, and Zhongli found himself unwilling to let go of his end of the rope. He looked up at you, a focused gaze as you tried to knock Zhongli off his balance.

Every little motion from you was a tug of the rope, slowly pulling him closer. Even with his build, he found it difficult to pull the rope back to him. It was like his feet were planted to the ground, and his arms were only made of stone.

What is this feeling? He often asked himself, but even the almighty Lord of Geo couldn’t find an answer to his own question. When did he know to feel like this?

“Aren’t the lanterns beautiful?” You asked, taking a bite out of your cheap and tasty chop suey. Zhongli nodded, settling next to you with his grilled tiger fish. It was still hot, and he blew on it gently.

“I’m glad you took time off to hang out with me today, sir! Although you really didn’t have to,” you made a comment, and Zhongli had the smallest smile on his face.

“It’s nothing. Ms Hu let me off early today. Let’s just enjoy the lanterns.” He commented, and you hummed.

The silence was comfortable, and he glanced at you, the light from the floating lanterns reflecting off your face in a magical way. You fluttered your eyes close and clasped your hand over the other, lips moving slightly and allowing your wish to get lost amongst the beautiful lanterns.

What was it you wished about? Zhongli considered asking, but remained quiet.

“Li! Are you just letting me win?” Your voice pulled him back to reality, and he had a wide grin on his face.

“You’ve grown stronger,” he comments, and you laugh softly.

“Feel welcome to bash my ego with your geo arms.” Zhongli laughs at that, putting more strength into trying to secure himself. He wouldn’t fall. Not yet.

“Really?” You asked, eyes almost glittering. Zhongli smiled at you fondly. “They never told us these things in school,” you comment, and he shook his head.

“Not many truths of the past are conserved at all. It’s a pity not many people are as interested in history as you are,” he says, both of you strolling around the Dunyu ruins.

“Oh, do you see that?” He asks, pointing to a crossbow. “That’s-“

“The Guizhong Ballista, right?” You finished his sentence, and Zhongli looked at you, a little surprised. “I remember that you said the God of Dust, Guizhong and Cloud Retainer built it together to protect the citizens of Liyue! The traveller and you had to fix it together last time, since some treasure hoarders destroyed it.

“You remembered that? It was months ago.” Not many people bothered to remember Zhongli’s stories, after all. Not many even saw the true value in them.

“Well, it’s an interesting story, and I should be grateful that you chose to tell it to me,” you replied simply, gazing at the crossbow. Zhongli was a man of a million words, but at that moment, all the words he wanted to say seemed to be caught in his throat.

Zhongli tried again to tug on the rope, his strength not coming to him at all. Your giggles as he inched closer and closer to you was music to his ears, and he couldn’t help but smile again.

“Go! Pull harder while he’s not paying attention! You can do this!” Somewhere in the crowd, Childe could be seen, cheering for you. As he caught Zhongli’s eye, he snickered and mouthed two words to him.

“Down bad.”

“I like you, Zhongli.”

“Huh?” Zhongli made a sound of surprise? You… liked him? Before he let his mind wander, you tossed a pebble across the surface of the water, watching as the water rippled.

For some reason, he couldn’t remember the rest of that day. Did he say it back? How did you respond? What did you say after that?

Did it even happen? Or was it just a fragment of his imagination?

“Mr Zhongli! Go!” Hutao cheered, but Zhongli didn’t hear anything besides the bubble of laughter falling from your lips.

“Yea, I like you,” you repeated, turning to look at him. Before Zhongli could speak, you continued.

“-r passion for history.”

He pouts, tilting his head at you. Were you teasing him? Seeing the frown on his face, you laugh.

“Disappointed?”

“Hardly,” he replies, but turns away from you. Sometimes, Zhongli too could be childish.

“You’d have to say it first, Li,” you say, and Zhongli tilts his head at you again.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t like giving in,” you grin, standing up to leave Zhongli speechless yet again.

“I can never win with you, can I?” He mutters to himself, a wide smile across his face.

That was when your little competition began, he remembers. If he even tried to think that he wasn't interested in you, it’d be a lie. Within a few short months, he had become so enamoured with you that it’d hardly be fair.

Now, as he gave one last tug to his end of the rope, you grinned at him. He remembers every single time your eyes lighted up in delight, or dimmed with disappointment. He remembers every time you’d tugged on the rope, slowly knocking him off the balance he’d always known.

After everything, he finally let go of his end of the rope, falling into your arms which felt like home.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Would lowkey kill to see Kauri attempting to write poetry in his relationship with Jake era (omg Jake helping him/being the one to write it down) I always forget that he was a writer and loves poetry and I love him 10 times more every time I remember

CW: Some references to past trauma, forced illiteracy, some brief internalized victim-blaming/slut-shaming, Kauri’s low self-esteem

Takes place after Worth the Risk and Kauri’s first glimpse of his own past

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t fucking do this.” Kauri picks up the notebook, hard-backed blue with little golden stars twinkling on the cover, and throws it full-strength across the room until it smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to his own scrawling, struggling handwriting.

Chris, wrapped in a big fuzzy blue blanket and curled up in an armchair playing a game on his phone or texting Laken or maybe both, flinches and looks up. “Kauri?”

Kauri looks away from the earnest concern in those huge green eyes and kicks ineffectually at the coffee table, hissing when he doesn’t actually miss and his toes connect with the hard wooden leg. “Fuck. Fucking-... bullshit, I’m an idiot trying to do this, just-... god damn it. I should know better.”

There’s a silence, and then Chris asks, softly, “Know better than, than... than to what? What were you, um, you doing?”

Kauri’s jaw is set and for a second he considers lying. He’s a good liar, after all, and Chris is always so ready to believe him, he wouldn’t even question it. Safer to lie, hide the ideas inside his head, talk instead about something soft and surface-level. 

Safer to be stupid, always.

But he’s trying not to do that anymore.

He’s trying.

“Writing,” He says, finally. “I was... trying to-... write something.” The words are ground out of him nearly against his will. He glares at the notebook lying open on the floor, the scrawling handwriting of the fucked up slut still thinking he can be anything else. Looping and childish, too big almost to fit within the lines. 

“Oh.” Chris pauses, and then brightens, setting his phone aside and straightening up. “You, you sad you think that you used to, to, to, to write, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Kauri’s head hurts, a sharp punishing ache. How dare he think in metaphor and simile, how dare he try to build the villanelle, how dare he remember vaguely arguing with someone in a coffeeshop over old poetic forms being superior to poems that don’t even try to fit within a rhythm, and he just-

This is so-

He’s so stupid, thinking he could just pick it up again like it hasn’t been a decade or close, like he’s still whatever stupid shit lived in his body before he-

signed up for this-

followed a fucking hot guy outside in the dark and got thrown into a van and made into Kauri. 

“Well, my... my professor for, for, for, for Playwriting says... says writing is a muscle. You, you have to exercise. And you can’t do the, um, the, the, the-the heavy weights until you start with, with small ones.”

Kauri snorts, derisive, but it’s not because Chris is wrong - of course he’s not wrong. Part of Kauri knows it, too, that he used to write all the time, around the pounding inside his skull he knows that he used to scribble lines on napkins and paper towels and the margins of his study books, bringing together the poem itself only later, usually alone or with a boyfriend on the other side of the room. He used to be able to do this.

He used to do this all the time. 

“I wish Owen had wanted someone who could write a fucking poem,” Kauri says, voice breaking on the tears that threaten. “Maybe then I’d still be able to.” He pushes himself to his feet and stomps over to scoop up the notebook almost violently. “Why are you taking Playwriting, anyway? I thought you wanted to do set design.”

“I, I do.” Chris shrugs, eyes on Kauri, watching him walk back towards the doorway that leads to a hall and then to the kitchen. “But I thought-... I, I, I figured-... maybe if I learn how to, to write a play, it would help... visualize. For, for, for set-building. You, um. You know?”

Kauri exhales, slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. I get it. That’s a good plan - I mean, not that I would know, I’m a college fucking dropout, right?” He laughs, bitterness in every word, in every sound.

“No,” Chris replies, simply. “You, you were... abducted. We were, um. We, we, we were stolen. Your words were, um, were stolen, too. That’s what Dr. Berger-”

“Fuck Dr. Berger,” Kauri snaps, and leaves the room before Chris can make any more sense and possibly break apart Kauri’s determined self-loathing while he still wants to soak in it. 

Hating himself for what he can’t do - or what he’s been told he can’t do - is so much easier than trying to do it anyway.

Everything was easier than trying to get better.

So why is he still trying?

Notebook clenched in white-knuckled hands, Kauri climbs the stairs like a man moving to the gallows, one by one, his thoughts a swirling morass of self-hatred, and then he moves into the bedroom he shares with Jake here and stares at the rumpled covers on the bed.

He sleeps here every single night, wakes up to the same face pressed red on one side from the pillow, hears the same deep voice rumbling good morning, feels the same arm slide over his waist, the same scratchy stubble rubbing his jaw when he’s kissed. 

I have generally found, in my work, the fucking therapist’s voice echoes inside him, that when you begin to do the work to rebuild, you will find yourself dedicated over time to reconstructing not just a room, Kauri, but the entire city that was once leveled. Does that make sense?

He’d told her it didn’t.

Kauri spent years dodging therapy whenever Nat didn’t talk him into it, and he hates going. He hates having to spill all the darkness inside him to someone who never stops being so goddamn calm.

But the first time she’d said, have you ever heard about the effect that solitary confinement has on the human mind? He had told her he didn’t know, but he’d started crying, too, and hadn’t been able to explain why. 

Part of you knows, Dr. Berger had said gently. Part of you always knew.

He had never really wanted to know the person who had inhabited this skin, or try to be him again. But standing here looking at the evidence of the life he is slowly building - his clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed, his toothbrush in the little cup in the bathroom, a picture of he and Jake in a frame by the bed now, the very small silver ring he wears sometimes even though they’re not and they probably won’t but it kind of feels good to wear it sometimes... 

He wonders if Liam Harker wanted a life like this one.

---

“It’s really dumb,” Kauri mutters, pulling the pillow over his face, burning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t even really mean for you to see it-”

“It’s not dumb,” Jake says, gently. Kauri feels the dip in the mattress as he sits down, feels the warmth of his hand resting on Kauri’s thigh through the blanket. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t know what I was looking at. If it was supposed to be a secret-”

“No. I didn’t. I forgot I left it out on the dresser. It’s not your fault. It’s so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I even-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice sharpens, a little. “Stop. Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not, and you never were, and you don’t have to repeat what that asshole told you about yourself anymore, remember?”

Kauri swallows, hard, a lump in his throat he can’t quite breathe around. “When does it stop being his voice,” He asks, muffled, “and start being my own?”

“When you let it,” Jake says, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Just like my dad’s voice. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m sorry I read it, but that’s because it wasn’t mine to read, not because it was dumb, or bad. It wasn’t.”

Kauri hesitates, then pulls the pillow to the side, looking at the sincere affection in Jake’s face, his slight smile. “Yeah? You’re not just-”

“Saying that? No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not, like, a poetry person-”

“It’s not even a real villanelle, anyway.”

“I have no idea what that means. I just... I thought it was pretty good, actually. When I realized-...  I put it down when I realized you were writing about-... you know. Yourself.”

“Liam,” Kauri says, hoarse, barely able to pronounce the name. “I wrote-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes his hand, pulls it to his lips, presses a kiss to Kauri’s knuckles. “I know. It’s really good, Kaur. You should keep writing. I promise I won’t look at any stray papers I find anymore, yeah?”

Kauri takes a breath. He feels almost dizzy, in a way that is both terrible and wonderful. The way you open yourself to the people you love is a horrible, amazing risk. The way you spill the darkest parts of yourself, not things you’ve done wrong but the things you are afraid of allowing back into the light, in case it washes them all away again.

But the light he lives in now isn’t cold, and it isn’t taking him away from himself. The light he lives in now is sunlight.

“What?” Jake’s eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s that face for?”

“Jake. What if-... what if I ask you to? Read them?”

Jake’s lips press together, and he nods, smiling slightly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Kauri’s hand. He’s always warm, Jake, even on the coldest days. He’s always warm. “I’d be-... be fucking honored, or something that sounds less bullshit than that, but I mean it. I’d be... I love you, Kauri. Seeing inside your head is what I want to do for-... for forever.”

“Maybe I’ll ask then,” Kauri says, and pulls Jake’s hand and then Jake himself, the taller, larger man settling on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows, careful not to rest all his weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s pretty fucking great.”

Kauri’s eyes glimmer, but he closes them so Jake can’t see, and kisses his forehead. “It’s nice to think that I’m lucky and mean it.”

“I think you should read your poem to Dr. Berger,” Jake says, and when Kauri groans, he pulls back. “I mean it. She should know.”

Kauri wants to argue, but he looks into Jake’s eyes, and sighs, and says he’ll think about it.

---

AN APOLOGY

I am built from the hollow air left after your heart stopped beating

Your hands still gripped tight to the life they were ending

I know you thought of home but I don’t know where your home is

The sound of my voice is a green valley that only sends back screaming

Covered in smoke and dust that I told myself smelled like cologne

Pathways that remember your laughter silent in the years that followed

Have I done enough to build a life you would have enjoyed living?

I am built from the hollow air left over when your heart stopped beating

The heat of their hands as inevitable as a river tore down every foundation

Their cruelty buried you so deeply that only I remain

I don’t deserve the love that should have been yours to receive

The sound of my voice is a valley echoing back your screaming

I owe you an apology for walking around inside you

Crumbling ruins with my touch and calling it preservation

I’m sorry for every blade of grass growing through our bones

Am I nothing but hollow air from when your heart stopped beating?

-

Wildflowers grow inside me from soil windswept over ash

Is that life worth everything not quite dead so deep below?

Is Kauri Grant good enough to make up for Liam Harker’s loss?

In the valley of my body, does anyone but me still hear you screaming?

I owe you an apology and have to hope the life I live provides it

I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the shape of you  

We’re both ghosts, in the end, mosaic pieces shattered in shadows

I’m sorry that I’m all that’s left.

I built myself from hollow air in the shape of a heart still beating

The sound of my voice will always carry the echo of yours screaming

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @orchidscript @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump