#rocking back in forth this is so good actually love who ever first coined this latin phrase

[felixravinstills]

omg, yes, I do approve! this is totally the Ravinstills! also y'all can tag me in Ravinstill stuff, I don't mind. encourage it even!

random ravinstill thought

scrolling through the internet and found this -

Corvus oculum corvi non eruit - a raven does not pick out an eye of another raven 

After seeing the word 'raven', my brain automatically jumped to the Ravinstills - that no matter any in-family power grabs or rivalries, when the time calls for it, they are always a united front. Especially in public (ie. cameras, interviews, speeches etc.)

Edit: forgot to add this earlier - I sort of imagine it as a possible unofficial Ravenstill motto. Sort of like "Snow lands on top" for the Snows.

(will our resident ravinstill expert approve of this 🥺)

[2-cute-4-school]

NCT Dream reaction to you getting your wisdom teeth removed

Mark

babysitting the dreamies is part of his daily job so he thinks ‘how hard can it be to take care of you for a few hours pffft’

he’s never regretted underestimating you so bad in his entire life ◑.◑

you’re not just a nightmare

you’re THE ULTIMATE NIGHTMARE

he was so embarrassed when he had to gently drag you out of the dentist’s office while you were crying cuz

“mY TOOTH!! mark, i lost my tooth, what am i gonna do?!?! i should have put a leash on it, i knew it!!!! now it’s gone and it’s all my fault!!!!” (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

*ugly sobbing* *mark awkwardly patting your back while pulling you away from the scrutinizing glares of a few karens in the waiting room*

“mark. i didn’t even get to name it!!!”

poor bby cheetah mark is SO lost

“baby, hey, don’t cry! we’ll uh…. i’ll get you a new one!” ヾ(ﾟДﾟ;ヾ)

you look up with your glassy eyes and your right cheek chubbier than your left from the cotton lodged where your tooth used to be, your bottom lip trembling oh so cutely 

and mark just…stops functioning for a moment because

‘HOW CAN ANYONE BE SO CUTE BUT SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS AT THE SAME TIME IT’S NOT FAIR !!??!?!?’

“ rweally? would you really do that for me, markie?” (◞‸◟；)

“ASFKSFRDACGCS YES LOML ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING JUST SAY THE WORD AND I’LL BRING THE MOON TO YOUR FEET YOU PRECIOUS LIL BABY” ⊂（♡⌂♡）⊃

 and he still insists he’s not 120% whipped for you can you believe it

he ends up piggybacking you all the way back home because your giggles were just too cute for him to resist so he can’t even get tired with how happy he is to witness you so carefree and joyful

and his heart just melts when you leave a huuuge kith with the loudest *MWAH* ever on his cheek and you nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck that’s like the fatal combination of cute acts ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

in conclusion : this man just adores you with every bit of his heart :((((

Renjun

probably asked kun to pick you both up from the dentist 

you’re just too much for him smh

you’re cute and all but renjun is a tired uncle

so you’re both in the backseat with kun as your driver and it’s silent

renjun just knows something is wrong there’s no way you’re so calm 

but you’re just staring at him like ◎_◎

“uh..babe, you alright?”

silence and then *GASP*

renjun just knows he’s about to facepalm himself into another dimension when you grip his cheeks in both hands

“you’re a fAIRY!!!!!!!” (*ﾟﾛﾟ)

*sigh* *muffled words* “y/n let’s calm down and just-”

he doesn’t get another word out before you shove his face in your lap and literally raise his shirt up to the nape of his neck

damn beach you know what you want huh go off

“where are they???!!?!?! where are you hiding them you impostor??!!!?”

and then you start slapping his back

“ow ow OW, Y/N WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?? STOP !!”

“YOUR WINGS!!! WHERE ARE YOUR FRICKIN’ WINGS ?!?!?” (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

renjun is this 👌 close to knocking you out for good with a karate chop

so he just pushes you off and straps you to your seat with a second safety belt as he huffs under his breath

“i can’t guarantee you’ll live to see next week” (⊙_◎)

kun watching in the rear mirror like （͡°͜ʖ͡°）

“you know what? i’d really eat some chicken wings right now!! jun, let’s go get chicken wings!!!” ⊂((・▽・))⊃

he’s surprised you even remember his name

but you eventually exhaust yourself and pass out in the backseat of the car so renjun and kun drag you to bed 

and renjun just tucks you in like the soft loving boyfriend that he is

and he just stares at you fondly and smooches you all over your face cuz

“how tf can you be so cute, you lil overexcited evil? you’re like the cutest thing in the world and it just!!!not!!!fair!!!!!” (♡ ‸ ♡ )

so even though he complains about you a lot, he’d sell his kidney just to see his lil cute bub happy i’m so soft :((((

Lee Jeno

“let’s go to the playground!!”

“y/n, no, let’s go home and put some ice on that cheek”

“but baaaabe i wanna go one the swing” ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

“then we’ll have to ice both cheeks”

“what did ya say???!!?!”

so jeno’s headache only worsened once you both arrived home with no prior stop to the playground

and as much as he loves you he also wants to bang his head against a wall and end his suffering yay o((*^▽^*))o

“just stay still for a second please, i’m really trying to tie this thing properly around your head”

you’re just so restless and jeno is just so done

“does it hurt?”

“ywes, my heart hurts because my own boyfriend doesn’t love me!!!”

“y/n, we already had this conversation, now just-”

“i just wanted a swing!!!” *bursts into tears* *jeno sighs half of his soul out* ଽ (৺ੋ ௦ ৺ੋ )৴

so jeno sits down beside you and pulls you into his lap gently, rocking you back and forth in an attempt to soothe your sobs jeno best boyfriend no cap

“there there, baby, we can’t go out-” *sobs intensify* “BUT i promise i’ll get you a swing right here if you let me take care of you first”

you leech yourself onto jeno’s sleeve and wipe your tears on his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind the wet patch left on the material as he watches you with that soft look of his (´-ω-`)

so you let him patch you up after his reassurance and after he just pats your head affectionately and motions for you to stand up

and this man just flexes his arms and nudges you to latch on

that’s how jeno ends up with a squealing you as you swing back and forth with your fingers gripping his arm ╰(✧∇✧╰)

Lee Haechan

you want to pretty him up

because “since my left cheek looks like it’s stuffed with a tennis ball, i can’t carry the visuals in this relationship for a while, so i need to hand the responsibility over to you”

“who even said you’re the one carrying the visuals” ℃ↂ_ↂ

“oh honey you’re only now realizing?”

(╬☉д⊙)⊰⊹ฺ

he blames the anesthesia for your severe accusations

but the only way to shut you up is give in to your wishes

so that’s how he found himself seated down on the carpet of your home with your legs draped over his and your totally professional make up applied over his face

“i look like a clown”

“not even make up can cover your true identity, hyuck”

deep breaths, donghyuck, in and out, take it easy (◎ω◎*)

“any preferences for the nail polish color?”

“to match my soul”

“so hot pink” o(≧∇≦o)

*poker face* “you know i could obliviate you if i wanted to clown you”

*pout that hurts hyuck’s lil heart* “but you wouldn’t do that to your hurting baby, would you” *blinks rapidly with puppy eyes*

“you bet i would” (no he wouldn’t you’re just too cute and he loves you too much) *totally not whipped (♥ω♥*)*

painting his nails is the hugest struggle in your entire life

“WHY TF ARE THEY SO SHORT, ARE THEY TAKING AFTER YOU”

on second thought, mercy is no longer available for you

“hyuck, you should tape your fingers so you won’t bite your nails like a preschooler anymore”

“i’ll tape your mouth shut, that’s what i’ll tape” *_*

“hUH???!?!!?”  (*ﾟﾛﾟ)

Na Jaemin

“okay jisung is an easy task compared to you right now”

even though this man is used to being the mom of the group

he’s still most likely in disbelief watching his otherwise angel flap around like a headless chicken 

but you’re even cutter with your swollen cheek so he forgives you (︶▽︶)

“hey, jaem, did you know i’m closely related to snails??”

“entertain me” (∩_∩)

“they can sleep for years at once. that’s like my main talent.”

“it would be great for me if you’d put this talent of yours to work now”

jaemin ends up sprawled over the couch and watching dramas like a tired mom of 3 hyperactive children with you curled up at his side playing games on his phone

*hiccup*

jaemin’s brain before he even registered the sound : something’s wrong

“y/n baby?” (｡•́︿•̀｡)

*hiccup* *sniffle* *hiccup* 

jaemin’s overprotective instincts kicked in ಠ╭╮ಠ

he knocks the phone out of the way and swings your legs over his lap to cradle you against his chest and hush you with the gentlest coos while rubbing your back up and down softly

“what happened, my love? does it hurt? tell nana what’s wrong and he’ll get rid in a second of what dared hurt his precious baby” just imagine this man this would be like the peak of my life  🥺

so in between your boyfriend’s comforting whispers and your harsh breaths of air you managed to let out a few words

“e-elephants, nana”

he already knows the biggest facepalm is coming his way -_-

“tHEy CAn’T jUmP, tHE poOR ELephANTs”

(ノ-_-)ノ~┻━┻

he just sighs and continues rocking you in his arms until you doze off, slumped on his chest, your head cushioned by his shoulder

he softly shakes his head at you and lays a butterfly kiss on your forehead

“i would make elephants jump just for you, my cute big baby” ♡♡(￫ε￩*)

Zhong Chenle

he halfway panics at the way you act

you’re usually the one who takes care of him so your childish act that surfaced because of the anesthesia took him by surprise

“dude they brainwashed y/n” (ﾉ｀□´)ﾉ

once you start babbling to him about the end of the rainbow and the elf that awaits there with a pot full of golden coins he knew you lost it

calls renjun

“hyung i’m sorry for saying you’re batshit crazy with your conspiracies, but aliens kidnapped y/n”

*muffled voices on the other side*

“NO, I’M NOT DRUNK!! they brainwashed y/n or even worse… returned a cheap copy of them”

renjun probably just tells him to put you to sleep and advises chenle to do the same with himself -_-

so chenle just approaches you very carefully, his voice barely above a whisper

“hey, babe, aren’t you tired?”

“actually no, how about a walk in the park???”

“idk y/n, it doesn’t seem like the best idea”

“PLEASE”  🥺

“THIS IS THE BEST IDEA OF THE YEAR BABY!!!11!!”

this man is royally whipped for you so he takes you to the nearest park and keeps a careful watch on you as you bend down to pet every dog that passes by ⊂((・▽・))⊃

while he would do anything for you, he’s very panicky about your safety so he has to hold your hand the entire time and you’re not allowed to leave his side for even a second overprotective boyfriend check

mid walk you take a break on a bench and you lean your head on cheble’s shoulder before muttering sleepily

“lele, i’m tired, imma take a nap”

“are you serious rn” (ಠ_ಠ)

but you’re already a goner and chenle is left fuming by himself

despite his annoyance he still adjusts you so he can piggyback you home and hums songs softly every time you stir (灬♥ω♥灬)

you’ll have to baby him an entire week to pay him back

Park Jisung

this boy is actually quite pleased

because for once he can take care of you and not the other way around without any complaints coming from you

so you both end up curled into each other under a blanket while watching the Frozen movies :((((((((

and for once he ends up watching you more than he watches the movie because you’re so cute reciting all of Olaf’s lines ꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱

but the fun can only last for so long

and when your mouth starts feeling ‘funny’ jisung’s mind goes haywire

“sung, i’m gonna die”

panic panic PANIC (ｼ;ﾟДﾟ)ｼ

“they poisoned you didn’t they??? i knew it!! i knew dentists are evil, how am i gonna explain i let crazy doctors perform dark magic on you???!!?!?” no offense to dentists y’all are life savers

so you have at least 2 ice packs and a bag of frozen peas clutched against your cheek and you swear you’re about to die from frostbite rather than the weird feeling coming from your teeth 

and then jisung wraps you in a mountain of blankets cuz ‘we can’t have you catching a cold now too’ as if sweating your ass off is gonna fight off the numbing cold on your face  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but babie is confused a tad lot bit scared for both his and your life

and you’re kinda very dazed so comforting him isn’t really in your agenda

he probably worries within an inch of his life ヾ( ๑´д`๑)ﾂ

too afraid to let you fall asleep just in case

so every time you doz off sweet cutie jisung just kithes you (๑°꒵°๑)･*♡

and you wake up just to kiss back your cute boyfriend

and he just chuckles and blows raspberries on your neck man jisung would be such a cute whipped boyfriend

but he ends up asleep next to you with his face buried in your hair and arms tightly wrapped around you cocooning you close to himself ah i’m getting soft again ♡(㋭ ਊ ㋲)♡

[thepremedthatwrites]

Hello!! Can I request a Peter Pevensie imagine where the Pevensies are visiting the readers kingdom and Lucy wants the reader to show them the best thing to do at readers kingdom. So, the reader wakes them up in the middle of the night and takes them running around the town and her Peter have a bunch of fluffy moments?

Running Around

This was a lot of fun to write!  I decided to use a kingdom in a book I’m working on just to add a sense of variety in the nations used in my writings, plus I feel it makes it a bit more interesting.  Anyways, I hope you like it!

I paced back and forth, the overflowing greenery of the garden brushing the fabric of my dress.  As I turned on my heels, I saw a dark hooded figure making their way to me.  As it got closer, the outline of a small frame and feminine curves came into view.  The figure removed its hood to reveal a mop of reddish-brown hair and sparkling eyes.  “Are you ready?” I questioned, my voice echoing throughout the garden.

“What exactly are you planning?” the young Queen replied with.

“You said you wanted to see the best of my kingdom, did you not?’

“I suppose I assumed you would show me during the day.”  I shook my head.

“The night is when Afodilia truly comes alive,” I said, smiling.  “The moonlight rejuvenates the people, the cool night air waking up their instincts to live without regret.”

Lucy shifted her weight between her feet, the noise of crickets and the rustling of the plants filling the air.  “Alright,” she finally said, the moonlight revealing a toothy grin.  “I would like to ask you for one more thing before we leave.”

“Anything.”

“May my oldest brother join?  He’s been so caught up in his paperwork and duties as High King this entire trip and I would like for him to relax and enjoy himself for once.”  I paused for a moment.  I had been infatuated with the High King since the moment he stepped foot into the castle.  His charming good looks were almost negligible when I saw the way he cared for his nation.  Watching him be willing to do anything for the safety and wellbeing of his people was admirable and (though I would never admit it out loud) attractive.

“Of course,” I said, already feeling my heart start to race at the idea of spending so much time with Peter.

“Great.  You get Peter.  I need to do some last-minute things before we leave.  I’ll meet you at the front gates.”  Before I could protest, she was already halfway to the door leading back to the castle.  I let out a sigh before following her and heading down a long corridor that led to the sleeping King.

I was surprised when I heard someone mumble “come in” as I knocked on the door.  It must have been somewhere near two in the morning, a time where most people were fast asleep.  I gingerly opened the door, sticking my head in before my body followed it.

“Hello Your Majesty,” I said softly.  His head snapped to me, his eyes tired and posture slumped over a desk.

“Princess (y/n). Is there something wrong?” he asked, shooting up from his chair.

“Oh no, everything is fine,” I replied, pausing as I thought how to word the next sentence. “Lucy wanted to see the kingdom.”  Peter let out a soft chuckle, the mention of his youngest sibling causing him to relax and the sparkle to return to his eyes.

“Lucy always loves to learn the new culture of any kingdom we visit. I’m sure we can find someone to show her around.”

“Well, I actually volunteered to do so,” I said, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. “I was going to show her now.”

“Now?” Petter questioned, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late?”

“That’s exactly why I’m showing her now.”

“The night is a dangerous time for a young Queen and Princess to be out and about.”

“Maybe in Narnia. But in Afodilia, the best things happen at night.”

“You say that like you’ve been in the streets before, well after your parents had retired for the night and when the day soldiers had been replaced with the night shift.”

“Perhaps I have,” I replied, a mischievous smile starting to form on my lips.

“That doesn’t make it any less dangerous.”

“Then perhaps Lucy and I need someone like High King Peter the Magnificent who has battled giants and fought alongside Aslan to protect us.”  Peter let out a sole laugh that seemed to rattle throughout the bedroom, a smile now on his face.  He walked towards the wardrobe that sat in the corner of the room, flinging open one of the doors and grabbing his cloak and Rhindon before turning back to me.

“Lead the way, Your Highness.”

“I never saw such a busy market this time at night,” Lucy said aloud, not really caring who heard her, her head moving around as she took in the sight. The usual night sounds of owls and crickets were drowned out by the sound of buyers bargaining for lower prices and sellers advertising their goods. I stopped at a small table that showed off a variety of produce, giving the seller two gold coins for an apple.  I smiled as the vendor’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gold.

I turned to see Peter watching me. I gave him a small wink before taking a bite of the apple and continuing to walk along the different tables and stands. “An apple is not worth two gold coins.” I heard someone say. I turned to see Peter at my side.

“No, but I have more money than I could count. Overpaying for a fruit won’t kill me and it helps my subjects,” I replied with, taking another bite of my apple. I turned to see Peter watching me causing me to chuckle.  “Have you never seen an apple before?”

“Of course I know what an apple is,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just that your love for your subjects is admirable.”

“Oh please,” I said. This time, it was my turn to roll my eyes. “What I’ve done for my people is nothing compared to you. I don’t even know how to use a sword let alone defend my people from any physical threat.”

“You don’t need to fight a war to be a beloved monarch,” he said, shaking his head.  “I would be honored to have you as my Queen.”  The words seemed to have slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, his lips forming a thin line once he had finished speaking. I felt my face warm at his words.

“Thank you,” I said, rather unintelligently as my brain failed to come up with something witty to say. My hands fiddled with the apple as I looked towards the ground not able to bring myself to look Peter in the eyes.

“(Y/n), look!”  Lucy’s voice seemed to snap Peter and me out of the remnants of the conversation as we both turned to her. In her hands were an array of jewelry that seemed to be handmade.  “Aren’t they beautiful!”  Lucy seemed to have already bought a good amount of jewelry, a collection of bracelets on her wrist as she struggled with the clasp of a necklace. I chuckled as I walked over to her, helping her with the clasp.

“Let’s go somewhere else before you spend all your money here,” I said. Peter nodded in agreement, an amused smile on his face.  I grabbed Lucy’s hand before pulling her away from the stand and towards the streets.

“Where are we going now?” she questioned as we started to walk down the cobblestone path.

“To the tavern,” I replied with, Lucy’s eyes widening at the words.

“I don’t think a tavern is the most appropriate place for Lucy,” Peter said, making me jump slightly as he had been so quiet I almost forgot he was there.

“Peter!  I’ve fought wars and went through rigorous training.  I think I can handle a tavern.”  Lucy crossed her arms as if to accentuate her point.

“I don’t know…” Peter started.

“Where were you before anyway,” Lucy cut in. “You were gone for a few minutes and now you just reappeared. What were you doing?”

“Let’s go to the tavern,” Peter said quickly, obviously wanting Lucy to drop the subject.

“Okay!” Lucy exclaimed, jumping up in excitement before skipping the rest of the way to the building. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the young Queen as we neared the building. Upbeat fiddle music and loud conversations spilled through the doors and into the quiet night. Lucy didn’t hesitate to run into the building, leaving Peter and me in the dust.  Peter opened the door, gesturing for me to go in first.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding at him before walking into the tavern, Peter right behind me. Lucy had already seemed to have found her way to one of the wooden tables, a drink in her hand as she told a story to the faun next to her with animated gestures.

“Looks like Lucy’s already made a new friend,” Peter chuckled as we made our way to a more empty table.  Two drinks were almost immediately placed in front of us as we sat down.

“She seems to befriend everyone she meets,” I added, a smile on my face as I watched Lucy joke and converse with the other patrons.

“I used to worry that the war would change her. But she’s still the same as ever.”  I sat in silence for a moment, imagining the King and Queen as frightened kids, discovering this magical world for the first time and having to fight in a war.

“Is it hard?” I questioned.  Peter looked at me, the puzzled look on his face pushing me to elaborate.  “I mean going from some ordinary guy to the High King of Narnia.”  Peter’s shoulders seemed to slouch as he studied the liquid in his cup.

“It gets hard sometimes,” he said, swirling his cup around.  “It isn’t really the King stuff that I get stressed about though.  It’s my siblings.  Before we left, I promised my mother that I would keep them safe.  What if I already failed that promise?”

“Peter,” I said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.  His muscles seemed to relax at the physical contact.  “I see the way your siblings look at you.  They love you unconditionally.  No matter what happens.  And you certainly have not failed.  Look at Lucy, she’s having the time of her life.  You have done as good as a job if not better as any parent could in raising your siblings to be respectful, charismatic, and wonderful people.”  

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at me.  I felt my heart start to race at the sight of his soft lips curled into a smile.  “That was the first time I actually talked to someone about how I felt.  It felt nice.”  I smiled.

“Maybe instead of burying yourself with work you could have fun and talk to me instead,” I replied, chuckling as Peter rolled his eyes.

“You do realize that I have responsibilities, right?”

“Just because you have duties to fulfill doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.”  My face lit up as I heard the beginning of an upbeat song being played.  “C’mon Mr. serious.  Let’s dance.”  I grabbed onto his hand before dragging him to the crowd of people dancing along to the happy tune.  I laughed as Peter struggled to keep up with the beat, tripping over his own feet as I danced around him.  “Does His Majesty not know how to dance?” I questioned playfully, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t usually dance at balls,” he replied, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Nice to know you actually are human and not a god sent down from the heavens.”

“What makes you think I’m a god?” Peter inquired.

“You’re perfect at everything except for dancing,” I started, chuckling.  “And you’re extremely handsome.”

“So you think I’m handsome?”  He let out a hearty laugh as I felt my face warm.

“Of course,” I replied quickly, feeling myself already start to stumble over my words.  “I mean, just because I find you attractive doesn’t mean anything.  It’s just a fact.”

“Actually, beauty is subjective which means it’s not a fact.”  I stopped dancing for a moment, my brain completely focused on how to get myself out of this predicament.  “And for the record (y/n).”  I felt my heart start to race as I waited for his response.  “I think you’re quite attractive as well.  One might even say beautiful.”  I felt my face warm again, only this time it wasn’t from embarrassment.  The sound of bells snapped me from my daze.

“Oh no,” I said, looking around the tavern for Lucy.  “We have to get back.  It’s getting late and we have to seem somewhat awake tomorrow.”  My eyes landed on Lucy who was now dancing with a group of fauns and dwarves.  I walked towards her, Peter right behind me.  The closeness of our bodies caused my heart to beat even faster as I called out Lucy’s name.  

“I’ll see you all later!” Lucy shouted back towards the group she had been dancing with.  “Peter, Afodilia is amazing!  We have to come to visit again.”  We had now left the tavern, the cool night air refreshing after being in such a warm room.

“Agreed,” he said, stealing a glance at me.  We were halfway back to the castle when Lucy let out a yawn.  “Tired?” Peter asked, chuckling softly.

“Only a little,” Lucy replied with.  With no hesitation, Peter scooped up Lucy in his arms, carrying her the rest of the way back.  I followed Peter to Lucy’s room, both of us tucking her in and wishing her a good night.

“I knew she was going to make me carry her,” Peter chuckled as we neared my bedroom door.

“If I remember correctly, she didn’t ask to be carried.”

“She was implying it heavily though.”  I let out a laugh as we came to a stop.  “I had a wonderful time tonight,” Peter said, his voice softer than before.  

“Me too.”  I took a deep inhale as I looked up at Peter, realizing just how close we were.  

“I, um, got you something,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck as he reached into his pocket.  He pulled out a gold chain with a single rose charm on it.  “I saw it on that stand Lucy was at before and I thought you would like it.”  He leaned in towards me, placing the chain around my neck.  My face was almost pressed against his chest, the smell of the firewood from the tavern mixed with a hint of rosewood.  As he pulled away he paused, our noses almost touching as he brought his hand to my cheek.  I was worried that he could hear my heart beating, my chest rising and falling heavily from the new surge of adrenaline.

“Thank you,” I whispered, not quite trusting my voice.  

“May I…” Peter started.  I already knew what he wanted, not waiting for him to finish his sentence to nod vigorously.  He closed the gap between us, lightly pressing his lips against mine.  It wasn’t much, just a quick peck, but it filled my stomach with butterflies and I felt dizzy as he pulled away, my eyes still slightly shut.  We stood silently for a moment, looking deeply into the other’s eyes.  “I should probably go,” Peter said, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” I replied, my hand fiddling with the rose charm.  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Good night (y/n).”

“Good night Peter.”

[plutoswrath]

i’m sorry to annoy you with this again. i just look up to your kpop mixed with astrology content. but lucas’s neptune contact with his mc is going to annoy the shit out of me until this is fixed. the cloudiness that neptune brings to his public image is something that i think possibly fuels these situations further. false accusations and mixed perceptions based off of them is exactly what makes these scandals to continue on and on. and i’m sick of it. both sides ignore what the other is saying and it gets nowhere. neptune, the malefic bastard.

Hello! I saw your recent asks and I appreciate your words regarding my content, thank you so much for the kind words! <3

I will touch on astrolgy under the cut, but before this happens, I want to leave a few words. There's a reason why I didn't answer the previous questions I received (not only yours op) regarding the Lucas situation so far. For several reasons I didn't want to feed into any sort of (perceived) sensationalism in regards to the Lucas situation, even though I'd really love to look at the situation from an astrological point of view. That people are divided on this topic is to be expected, but I think the way it has been handled by majority so far is very bad. I really want to elaborate on my reasoning why we should rethink the way we talk about/represent the Lucas situation right now, but as this topic is very kpop specific everything will be under the cut.

My reasoning for avoiding any questions about it until now:

1. People already don't take the situation seriously enough: Regardless of what your standpoint is, I'd like for people to consider looking at it from a more critical point of view for a second: The allegations are not about him being exposed as ‘just a f-boy’ as some people make it out to be, they are more serious than that. Lucas allegedly manipulated and used these women for his own emotional/sexual/financial needs and ego boost. The fact that he has money and allegedly still used other people to provide financially for him just demonstrates the power play underneath it all. He abused his position of power as an idol, the power dynamics between him and fans who idolize him are plain and simple just completely off. Please think about the fact, that he allegedly decided who to date on at fansigns. This alone gives no security to any fans that want to attend fansigns in the future. TW SV: he also talked one of these women into having sex with him + doing it unprotected, which is not only emotionally/sexually manipulative/coercive and can possibly be traumatic for them but also heightens the risk for transfering STD's as END TW he was supposedly seeing people at the same time/cheating. In general, the behavior he gets accused of leaves trauma and is abuse, to be more specific abuse of power on multiple levels and his social position makes it just easier to continue abusing that power. As you've mentioned yourself op, there is a huge back and forth about the allegations, and I know people like to take situations like the one of Taeyong as an example to justify that not every public apology is real and that allegations turn out to be false years later, but I believe it's different this time and that the allegations that came forward were real. Even his cbar closed, a fanbase that works closely with Label V (!), that alone shows that there is 'at least' some truth to the story, or else his hardcore fanbase wouldn't have decided to turn their back on him in matters of just days. Also, all the 'jokes' and the portrayal of 'juicy gossip' people make about the situation just downplays and ridicules the possible traumatic experiences of the people that were hurt by his actions. If anyone decides to not believe these allegations until SM gives a more specific statement, that's fine, but please do so without making fun of the people who were victims of his behavior, as there is already little to no sympathy for them online. It makes it just way harder for any survivors in the future to speak out on their experience. People say it's 'nothing illegal, just morally wrong' but given the fact that he is also a person in power, the line between 'just' morally wrong and illegal can be very thin in some cases. And please overthink arguments such as: 'this is typical boy behavior for someone in his 20's'/ 'he's just an f-boy' or 'boys will be boys' because they are deeply misogynistic and we shouldn't normalize behavior like that, thus making the root of the problem actually way deeper than most people think.

2. WayV's future: This mainly goes for people who are fans of WayV. I know not everyone probably likes to hear this, but another thing why wild speculations, sensationalism or even possible defence about this situation should be kept on the low is WayV's career. I want to be honest here, but I'm scared for their future, their comeback for october has been cancelled for now and they are put on a hiatus for several months as far as I know. They were on a good path of gaining more and more recognition and establishing themselves even better as a c-pop group, but now Luca's reputation in China (their target audience) is as good as gone and that pulls all of WayV down to rock bottom with him. People really need to try seeing the story out of the eyes of the korean and especially chinese fans as well, their perception of the allegations (especially after the Kris Wu situation!) are way different and more serious than the ones of i-fans and i-fans have to accept that. Also, we all know how companies (especially SM) handle these type of situations: keep the people on the low till the storm has calmed down. But will the storm ever calm down for Lucas when his public image is basically destroyed, and thus WayV as well? What I want people to understand is that this whole situation affects WayV and their career directly, actually on the biggest scale possible. All the work so far is at risk to be for good and I think a lot of fans tend to forget that, things look especially critical for HenXiaoYanKun if WayV would be to continue/redebute/fall apart. It doesn't matter if Lucas talking bad about the members/the companies/shows he works with/for was real or not in the end, because unfortunately damage is already done, WayV's image (WayV= family) is already tarnished and WayV as a group will suffer from this. You summed it up with malefic Neptune the best actually: We all don't know the full confirmed truth about the situation and will most likely never know it. (small astro insight here as well, but part of Neptune is to accept fantasy for what it is: fantasy, and thus turn to cold reality when you're in too deep)

3. What O'd advice the fandom to do right now: Regardless of your opinion on the situation, what we as a fandom can do best right now is staying on the low, wait things out, and stop adding more fire to the situation with our actions and wait how the situation actually developes, since a) we can not fasten the process and b) a lot of rumors, false information and unnecessary details get exposed to mudd the waters and to discredit the statement of the victims as well. I've seen some strong reactions from both sides, but as someone who's a big fan of nct in general I really just want to say that part of the fandom throwing a fit on the internet leads basically to nothing, it actually only reflects even worse on nctzens/weshennies and thus on WayV's (and also NCT as whole) image as well. Things right now are handled internal, not extern. Whatever gets through to the public will be half of the story anyway. A lot of people seem to forget, that we talk about SM and all they care for right now is saving themselves economically (think about the domino effect this situation has on the whole group/company), so we will have to see what their final decision is going to be, if anything will happen at all. For now, be patient, wait and see. Last words: It's okay to feel hurt/confused/angry/drained. Even though most of us are aware that we dont know any celebrity's character, it's still hard to swallow and to digest because you were a fan of that artist. Let it take time and vent. Take a break from it if it gets too much! Talking about it to process your emotions better is okay and very valid, but keep in mind that you should not worsen the situation by doing so - it's already absolute chaos.

Also: This statement is by no means a direct attack to anyone or me trying to push my opinion onto you, just my two cents in how to handle the situation best right now, because our hands are basically tied. Also: agree to disagree. If you don't like that I side with the victims (unless there is an official statement that Lucas is proven not guilty, which I doubt, unfortunately) then so be it, but don't start a war in my inbox for our opinions differing.

-------

Now, to astrology:

Disclaimer: This analysis will not be very light-hearted, but remember that it's just a theory and not me trying to confirm anything!

First of all op, sorry for just answering you know, but I neded some time to think through how to adress this without adding to the fire with my astrological analysis! Boy, does the birth time fit the shoe right now. To be fair as I did my short rising sign analysis about him recently, I cancelled out every other fire rising except for Leo, because I got stuck on the ego part a bit. Anything for me made sense, as long as it highlights his ego, which by itself doesn't have to be a bad thing automatically, but there's always two sides of the coin as we all know.

I looked into the transits the past week and added a few asteroids/mathematical points as well. An anon before pointed to the full moon happening in his tenth house, conjunct his sun, etc. (I deleted the ask because I didn't know what was going on at that time and thought it was just the 'usual' rumors that once in a while get spread around, but after looking more into it I decided this was not the right time to stirr the pot in any kind of way or treat it as funny, hot gos). But yeah a full Moon in Aquarius happening in his 10th house AND on top of that Saturn in Aquarius, conjuncting that Moon and his natal Uranus in the 10th! Talk about destrcution of any stable foundation and a change in a public image! Honestly, looking at astrologically the way his public image just got radically destroyed over night, with Saturn and the Moon having been in a conjunction (in his chart it was in the 10th house) is kinda eery even. Talk about collective consciousness - not only exposing quiet literally the feelings of the collective, but also doing so in the favor of others and gaining collective emotional consciousness. Take this with a grain of salt (!), because we're still in a tense situation, but I'm tapping into the darker, unfriendlier side of astrology now. Taking his confirmed birth time, he has Nessus in Sagittarius in his 8th house and as I saw that I could feel myself shifting into the surprised pikachu face. I am not saying that this prooves the allegations whatsoever, but as you seemed to be very interested in anaylzing the case in-depth as well, the allegations fit his Nessus - jumping from partner to partner, carelessness (regarding physical intimacy as well), making people share all their ressources with him/finacial gain, and basically the whole jist of gaining control/being in a power position in intimate connections. Keep in mind that this is only one interpretation of Nessus though, Nessus can also show the complete opposite to someone 'turning to their dark side'. On top of that, his Nessus was conjunct transit Phollus the past week, so if anything, we can see that a large event triggered him to 'open his eyes' and face anything of an 'obstacle' that hinders him from seeing the 'truth' to a larger picture and his own nature/destiny. Pholus can symbolize change that will alter your perception of the responsibility you have for yourself and others.

But my latest new interest with these two asteroids aside (asteroids just add a little more nuance to a situation after all), I want to touch on Lilith too, since you (op) have mentioned Lilith before in one of your asks!

He has his Lilith exactly conjunct his Descendant when we consider his confirmed birth time. What happened just now can be seen as 'backfiring' of his actions, either Lilith embodying the women who expose him now for his 'inappropriate' behavior, but also simply fans shaming him now for his alleged manipulative/imoral behavior, especially shaming him about who he chose to date and how. Next to that, you've mentioned Lilith opposite Moon and it just makes me think about him possibly feeling very indecisive and potentially in denial about what he actually needs to be fulfilled in order to be emotionally happy and thus leading to him appearing to have this 'second, dark side' to him now. BML is not necessarily opposite the Moon in my opinion, it's just the side of the subconscious we don't really like to deal with and all we're told not to express and desire because it can be conflicting in the eyes of others (thus BML also leading to a lot of recklessness on the negative side). I think if we take the allegations into consideration, regardless of how much of it is true of it, it can be a good example what happens, when an opposition gets out of balance, as it also manifests outwardly a lot! Lilith shows in his 'double life' aka what he allegedly did with fans. Lilith wanted an outlet and found one by working behind the scenes. If we take in his supposed Taurus rising, which his Lilith is in an exact opposition with, it's a good example of what can lurk underneath the surface.

And of course, last but not least, Neptune and Sun conjunct his MC. People are quiet literally blinded by him more than they would like to think. Also: Lucas was always known for his 'flirty & charismatic' nature, this is another reason why people think we shouldn't be surprised he 'turns out to be like that in real life'. I'm not analyzing this argument right now, but what I think is very interesting is how Sun conjunct MC literally ties a good amount of their personality to their career - they want to be accepted and shine for their personality/big part of their individuality. Idols play a role, no matter how transparent they appear to us, but it's really funny how this 'image' of him melts almost seemingly with parts of his personality (almost af if you were to quiet literally sell your self) and as you've mentioned: Neptune only adds to that, unfortunately.

[hopelikethemoon]

New Tricks (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: New Tricks Rating: PG-13 Length: 4000 Warnings: Discussions of sex, sex toys, etc. annnnd family fluff.  Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in late October 1997. A few things to point out: pegging was not coined until 2001, so the use of it in this fic is a bit anachronistic, but alas. That whole portion of the upcoming plot will slowly come out over the next week or so. Also, the location she mentions living near is a famous shop in Philly. This is derived from my personal background for reader (here). Shoutout to @propertyofpoeandbucky​ for the idea for the second half of this fic.  Summary: Javier and Reader work towards trying something new. 

Taglist:  @grapemama  @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @longitud-de-onda​ @cool-ultra-nerd​ @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps​ @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi​ @random066​ (more tags in the replies)

“If any of my students catch me in here…” Javier told you lowly, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, before he shoved his hands into his leather jacket. 

“Well you’re drawing attention to yourself.” You told him, giving him a pointed look as he shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth as you perused the aisle. “Chill. It’s a sex shop, Javi. It’s not like we’re buying blow.” 

“I’d rather be doing that.” He retorted, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he met your gaze. “Do you really think this is what Nancy meant when she told us to be adventurous?” He questioned, glancing towards the shelves. 

You rolled your eyes, “She gave me the address.” 

“Shit.” He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest now. “How adventurous are we talking, baby?” Javier questioned, following behind you as you stopped in front of a display of vibrantly colored dildos. 

You pursed your lips as you tilted your head to look at him. “I don’t know. How adventurous do you want to be?” You questioned, turning then and resting your hand on his shoulders. “I want us both to be comfortable.” 

“I dunno,” Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as he glanced at the display, brows furrowing. “Let’s stick to things that aren’t going to bruise my ego.” You followed his line of sight to a dildo that was significantly larger than he was. 

You tried not to laugh, but failed. “You’re more than enough for me, babe.” You promised him, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

Javier huffed, tilting his head to look down at you. “I get the impression you know a lot about this shit.” He gestured vaguely around the shop. 

“A bit.” You shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t say I’ve tried a lot, but I’m aware of it.” You brushed your fingers over the hair that fell against his forehead, before tracing your fingertip over the worry line between his brows. “We don’t have to do anything, Javi. We came, we’ve seen, we can tell Nancy nothing struck our fancy.” 

“Can I help you guys find anything?” Asked the shop employee, who had already introduced himself to you as Rocky when first you came in. 

Javier clenched his teeth and shook his head, “We’re good. Still looking.” 

“Well, if you need any help I’m here.” He offered, looking between the two of you. “The first time in a shop like this can be a little overwhelming.” 

“I actually used to live near The Pleasure Chest,” You told him as you took Javier’s hand into yours, interlacing your fingers. You knew he was uncomfortable. 

“Lucky girl,” Rocky grinned at you. “I’ve ventured north twice to hit that spot. Worth it.” He looked towards Javier then. “Your first time?”

Javier made a vaguely disgruntled face as his other hand went to his hip. “Our therapist suggested the place.” 

“Trouble?” He questioned with a frown. 

“No, actually.” You were quick to interject. “But she suggested that we might want to try something new together…” 

Javier truly looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “I mean, what are we supposed to try?” He questioned, shaking his head slowly. “We’ve got two kids. It’s not like we can install that⁠—” He pointed towards a sex swing that was set up at the far end of the aisle. 

Rocky laughed, “Sounds like quite the dilemma. There’s always costumes. Most people enjoy a little roleplay in the bedroom.” He suggested, but you shook your head. 

“We are terrible at that.” 

“Because you break character.” Javier pointed.

You shot him a look. “Oh, so you do like that, Professor?”

Javier glared at you. 

“I seem to remember someone didn’t enjoy pretending to be strangers.” You reminded him.

Rocky looked between the two of you, “Have you ever considered pegging?”

“Excuse me?” Javier questioned, his head jerking as he stared back at Rocky. 

You just gaped. Holy shit. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” Rocky laughed nervously. “Well, I absolutely understand that it’s not something every man is into, I personally think it’s worth a try. You might surprise yourself. A lot of men say they have their best orgasms from the experience. Not to mention, their partners enjoy being in control.”

“I don’t think so.” You offered with a shake of your head. Your face felt like it was on fire and suddenly your throat was very dry. It certainly put an interesting picture in your mind. But Javier would never. Though, he never had any argument against letting you take the lead in the bedroom. 

No. He would never. 

“Alright, well... I’ll leave the two of you to look around.” Rocky said, before excusing himself. 

Javier looked dumbfounded, hands shoved back into his pockets as he turned to stare at the wall of dildos again. 

“We can leave.” You told him, looping your arm around his as you leaned into his side. “I know you’re uncomfortable.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, as he exhaled heavily. “This is all just outside of my frame of reference.” He admitted. “I think you and I were raised in very different locales.”

You nodded in agreement. “I can’t imagine Texas being very…” You gestured towards the dildos. “And I’ve been to Laredo.” It was a one horse town that had more churches than people. 

Javier cleared his throat, shuffling somewhat awkwardly as he nodded his head towards the display. “Is that what he was talking about?” He questioned, glancing sideways at you.

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip as you nodded. “Yeah, that’s the uh… the harness.” You wrapped your arms around your waist nervously, looking between the device and Javier curiously. “Did that actually pique your interest?”

“No.” He answered a little too quickly, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t know.” 

Your brows shot upwards. “Really? Huh.” 

“Huh?”

You cocked your head to the side, “It’s just… You’re very in control.” You gestured to him, tightening your fist to symbolize just how very much in control he was when it came to life. “I can’t really picture you letting me fuc⁠—”

“I get it.” 

You stepped around him and picked up the box containing just the harness, flipping it over to look at the instructions on the back. Your cheeks were burning with a flush that you could feel spreading down your neck and across your chest. Even your ears felt like they were on fire. “Really?” You said again, turning to look at Javier. “I’m definitely not judging, I’m just surprised.” 

“I mean…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, “We couldn’t be accused of not being adventurous if we give this a try.” 

You snorted, “Because that’s definitely the only reason for me to peg you.” You sat the box back on the shelf, turning to face him. “I think it’s something you’re supposed to build up to.” You explained, “We can just get a toy to start.” 

“Smart.” Javier’s brows drew together as his teeth dug into his bottom lip. He looked back towards the display apprehensively. “I could hate it.” 

“You could.” You agreed, leaning towards him and resting your cheek against his arm. “Or you could really enjoy it.” 

He curled his arm around your waist, hooking his finger in your belt loop. “Yeah.” 

Your eyes flickered over the offerings on the shelf, before you spotted a slim neon blue toy with a flared base. It wasn’t particularly large and the box advertised that it was For Beginners. “What about…” You pointed at it and you felt him stiffen.

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “We take this to the grave.” 

“Oh, babe… I wouldn’t dare.” You snaked your arms around him. “I don’t even know if I want to tell Nancy.” 

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “And we never speak of it again if I hate it.” 

“Agreed.” 

Javier pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Fuck.” He chuckled, rubbing his hand over the small of your back. 

You pulled away from him as you leaned down to pick up the box, “Do you want to wait outside while I buy it?”

“Yeah.” He scraped his nails against his jaw as he shifted on his feet.

Apparently there were still things left to be learned about Javier. You had assumed that he’d rather die than be into anything of the more taboo nature in the shop, but apparently you were wrong. You couldn’t deny the picture you had in your mind’s eye was a very appealing one. 

“You’re sure about this?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I think it’s worth an attempt.” 

“I’m not going to lie to you, Javi.” You told him, tapping the box against the center of his chest. “The idea of you letting me use this on you is… very appealing.” 

Javier cocked a brow upwards, “Really?”

You nodded, grinning up at him. “What can I say? I love it when you’re at my mercy.”

He hooked his fingers in your belt loops and pulled you towards him. “I’m always at my mercy, baby.” Javier told you, leaning down to kiss you gently. “But we tell no one.” 

You crossed your finger across your chest. “To the grave.” 

 ⁠—⁠—⁠—⁠—

 You knelt down on your knees in front of Josie, “Please be careful, sweetheart. You have a mouth full of pretty teeth that the tooth fairy isn’t ready to come collect.” You warned her as you tied the laces of her roller skates. 

“I’ll be careful, mommy.” She promised, grinning broadly at you and pointing at her teeth. “I have big girl teeth.”

“Not quite.” You chuckled, shaking your head. Though she did have one loose tooth. You weren’t sure you were ready for your four-year-old to have grown-up teeth. She was still your little baby. 

You stood back up, holding out your hands for her as she slid off the chair and tried to balance on her feet. “Ooo! I can roll!” She squeezed your hands excitedly, slowly sliding her feet back and forth like she was walking. 

Javier returned with two boxes of roller skates, sitting them down on the chair beside Josie’s. “Look at you!” He clapped for her, before he scooped her up into his arms, much to her delight. “Are you going to be safe out there?”

“Yeah!” Josie promised him, throwing her arms around his neck. 

You sat down in the chair and kicked off your shoes, opening the box Javier had brought over to grab your own pair of skates. “I’m going to warn you, it’s been since before Colombia since I’ve skated.” 

Javier gave you a look, “You think I’ve gone skating since we got to Miami?”

“Who knows what you and Steve get up to.” 

“Not this.” He nodded his head towards the rink, where Olivia and the rest of her birthday guests were already darting around on rollerskates. 

“I’m just saying, he’s got rollerblades. He knows what he’s doing.” You shrugged as you started lacing your shoes up. “Are you actually going to get out there?” You questioned, glancing up at him as he tossed Josie into the air, making her giggle and squeal. 

“You’re going to get kicked in the face with skates.” You warned him.

“Yeah.” He laughed, sitting Josie back down on her feet. “And yeah, I guess I’ll give a try.” 

“I’ll give you the same warning I gave her. Don’t break anything.” You looked up at him from under your lashes. “Old man.” 

Javier feigned offense, “Did you hear that, JoJo? Your mom thinks I’m old.” 

She scrunched up her nose and looked up at him. “But you are old daddy!” 

You snorted. “This is what you get for telling her you had a pet dinosaur when you were a kid.” 

Javier rolled his eyes. “I’m surrounded.” 

“Surrounded by what?” Monica questioned as she joined the three of you, already laced into her boots. 

“People who think Javi’s old.” You informed her with a grin. 

Monica laughed, “I’d comment, but I want a good grade in class.” She gestured beside her, “You guys remember Nadia.” 

“Nice to see you again,” Javier gave her a nod as he sank down into the seat beside you, opening up the box of rollerskates. 

“Are you really going to skate?” Monica arched a brow.

Javier pursed his lips, looking between the two of you. “Do you both know something I don’t know? Did my doctor call?” 

You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You already complain about your back, Javi.” 

“I can skate.” He assured you, reaching over to give your knee a squeeze. “And someone’s gotta make sure Josie doesn’t wipe out.” 

Josie put her hands on her hips, “I don’t need help!” She announced, turning to Monica. “I have Monica!” 

“I think Monica and Nadia might want to skate alone, sweetheart.” You told her as you gave her a warning look. You had tried to teach Josie that there were times when Monica wanted to be alone, mostly when she was studying… but sometimes Josie missed the cues. 

“It’s really okay,” Monica assured you, holding her hand out for Josie. 

“Are you sure?” You looked between her and Nadia. 

Nadia shrugged. “I’m the one who agreed to a date at a child’s birthday party.” 

“Have fun, please.” You told Monica, “And send her back if she’s too much.” 

“Will do.” She and Nadia both gave you mock salutes, before they skated off with Josie in between them. 

“At least she’ll have fun.” You remarked as you finished tying your laces, giving Javier a sideways look. “All this teasing and I’m sure I’m going to be the one to bust my ass.” 

“Karma.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shot you a look as he laced up his shoes. “You’re going to give me a complex, baby.” 

“And what kind of complex is that, hmm?” You arched a brow. “Because I noticed two of those mothers sizing you up like a piece of cake.” 

 Javier huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, like the fathers weren’t ogling you.” 

“They just can’t handle how hot we are.” You remarked as you stood up, testing your balance on the skates. “Okay, it is like riding a bike.” You said as you rolled backwards, shifting your weight as you slowly turned in a circle. “And for the record,” You told him, rolling towards him and planting your hands on his shoulders as you leaned forward, lips close to his ear. “You’re my favorite slice of cake.” 

He took your hands as you stood back up, letting you pull him to his feet. He was not quite as steady on his feet as you were, but after a couple minutes of slowly gliding over the carpeted floor outside the rink, he was ready to join the madhouse of children and parents rolling around the skating rink. 

Javier interlaced his fingers with yours as you skated side-by-side around the outside of the rink, maneuvering around slow moving children who were using PVC roller walkers to make their way around the rink. 

Once you both caught up with Monica and Nadia, you traded off with them, letting Josie skate in between you and Javier so they could go off and have a proper date. You were thrilled that she had found someone to spend time with. As much as you loved having her around the house to help (and pay penance for the drama she caused) you mostly just wanted her to be happy. She was a good kid, and you wanted the world for her. Just like you wanted the world for your own flesh and blood. 

“Mommy, I’m thirsty!” Josie complained. 

“We should probably check on Sofia anyways.” You pointed out, guiding the three of you towards the exit point. 

“I’m waiting for Connie to tell us they’re going to try to adopt another kid,” Javier quipped, “I’m afraid Sofia’s given her baby fever all over again.” 

You laughed, “Does Steve want another one?”

“No.” 

“Two is already a lot to handle.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He gave a pointed look down at Josie who was clinging to his hand. 

“Ditto.” You played with Josie’s curls, “Why don’t you go with daddy to get some punch, sweetheart.” 

“Okay.” She nodded, holding both of her arms up in the air, so Javier had to carry her. You were actually impressed that he was able to carry a squirming four-year-old and skate his way around the rink towards where the refreshments were set up. 

You skated over towards Connie who was settled into a booth with Sofia and Emily, who was not interested in skating with her sister. “Having fun?” You questioned as you slid into the booth across from them. 

“Yeah!” Connie nodded. “I’m so glad so many people decided to come out for this. With how close it’s getting to Halloween, I didn’t know how many people wanted to be out with their kids two Fridays in a row.” 

“Josie’s having a blast.” You grinned. “I think everyone’s having fun.” You looked towards Emily. “Except for someone.” 

“She’s at the stage where she doesn’t want to do anything her sister wants to.” 

“I’m dreading that.” You admitted, peering across the table at the drawing Emily was working. “What’s that?” You asked her. 

“Hunchback.” 

“Oooh, a coloring book.” You said with feigned enthusiasm. “We just got Josie a Beauty and the Beast one the other day.” 

“I like Belle.” Emily beamed. 

“Josie does too.” You looked towards Connie then. “Have you seen Hunchback? It’s intense for a kid.”

Connie made a face and nodded. “I told Steve to watch it first, but he didn’t listen. Liv was terrified. Emily, not so much.” 

You chuckled, “Wildly different kids, huh?”

She nodded, looking towards Emily with a fond smile. “I think this one’s going to end up a politician. I’ve never seen a three-year-old debate the way she does.” 

You shook your head as you laughed, “Tell her to be a lawyer instead. Still corrupt, better pay.” 

“So… how are things?” Connie questioned, folding her arms atop the table as she regarded you with an arched brow. 

You rubbed at the back of your neck, “I mean therapy is definitely helping. Nancy’s really got us working on aspects of our relationship that we didn’t really realize had issues.” 

“Issues?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “I mean none of it is really serious, but we’re both… I don’t know, bad at communicating.” 

“Really?”

“I know. Surprise.” You shook your head. “We’ve both shielded each other from a lot of misunderstandings and weird emotions.” You glanced towards the rink, brows furrowed as you sought out Javier amongst the crowd. He had Josie on his shoulders while he chatted with Steve. “I still have bad days,” You admitted to Connie as you looked back at her. “Sofia is so different from Josie. She was such a good baby, but with Sofia it’s just… I don’t know how much of it is actually an issue and how much of it is just my brain telling me its an issue.” 

“Is the medicine helping?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. First week or so it made me super exhausted. But that’s better now.”

“Any other problems?”

“None.” You smirked. “I’m fortunate that those side effects didn’t crop up. I would’ve died.”

“I know I didn’t really know Javi that well before you came to Colombia, but…” Connie shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just very impressed with him.” She gestured towards the skating rink, where Steve and Javier were helping their daughters skate backwards. “I never pictured him as the type of man who would go to therapy for his partner.” 

You smiled as you watched him scoop up Josie as she started to fall backwards in her attempt to skate. He bounced her in his arms, before setting her back on her feet and encouraging her to try again. “He’s a better man than he’s willing to accept.” 

“Honestly, I feel like an idiot.” 

“Why?”

Connie gave you a look, “All those times I tried to set him up with someone.” 

You shrugged, “You were just trying to be a good friend.” 

“But you were right there.” 

You nodded your head slowly. “I was, but… things worked out for the best.” 

“If we’re being honest,” Connie lowered her voice. “I used to think Javier would be a terrible influence on Steve. I mean, I never doubted Steve, but when you spend all that time with someone willing to… you know.” 

“I know you judged me too.” 

Connie made a face, “Just a little bit of judging.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “No shame in that.” 

“But I’m glad things have worked out for the two of you.” She told you honestly. “I always wanted the best for both of you, I just didn’t realize the best was together.” 

You shrugged, “I mean, neither did we. If you and Steve hadn’t decided to leave, who knows where we’d be right now.” You made a face. “I don’t like any of the alternatives that don’t lead me here.” 

Sofia started fussing in her baby seat and you gestured for Connie to pass the carrier across the table. “Is it too noisy in here for you?” You questioned, as you unstrapped her and picked her up. 

She tried to fit her fist into her mouth, cooing as you sat her on the edge of the table, cradling the back of her head. “She’s started rolling over.” 

“Big milestone.” 

You couldn’t help but smile as Sofia gurgled and waved her slobbery fist at you. “What? You want kisses?” You questioned, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead and then each cheek. “I just can’t believe how fast four months have come and gone.” 

“Almost five.” She pointed out. 

“I can't even believe that Josie is as big as she is. Time’s… moving quickly.” You shook your head slowly. “You’re getting so big.” You scrunched up your nose, leaning in to nuzzle it against her cheek. 

“You’re not bad on those.” Connie quipped and you glanced to your right as Javier rolled towards the table. You scooted over, giving him space to sit down. 

“Worn out?”

“That child can go and go.” He swept his hand over his forehead. “Monica’s got her.” 

“Good.” You leaned towards him and pressed your cheek against his shoulder with a sigh. “We were talking about how big the girls are getting.”

“It’s fuc— freaking crazy.” He corrected himself, glancing towards Emily who was working on deciphering some puzzle on one of the coloring pages. “Though someone seems to think I’m getting crotchety.” 

You snorted, “Well, if you keep using old man words.” 

He squeezed your leg under the table, “Not too old that I’m not willing to learn a few new tricks.” 

Your cheeks burned, but you occupied yourself with your daughter, rather than acknowledging what he’d said. “Just you wait until your father gets you walking early like he did with your sister.” You gave her foot a squeeze as she started kicking them towards you. 

“Gimmie.” Javier held his hands out and you let him take Sofia. “She’s got a strong kick.” He remarked, grimacing a little as her foot knocked into his sternum. “I’m telling you, both of our daughters are going to be soccer players.” 

“How’s Josie enjoying gymnastics?” Connie questioned. 

“Better than ballet.” You rolled your eyes. “The moms aren’t nearly as…”

Javier snorted, “The moms don’t have a pact at gymnastics.” 

“I still don’t get it.” You teased, nudging him in the ribs. 

He turned and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You must see something.” 

You lifted your hand and brushed your fingers over his forehead, fluffing his hair as you grinned at him. “Yeah, I guess I see a whole lot of something I like.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I love you.” 

“Love you too, baby.” 

“You’re both disgusting,” Connie remarked with a grin. 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Trust me, I know.” You rested your cheek against his shoulder again, watching Javi as he entertained Sofia. 

[creacherkeeper]

5 + 1 kisses through the years 

1. kiss on the forehead

It’s 1148, and Aziraphale isn’t sure these wars are ever going to end. The Holy Land is drenched in blood, and he can only wonder if this was how it was all supposed to go. He doesn’t take questioning the ineffable plan lightly, but one has to pause sometimes, when one has seen something only described as an immeasurable tragedy, and ask if it was really meant to be seen at all. If it was meant to be seen by anybody, immortal and otherworldly or not.

He slinks into the room, just far enough away from the main fray that no one should be bothering him, at least for the night. This building has been abandoned, and he’s sure no one minds if he borrows a bed for a little while. He doesn’t need to sleep, but he wouldn’t mind if he slipped into it on accident. Mostly, he just wants to lie down. His body aches and his eyes sting, and he wants to grip his calloused hands around a pillow and just drift.

Something shifts, and his hand goes to his sword. It’s dark in here, but not so dark he can’t see. Just dark enough that he’d missed the figure sitting in the corner of the room, slumped against a wall.

“I should have guessed I’d find you here,” he says, and he isn’t sure if he means his voice to come out so harsh.

“Where else would I be?” Crowley responds, and he sounds tired. Bone-achingly, world-weary tired. “Where else would anybody be?”

Aziraphale glares, and then softens, his eyes too tired to keep it up. He closes them, one hand coming up to rub with his palm. “Shall we just agree not to bother each other for the night, then?”

Crowley scoffs, his head tilting back against the wall. “You’re the one who found my hiding spot.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Aziraphale says, crossing the room to sink down onto the bed. For some reason, the room seems too big, and his head seems too full. His chest aches. He stands again, and this time sits next to Crowley on the floor. The feeling eases.

Crowley lifts an ornate glass bottle and holds it out to him. When Aziraphale puts it to his lips, he expects it to be alcohol, but it’s only water. Somehow, that’s better.

He holds onto the bottle, swirling the contents inside as he stares down at it. Crowley’s head is tipped back, yellow eyes staring at the opposite wall.

“I want this bloody war to end,” Aziraphale whispers. His throat burns, and he takes another swallow.

“I just want to sleep.”

Aziraphale sighs, nodding. His eyes flick to the other side of the room. “There’s a perfectly good bed.”

Crowley swallows, and holds out his hand. Aziraphale passes the bottle back.

“Can’t,” Crowley says, and doesn’t continue.

Aziraphale nods again.

For a while, they sit, passing the bottle back and forth. Aziraphale jumps when Crowley suddenly slams it to the floor, the sound ringing in the quiet room. His body curls in as he raises a hand to cover his eyes. His shoulders shudder, breath shaking and wet.

Aziraphale sits, and waits.

Eventually, Crowley wipes his eyes and settles back against the wall, sniffing harshly in the quiet room. Aziraphale hands him the bottle again, and he takes a few swigs.

He doesn’t know if he’s overstepping, but what’s there to overstep in a war, so he tugs Crowley up by his sleeve and leads him over to the bed. Crowley sinks onto it, a little line wrinkling between his eyebrows as he closes his eyes.

Aziraphale watches him for a moment, the way his hand clenches and unclenches on his stomach, and then leans over to press his lips against the demon’s forehead.

Good sleep. Good dreams, he thinks, and by the time he pulls away, Crowley is already asleep. He turns and gathers the nearest chair, bringing it over to sit by the bedside. He can’t protect them all, but at least he can do this.

 2. kiss on the hand

It’s 1612 and they’re getting swept away in the swell of people leaving the theater after the latest performance of Much Ado. It’s without thinking, really, that Aziraphale grabs onto Crowley’s hand to make sure they don’t get separated in the crowd. If he was a more honest person, he would admit that he’s had too much to drink and is a little off his guard, and if he was an even more honest person, he would admit that he’s been thinking about holding Crowley’s hand quite a lot, actually, and this seemed the perfect excuse.

But he’s not, so he doesn’t.

The crowd pushes and sways and jeers and hollers, all thoroughly taken with the comedic adventures of Benedick and the fair Beatrice. A lady too well dressed for this theater pushes past them, on the arm of an equally well-dressed man as she coos, “Well, it was obvious they were in love,” and Aziraphale blushes without knowing why.

“Fancy a drink?” Crowley asks him, shooting it over his shoulder as he finally manages to extract them both from the crowd.

“Oh, I’ve had one too many already, I’m afraid.”

Crowley looks away as he nods, as if to hide his expression. Aziraphale soon realizes he’s looking for something, twisting his head up and down the street. Their hands, he also realizes, remain clasped. He’s not sure what to do about that. He hopes his palm isn’t sweating, he feels awfully warm.

Crowley’s other hand rises and his fingers curl, and it’s probably a testament to his drink-addled head how long it takes Aziraphale to realize he’s waving to the coach that pulls to a stop in front of them. The coach driver peers down at them, and Crowley’s palm against his own burns.

“Ride for my friend,” Crowley says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. “Extra coin if you go easy on the turns.”

Money changes hands, and Aziraphale’s fingers come up to tug on his collar. The horse isn’t looking at them too, is it? No, he thinks, he shouldn’t be silly. It’s just a horse. If anything, it’s concerned about the snake by its hind leg. Its hoof lifts and taps a few times.

“He doesn’t bite,” Aziraphale whispers, tongue thick and fuzzy, and both Crowley and the coachman shoot him a look.

“Where ‘ya headed?” the coachman asks.

“Um.” He blinks a few times.

“Towards Leaden,” Crowley supplies, and the man nods and flicks on the reins. The door is opened, and Aziraphale stares dumbly inside.

“Well,” Crowley says, not looking at him. “Probably be around and about in a few years or so. Depends on what plays are on.”

He nods, still not entering the coach. “Well. Then I shall hope the bard’s next won’t be a sad one.”

Crowley smirks, just a little, and Aziraphale doesn’t know if it’s awkward at this point that they’re still holding hands. One of them should pull away first, but he thinks the process should have started a while ago.

“Right,” Crowley says, and clears his throat. Quick as a strike, he pulls Aziraphale’s hand up to his mouth and places a kiss against his knuckles.

By the time Aziraphale can blink, he’s lost to the crowd.

He stands and stares for a while, until the coachman grumbles about his dinner waiting at home and how it’ll have gone cold by now, and Aziraphale gathers his wits (what precious little he has remaining) and pulls himself into the coach. The ride home is bumpy, and the coachman most certainly doesn’t take it easy on the turns, but Aziraphale isn’t paying attention, anyway. The skin of his knuckles is tingling too much for that.

 3. kiss on the cheek

It’s 1965 and if Aziraphale has to sit through another Beatles song he’s going to riot. He’s not sure where he’d be rioting, exactly. Not his shop, he’d hate to mess it up. The street? Seems plebian. Where do people go to riot these days? He hasn’t the foggiest. All he knows is that if another youth comes into his shop in a Beatles tee looking for records he’s going to turn into a kettle and scream.

He’s at the piano lounge sipping on a glass of Sherry that he may have aged himself. The pianist is particularly good today—he should know, he got her this job. It had only taken one particularly good recommendation to get her off the street and into a well-paying job. He hadn’t been assigned that one. He just liked her.

A man slips into the seat next to him at the bar, but he doesn’t pay much mind. He’s lost in the gentle swell of the piano and the taste of the alcohol on his tongue.

The man shifts, waving down the bartender. “May I buy you a drink?”

Aziraphale blinks. It takes him a moment to realize what’s been asked and who is asking it.

He smiles at Crowley with the corner of his mouth, not turning to look. “I already have one, thanks.”

Crowley nods, and the bartender pours him a bourbon, though he hadn’t said anything.

They sit in silence for a moment, sipping. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other, though maybe not as long as it could have been.

After a while, Crowley holds out his hand. “Anthony,” he says, waiting on a shake, and, oh, that’s what they’re doing tonight.

Aziraphale sighs something fond into his glass. He sets it down and meets Crowley’s hand. “Mr. Fell.”

“Mr. Fell,” he repeats, nodding. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

Their hands drop. Crowley turns away and smiles. “Know anything fun to do around here, Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale chuckles as picks up his glass. “Oh, you’re asking the wrong person.”

“Am I?”

“This is what I do for fun,” he responds.

“Drink by yourself?”

“Listen to music,” he shoots back. His head tilts. “And drink by myself.”

“Well,” Crowley says, laying hard on the ‘e’, “if it’s music you’re into, you ever listen to rock n’ roll? It’s all the rage, I hear.”

“Don’t even start with me,” he gripes, eyeing Crowley’s smirk. “If you even breathe of The Beatles, I shall have to find another seat. I’m serious.”

Crowley’s lips squirm as he tries to fight away a grin. “Just piano, then.”

“Not just. Violin is nice. I love a good trumpet.”

“I bet you do.”

They look at each other for a long moment, and Aziraphale turns away to smile into his glass.

“Well,” Crowley says again, quieter, “if you like music, you must like dancing.”

“I don’t dance.”

“I’ve heard from reliable sources that you do.”

Aziraphale hums, and the sound reverberates in his cup. “I don’t dance …”

“With me?”

“Here,” he finishes.

Crowley’s drink clunks onto the bar. “Then let me tempt you.”

“You are one for that, aren’t you?”

“With the right audience.”

Crowley holds out his hand, for taking this time, and not just a shake. The Sherry swirls in Aziraphale’s glass as he considers. Crowley’s fingers waggle.

“If you make a fool of me …”

“No one will remember, anyway,” Crowley assures him, and this is the first time that Aziraphale feels he’s talking to him, Aziraphale, as Crowley, and not as Anthony to Mr. Fell.

“Very well,” he says, and sets down his glass.

Crowley pulls him to the open floor, surrounded by a dim, orange light and white-clothed tables. Kim the pianist tips her head at him as they pass, and he gives her a smile. There’s no one else dancing, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. It’s just the two of them and the little specks of dust that swirl in eddies around their heads.

His hand goes to Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley’s goes to his waist. The others are clasped together, held out to their side. They start to turn and twist, slow and languid, and it’s not dancing, not really. It’s the gentle sway of two people who can’t stand to be too far apart and don’t know how to say it.

“This is nice,” Aziraphale says eventually, sometime after Crowley’s hand has been replaced with a whole arm around his middle, and their chests are pressed together, and Aziraphale’s thumb has taken to tracing patterns on the side of Crowley’s neck. It’s not often they do this—the contact. It’s hard to justify when it could spell disaster for either of them. The wrong pair of eyes, the wrong ear, and that’s it, it would all be over. It’s easier to pretend they’re somebody else, two people for whom things are not so terribly complicated.

“It’s always nice to meet a fellow lover of the arts,” Crowley says, as if to remind him.

Aziraphale tries to smile, and he’s sure it doesn’t work, because suddenly a wave of sadness has crashed into his chest. “Quite.”

Crowley sees it on his face, because his lips pull down, and his arm gets a little stiffer as they sway. The song ends not long after, and another one fails to start. It’s the end of Kim’s shift. They’ll be closing up soon.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, throat bobbing. They stop, caught in each other’s arms. “I think I should be going soon.”

Crowley nods, and Aziraphale is glad he can’t see the disappointment behind the glasses. Aziraphale’s arms start to slip away.

“Perhaps we’ll see each other again sometime,” Crowley says, and before Aziraphale can say anything back, he leans forward to press his lips to Aziraphale’s cheek. The kiss lingers, warm and wanting, and Aziraphale’s eyes are closed by the time he pulls away. They don’t open as the warm body pulls back from his, and the sound of his shoes lead to the ring of the door.

He takes a breath and lets it out slow. His eyes don’t open until the hand falls on his elbow. It’s only Kim, the little figure of her at his side.

“He was cute,” she says, head tilting. “Did you get his number?”

He swallows, and his eyes linger on the door for a long while. “I think he’ll find me.”

 4. kiss on the stomach

It’s 2019 and the world didn’t end, and his lips are hot on Crowley’s neck, and Crowley is taking quick little breaths beneath him, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s shoulder blades. He wants to say careful dear, careful, because if Crowley keeps pressing like that, clawing and grasping, Aziraphale won’t be able to keep his wings in. Not that he has to. Not here, tucked safely away in bed, here, with Crowley, where they should’ve been all along. He doesn’t say that, though. His mouth is busy traveling downwards, down to the dip between his neck and his shoulder, down to nip at his collarbone. Crowley gasps and sighs, one of his hands finding Aziraphale’s hair.

I’m sorry I took so long, Aziraphale wants to say, and doesn’t. I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I was scared. I’m sorry I didn’t let us have this, what we could have had for so long. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

He wants to be here, he wants to be present, but the feelings are building in his chest, a six-thousand-year ache of shame and guilt and worry. He wants to spread his wings out, just so there’s more of him, more surface to spread the feeling around. He closes his eyes and kisses down Crowley’s chest, nails scratching at the demon’s ribs. Crowley tugs, and his eyes open. He stops.

Crowley, once he notices, stills below him. His yellow eyes find Aziraphale’s face, and he stiffens.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asks, moving his hand to trail along it. His touch is gentle, and Crowley’s skin jumps in a shiver.

Crowley swallows. “It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing, Aziraphale wants to say. It’s a scar. A burn mark, in the shape of a feather. That’s not nothing. His thumb licks the edge of it. Crowley shivers again.

“Is this from …” Aziraphale doesn’t know why he’s on the edge of tears. It’s just that this is something they don’t talk about. Crowley will joke sometimes, sure, or make comments. But they don’t talk about it. Aziraphale always knew that was off-limits.

Crowley’s hand finds his, and he tries to steer him away, but Aziraphale holds fast. He may be the Southern pansy, but he’s strong, in more ways than one. If he doesn’t want to be moved, he won’t be moved, and Crowley knows that.

He’s also weak, and that’s okay too.

He blinks his eyes shut, and the few little tears that escape fall on Crowley’s stomach. Crowley’s fingers come up to brush the wetness off his cheeks, muttering a little, “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says. “I’m sorry, I—”

He buries his face in Crowley’s stomach, his eyebrows furrowing and face pinching as he tries not to cry. It’s a losing battle, because he is, and he isn’t sure he can stop it. It’s just that everything is building up, all six-thousand years of it, the pining and the want and the longing, and the anguish that came along with it. It’s all come to the forefront, right here, right now, and then there’s this. The fall. It’s a little too much.

“I’ve—” Crowley clears his throat. “I’ve tried to magic it away, but … Yeah.”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, two, then three. His thumbs rub little circles on Crowley’s sides. Crowley twitches as Aziraphale shudders out a breath. Forehead rests against ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, gathering himself. He isn’t sure if he’s apologizing for the tears or the scar itself. He pulls back, gazing at it again. It’s long, stretching from just under his ribs to the line of his waist, a perfectly etched silhouette.

“Can …” Aziraphale cuts himself off. He doesn’t even know what he was going to ask. He swallows, blinking a few times, and then leans down. His lips against the scar burn.

Crowley inhales, loud and sharp, and Aziraphale doesn’t pull his lips away. They’re tingling and itching, hot and cold at the same time, but he’s strong, and he holds steady.

Crowley’s hand curls against his neck, and finally, finally, he pulls away. On the edge of a barb, half on the scar and half not, lies the mark of the kiss. It’s fresh and red but growing dimmer already. Slowly, it fades until it’s only a shadow. But it’s there. And there it’ll stay.

 5. kiss on the thigh

It’s 2031 and they haven’t left the hospital for three days. It’s been a long time since Crowley was in a hospital, since he was in one for a birth, and though the circumstances are much different, he’s nervous. He’s been pacing up and down the room for the last hour, three cups of coffee gone just today, snapping at every nurse who happens to come their way.

“Labor doesn’t last this long!” he snaps, and the nurse gives him a sheepish expression. “Can’t you- I don’t know- give her something? Is she in pain? Has she slept?”

“I don’t—” The nurse swallows. “-have any more information at this—”

“Then what good are you?” Crowley hisses, and continues to pace.

Aziraphale yawns as he watches him. He’s gotten quite used to sleep, in the years after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, and sitting in this chair for the last three days, under the fluorescent lights and beep of distant machines, hasn’t done wonders for his brain. He’s foggy and tired, and, he’ll admit, a little cranky. Well. Maybe more than a little. He and Anathema have already gotten into a screaming match, were kicked out by the nurses, and had a tearful make-up in the parking lot. She’s currently asleep against his shoulder, so he knows all is forgiven.

“Crowley,” he grumbles, cheek propped on his fist. “If you keep pacing like that I’m going to make you wait in the car. You’re making me dizzy.”

Crowley stops, and Aziraphale is sure a little steam actually comes out his ears.

“Sorry, your highness,” Crowley gripes, hands waving. “I’ll just plunk down into a chair and not move for the next three days, how’s that? I’ll just sit there and stew until me and the whole building catch on fire, would that be better for you?”

“Anathema,” Aziraphale mumbles, his tired eyes falling shut. He knows she’s awake by how she stirs at her name. “Crowley is being mean to me.”

She hums, and Aziraphale cracks open an eye. She stars patting around for her pocket with hers still closed. The fabric of her skirt gives way to her, and the knife is out and open before either of them can blink. “Crowley,” she says, waving the knife in a sleepy motion, “if you’re mean, I’ll …” The knife drops a bit. “Mmmph.”

Aziraphale pats her arm. “Very intimidating, thank you, dear.”

She nods, yawning as she slips the knife away. “I’m gonna find food, I think.”

“Get me something sweet.”

She nods again, back cracking as she stands. She shoves half-heartedly at Crowley as she passes him, and he spreads his arms and scoffs.

“I want a coffee,” he calls after her.

“No,” she shoots back, and then is through the door.

Crowley grumbles, slouching over towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale pats his leg, and Crowley flops to the floor and rests his head on Aziraphale’s knee.

“Tired,” Crowley mumbles.

“Me too.”

“I want her to be okay.”

“Me too.”

“The baby, too.”

Aziraphale sighs, stroking Crowley’s hair. He’s growing it out again, but after three days here it just looks disheveled and messy. “I know, dear.”

Crowley turns to bury his face against Aziraphale’s leg, groaning. “Can’t you … do something?” he asks, voice muffled against Aziraphale’s skin. Aziraphale usually isn’t one for shorts, but it’s the middle of summer, and they’ve been hitting records for the past week. Plus, Crowley finally convinced him to get a new wardrobe.

Aziraphale swallows, twisting Crowley’s red locks between his fingers. “It’s been a long time,” he admits. “I don’t want to mess anything up. And with the baby’s parentage …”

“Yeah,” Crowley says, tired. “Yeah.”

They sit for a while, Aziraphale running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, growing sleepier by the second. He’s almost out when the door opens, both of them turning to look. They’re expecting Anathema. It’s not. Aziraphale’s heart clenches.

Adam looks exhausted. There are bags under his eyes, a shadow of a beard on his face, and his hair is as messy as Crowley’s. But he’s smiling. Praise where praise is due, he’s smiling.

“They’re both okay,” he says, and he looks like he might cry. “They’re fine, they’re healthy, everything’s fine.”

“No hooves?” Aziraphale says, because he lost his filter about two days into this stay.

Adam laughs. “Ten perfect little toes.”

“We’ll be right in,” Crowley says, and he sounds choked. Adam nods and exits through the door.

Crowley sighs, long and slow, and reaches up to his eyes for a moment. Now that the worry is gone, Aziraphale feels it was the only thing keeping them awake.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley mumbles. “Let’s meet the newest little antichrist.”

“Don’t even joke,” Aziraphale laughs, and his eyes are closed. “Maybe just a quick lie-down first.”

“Mm. Mm-mm, come on.” Crowley groans as he stands. “Where are your shoes?”

Aziraphale hums, his head growing heavier. “Don’t know.”

He can hear Crowley shuffling around the room, checking under chairs and tables. He finds them and gives a little “ah”, and crosses back.

Aziraphale feels the tap on his foot.

“Lift,” Crowley says, and so he does.

Crowley tugs the laces tight, but not too tight, and ties them off in a neat little bow. He continues with the other foot, but doesn’t stand when he’s finished. Aziraphale peeks open an eye.

Crowley is kneeling in front of him, staring up with a look of sleepy adoration. “Sorry I snapped,” he says.

“S’okay.” Aziraphale’s eyes blink slow. “Sorry Anathema pulled a knife on you.”

Crowley chuckles. “It happens.” His hand rises to fall on Aziraphale’s knee, thumb rubbing slow. “Love you,” he mumbles, and Aziraphale’s chest warms.

“You too,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley smiles and leans forward, pushing a kiss against the nearest available spot. The skin by Aziraphale’s knee, just below the line of his shorts. His skin tingles.

“Ready to meet our god-grandchild?” Crowley asks when he pulls back.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Crowley takes his hand, and together they stand. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he says, and Aziraphale laughs.

“I’m not worried about me.”

And together, they cross through the door.

 +1. kiss on the lips

It’s 2117, and tomorrow they’re replacing the benches in St. James Park. Admittedly, the wood is getting old, and the bench is getting weak, and it’s quite faded. Still, Aziraphale will miss it. They’ve been sitting on this bench for a long time, and it’s put him in a rather contemplative mood.

“Do you ever think,” Aziraphale starts, “about getting old?”

Crowley turns to look at him, his braided hair shifting on his shoulder. Aziraphale likes that he can see his eyes, now. He stopped wearing the glasses a while ago. With all the new body modifications going around, most people don’t question it. “Just in general, you mean?”

Aziraphale sighs, looking back out at the pond. The ducks flutter and quack, and it’s a comfort. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed after all this time, they still love to come and watch the ducks.

“I mean us.”

Crowley hums, and his thumb strokes over Aziraphale’s knuckles. He turns to look as well. “Yes. Sometimes.”

“Do you ever wish we could? Grow old, I mean.”

Crowley takes a contemplative sigh, adjusting his slouch. “I mean, we could change these forms, if we wanted to. Nothing much would change, but we could.”

Aziraphale squeezes his hand and pulls them to rest on his lap. “I’ve gotten quite used to looking like this,” he says. “But, I don’t know. A change might be nice.”

Crowley turns and smiles at him, and he leans forward. Aziraphale meets him halfway. Their lips meet in the slowest and softest kiss. They’re not in a hurry, they haven’t been for a long time, and it’s enough just to feel each other’s heat and breath and presence. They let the kiss linger, and the change is slow. Slow and fast all at once. Aziraphale’s hair starts to thin, mostly at the front, and his cheeks sag a bit, and there are deep laugh-lines on the corners of his mouth. He can feel the change in Crowley, too, can feel the magical energy against his mouth and in the connected palms of their hands. He breathes in the scent of him, smiles against his mouth, and pulls back. He pushes another kiss against his lips for good measure, short and quick, just because he wants to.

There are new lines around Crowley’s eyes, now. His nose is less sharp. His hair is streaking grey, starting at his temples and twisting down into his braid. His hand comes up to cover Aziraphale’s, and both of them are veined and wrinkled.

“Is this what you wanted?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale blinks back tears. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, it is.”

They sit on their bench and watch the ducks. To an outsider, they look like an old couple, quiet and content. They wouldn’t see quite how old, all the years they have between them, more years shared than the world has existed. But that’s okay. They wouldn’t see quite how content, either, not from the outside. But they are. It took six-thousand years, a lot of strife, a lot of fights, an almost-apocalypse, but they are. They’re together, and that’s how it’ll stay, and that’s more than enough in the end.

[allisondraste]

on writing kiddos

Hi, hello there, it’s me again back with the first bit of meta in a really long time. I’ve been incredibly distracted with school as well as my longfic, which was actually the inspiration for this post.  Just to provide some context, I write a story that spans the lives of my two protagonists from the time they are young children, all the way to their mid twenties, highlighting pivotal moments in their childhood that have had some lasting impact on their present day selves, and as such, I have spent quite a lot of time writing from the perspective of precocious kids and moody teens.  

Fortunately, I love kids, and I’ve had years of experience in both being a big sister and working professionally with kids as both a childcare worker and a therapist.  I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time around kiddos and learn the inner workings of their amazing, rapidly developing brains, and so I’m here to share some of the things I’ve learned AND how it can be applied in a writing situation.  I know that lots of people have apprehensions when writing kids, and so I hope that my anecdotal tips will be helpful to someone out there.

I’ll drop the rest behind a handy dandy read more to spare your all’s feeds. ;D

Age and Cognitive Development

When we write adult characters, part of getting their characterization pinned down is understanding how they think, and the same thing applies to kiddos! Cognitive and socio-emotional development are long-researched topics, so there are a multitude of varying theories, and it can be quite complex to break down into neat categories that apply to all kids.  In fact, all kids develop at different rates, despite following the same general trajectory.

Generally speaking, children start out understanding the world primarily through their senses, reflexes, and movements (interactions with the environment), and end with a fairly complex system of abstraction and understanding of hypotheticals.  (Note that these development ranges are based upon those who are neurotypical and neurodiverse characters would not necessarily have the same markers, so if anyone has any specific tips for writing neurodiverse kids and would like to chime in, please feel free to do so!)

0-2 years - highly sensory/motor based, lots of reflexes; learn the difference between self and environment and differences between objects.  Emotions develop more rapidly, beginning with anger, disgust, fear, surprise, happiness, and gradually developing more and more complicated feelings.  Even at 2 years old, they are likely to not have a solid grasp on labeling the ways they are feeling, and things are mostly behavioral and reflexive. 

2-7 years - children begin to understand symbols and develop language, beginning with the basics and progressing to fairly complex thoughts.  Children between these ages think in a very concrete fashion and are highly reliant upon objects, but they do begin to pretend and roleplay. Children around these ages are egocentric and usually struggle to take the perspective of others. However, they begin to develop the ability to identify and express their feelings and thoughts simply, but struggle to understand the thoughts and feelings of others. 

Mommy had a scrunched up face when she looked a the mess in the house. Billy didn’t really know why her face did that sometimes. (approx 4ish)

7 - 11(ish) - Development of perspective-taking and concrete problem-solving. Thoughts gradually become more complex and holistic, though children at this stage of development take things literally, and at face-value. They typically can understand their own feelings and infer the feelings of others from facial expressions, body language, etc., although they may be inaccurate in their assumptions. 

Mommy’s face scrunched up when she looked at the mess Billy made in the floor.  It was the same face she made when Daddy didn’t take his shoes off before stepping on the carpet.  It usually meant mommy was annoyed  (Approx. 7-8)

Mom’s face wrinkled when she looked at the mess Billy had left in the floor.  He began to pick his things up so she wouldn’t fuss at him. (Approx 10 or 11)

11+ - The ability to think in the abstract and understand hypotheticals begins to develop around age 11, however, it’s different for everyone.  Children and teens usually start to have rather complex thoughts and make inferences based on subtle cues.  They’re able to manipulate information mentally and come to develop their own opinions and conclusions. 

Billy’s mother wasn’t even home yet, and he could already see the look on her face she would have when she saw the mess on the floor.  He hurredly began to scrub the stain from the rug.  He was going to be in so much trouble. He knew it.  

Teenagerdom - Most teens have all the complex thoughts and emotions that adults have, but often have less experience and/or ability to cope with and regulate those thoughts and feelings. Many teens are stuck in this place of being expected to behave in an adult way, while still being treated as a child.  It’s a rough time.  Not to mention, teenagers experience a re-emergence of  egocentrism that takes the form of “Everyone is watching and judging me all the time,” and also “Nobody has ever experienced what I am experiencing and if they have experienced it, then they haven’t experienced it to this degree.”  That all settles down with cognitive maturation and experiences; however, the experiences of teenagers often extend well into the 20s. 

Examining the mess on the floor, Billy knew that his mother was going to kill him.  Murder.  She’d chew him up and spit him back out, never to see the light of day again.  It was the end.  Unless of course he could scrub the stubborn stain from the rug.  This had to be the worst thing that could have possibly happened. 

Personal Experience and Intelligence

As I mentioned above, those age ranges are broad, general “this is sort of what should be happening when,” but they’re more guidelines rather than hard and fast rules.  When writing children, it is helpful to consider the personal experiences a child has had in their lives up to that point as well as their intelligence.  Those are not the measure of a person (even a little one), but they make a huge difference in the rate at which a child matures and interacts with the world.  Generally kids who have more difficult upbringings and those who end up parenting themselves and/or caring for siblings, often seem older than they really are, particularly in regard to their behavior. 

Just to provide some examples for reference, the children that I write in my story are mostly nobles who have relatively comfortable, safe, and happy childhoods.  My Cousland, Liss, is generally a carefree, impulsive, emotional, messy, privileged child, and so I modeled her development more closely in line with the “guidelines.”  Nathaniel is also a noble, but he’s more thoughtful, and has kind of been placed into a parental role in that his dad is emotionally abusive at the very least, and after his mother dies, he is the rock that his siblings stand on, and at that point in time, he is only 10.  He has to grow up a lot faster than he may have had to otherwise. As a very strong counterpoint, there are other characters who do not have any environmental privileges during their childhood.  A very good portrayal of this sort of thing is this comparison of Isabela and Hawke’s respective upbringings.

Both intelligence and life experiences can lead to a quicker rate of cognitive development and maturation in some cases, that does not mean that they are “grown up” or in anyway done developing.  Even the brightest kids, even the kids who have faced unbelievable adversity are still kids and they often still experience impulsivity, emotion dysregulation, and other things that one might not see in adults with the same experiences.  Furthermore, some kids may not even experience advanced development, instead regressing from the lack of social support and modeling from attachment figures. 

Basically, nothing is hard and fast. 

Personality

The next thing I wanted to touch upon is personality.  I think there is a tendency to portray all kids as Standard Kids (which I have endearingly coined Standard Kid Syndrome).  It is all well and good if the intention is just to show a Standard Kid; however, if you really want to dig deep into a character, into who that child is, it’s so important to consider personality traits.  From birth, children have dispositions, and as they grow and learn more about themselves and the world, those dispositions become personality.  Personality traits should shine through very early on!  Kids can be open to experience or rigid and anxious, they can be introverted or extroverted, they can be impulsive or restrained, they can be aggressive, meek, funny, serious, meticulous, silly, cool, gruff, grumpy, snarky, sassy, nerdy, quirky, shy, friendly, withdrawn, and so on and so forth.  Children are new humans; they are not incomplete humans. 

The Kid Voice

When writing from the point of view of a child, all of the things discussed above factor into word choice.  Just like writing adult characters, the way a kid talks in dialogue, or narrates even, is influenced by a blend of so many different things.  Young kids’ descriptions are going to have simpler sentence structures and words.  They may introspect less and observe more.  They may express themselves through their bodies and actions more.  They may have trouble describing what they’re feeling, or understanding what they’re seeing.  Teens may describe things more dramatically and intensely than similar adults would.  They may not.  What is important is considering the mix of traits and experiences they have in relation to cognitive development.  It’s really no different from writing any other character.  It just takes research and planning to get in The Zone.

TL;DR

- Understanding how kids think is a good starting point to writing kids

- Personal experiences, intelligence, and the interaction of qualities can influence how a child thinks in a multitude of ways

- Kids have personalities!  They’re not blank slates that have yet to be filled.  They are whole people, and it’s good to give proper care to show those unique, wonderful little minds that they have

- It’s not so much different than writing adults! It just takes some time spent looking through a different lens!

- This is not a comprehensive reference by any means, so please feel free to chime in!

[fleebledotcomrbls]

You Matter

Chapter 5

Summary: Logan sneaks out with Remy

Tw: Suffocation, Talks of death, Verbal Fighting, Outing somone as trans (its in passing but fair waring), metions of violence, almost drowning (let me know if i missed one)

Words: 1897

 The day seemed to drag as he watched the clock tick all day. It was friday and eleven o’clock He had his first training session with the hero's tomorrow. His mind was pulled right back into reality as Declan returned from his last meeting of the day. 

“Hey Lo,” He smiled at Logan. His eyes were heavier than usual, “Tonight I'm heading home to Remus. He will come with me in the morning to see you. Remember the rules.”

“Stay in my room. Don’t touch anything, and nobody comes in or out.” Logan recited. His father put these rules in place when he was ten. Tonight was the first night he was breaking them. There should be no reason Declan suspected him, but he couldn’t help but toss and turn these past nights. Right now is when it could all fall apart. If his dad suspected him for a minute. He called upon every bit of his minimal acting abilities.

“Good,” Declan looked straight into Logan’s eyes. Logan tried to keep his poker face, “You need to go to bed on time. You look like you aren’t getting enough sleep.” Declan grabbed his cheek and gave him a quick peck, “Love you.”

“Ew.” Logan deadpanned. Declan laughed as he exited the room.

Logan relaxed and looked down at his outfit. He knew it would be bad to show up in a onesie, but what else could he wear? He ran to the cluttered sideroom, with his bed and assortment of materials for all his interests.

He looked to his closet. It was full of star maps and more importantly his clothes. He looked through his closet. He had a lot of the same pair of jeans,  shirts from the lab, and flip-flops. He assumed he shouldn’t show up in his favorite shirt that says, ‘Got Powers?’. He scoured finding nothing. He looked across his room to see Declan’s mini drawer he keeps in Logan’s bedroom. He dug through the drawer, he saw a lot of the same shirts, but in his father’s size. Then, he saw a simple black polo shirt and a blue tie. He smiled and pulled the shirt and tie on. He grabbed his jeans. He went up to the door of his room and before he opened the door, he grabbed the R coin, and put it in his pocket.

He walked to the back of the lab, he had snuck out before, but it was to the edge of the woods. He never left sight of the lab. He saw the back door. He bolted a sudden jolt of excitement rushing through him. He felt someone grab his arm, and he felt the air push out of his lungs.

“What are you doing here kid!’ The attacker was looking at his band and let go of Logan’s arm. Recoiling as if he had touched fire.He went to grab his walkie-talkie as he fell onto the ground. Remy stood behind him, his palm outstretched. He had a small backpack.

“Snitches get stitches,” He looked up at Logan, “Ya ready to head out not so secret spy.”

Logan looked down at the man and placed a hand on his chest. Remy quickly took his hand, “He’s asleep. Nobody’s powers can kill someone. For someone who's been surrounded by powers your whole life, that would seem like a no brainer.”

 As Remy opened the door Logan contemplated the words. Letting their weight sit on him. Remy was right, Logan should know more about powers. He had met so many empaths and power canclers, and lots of people whose powers were extremely emotionally driven. He was allowed to walk around like any kid at one point, but that was when he was four or five. They decided to isolate him after he made a huge vacuum around other kids. They didn’t want him endangering others. It hit him that Remy was the first person he talked to with powers that wasn’t trying to control him in a long time.

Logan stepped into the dank grass outside, the smell of rain dancing in his nostrils. He felt a chill. The cold hitting his bare arms, Remy grabbed a flashlight from his bag. The stars shone bright, Logan couldn’t help but stare. He had seen so many photos and had plenty of maps, but the real thing was beautiful. The stars flickered, and Logan’s eyes dragged across the sky, to find the familiar shapes. There's Mars, Sirius, Orion, and The Big Dipper.

“Logan!” Logan was broke from his trance by Remy, “We’ve got to head out. We can go look at the stars in Carnville. The sky is clearer there anyway. We will be walking a mile or two, so we can’t wait around.”

Logan was not as strong as he should be. He walks around the Lab often, it was nothing like the road they walked on, but Remy distracted him.

“What's your favorite color?” Remy interrupted the cicada’s single note song.

“Blue. Yours?”

“Brown. Now you ask a question.”

“Hm,” Logan contemplated the question to ask,”Why are you here? You seem to have control over your power.”

“Some kids started attacking this other kid. Some kid could read minds, and outed this kid as trans. The kid started getting bullied, but some kid started beating the crap out of him. I put the kid to sleep. Their mom freaked and threanted sueing my mom, so I lied and said it was an accident. You?”

Logan should have expected the question to be asked back, but he had no plan. Almost everyone he's met has already knew why. He decided on a half truth, “I was put away for weak control on my powers.”

“For nine years? Damn, this place is dedicated. Hmm, you got any hobbies?”

“I like the stars, reading, and studying the periodic table.” Logan looked back to see the hospital completely out of view. There was no going back now.

“Down there is the road the superheroes from the academy use to go on missions, were following just far away enough so that they can’t see us,” Remy pointed to the left as a distant siren was heard, “So Mr.Nine Years, how is the outside world?”

“Cold, wet, and…”Logan looked to the sky, “Beautiful.”

“Yeah, after a rain most likely wasn’t prime time to sneak out, but we can still have fun.”

“I quite enjoy it.” Remy laughed at that. The walk continued with back and forth conversation.

Logan started to smell something salty, “Whats thats smell.”

Remy’s eyes lit up, “Just my favorite scent in the whole world.” Remy grabbed Logan’s wrist and raced off. Logan nearly tripped on multiple branches just trying to keep pace. Logan saw a faint light through the woods.

Remy broke through the trees, “This is Carnvill.” The town was alive despite it being at least 1 am. The market in the center was full of people trading goods. A bar nearby was lit up with fairy lights and people’s laughter. Actually, everything had fairy lights. There was a beautiful orange glow. The smell...had much to be desired. Logan looked to his left to see the ocean.

It was the first time Logan had seen the ocean, even though his whole life he had been around it. It was enchanting. The stars were reflected in the waves, and the glow of the town highlighted the sea. It was haunting, no one knew exactly what was beneath the water, but damn was it beautiful.

“I knew you would love it,” Remy led logan to a cliff that looked over the ocean, “Now we can stargaze. Those woods were not a good view.” Remy was right, it was an amazing view. The clouds had cleared. Logan could see the stars as if it was a picture…,but it wasn’t. It was real. Logan shivered the cold nipping at his nose. As Remy put his jacket on Logan, he couldn’t help it as water vapor came from his eyes. It only got worse as the rocks became liquidy.

“Whoa! Is something wrong?” The boy’s cool attitude slipped. Logan just started bawling harder.

“I-It’s j-ust the-that you.” Logan was suddenly sobbing, “You don’t think i’m dangerous.God, I hate emotions!” Remy turned to Logan and hugged him.

“Logan, when I saw that band I froze. I had written you off as someone who never questioned the system,” Logan felt vapor rise from his shoulders, “but then I saw that band. You never had time to question it. Heck, you never had people to help you question it. Have you ever thought for just a moment,” Remy pulled away, his face was damp, “That you’re allowed to feel and be a kid.”

Logan stood up, “No.” He tried to calm himself. He can’t...He can’t let his emotions get the better of him. That's when they hurt people, “You don’t know my me. What I’ve done.”

“Logan, You were 4!”

“I STILL DID IT!”

“YOU SHOULDN’T BE PUNISHED BY NOT LIVING,” It dawned on Logan that Remy was crying, “NINE YEARS! You’ve never played with a Wii or-or heard Lizzo! No first day of school. No having your friend pressure you into listening to MCR! NO CHILDHOOD!”

Logan felt something roll down his cheeks, he placed a hand to see liquid tears come out his eyes. Liquid, huh. That's the first time that had happened. This is the first time a lot of things have happened. Logan sat on the edge of the cliff and awkwardly patted next to him. Remy sat down, “I’ve never listened to MCR. You’re my- You’re my friend. You can peer pressure me.” Remy looked at Logan and started laughing. Remy fished something out his bag. He pulled out a cellular phone and a cup. He placed the phone in the cup and then he reached a hand out to Logan. Logan took his hand and Remy pressed his phone as lyrics came out.

Teenagers scare the living shit out of me

“Logan for once. Stop caring!” and Logan did. In this small town in the middle of nowhere. He danced and danced. Remy danced along with Logan. Steam started clouding around them. They were in their own world. Than Logan heard Remy scream,

Logan was alert in minutes. He ran as he saw Remy plummet of the cliff. Terror in his eyes. Logan jumped. As he fell he grabbed Remy mid-air. As they descended Logan felt a harsh smack. Logan realised suddenly that they were in a...bubble? of ice? Remy suddenly let go.

“HOLY SHIT! I ALMOST DIED.” Remy started laughing.

Logan started crying, “I’m sorry. Remy we’re gonna die in here.”

“Hey Hey Hey. Shh. Don’t be like that. Yeah maybe we might suffocate, but at least we're not alone.” Remy laughed.

“God, how are you so positive. We could DIE. Were most likely going to.”

“Decide your last words.”

“What?”

“If we’re gonna die we need good last words.”

“At least we’re getting to see the bottom of the ocean.”

“Dang, how am I supposed to top that,” Logan felt lightheaded, “Umm, Into the unknown.”

“Logan, hug me.” Logan did and as Logan hugged him, he started to feel sleepy. He knew Remy was putting him to sleep, but he was too tired to care.

“Into the unknown…”

Taglist: @thewhiteraven73 @hereforapathylogic @illogicalthinking @power-in-plain-sight

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

*Victorian England little orphan boy voice* please sir, tell us a story. Any story you like. Just hopin' tho if ye please that it be gay? Thank you kindly sir. Thank ye

June I’ve had this sitting in my inbox for AGES with no idea what to write for you even though that’s absurd because EVERYTHING I write is gay so I’ve decided to just. give you the 4400 word first chapter to a possible future fantasy heist novel that I wrote the other day. hope you like it, I liked writing it.

Fen Davos was no stranger to being woken in the dead of night. It had been a hallmark of the neighborhood in which she had grown up, soothing as any lullaby, and was a staple of her current line of work. One did not last long as a guard in the Royal Palace of Deralia, not even a low-ranking guard, if one was not willing to jump out of bed and snap to attention at the oddest of hours. 

Even taking that into account, it was not often that her wakeup call came from excitable urchins who had plainly clambered in through the window. Alarmed to find the ragamuffin child shaking her and leaning right into her face, Fen did the only thing that made sense at the moment: she swung a fist to put some distance between them.

“Oof!” The child hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, rolling and clambering back to her feet immediately to sulk. “Why’d you have to do that? I only wanted to wake you up, you big skunk. It’s an emergency out there.”

Fen knew that voice. Groaning, she slid out of bed and touched a hand to the globe of moon moths that stood on her night table. Startled, the insect began to flutter around their enclosure, filling the room with a soft white light.

The urchin girl’s mismatched eyes went wide, either marvelling at the splendor or adding up how much she could earn selling such a thing to a pawnshop. “Get a load of that! That’s fancy!”

She would be impressed by that, wouldn’t she? Fen had, when she was first promoted into the palace lodgings. She’d spent a fortnight worrying about the poor moths living and dying in that glass prison before it dawned on her that they were only little wisps of magic, not real flesh and blood creatures that could live and die. Grouty came from the same neighborhood, only a few blocks poorer; of course she’d want to have a good look.

Fen to a firm step to the left, putting herself between the moon moths and Grouty. “Focus up. Why are you here? Is someone from the neighborhood hurt?”

“Not exactly.” Grouty rocked back and forth on her heels with a sly look on her face. “I don’t know, wasn’t really that important. You’re probably too busy. Guess I could scurry off and grab a constable…”

“I’m not going to pay you for the pleasure of being woken up,” Fen snapped. Nevermind that she couldn’t have even if she wanted to; guards’ wages were doled out in the form of credit that was handled by the palace’s Master of Credit so that they never saw a single cold, hard coin. The idea was that they were more likely to live more virtuously if all their purchases had to be approved by someone else - or that they would at least have to pay for their guilty pleasures with their own coin. For someone like Fen, with nothing in the way of family money or extra income, that meant living an upright life indeed.

Still, she wasn’t without a few little luxuries. Knowing perfectly well that Grouty was unlikely to budge without bribery, she yanked open the drawer of her bedside table and withdrew a bag of sweet, soft caramels. She hurled it at Grouty, who let out a little yelp of surprise.

“There, you little louse. Now, for the last time, what’s going on?”

The urchin girl had already fumbled a candy halfway unwrapped, looking gleeful. “Lighten up, would you? It’s Maricelli, over at the theatre. She’s gotten in some trouble with a burglar.”

“You mean she’s been burgled?”

Nah, of course not,” Grouty said, teeth already caramel-bound together. “I mean some idiot tried to burgle her and she’s got him tied up to a chair with a crossbow pointing between his eyes. I don’t know what she needs you for.”

Fen sighed, then started on gathering up her boots, jacket, and sword. It was amazing, really, how the old neighborhood had a way of dragging you back.

A flying carpet for two across the city at such an unorthodox hour didn’t come cheap, but Fen consoled herself by thinking of it as an investment - as in, by not running the entire way on foot, she wouldn’t have to worry about her heart or lungs bursting from the strain, which was surely investing in her future. 

The carpeteer let them off in front of the Perlicker Theatre, which proclaimed its name loudly with a sign that had been done up by some enchanter so that the words shone in a truly eye-watering shade of pink. After a few piteous early years of struggling for respectability the Perlicker had accepted its lot and proudly declared itself ‘The Best Worst Theatre in Town,’ becoming known for shows that featured death-defying fire stunts, incomprehensible musical numbers that frequently ended in nudity, and fake blood that could squirt fifteen feet into the audience - sometimes all at once, if you were lucky. Throughout the early evening the whole street was rocked by the laughter, screams, and music emanating immodestly from the Perlicker. 

Peak hours were long over, though, and even scandalous entertainers needed their sleep. Fen followed Grouty around to the back door, where a low-rent guard nodded and let them into a stairway that led up to apartments reserved for the Perlicker’s best and brightest. 

In the finest of these suites - a spacious arrangement with its own bathroom built in and a balcony that overlooked the theatre’s discrete maze garden - was Mericelli Rabineaux, sitting daintily cross-legged in a claw-footed armchair. She was wearing a gauzy floral robe, her purple hair in curlers, balancing a cup of tea on one knee, and, as promised, aiming a crossbow at a most unfortunate fellow who was bound and gagged with a variety of silk scarves in a chair that matched the first. 

“Lovely to see you, Fen. It’s been too long,” Mericelli said with an unnerving calm. “I’d love to catch up, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with this teensy little situation first.” 

Fen gave the man in the chair a long, hard look, and wasn’t sure whether or not she was relieved not to recognize him. Things would be messier if he were some unfortunate from the old neighborhood, of course, but at least she’d be in her element. Without that sort of advantage she wasn’t sure what would make Mericelli assume she was the right person for this job. 

“No promises. I’m assuming there’s a good reason you couldn’t grab a constable off the street to handle this?”

Mericelli laughed in a showy way that belied no actual humor. “Naturally. This is no petty theft. We’re dealing with heartbreak! Betrayal! Scandal! The potential ruination of a perfectly good career!And worst of all, the potential to inconvenience someone irritably wealthy. Would you like to tell it?”

This last question was directed at the man tied to the chair; Mericelli even jabbed the crossbow a little in his direction for emphasis. He was looking a little queasy from the odreal, and the appearance of Fen - a strapping young woman, armed with a sword and an expression that said she wasn’t very fussed about using the sword on someone if it meant getting back to bed sooner - had done very little to put him at ease. He shook his head as well as he could. 

“Fine. It’s about those,” Mericelli said. She nodded at a hatbox on her coffee table, overflowing with handwritten notes and pressed flowers the like. Groaty, who’d never met a personal possession she didn’t want to put her hands all over, descended on it at once, pawing through the papers with abandon.

“Gosh, this still reeks of perfume!” she announced. “The really hideous-smelling kind that you know must be expensive!”

“My former lover is a man of good breeding, not good taste or sense,” sighed Mericelli. “I always urged him to try a new scent, and every time he’d return with something more offensive. I found that charming, for awhile.”

Fen looked between the actress, the burglar, and the box of letters and thought she could see the equation answering itself as plainly as if the numbers were floating in the air before her. “Good Brights, please don’t tell me you’re blackmailing him.”

“Me? Blackmail him? I would never! Unlike him, I have no need for other people’s money,” Mericelli sniffed. “This a cowardly preemptive strike, according to our friend Mister Burglar, because the little gibbon is afraid of me doing something to ruin his wedding.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he broke up with me a week ago by sending me the newspaper announcing their engagement.”

“It’s right here!” Groaty piped up, waving the offending clipping with obvious glee. “I remember hearing the newsmongers talking about this. ‘Lady Ifi Suwayama to Marry Sir Edwin Nicely in Surprise Ceremony.’ It’s all very suspicious on account of how sudden it was and how much more money her family’s got than him.”

“I can’t stand rich people,” Fen said with feeling. “I still don’t understand why I’m here, though. You clearly handled the burglar all on your own.”

Mericelli looked solemn, drawing her robe more tightly around herself as if the diaphanous flowers could protect her from what was coming. “There will be more, though. Neddy is a nervous boy, and once he’s got an idea in his head he can’t shake it until he’s done everything in his power to get rid of it. At risk of sounding like some fainting damsel, I am afraid of what he might do to me if he’s gotten the idea that I’m dangerous to him and his new bride.”

And I want you to fix it, was the unspoken end to that sentence. That had been Fen’s role for as long as she could remember, ever since she’d been old enough to toddle and hold a bottle and started getting left in charge of other children around the neighborhood. When you were flat out of luck and couldn’t out a single step in the right direction, good old Fen Davos would always be there to figure it out. She’d spent her whole childhood running herself ragged to fix other people’s messes, then grew up and decided she might as well get paid for it.

There could be no getting paid to straighten things out between Mericelli and Sir Nicely. Fen would have to be very discreet indeed, as it would look unseemly for a palace guard to be meddling in the affairs of actors and high society. She was pretty sure she couldn’t get all the way fired, not with her track record and connections, but there was every chance she’d get demoted back down to the city beat. No more cozy room of her own in the palace, that was for sure.  

Mericelli gazed at her imploringly, the effect greatly magnified by her smudged black eye makeup making her appear extra tragic.

“Fine,” Fen said. “But let’s show Mister Burglar out before we give him any valuable information.”

He was small and wiry, as many of the best burglars were. Unfortunately for him this also made him extremely easy to pick up for somebody built like Fen, which is to say, the opposite of small and wiry. She untied him and hefted him easily, holding him by the seat of his pants and back of his neck before he could so much as squirm. 

“Better luck next time,” Fen told him. “Don’t hit the pavement on your way out.” 

Easier said than done, considering the way she tossed him over the balcony. The good news was that the burglar - who had some experience with this sort of thing - managed to aim his fall so that he landed on the heaps of trash set out behind the Perlicker, which had a bit of a cushioning effect. The bad news for him was that this trash drew stinging possums by the dozens, and they were fiercely territorial critters.

Don’t worry, he didn’t die.

As soon as he’d topled out of sight Mericelli put aside her teacup and crossbow and got to her feet, stretching so dramatically that you’d have thought she had spent a century in that chair. “Goodness, that was unpleasant. I really do appreciate you getting over here in such a hurry, Fen, you’re a pal. Can I get you any refreshments? I’m about to ravage some instant ramen, personally.”

They reconvened around the table jammed in the tiny corner kitchenette, over which a small facsimile of a chandelier twinkled. It seemed every inch of the place shimmered or shone in some way, every surface festooned with cast-off pieces of costumes, wigs, dancing shoes, masks, and outrageous costume jewelry, interspersed with candles, empty cups, and old magazines. It was an impressively ostentatious sort of clutter, and suited Mericelli well. She was much more at ease now that the burglar had gone, bustling around fixing up eggs and a mix of spices to dress up the cheap noodles.

“I have no excuse for not inviting you over sooner,except that it’s been one thing after another. Ned was taking up a shameful amount of time for awhile, and of course there’s always work - shows almost every night, choreography to learn and costumes to fit during the day. I suppose I don’t have to tell you how that is; the guard must keep you busy. You got the cactus I sent when you were promoted to the palace, didn’t you? Did you think it was funny? I thought it suited you better than flowers, and it lasts longer anway. And that’s all going well? It must be. You look good, definitely better fed than I’ve ever seen you. What’s the food like up there?”

“Can’t hold a candle to your ramen,” Fen said as a bowl was set in front of her - chipped, secondhand, with faded images of saccharine puppies gamboling around the rim. “You look nice. Purple hair suits you.”

Mericelli, seated now at the head of the table, preened happily. “It’s lilac, actually. Isn’t it something? You’d be astonished how often they make me dye it some fiendish new color. Pretty soon I’ll have to go blue and green again, for the Mermaid Festival, and before that I spent practically forever with silver hair for The Widow of Salamander Street.”

Groaty momentarily paused slurping up her noodles and looked thoughtful. “I liked the posters for that one, they were scary. Only you’re too young to be playing the Widow, though.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t realize you were a discerning theatrical critic. I’m playing the Littlest Fairy in Springtime Follies now; is that better for you?”

“You’re too old for that!” Groaty protested. 

Fen raised an eyebrow. “You do the Follies here? That’s a children’s story.”

There was just enough reproach in her voice to make Mericelli look ever so slightly ashamed of herself. “Yes, well, we’ve made some changes. Fluffed up the songs a bit, added some conflict and drama and the like, threw in a few jokes. Not much actually happens in the original, if you think about it.”

“Not much needs to happen,” Fen said stubbornly, “it’s a lovely poem about doing good and helping others.”

“Exactly, and now it’s a lovely poem about doing good and helping others that happens to have a bit of racy stuff added in for flavor. I have a very suggestive dance with the flock of satyrs, it’s great fun!”

“Thrilling. Not that I don’t want to hear more about you defiling nursery rhymes, but why don’t we talk about your Nicely fellow now. Namely, how you think I can help.”

Mericelli’s face fell immediately, but as always she was able to collect herself and carry on. “Of course. First point of order, I’d like his letters kept somewhere safer, because I may need them if he tries to force me out of the city.”

“Is that likely?”

“He didn’t just send me the newspaper,” Mericelli said. “There was also a very long, rambling, painfully insincere letter about how he’s cherished our time together but feels he has to grow up and do the responsible thing by marrying a woman wealthy enough to let him be a kept man. He unsubtly suggested that it might be best for me to leave Brighthaven altogether, on the grounds that it would be terribly embarrassing for both of us if certain details of our relationship were to get out. You know how the upper crust are - they get terribly fussy about their children mingling too much before marriage, and I have enough of his awful attempts at erotic poetry to potentially call his whole wedding off.”

“Gross,” Groaty said vehemently. 

“Seconded,” Fen agreed. “What about you though? No offense, but I thought actors were supposed to list scandals on their resumes. How does this hurt you?”

“Well, the sex part certainly doesn’t. But I’m afraid that in the course of our relationship I may have shared certain other intimate secrets with him, pertaining to my profession. I said some things about certain senior members of the theatrical community that wouldn’t reflect kindly on me at all, and could possibly keep me from ever coming near a leading role again if they were feeling petty. And I may have revealed one or two things about a few of the… less advertised events we put on here at the Perlicker. Those could get the whole place shut down, if I’m not mistaken.”

She delivered the monologue well, with clear eyes and hardly a quaver to her voice, but Fen could see how much the idea of it distressed her. Her work, her art, was everything to Mericelli, and she’d spent years taking undignified, unmemorable roles to get as far as she had. The Perlicker may have been a hotbed of ill-repute and tackiness, but it did command a certain kind of glamour and the dependable audience that Mericelli craved. The idea of having her entire career yanked away so soon after her star had finally started to rise had her more scared than she could admit.

“Right, then,” said Fen. “Here’s what we’ll do. You don’t panic, okay? I know someone who knows everything that happens in this city; I want to talk to her before we decide how worried we should be. He might just want his bad poetry back.”

“So I’m just supposed to live with burglars letting themselves in at all hours at my former lover’s behest?” Mericelli demanded.

“Absolutely not. If you trust me to, I’ll take them with me now and move them to the safest place I know later today. Groaty? You’ll need to run over to Ardessa’s and let her know I’ll be stopping by. Tell her I need a favor and that she’s probably not going to like it.”

Groaty pursed her lips, thinking it over and weighing it on her mental scales. “That’s a pretty big ask. You know how cranky she gets about same-day appointments. What’ll you give me for it?”

“What about this delicious meal I fixed for you, little ingrate?” Mericelli asked.

“Nah. That just covers me getting Fen in the first place, ‘cause you made me do it in a hurry and promised you’d pay me back later,” Groaty insisted. 

“Alright, a week of baths here in my own tub. I’ve got fancy soap for bubble bath and everything.”

“Urgh, a week? What do I want that many baths or?”

Fen was feeling wildly out of her depth here. She didn’t want any of this showing up in her credit records, not to mention she didn’t think the Master of Coin would approve of her using palace funds to bribe a little urchin girl.

“How about this, then?” Mericelli went to her coffee table and fished around in the mess of handkerchiefs and playing cards, coming up with moonstone brooch painted with sinister black spiders. “I wore it when I was playing the Widow. Pawn it, wear it, put it in our slingshot, I don’t care. It’s yours.”

“Geez, that’s great! I’ll go hang around Ardessa’s right now, so I can get her first thing in the morning!” Groaty snatched the brooch up eagerly, immediately disappearing it into one of the many coats that comprised her shapeless gray coat. She slurped down the last of her ramen and hurried out the door, giving Fen and Mericelli an awkward little salute as she went.

“I should be on my way as well,” Fen said quietly, getting to her feet. “It will be sun up soon, and there will be questions if I’m not accounted for. Get some rest, alright? I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything, I promise.”

She gave her old friend a hug, during which Mericelli squeezed Fen a little extra tight, then departed with the incriminating hatbox tucked under her arm. She considered finding another carpeteer but ultimately decided against it. Saving money never hurt, and in any case she needed a chance to think. Prestigious as working at the palace was, there was nothing like a walk through the streets of Brighthaven in the wee hours of morning to really get the brain working. Fen had told Mericelli not to panic and she meant it, but she would personally be planning for the worst case scenario so that she could be twelve steps ahead if it arrived. Already there were more moving parts to this than she liked, and she had a gut feeling things would only get more convoluted.

By the time she got back to the palace she was tired in body and mind. She nodded to the guards on the gate, who gave her an odd look but didn’t make a fuss about it, and headed straight for the most secure place she could currently access. Ardessa’s tower was the ultimate goal, of course, but a princess’ chambers would do until then. No one stopped her there, either; everyone was well aware of the young princess’ special fondness for Fen.

Twelve was already awake when Fen entered her room, hunched over her workbench in pajamas and a pair of enormous magnifying goggles and tinkering with the mechanical innards of her latest cuckoo clock. 

“Hello, you,” the princess said vaguely when Fen hugged her from behind and kissed the top of her frizzy head. “This is awfully early. Would you like some breakfast?”

Someone had been around with a tray, fat blue pancakes and fresh fruit and bacon done perfectly crispy. Fen helped herself to a few grapes as she kicked off her boots, then had a heavy seat on Twelve’s canopy bed. 

Twelve wasn’t her given name, of course, but the Deralian royal family were sticklers for tradition and only had so many names to go around. Twelve’s given name was shared with two of her eleven older siblings, several aunts and uncles, and innumerable distant cousins, so being referred to by birth order had honestly seemed more affectionate to everyone involved. 

Her family did cherish her, truly, but they were also large and sprawling and had quite a lot on their royal platters, but given how far removed she was from any chance of ever sitting on the throne she did tend to slip through the cracks from time to time. Twelve’s parents had long since lost their patience with arranging for etiquette lessons and politically advantageous marriages by the time their last child was of age for such things, and as such she was largely left to do whatever she liked so long as it didn’t embarrass the family too badly or cause any international incidents. For the most part Twelve was perfectly content to spend this freedom in pursuit of increasingly niche hobbies.

There were a few downsides, of course, namely practical ones: when it came to protecting the line of succession, the palace guards started cutting corners somewhere around number six. Still, even the worst-protected princess enjoyed security miles better than the average person. 

“I need to hide this here for a few hours,” Fen said, sliding the hatbox beneath Twelve’s bed. “Sorry, it’s a long story. I’m trying to help a friend.”

Twelve spun her chair around, pushing her goggles up to get a better look at her girlfriend. She was concerned by what she saw. “Helping friends is always a yes from me, but you look exhausted. What have you been doing?”

“Had to get across town to help clean up after an almost-burglary,” Fen said, yawning through half the explanation.

“Good Brights, is your friend okay?”

“She’s fine. The burglar had a rough time though.”

“Ah. Atta girl.” 

“You know I hate to ask for favors,” Fen said, “but I still need to do a few more things today to wrap up the loose ends. Could you tell the Captain you need me all day, to stop her harassing me about it?” 

“Only if you’ll get a few hours of sleep before you go. Uh uh, no arguing about it!” Twelve said, swiftly anticipating the next words out of Fen’s mouth. “The sun’s not even up yet. You can at least have a nap before you go running off to be dashing and noble and heroic.” 

Fen lay back on the bed, smiling as she shut her eyes. “Not hardly that exciting, goose. I’m doing what’s right, that’s all.”

Twelve clucked her tongue. “Get under the covers, would you? Get comfortable. I’ll go see about getting you the day off.”

She dropped a kiss on Fen’s cheek and disappeared into the hallway for a bit, having some word or other with the other guards about a dire need to requisition Sergeant Davos for the day in order to have her run some very important personal errands. No one was likely to question that too closely; the last time Twelve had requested Fen’s presence for personal reasons neither of them had left the princess’ room for a solid day. 

By the time Twelve returned Fen had dutifully crawled under the covers and was already half asleep. Fen could hear her girlfriend taking great pains to move as quietly as possible and slide into bed with as little jostling as possible, and it made her smile into the pillow. Twelve was not particularly graceful or stealthy by nature, but it was sweet how she tried. She wrapped an arm around Fen’s middle, cuddling her close and planting a kiss on her neck, and Fen exhaled contentment. It took a lot to quiet her mind and put a pause to her planning, but falling asleep cuddled up with Twelve worked better than any sleeping potion she’d ever tried. 

[ourimpavidheroine]

An Anniversary

Five years ago today, the 13th of February, 2015, I published, all in one shot, a piece of fanfiction called Please Excuse My Penmanship.

I hadn’t, at that point, written - never mind published - any fanfiction for over fifteen years. I had written some X-Files fanfic back in the day but I’d lost it; my backup floppies disappeared when I moved to Finland and, like just about everyone else back then, the places I had posted it to online disappeared without warning. (Toss a coin to your Archive, oh valley of plenty.) I’d been pretty torn up about losing my fic that way, which put me off writing. Time went on; I had twins in 2002 and they both turned out to have non-verbal autism and different flavors of ADD/ADHD and my life got very complicated and very difficult for a lot of years there. Writing for pleasure wasn’t even on the table.

By 2015 my life had settled a bit. My wife was disabled and suffering from severe and untreated depression and the kids were in special ed and a lot of therapies but we were managing. I had watched Avatar: The Last Airbender with my kids (on DVD - they were too young for it when it first aired) and had gone on to watch The Legend of Korra with them as well. 

I really liked Mako as a character; he was too internal and complex for most of the kids watching, however, and wasn’t well liked. Most fans saw an inflexible jerk who caused and fucked up a love triangle; what I saw was an autistic man who was suffering from pretty severe PTSD. He grabbed my interest. I related.

I really liked his dynamic with Prince Wu, despite the fact that he was a really annoying character. Queer-coded as fuck, although the showrunners were plainly ignoring it. And I started to headcanon who they would be as a couple. How to make Wu less annoying while still making him canon Wu? How to humanize Mako while still acknowledging his autism and PTSD? Headcanon was all it was, though, a way for me keep myself occupied. I’ve been writing stories inside my head as long as I can remember. It’s what I’ve always done.

I read a post on here on Tumblr where the OP stated that there was no such thing as a good Letter Fic; I thought to myself, Bet I could do it. And so in the end of January 2015 I sat down at my PC and started to type up all of my headcanon.

I went back and forth with Wu. What I first started to write was too clumsy, by half; I tried to stick to his endless slang and it was as annoying as it had ever been on the show. I knew if I stuck to that shallow, silly, stupid, canon Wu he wouldn’t be interesting to read. I struggled with it for a time until I remembered something.

My maternal grandmother told me a story once about a girl from Mexico. Claudia was her name; she was a year older than my mother. Her own mother had died when she was born; her father, who was one of my grandfather’s business partners in Mexico, had left her in the care of her grandparents, who were extraordinarily wealthy denizens of Mexico City. At some point the adults involved thought that it would be a great idea to send this girl to stay with my mother’s family to learn English; in return, my mother would then go and stay a summer in Mexico City to learn Spanish. (Which she did; she’s fluent to this day.) Claudia had no English at all but my grandmother had working Spanish and I guess they all figured it would be enough for this poor girl? 

The first day Claudia arrived in San Francisco my grandmother kindly showed her into the bathroom and told her to take a shower. My Grams realized about ten minutes or so later that the water hadn’t turned on; she went to check on her and there she was, sitting obediently on the toilet seat, fully dressed, waiting for the maid to come and undress her and turn the water on for her shower. 

She had no idea how to do either of those things for herself. She had never, at the age of thirteen, undressed herself or operated a shower. And there it was, the opening of my story. Wu remembers arriving in Republic City on the run from the Red Lotus, checking into the hotel, and having no idea whatsoever what to do next. And I thought to myself...What if he isn’t actually stupid? 

And there he was. My Wu. Just like that.

I wrote feverishly for a week, drawn into the story that was sitting in my head, waiting to be told. I didn’t have a Betareader; my wife liked my writing but rather tersely told me that TLOK wasn’t her fandom and she wasn’t interested in reading it, something that hurt me pretty deeply, especially since my X-Files fanfic was how we’d actually connected in the first place. 

(She was, at that time, in the process of slowly dying of heart failure, but I didn’t know that then.)

I wasn’t going to publish it. I just wanted to write it, to see if I still had it together after a seventeen year hiatus. Wuko wasn’t at all a popular ship; after the show finale a couple of months prior all the fanfiction being feverishly written and published was Korrasami. (In fact, I checked AO3 at the time and found exactly two Wuko fanfics, both of which were one-shots and not to my particular taste.) I went back and forth with it and then thought, Fuck it. I’ll just do it. And maybe no one will read it but at least I’ll have done it. I read it through one more time and then, on the thirteenth of February, took a deep breath, told myself to stop being a coward, and posted the entire fic at once. 

I got my first comment, and I was elated. And then I thought to myself, Well, fuck, you may as well write some of the other stuff in your head. You might learn something about yourself as a writer on the way.

Then, a few months later, on the seventeenth of June, my world fell apart. My wife, staying at our summer cottage with our twelve year old twins, died of a heart attack while the kids were off playing and I was here at home, getting ready to travel down the next day on the train to meet them all for the summer. My daughter was the one to find her; she was long past saving at that point. Family friends brought the children, our pets, and our car the two hours back home as I collapsed on the floor of our flat and rocked myself back and forth, wordlessly keening, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

The next year was unspeakable. I was a widow at forty-six; I was living in a foreign country with two disabled children, with no family or friends nearby and an imprecise grasp of the language. My wife had told me she had life insurance; she lied. I was flat broke. My grief was deep and whole and devastating; my children were traumatized and barely functioning. I had no one to help me, and I’d cook meals at midnight so my sleeping children wouldn’t hear me sobbing in the kitchen.

And I wrote.

And I wrote.

And I wrote.

I wrote out of desperation; I had to do something to keep me tethered to this world. I wrote of love and families, of a traumatized child from the street that was my daughter’s age, full of bravado and choked fury. I wrote of an autistic boy growing into a man, bullied and shunned, aching to be free, much like my own. 

I took my children to more therapists. I took myself to a therapist that turned out to be homophobic; I found another one. I made dinners; I cleaned the house, I walked in circles around my living room, whispering over and over to myself, You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay, before making another phone call.

And I wrote.

In August of 2018 my daughter attempted suicide and was hospitalized. I was trying to write I Do Not Ask The Night For Explanations and I had to stop. I had severe panic attacks whenever I tried to work on it. I brought her home and I cut my work hours down to four hours a week so that I could be with her at all times; she wasn’t safe to be left alone. I cared for her. I cared for her twin, who was terrified, unable to sleep, afraid that if he wasn’t watching her she’d try it again. I fought until I got them different therapists. I stopped sleeping. My health suffered.

And I wrote. When I could. It was, without any doubt at all, the only thing that was keeping me going during that time. I would tell myself that I had to keep going, that I still had so much of this story in my head, I needed to get it out. Sometimes I would write while sobbing. Sometimes I would sit here at my desk and nothing would come. I just kept going, though.

It’s better now. She missed most of last year of school and is making it up this year and doing so well. Her brother is at a new school and has, for the first time in his life, made friends. I was able, in December, to actually leave them for three days; the first time I had been away from them since we lost their mother. 

They’ll be eighteen this summer and we’re finally able to breathe. We’re moving forward, the three of us. We’re still broken, but we’re making something new out of the pieces instead of trying to put them back together.

My writing is what saved me. It wasn’t about how many hits/comments/kudos I got; I appreciate every single one I get, believe me. But the writing was making me hold myself accountable, making myself get out of bed, get dressed, brush my hair and teeth, sit down and try. Sometimes that was all I could manage; the writing just wasn’t happening. But it gave me a goal when I needed one. And boy, did I need one.

Thank you all for reading. For those of you that have been there since the beginning and those who just started reading now. For those who faded away from the fandom over time or who left because they didn’t like how the story was going; I wish you well and thanks for reading when you did. Thank you for the hits and the kudos and the comments. You may not have known you were helping to save me, but you were. So thank you.

I am not done writing yet. I am not oblivious; I know I am so far in AU territory now that you’re for all intents and purposes reading original fic. That’s okay. It’s the story that was in my head, that is still in my head. Maybe someday I’ll try to publish it and maybe I won’t, and I’m fine with that. I’m not ready at this point to do what’s necessary to take it past fanfic and that’s okay. It has served and is continuing to serve its purpose for me; if you all enjoy it then that’s just biscuits and gravy, as my Great-Aunt Margie used to say.

I wrote us all a little anniversary ficlet; this takes it full circle for me. (And then back I go to Wu and Qi’s wedding!) 

Mind the warnings at the bottom if you think you need them.

Chapter 132: 252: Wu

[testifytime]

do everything for me, you already know about me BUT: im described as "chaotic faggot" by my friends, i have no filter, I can switch from being outgoing to really nervous in a second, i like drawing, dice, and divinitation. i hoard candles and incense, and i like paintball.

- A Pokemon team/type theme (+ fun facts abt your team!)

Your team is full of Poison types! They’re used the most often for rascly lil fucker trainers, so, it fits :3c

Your signature Pokemon is Toxtricity, though your team also consists of Whirlipede, Haunter, Gloom, Toxicroak, and Crobat!

Fun facts!

Your Toxtricity was sent to you by your juggabro. In his words, it’s a “cool Pokemon to fit your aesthetic but keep you on track”. It can be pretty overprotective, but sometimes it turns a blind eye to the more chaotic things you do. 

Your Whirlipede is just an entire baby. Even though it’s got toxic spikes on its shell that COULD kill you, it’s pretty much a lapbug. You just have to try and remind it to be careful before it goes in for snuggles. 

Your Haunter and Gloom actually kind of hate each other! Having them out at the same time often ends up with you either getting paralysed or put to sleep. They’re super sweet when they’re apart, though, and both LOVE scritches. 

Toxicroak used to be really loveydovey when it was a Croagunk, but now it acts like it’s too cool for school. It’s really not. If you pay more attention to another Pokemon it WILL jab you in the stomach. And then it’ll pretend like it totally wasn’t even because it was jealous. 

Your Crobat is the sweetest of the bunch!! It likes to collect (read: steal) things for you that it thinks you’ll like, and is almost always attached to your back out of its Pokeball. Sometimes without you wanting it to be. It can be a bit of a pain, sometimes. 

- Bloodcaste/lusus/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck troll (+lore)

You’re a purpleblood with a seaserpent lusus! Your chumhandle is acquiredTalisman. 

You live with your lusus in a hive that boarders where the jungle forest ends and the beach begins. It’s a pretty popular spot for violetbloods, admittedly, but it’s also the only place your giantass Seaserpentdad can actually fit; the mouth of the river is deep and leads directly out into the ocean, where he spends most of his time. The hive itself is pretty cluttered - because man, you suck at keeping shit tidy - and filled to the brim with your dice collections, your religious paraphenalia, and all the random junk you’ve stolen (of which there is a lot). 

You have a few interests, of which the main is your religion. You’re a diviner of sorts, oddly sought out by your fellow purplebloods to tell them what their purpose is in life as stated by the Great Mirthful Messiahs. You’re not entirely sure that they really do speak through you, but your readings are scary-accurate, and not only does it mean that you’ve made more friends, but you’ve made a fuck tonne of money, too. You’re more fond of practicing with your friends, or on your own, sneaking what you can beneath your lusus’ snout; so far, he hasn’t seemed to question the candle collection you have, or the alter with the Faygo bottlecaps, or the cards, or pendulum made from a grubbone you got from one of your customers. Actually, he hasn’t noticed much of anything? You’re hesitant to go TOO far, but you do like pushing at what you can get away with every now and then. 

On top of that, you love to draw - mostly as a form of worship, but also just for fun with your juggabros. You send drawings back and forth, even though you’ve never been able to meet them, and it’s pretty fun! You hope one day that you can get them to your favourite hangout spot to cause a little chaos - which usually means trashing the violetbloods’ rich boy shit and stealing things you know they’re too proud to tattle about. You don’t... always remember doing those things? But you definitely remember the amount of violetbloods that give you nasty glares whenever you walk past. It’s okay, though. You have a rifle and you’re not afraid to use it.

Beyond that, though, you’re... kind of lonely. There’s nobody that you really consider a friend around you, and when your friends do visit you, it’s only every few months. Having all those customers and the nasty violetbloods hanging around is great, sure, but... sometimes you wish you could move your hive closer inland to be near your juggabros. You could, you guess. But then where would your lusus go?

Your lusus is kind of ridiculously huge. You really couldn’t miss him even on the horizon, his giant form standing stark against the two moons. Not that he spends a whole lot of time above the water, though. He pretty much only comes back to get fed and throw a fit if he sees any of your purpleblood customers hanging around. 

- Symbol/guardian/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck kid (+lore)

Your symbol is a and your guardian is your big bro! Your chumhandle is augmentedTemptation.

You and your older bro kick it in a sweet lil bottom-floor apartment. It’s kinda dingy, kinda shitty, but it’s the best he can afford and you’re not really one to complain when you know how hard he works just to keep the leaky roof over your head. It’s got everything you want out of a home, anyway; separate bedrooms, tiny bathroom, sweet hangout pad that doubles as a kitchen (which you’ve got a curtain draped over so that it looks like they’re two rooms) - it’s pretty neat. It’s also got a fire escape out the back and easy access to the lobby doors that’re easy to pick, so you figure it’s kinda home. 

You absolutely fucking love to play paintball. You’ve got a painball gun that you maybe stole from the store once, and a couple pellets you’ve been buying for cheap online whenever you have the money. You don’t... actually have anyone to play with, but hey, cop cars make a great target. It feeds into your general need for chaos, which isn’t limited to - but has involved - petty theft, breaking into cars, and spray painting defametory phrases against racists and homophobes on billboards. You’ve never actually been caught. Okay, you got caught once, but you’re really good at crying. You’re pretty sure your bro doesn’t know about that.

You like to practice witchy shit in your spare time. You’ve got altars set up for your patrons, and a candle collection that you really don’t know that you’re ever gonna burn through. Plus, incense! Your bro kind of hates the smell, but you just crack open a window and it’s like he doesn’t even know. You’ve also got a pretty fair collection of crystals, but that’s more because people just keep giving them to you? It’s wild what they’ve thought were just normal rocks, and you’re pretty sure some of your collection could sell for a pretty buck, but they make way better offerings. 

Of course, you also love to talk to your friends online. You have a bunch! You’re pretty easy to get on with, you think, so you end up just kinda collecting people into one giant group of friends that never stops growing. You share art, play games, chat, make them worried sick when you do dumb shit - it’s great. 

Sometimes at dusk you like to go up to the roof of the apartment block you and your bro live in and stand right on the edge. It’s so high up you can see around for miles, and everything below you looks like a speck of dust beneath your feet. The stars twinkle above you in the darkening sky, just barely visible, and you think, every now and then, that you are very, very small. 

- A FNAF animatronic design and name

You’re a broken down animatronic, probably one of the earliest of your kind. Maybe even a prototype? Nobody really remembers anymore. You’ve just kind of always been there, at the back of the store, half a body and more coherent than people expect you to be, but never fully quite there. Your head lulls back and forth, your arms moving sluggishly, and in order to get around, you drag yourself across the floor.

You can speak, but not by much. It’s glitchy and switched out more often than not, absolutely terrifying to hear in the dark - but you’re a pretty sweet soul, all things considered. The few who’ve been brave enough to slip back behind the old, abandoned doors, past the cobwebs and through the narrow halls, who haven’t run at the first sight of you, tell tales of a sweet carcass who seemed more scared of being found than anything else. 

There are a couple kids who routinely come back to visit you. They like to give you things they’ve found outside the pizzaria, mostly coins and old dice and things that smell sweet to try and cover up how musty you are. 

You’ve never hurt a soul the entire time you’ve been there, but your reputation has been built on the whispers of kids who’ve seen the rotting maw of your muzzle, the glint of your endoskeleton and the shine of your eyes in the dark. They call you Thing - as if giving you a name will make you come to life. 

The ones that know you better call you Peppi. 

- A BNHA Quirk and hero title

Your Quirk is Corroding Touch. Despite its name, and how terrifying it sounds, your quirk is pretty simple! Anything you touch wastes away, and you can control how far along its own personal timeline it decays through. For instance, you could touch a flower and have it start wilting, and stop there on its timeline - or you could have it waste away to a point that it decays completely and turns to mush. 

The drawback here is that what you’re doing is essentially speeding up a natural process. Things that don’t waste away without outside forces - such as rocks through erosion - won’t be affected by your quirk. Things that live very long lives before decaying - such as turtles - will take up a lot more of your time to speed them through their natural timeline. Finally, you can’t reverse what you’ve done. Once you’ve sped it through its natural timeline, there’s no going back; another quirk will have to undo the effects.

Of course, it also means that if you plant an oak seed, instead of waiting hundreds of years for it to grow into an oak tree, you can just use your quirk to speed up the process. So it’s a good-bad thing!

Your hero title is the Wasteful Hero: Corrosion. You’re a sort of last-resort hero, and you don’t like being in the limelight. Your quirk is dangerous if not handled correctly, so you work on a team with another hero who has a counter-effective quirk to yours (essentially Hyper Growth!). A lot of civillians are scared of you, but that’s okay. You know that what you do is important, and that your ranking doesn’t matter so long as you’re saving lives.

You are a little bitter, though, that your partner is several ranks ahead of you.

[grody-cosplay-n-crap]

Good dreams are worse than nightmares

on ao3

Drabble is based on a canon where the "Derry curse" doesn't die with Pennywise and the losers are still doomed to forget. Angst because I hate myself. Post movie.

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

Richie Tozier had a pretty good life. Actually, most people would probably say it was a great life. A few simple dickheads might even think it was the perfect life. After all he was a minor celebrity, one who basically got paid to tell dick jokes. He might not be Hollywood royalty but he got invited to late night talk shows and once in a while had a real role in a real life creative project (only some were trash). Some days he still couldn't believe he made enough money to never want for anything by essentially being a charming asshole (debatably). Something else that appealed to those simple idiots who idolized his lifestyle was the fact men in his position tended to have access to lots of women, most vastly out of their league. Groupies, girls seeking a flash of attention, even starlets seemed to let themselves be taken in by the most pathetic of idiots as long as they were funny. Now Richie was definitely a pathetic idiot, but not an extreme one by comedian standards. In fact he might be a damn Adonis among funnymen. Therefore it would make sense he would be drowning in women hotter than would have even glanced at him before the fame. The fact these women didn't actually exist was a minor detail. His lack of romance wasn't really a concerted effort. He never sat down to think through why women had never really been part of his life. A "reason" didn't haunt him, those thoughts never coming to the forefront of his mind. All he knew was that their absence didn't feel much like an absence. It just felt normal, right. And so what if there actually was no hot girlfriend with even hotter friends to jerk off to? The illusion was the important part and he was good at it. He was charming enough to say the shitty not-actually-his material in just the right way so people would actually laugh, and in return got fame, fans, and money. So yeah, he had a pretty good life.

Except for the dreams.

It wasn't every night. He wasn't actually sure how often, when he remembered he had them, the memories slipping down away from his conscious mind into the dark like a watching a coin fall down a well. The nights when they came were almost always normal, with him slipping into sleep casually, often helped by some whiskey. 

The main dreams were mostly flashes. Images, sounds, feelings. Blood, more than he had previously comprehended was in a human body. On his glasses, tinting his vision. The wrenching feeling of just one instant, irreparable and unfathomingly terrible. An invisible hook yanking his guts far away from his body with dread. A face, a voice saying his name. Words trying to come out, feeling as if he had swallowed a plant covered in barbs, hooking themselves deep into the rings of his esophagus. His brain, in shock, protecting itself with denial, dissociation. Voices around him full of pity. His body was moving, but against his own will. Tunnel vision zooming in on just what he is leaving behind as he is dragged away. Why the fuck are these hands him? Don't they know they have to help? Let him go, LET HIM GO. He is sure he is screaming but there is no sound, just slow motion destruction, the crumbling of a house and his hope. Finality. The blood...the blood is still there. He had promised and he had LIED. He was a traitor-

gone, gone, gone-

Richie wakes more violently than he knew possible, his heart pumping his body full of adrenaline, a mockery of when his ancestors spent days ready to run from a lion's jaws at any second. As the sweat cools and tremors make their way through his body Richie wishes there was a lion. There is nothing to run from here, just the feeling of a raw hole where his heart should be. A despair so bone deep it's physically painful, making him curl in on himself as if to hide from it. And even as the feeling something irreplaceable is gone clutches him tightly around the throat still it begin to fade. He can't hold on to the feelings, so much so it seems like trying to keep water from evaporating off him in the hot summer sun. Soon enough he has slipped back into sleep, dreamless. By the morning nothing is left but the vague recollection of something haunting him in the night. Something that seemed so terrible in the dark twilight zone of 4 AM but now in the clarity of daylight and reality seems trivial. 

Sometimes right before succumbing to unconsciousness a moment of clarity will come, a flash of memory that he's afraid, terrified to see the dream again. Sometimes when he wakes he begs to remember, so he can at least be prepared. So he can try to understand. So he can go to a fucking doctor and force them to give him something so strong he'll never fucking dream again. Tears of frustration slow and dry even as he begs.

Those aren't the only dreams though.

There is another kind that will come to him with frustrating infrequency. Deceptive things, possibly more devastating in the long run than the ones full of blood and fear. These dreams are soft and warm, safe. A cheesy song from some 60' s girl group is playing in the background, slow enough that dancing is really just slight rocking back and forth. Because he is dancing, holding someone close and he can't remember if he has ever done this before. They are shorter than him, sturdy in his grip. He looks down and thinks 'ah, that's why I'm not interested in those women'. There is no name to the face but he feels a certainty even stronger than that of his own name that he never has or ever will love someone as much as he does this person in his arms. They notice his stare and look up with a half smile, eyebrow raised, and if Richie was dumb enough to still believe in such things he might think this is how heaven feels. 

When he wakes up the heavy grief settles on him like a second blanket. He accepts slowly that this is reality, hard and sharp and bright, almost unbearable and he thinks maybe he is actually in hell. He tries to mentally grip onto the dream as hard as he can but with every beat of his heart memories collapse like that house- what house? These dreams stay with him for a couple days. He admonishes himself for basically having the romance version of a wet dream. At least he thinks that's what it was, he knows he had a dream and in that dream he felt so happy he had been moping about reality for days, which was pathetic. He was forty not fourteen. For some reason the jokes about his fake girlfriend seem even more wrong for a couple shows, but he can't figure out why. Soon these feelings too turn into nothing but a slight whisper in the back of his mind and as he always has and always will Richie Trashmouth Tozier pushes them away, slaps on a smile and pushes on with his amazing life. And if the numbness he has felt since his vague childhood keeps growing like a limb slowly losing circulation then so be it. Ignorant to a cycle his brain refuses to remember, doomed to relive trauma he can't understand, still the show will go on. 

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

I read fix it fics but this is the shit I write. I'm sorry I don't know why I'm like this. Might do a sequel where he remembers because I love pain. First time I've written in like....7 years, I hope it's not bad

now has a sequel 

[that-was-anticlimactic]

Pure / Happy Ninjago Headcanons

Zane:

If the movie is based off of a book, he automatically hates it

Aka he hates the How To Train Your Dragon movies because he likes the books better

will probably explode if he has to watch the Percy Jackson movies

Zane will occasionally roast someone and then giggle

Zane: *after roasting* did I do a funny?

He refuses to dab / whip / woah because they go against his principles as a being

If he mops and someone walks through with dirty shoes he will banish them for five minutes minimum

His favorite books are mystery novels like Agatha Christie

Really likes green grapes

Plays mahjong every day for it is relaxing and fun and he always wins

Has a grey soul

Jay:

Makes ginger jokes constantly

Kai: hey, Jay, can you pass the potatoes?

Jay: well, I’m ginger. so. can’t:/

Kai: ... h-how is that even relevant?

Jay: 🤷🏼‍♀️

Hates that they got rid of the ginger emoji by the way and will complain

Walks very fast always. Like, he can’t walk slow

He’ll be out with the team walking through town and suddenly he’s so much father ahead then everyone else

Always spells things wrong when texting because he has a rubbing Tourette’s tic that makes him rub the screen constantly and it makes him mistype

Known as “the bear” on the team. As in, do not poke the bear.

Can and will eat an entire bag of frozen blueberries in five minutes

Zane: you’re overthinking

Jay: yoU’RE UNDER THINKING

Writes notes for himself on his arms

Has an orange soul

Kai:

Tends to call people by their last names, only uses first names really if he’s mad at them or if they need comfort. It depends on tone.

When he was younger he wrote and illustrated his own children’s book for Nya because he was proud of his art and writing skills.

He’s actually working on a novel and illustrations for it

He draws the team a lot, for birthdays and holidays or for fun. Zane is his favorite to draw.

Always skips the theme song when watching shows

Cares about his hair to an extent. He’s very bipolar with his hair. One time he spent $200 on a hair cut and one time he went for a week and a half without washing his hair because he forgot is what I’m saying.

You’d think Cole would be the first person to grow facial hair because of his eyebrows and his amount of hair, but no no no, Kai was.

Has acne on his face, specifically around his nose and the edges of his face, but is unashamed of it! He knows he’s still beautiful with acne!

Has a magenta soul

Cole:

Likes painting rocks for fun. He writes things on them, paints flowers on them, paints swirls and such... he has a collection of them in his room

Definitely once drove his car into a lake because google maps or some other technology format told him to. This boy be bad at technology

Cole, unlike Kai, loves the theme songs and will fight for them

like Kai, Cole has acne on his forehead and is unashamed and doesn’t think it makes him any less beautiful!

Beanies! Beanies! Beanies! Beanies! Did I mention that Cole wears beanies?

Got his left ear pierced when he was at Marty Oppenheimer’s as a rebellious move but he is very happy he got the piercing, does not regret it. He goes back and forth between a stud and a hoop.

Baggy over-sized clothing

Pink and orange is his aesthetic

and are his favorite colors

His soul is a mix of pink and green

Lloyd:

Likes blankets- his favorite is a fluffy pale yellow one

He really likes the color yellow?? Like a lot??

His soul is yellow.

Makes ramen at two in the morning

Slides down stairs on the railing

Would probably wear AirPods legitimently because he hates the chord

Vests and joggers are his casual style if I’m being real

Doesn’t like change so always sits in the same spot on the couch

Collects coins

Has super thin and super blonde eyebrows

Keeps air fresheners in his room

Nya:

Her usual breakfast is a single slice of bread. Like just bread. Straight from the package.

Wants to travel the world

Listens to rap a lot. The quickness of the talking and the rhythm calms her down and is comforting.

Always has one earbud in and one out

Nya is the person who tells the brutal truth. If something is bad, she’ll say it. But she also gives the best compliments

She’s the best person to try stuff out on, because of the above. But, she also loves when people share their passions with her so so so so much!

Doesn’t believe in wasting cups so will turn the faucet on and then stick her face in the sink and drink like that

Grew into a gluten allergy and eats gluten free. It’s not really bad, but she strays from eating gluten. The team is super considerate of it

Terrible at all artsy stuff aside from photography, it’s not her forte, and she knows it. She is really good at coming up with ideas and such, though.

Cardigans and crop tops at the same time?? More likely than you think.

Wears circular sunglasses.

Has a red soul

Team:

The team has matching tattoos that say “Ninja never quit”. None of them are in the same place, but they all have it and it’s important to them.

The team paint their nails together all the time, tradition started by Cole and Zane.

They all love Disney so much

Favorite Disney character include:

Cole: Punzie

Nya: Mulan

Jay: Anna

Zane: Anastasia

Kai: Tiana / Moana

Lloyd: Cinderella (likes the classics- finds her story inspirational)

They are all talented in the arts in some way. Cole can sing and act (when he wants to) and play a million instruments, Kai can write and draw, Jay is the best at poetry / slam poetry / graphic design, Lloyd can knit and sew, Nya comes up with the BEST ideas ever / photography, Zane is the editor / can act / plays piano like a queen

They all try teaching each other how to excel in their specialized areas! Oh and they share their talents! Everyone’s gotten at least one blanket from Lloyd and one portrait from Kai!

MASSAGE TRAINS? MASSAGE TRAINS.

They have a white board on The Bounty that they leave notes for each other on

They’re all each other’s number one fan and love and support each other like crazy

They have sleepovers in the living room. They all include three a.m. McDonalds runs.

Fight over whether a hot dog is a sandwich and how to pronounce gif

Paper airplane contests to make decisions such as who gets to shower first.

One time they all made a commercial for the ninja team. They made Dareth film for them.

One time Nya wanted to practice her photography skills and told the boys to dress slightly nice for it (“don’t dress like garbage”) so they all wore suites and ties and dark sunglasses for it.

They have weekly meetings to discuss stuff. Each week is led by a different team member. They’re almost like leadership meetings and they always go over the week, training, and what each person’s goal for the week is.

They do highs and lows every dinner!

I hope you all enjoyed! I was in a pure headcanons mood!

[the-local-oddity]

Pirates, Knights, and Kings

Finally was able to get on desktop and post this! This one is the sad one, sort of based on that Three Adventurers art I made for @captmickey. I hope you enjoy!

The three heroes lay in the grass their faces pointed towards the beautiful blue sky. They lay with the tops of their heads pointed towards each other. Guybrush had hands folded under his head, Link had them folded over his stomach, and Graham was sort of just a starfish, and the only one with his eyes open.

"So… I'm the youngest right?" He asked, seemingly leading to another question.

"I think so, yeah." Link confirmed for him, curious as to where the young knight was headed.

"Okay, so then you two have to promise me something…" Graham tapped his fingers on the ground.

"I'll to hear what it is first." Guy rush made no effort to move, he was comfortable, "I don't agree to anything until I hear the details."

"Smart move."

"It's just, " the young knight folded his arms over his chest, "Can you promise not to die before me?"

"Of course."

"No can do."

Link and Graham both moved to stare at Guybrush in surprise, he had yet to move, as if what he had said wasn't surprising at all.

"Why not?" Graham pressed.

"Because if I promise you that, then I've broken the promise." Guy brush shrugged, he was acting so casual that the other two really couldn't tell if he was messing with them.

"You're going to have to explain that one, Captain." Link reached over and poked his forehead.

They watched as Guybrush started counting off on his fingers, they glanced at each other then looked back at the pirate.

"I've died about… 3 or 4 times." He laid his hand back under his head and crosses his legs casually, "A few years back actually. So, way before you ever had."

"What?"

"So, therefor I've already broken the promise."

"How?"

Link scoffed and nudged Graham, "Don't fall for it, he's trying to mess with us!"

With that Guybrush actually sat up, his coat slipped off. The two watched as he untucked his shirt as well.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Graham pressed.

"You two don't believe me, so I'm proving it to you. Really I could just get my death certificate, but that's all the way on my ship." He paused and thought for a second, "Or does Stan have it…?" He said the last part mostly to himself.

With a shrug, he lifted his shirt off alleging the other two to see a scar along his back, he turned around to face them, a similar scar slashed into his front.

"What happened ...?" Link stared with wide eyes at the scar, it looked to him like entry and exit wound, but he couldn't think from what. There was no way it could've been a sword, that's impossible!

"I've told you both about LeChuck." He didn't elaborate any further.

"But if that killed you, then how can you be here with us?" Graham was puzzled, he hadn't heard of a spell that would bring people back to life, but he supposed it was possible.

"Through some clever voodoo, and some good luck from Elaine." He smiled softly then pulled his shirt back on, "Looks nasty doesn't it?"

"Actually…" Graham shrugged, "It looks really cool…"

Guybrush smirked and let out a bit of a chuckle, "Well, thank you."

"Oh! I got it! Promise me that you won't die forever before I do!" Graham fixed his original question and Guybrush couldn't help but are with him.

"Alright Graham, I promise." He laughed.

-------

He couldn't bring himself to go any further into the castle. He was terrified. His friend was sick, so sick he couldn't even get out of bed anymore. Everyone was saying he still had a few good years left, and Guybrush wanted to believe it.

He started into the courtyard. The current younger of the royal family sat on the courtyard. She was an excitable young girl, and so very hopeful for the future, it was a good skill to have. 

She also could appreciate a good story when she heard one. Unlike other people.

She was like Graham.

Guy rush turned away from her and began walking down the hallway, he still couldn't bring himself to face his friend, not with this heavy feeling weighing down on him.

"Ah, I thought I saw Aunt Elaine." The courtyard door had pushed open, Prince- no King Alexander stood in the doorway.

"Well, well, " Guybrush smiled at him, "if it isn't my biggest fan!"

"I'm afraid I'm not your biggest fan anymore." Alexander walked over to Guybrush. Who still couldn't believe how much the boy had grown.

"What? How cruel!" Guybrush said in a jokingly overly dramatic way, "If not you, then who?"

The little princess stepped forward, and her father rested a hand on her head, "Dad has been telling all sorts of stories about the adventures you all went on way back when."

"Is that right?" Guybrush smiled down at her and she smiled back.

"Yeah! I uh, mostly line stories with dragons, but pirate stories are my second favorite!" She rocked on her heels.

"Perhaps I should sit in on one of these stories, " Guybrush tapped his fingers on his cane, "wouldn't want Graham telling you the wrong this, or worse making himself the better puzzle solver!"

When little Gwendolyn gave him a judgemental look, he couldn't help but laugh, "I'm just messing with you! Haha!"

Alexander stepped closer, his voice lowered in a worried tone, he was making sure Gwendolyn couldn't hear them.

"Have you gone up to see him yet?"

"No."

"Uncle Link is already up there, it would mean a lot to him if you were there." Alexander seemed to almost be pleading with the pirate who sighed and nodded.

"Alright, little one, " Guybrush looked back at the princess, "let's go see if we can't get your grandfather to tell us some stories!"

"Alright!" Gwendolyn hurried over to Guybrush and took his free hand excitedly.

"Don't tug on him! Alexander warned.

"I know dad!"

The pair started to walk when Guybrush glanced back and saw the sad look on Alexander's face, his dear couldn't help but be confirmed.

---------

Gwendolyn had been carried off to bed and was now resting peacefully. Leaving the three adventures sitting alone. Link and Graham happily talked back and forth, but Guybrush had gone quiet. It didn't take them long to notice.

"Are you alright there, Captain?" Graham asked with a weary smile.

"How much longer?" The pirate stared at the floor, he couldn't bring himself to look up.

"How much longer until what?" Graham questioned.

"Dammit, how much longer do you have?" Guybrush squeezed his eyes shut.

"I've got plenty of time, trust me." The old king tried to laugh it off, but when he looked at Link it was easy to see that he wanted to ask the same question.

"Don't lie to me, Graham!" He shook his head, "I know when you're lying, you can fool your kids and your grandkids, but you can't fool me!"

Graham went silent, his head turned to look at the magic mirror, he watched dit glisten but received no answers.

He mustered up his courage, "We don't know."

Link covered his mouth quietly.

"The doctor's are doing all they can to slow the process but…." He shrugged, Lord he hated those potions and medicines.

"So… It couldn't be any day at this point?" Guybrush still had his eyes closed, his heart hurt. This hurt. It didn't feel fair.

"That's right…"

The three were all silent. They had no idea what they could say to each other. This horrible silenced seemed to persist for ages until Guybrush's shoulders began to shake.

He shook his head, "I just can't believe it… You, the king who lived in a safe castle most of the time. Dying before the dangerous knight or the fearsome pirate." Tears were streaming down his face, "You really wanted us to keep that promise, huh?"

Graham was able to rest a hand on his head, "Well, I'm not one to give up on a promise."

Link took a deep breath to calm himself down, "We'll stay here, we'll stay with you. Until… Well, you can guess."

"I might stick around even after that, " Guybrush looked up with his tear-filled eyes, "someone's gotta tell that kid stories in your absence."

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"What would I do without you two?" Graham shook his head with his weary smile.

"You'd have a lot less fun in life." Link smirked.

Guybrush leaned back in his chair a doomed up to the ceiling. The worst part was, he wasn't even sure if pirates and kings went to the same place when they passed on. But he couldn't bring himself.

-----------

"See you on the other side."

They promised each other that.

When they passed away they would find each other again. Guybrush stood in the crossroads, such a familiar sight. Thankfully he had a proper funeral this time, he had the gold coins he needed for the ferryman.

He hated breaking a promise, but he knew there was nowhere he could go in this afterlife that would bring them all three together again. He was even sure that Hylians had their own afterlife.

He watched the water go past as he sailed to the center. He chose to love onto sword fighting, that's where he would stay.

"What's your name again?" The Ferryman asked, then quickly corrected himself before Guybrush could answer, "Your full name."

"Guybrush Ulysses Threepwood." 

"I see…"

The scenery changed, they had gone to a different destination. Guybrush didn't recognize it all, and he had gotten fairly familiar with the afterlife.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere special. Just for heroes like you."

Guybrush couldn't help but feel confused, but he really had to put his trust in the skeleton driving the boat.

"This is your stop…"

The pirate stepped off the boat nervously. He limped down the doc, there was no one around. Just where had he been taken. He stood alone in what looked to be a grass field.

"Hey!"

He could see a figure running down the path.

"Hey!"

No, it was two figures!

"Guybrush!"

The old captain's eyes widened in surprise, as two familiar young men wrapped him in a hug.

"We've been waiting for you! Come one!"

Guybrush looked down at them, still blinking in shock.

"Graham?" He finally asked and the king responded with a proud smile, "Link?" The green knight nodded.

"Come on, we've got a lot to show you, and the girls are waiting just over!" Link took one of Guybrush's hands and Graham took the other.

As the trio walked Guybrush started to find it easier and easier the more they went. Soon he didn't feel quite so old at all.

[carolinenicolettes]

MEET CAROLINE ESTELLE NICOLETTE ! 

(IN)CORRECT QUOTE -

“ this is taking too long ! i’m going to miss the farmer’s market ! ” —scary terry or scary caroline? who knows

“ she liked messy beds and movie nights without any lights on. she liked the quiet company of a few good friends. her idea of love was gentle and silent, like a whisper of a touch. some things are magical and magic, contrary to popular opinion, is often found in the most ordinary of places. ”

BASIC

NAME: caroline estelle nicolette NICKNAMES: n o p e it is caroline or NADA  AGE: 21 BIRTHDAY: may 1st SPECIES: starchild  GENDER: cisfemale PRONOUNS: she/her

FAMILY

MOTHER: amelia nicolette — born into money, massive name in the fashion industry, only wears fashionable power suits and celestial themed jewelry, drinks expensive whiskey neat FATHER: unknown PARENTS: raised by her mother, kind of. had a nanny named maggie growing up whom she loved dearly and was very good friends with a doorman named robert as well. it takes a village, you know. FAMILY: direct relation to the nicolette family that you all know and love aka odette. caroline’s mother is odette’s father’s sister. SIBLINGS: not at all.

PHYSIAL ATTRIBUTES

FACE CLAIM: scarlett leithold NATIONALITY: american HEIGHT: 5′7 WEIGHT: 139lbs BUILD: slender, and a bit insecure about that HAIR: long with a subtle wave , nearly down to her waist for now  HAIR COLOR: golden blonde with a few summery platinum highlights EYE COLOR: baby bluuuue DOMINANT HAND: left ANOMALIES: during warmer months, and nearly year round since moving to california, there are little freckles dusted across her nose  SCENT: seasalt, cocounut, sunscreen . . . . and occasionally mon paris by ysl ACCENT: she fought against that new york accent tooth and nail so none ALLERGIES: cats but also bullshit DISORDERS: dbd — dumb bitch disorder FASHION: an odd mix of vintage. corduroy dresses, plaid skirts, ribbed turtlenecks, velvet headbands, doc marten boots. a lil 60s, a lil 70s, a lil 90s. despite having quite a bit of money, she’s always wearing at least one thing that looks hand-me-down and that’s because her mother never threw anything away, so it likely is.  NERVOUS TICS: rocks back and forth from her toes to her heels, death grip on a camera strap, tucking her hair behind her ears QUIRKS: collects enamel pins, always has a camera on her, closes her eyes when trying to focus on listening

LIFESTYLE

RESIDES: east side, victoria BORN: new york city RAISED: new york city VEHICLE:  black 1969 chevy camaro, rarely ever drives it though as she bikes/skates most places PHONE: iphone 11 pro :\ COMPUTER: mac desktop collecting DUST PETS: too busy sneezing bc of odette’s cat

HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: graduated COLLEGE EDUCATION: senior MAJOR: museum studies, photography MINOR: film studies CAREER: freelance photographer, current waste of space living off of that family $$$ EXPERIENCE: apprenticeships in fashion photography, internships in museum curation  TRAINED IN: photography and classical ballet (reluctantly) OTHER: literally just .... she’s had a camera of some sort in her hand since she was like 12

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: liberal RELIGION: worships the ground stevie nicks, cher, and debbie harry walk on but that’s about it BELIEFS: you have to be really careful when buying sweaters from thrift stores because 80% of them are absolutely haunted MISDEMEANORS: none FELONIES: none  TICKETS AND/OR VIOLATIONS: NONE  DRUGS: once or twice but she’s strung out enough on her own  SMOKES: weed, on occasion. cigarettes are gross. ALCOHOL: leisurely, mostly socially. Queen of Beer Pong™ DIET: fairly healthy, not at all picky, a little bougie.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: labels are stupid SEXUAL ORIENTATION: and sexuality is fluid MARTIAL STATUS: never going to happen CHILDREN: *nervous laughter* AVAILABILITY: not at all LOOKING FOR: she’s actually legally blind so

LANGUAGES: english, french

PHOBIAS: fuck spiders SPECIFICALLY. might cry but also doesn’t want you to kill it just... take it out and awaaaay HOBBIES: photography, film — the act of and the watching of, hiking, live shows, bothering odette. literally has/had 3294328049 of them but is really only good at photography/film TRAITS: + adaptable, loyal, charismatic, clever, playful, adventurous ; - flighty, forgetful, cynical, unforgiving, disorganized, impatient SOCIAL MEDIA: the works - snapchat, twitter, instagram

FAVOURITE

LOCATION: photo pit at small venue concerts, anywhere within 10 feet of the pacific SPORTS TEAM: whomst  GAME: playin w people’s HEARTS ...... jk ....... kinda MUSIC: haim, fleetwood mac, the aces... any band with a female lead singer SHOWS: ghost adventures, big little lies MOVIES: frances ha, almost famous, bob dylan: don’t look back RADIO STATION: anything that strictly plays oldies FOOD: loves baked goods BEVERAGE: cold brew coffee, cinnamon spice tea COLOR: a nice dusty rose :\

CHARACTER

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good MBTI: isfp — the adventurer ENNEAGRAM: type 7, the enthusiast  ZODIAC: taurus HOGWARTS HOUSE: hufflepuff TAROT CARD: the empress TV TROPES: max mayfield, serena van der woodsen, ainsley howard, donna sheridan and honestly? eloise  SONG: summer girl - haim

IDEOLOGIES: shove it down shove all the emotions DOWN do not feel. you can tell a lot about a person based on the music they listen to when they’re sad. three is the luckiest number.

THE RUNDOWN 

amelia nicolette never intended to be a mother. she was freshly 21, inches from a moment that could launch her career in the fashion industry, and she hadn’t been in love or even interested in the idea since she was seventeen. so when a one night stand with a wealthy older man, left her with morning sickness and an odd appetite for two, she was less than thrilled. 

he was even less thrilled, insisting that she terminate the pregnancy. i’ll drive you, he’d said in a hushed tone. only then did she see the tan line wrapped around his ring finger. a married man. a one night stand. and a complete bastard . amelia decided, then and there, to carry to term and then put the baby up for adoption.

until may 1st at 3AM on the dot when the most obnoxious scream split through the air. a baby, just slightly too small, kicking and screaming relentlessly was born in manhattan. a baby who wouldn’t shut up until she was placed in the arms of her mother, where she fell quiet and calm and she slept. 

amelia nicolette never intended to fall in love, but holding her tiny baby girl, she knew then and there that she was a goner. caroline, as a song that sounded like joy played from a radio at the nurse’s station. estelle, for the stars. nicolette, the only family name she’d ever need. 

for three years, it was just the two of them in a new york penthouse, and amelia learned quickly that she was good at being a mother. but that didn’t change her free-spirited nature or the way her heart had a tendency to yearn for more. she had the resources, and caroline was old enough — . . . and she’d been sketching for years, sitting on top of a portfolio that piled a mile high.

along comes nanny, maggie, and thus began the life she’d lead for the rest of her childhood. mom spent a lot of time at work, building a fashion brand that went international by the time caroline was 6. because of this, she was gone more often than not, leaving caroline to grow up under the watchful eye of a nanny.

but she called every night. made it home for every big holiday, every recital, every birthday. in the summers, caroline would spend her time split between visiting her mother, visiting odette, and visiting a beach house in victoria. there was a certain lack of permanence that caused her to be adaptable, allowed her to be comfortable with change and give into the whims of a free spirit like her mother’s.

but people filtered in and out, came and went, and on the flip side of the same coin, there was a sense of detachment , a fear of getting too close to people who would move out or move on.

despite this, caroline never found herself to be lonely. she was a friendly little thing with bright eyes and a sparkling curiosity, picking up hobbies instead of toys, but never quite being exceptional at any of them. she made friends with doormen and caused problems for the people behind the desk. she became good, early on, at keeping herself busy, making her own fun – . . . all things that have very much carried into adulthood.

she was lucky, and she’s fully aware of it which is why, from a young age, she always did her best to find ways to give that luck to people who seemed to need it. 

things had a tendency to be tumultuous, what with her mother coming and going and her very best friend being in and out of the hospital, but she tried to go with the flow as best as she could. things were good but never truly exceptional.

until she met jude. he’d been in the same children’s wing as odette, and they’d known each other for a little bit before caroline met him. the three of them were inseparable, at first, simply best friends. but as they got older, feelings shifted and two friends became more than that.

our girl was in love for the very first time. and it was sweet and gentle and everything a first love is supposed to be. over time, that love grew, just as they did, and it was visible to anyone with eyes that they were in love. for two years, it was good, he was good. 

and then he wasn’t. despite two years of remission and a healthy life, he fell ill again. there was nothing to do but stand by and watch as six months passed by, far too quickly, and he slipped away into nothing. ultimately passing away just a week before his 20th birthday. 

caroline didn’t allow herself to feel it, for a while, lingering in the denial stage of grief for far too long. new york felt empty without him, without odette, without her mother, and it didn’t take much for her to pack her things and join her mother overseas, taking a gap year from school and focusing on herself, on her photography.

she spent a lot of time with a press pass around her neck. fashion shows and fashion shoots. major events and sports games. concerts and festivals. but there was one thing she loved more than anything else, and that was capturing the off-guard joy of life in candids of strangers on the street or in the crowds of bars and concerts. she found her own style, her own way of storytelling through a lens, and slowly but surely she began to heal.

still, there was no way around the way her heart felt a little heavier, a little darker, and how smiles from strangers at the other end of the bar made her stomach churn. she developed an aversion to new relationships of any sort, anything deeper than surface level becoming a bit too close for comfort. 

and while life traveling was fun, she missed having a sense of home, so she went to where the only other person who felt like home was, finding herself moving into a house with odette in victoria.

she’s been around for a couple of months, coming out of a gap year and looking to finish her degree in the spring. victoria, for now, is home.

these days she’s a little bit more cynical. a little bit less likely to let people too close. a little bit lost but also who isn’t when they’re 21

[iamalivenow]

Everything hurts.

She's not surprised so much as disappointed in herself. The sun beats down on her so hard, and the light is practically blinding, so she closes her eyes. Easy enough, one of them is already swelled shut, dry blood crusting along her cheek. She doesn't know how long she lays there, waiting for the pain to either pass or finally overtake her. She's angry, she's sad, there are tears slowly pooling, and in the heat, she's surprised they're not just streaming off of her face. And then the sun is blotted out.

“Oban.” He says, after he takes care of her, cleans her up and fixes her wounds and sits her down in front of a fire. His skin is red, and his eyes are yellow, and his wings are flesh where hers are bone. He sits close to her, but for once, she doesn't feel threatened or horrified or irritated by the infiltration of space. Or maybe she's just too tired too. “Orphanmaker.” She says, tries to say, all that comes out is a hoarse whisper followed by a cough, and he pulls off his own water skin and places it to her lips. “Do fiends need water?” Maybe she should have repeated her name again instead. “I travel around a lot. Meet so very many strangers in need of rescuing. If you like, you can hold on to that. I have another one, though it is filled with wine at the moment and something tells me we will both not be in need of it for quite some time.” Yasha drinks more water. He could kill her, he could do it so easily because she sees his blade at his side inches from a clawed hand. She had her weapons taken from her, she had nothing to defend herself with. But he doesn't. Instead, he pats her shoulder and tells her he'll be back.   There's not a lot to stare at around the small camp, so she sits against the mountain wall and soaks in the warmth of the fire, and the temperature drops lower and lower. Oban comes back with meat, still dripping and offers to cook it for her but she all but tears it out of his hands. When more than half of it is gone, she swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before offering it to Oban. “Oh, I'm more than alright. After all, I caught it for you, Orphanmaker. I would feel guilty if I were to take it away from you.” So he had caught her name after all. “Alright.” She mumbles, and eats the rest slowly. Well, slower.

.x.

“And you go into town like this?” She asks, leaning against the trunk of an overturned tree. “Of course not.” He laughs. His eyes twinkle and then with a curl of his hand, a thin drow stands in front of her, long hair tucked between long ears, no horns, no wings. “Dapper, no? Those who live here are so accepting if you show them a little coin they don't even bother looking closer.” He places one elegant, dainty finger under his left eye and lowers the skin there, waiting. She humors him and walks over to get a closer look, and sure enough, yellow blinks back at her. His same soft eyes. “Huh.” She says. “I'll buy you a new sword, yes? What kind do you prefer- bigger ones, I suppose. Yes, certainly, bigger ones for someone like you. I'll see if I can find something lovely and special for you.” She'd ask, but if he's stupid enough to buy a weapon for her, there's really no need to waste the breath. The Wastes make everyone a little unhinged. Oban leaves, demure and playful, and comes back with a greatsword broader than his- his current chest. There's good heft to it, and she can grasp the pommel with both hands and Swing, and the blade sings through the air and the vision of it carving through the flesh of those who took Zuala from her come so easily. She can practically smell the iron, taste it on her tongue, when Oban coughs, and she finally notices the other man with him. An orc, almost as tall as she is. He has a measuring tape. Oban rattles off instructions, and the Orc nods along, breathing heavily while he measures her for her new armor. They don't sleep in the town. They sit around a fire Oban makes for them, drow gone and replaced by that warm red again. He tells her about the Angel of Irons and about the Calamity and about the King That Crawls, and she finds it shockingly easy to fall asleep to his voice.

.x.

“You're very nice.” She says, on the back of a moorbounder Oban borrowed from a raiding party they cut through. “For a Fiend.” “And you're very quiet for a Celestial.” She shrugs, and Oban laughs. She doesn't bother asking how he knows she's Aasimar. What else could she be, looking the way she does in the Wastes. His back is warm, and as the moorbounder leaps and lands and they rock against each other, she closes her eyes, rests her head on his shoulder and loops her hands around his waist. “Where are we going?” “To meet more friends, allays, those who know the true calling and want nothing more then to help us free what has been locked away.” His wings twitch under her weight. Big leathery things that she's gotten used to sleeping under with the weather gets particularly awful. They meet with another fiend, this one blue and with a tail that can't stop swishing as they chitter back and forth in abyssal. She only picks up on a word or two. She thinks they talk about battle strategy. Or some kind of strategy. The blue one keeps nervously glancing at her, at her sword where it's seethed over her back. Yasha makes a face, and it actually takes a step back, tail long and nervous, almost ramrod straight. Oban switches to common at some point, and she almost doesn't notice. “Orphanmaker.” He says, and she takes a step forward, lifting her hand up to grasp the hilt. It's been long since she's had a real fight. “Oban-” And then the rest is hissed in Abyssal, sharp and nervous and scared and good, so good, so exactly what makes her blood boil. She unsheathes her sword, and the thing actually takes a step back. She sees so many familiar faces on its body that she can hardly be blamed for lunging. Oban doesn't stop her until there's nothing but mush at her feet. Doesn't stop her even then. “Isn't that better?” He asks, hovering in the air with his beautiful wings so that the filth doesn't get on his boots. “Yeah.” She whispers. It is. It's finally easier to breathe.

.x.

They have a proper camp now, with tents. And others, a small raiding party all her own. Two more fiends, a dragonborn, and a bugbear, all so eager. They listen to Oban preach about their Lady of Irons while she sits beside him and polishes her blade. When she bothers to look up, she sees they believe him, they want her free just as bad as Oban does. They want the Calamity again. They want what's been taken to be returned. She's firmly of the same opinion. She has her own tent. It's lonely. She supposes she should be grateful, when Oban slips into her tent and lays beside her. For a moment she thinks he's going to proposition her, but- no. They just lay side by side, staring at each other. On a whim, she tells him about Zuala. He tells her the Angel could give her back. Somehow, she believes him.

.x.

There are years of traveling together. Her and Oban and their party. Ruthless and bloodthirsty and always searching for answers. They fall into bed together once, after a raid that results in a map so fragile she's scared to even look at it for more than a few seconds at a time. She's almost blind drunk, and even Oban tilts after every step. They're both so giddy with the looming promise of finally, finally, finally, that it seems almost second nature. It's not great. Or good, even. It's barely fine. Yasha's only slept with women in the past, and Oban's never slept with anyone at all, and it's only the alcohol that brings them together, but afterward, when her back hurts a little, and her head is already starting to pound, they lay in her tent together, bodies flushed against each other, and he whispers gospels in abyssal into her ear, that's fine. And good. And very exceptionally great. She likes to imagine that Zuala would have liked him, just as much as she does. Not enough to take him to bed, gods, no one should ever take him to bed, but when he talks, it's music and flowers and the skies parting  to a brighter future. She likes to imagine their home together, the three of them, close and careful, with a garden of so many different flowers. Stalks so tall Yasha couldn't even see above them. She likes to imagine Zuala with them now, in her uncomfortable tent, hunting for their Lady of Irons together, hunting for retribution together. She could protect them both. So much better then she had before.

.x.

There's a giant between them and the tunnels. Under any other circumstance, Oban would have insisted on a different route, around or deceit or something else, but they can feel how close they are. She thinks she hears singing at nights, and when she asks Oban, he nods too. The first time Oban sees her wings, there's half dead giant between them and answers. And it's raining. Because it almost always rains when she cries. Everything hurts, the exhaustion is heavy, and the tears come unbidden. She screams through them, deep from her chest, in Abyssal like the others do, and when her sword becomes too heavy, too tiring to heft, her wings rip out of her back, and the giant actually staggers back. Afterwards, before they retract into their nest of blood and muscle, Oban runs his fingers over them. “Stronger than mine, Orphanmaker, but of course they are, they're attached to you.” “They don't work.” She bites out as she wipes the smeared ash off of her cheeks where it ran down her face. “Oh, they do.” He says and presses a tiny kiss into her shoulder. “Just because you don't fly doesn't mean they don't work. They make my blood run cold, and my skin stand on edge , and they bring you closer to the Angel. So many wondrous gifts.” “It would be cooler if I could fly.” Oban laughs, and it's so warm that she almost doesn't feel her wings scrape against her spine when they retreat inside of her.

.x.

She remembers it so vividly, so quickly and so brutally that it almost knocks her off of her feet. She's a monster- a monster for leaving him and a monster for betraying her friends on top of that- she drives her blade through Nott- Nott of all people- and grits her teeth harder. More and more memories, more and more of her friends look at her horrified, more and more footsteps that run further and further away from her. Oban's body is mush at her feet, nothing left of him, just like there's nothing left of her friends. She remembers Jester's scream just as much as she remembers Oban's laughter now. She helps the Hand beat down gate after gate after gate, body moving through the motions, and so many faces keep freezing themselves in front of her, frowning, crying. She's lost people she still can't remember. She wasn't even there when- Monster.