#the two of them late at night trading secrets about things no one else knows

[only-one-brain-cell]

You could not pay me to give a shit about Carmy and Claire’s relationship.

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part one

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: n/a, angst???

A/N: Been sitting in my docs for awhile! Based off Invisible by Taylor Swift - I have a couple parts ready to go not sure where i wanna take this but we'll see!

Part Two

-----

The city’s rhythm feels like a heartbeat, pulsing with the lives and stories of the people who live here. And for you, it’s not the towering buildings or bustling streets that make New York feel like home. It’s the people you share it with, the friends who’ve become your family, each with their own history and quirks, all somehow meshing together into this messy, beautiful dynamic you’d never trade for anything.

It started with Bucky. You met him on the playground when you were kids, both too stubborn to share the swing set. That was years ago, but you’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s been your constant, the friend who showed up at your house with snacks when you had a bad day, and the one who stayed up with you during endless nights of stargazing and silly conversations about what the future would hold.

When junior high rolled around, Steve joined your little duo. Steve, with his easy smile and that unwavering loyalty that made it impossible not to trust him. He fit right in, like he’d been meant to be part of your lives all along. Steve became the one to balance you and Bucky out — he was the one who kept the peace during your bickering, who had a shoulder to offer when one of you needed it. Steve quickly turned the two of you into an unbreakable trio.

Then came high school, and with it, Natasha. She was a transfer student, quiet and intimidating at first, with a sharp wit that kept everyone at arm’s length. But somehow, the three of you managed to break through that exterior. By senior year, she was as much a part of the group as you, Bucky, and Steve. Natasha’s the friend who knows everyone’s secrets, who has a knack for noticing things no one else does. She’s tough and unyielding, yet she’s also the one who brings you soup when you’re sick, who stays up late to talk through your problems — even when you don’t want to admit you have them.

College came, and your little circle expanded further. That’s when you met Sam. Sam was the life of the party, someone who could make anyone laugh and always knew the right thing to say. He was the friend you went to when you needed cheering up or a reality check, someone who wasn’t afraid to call you out when you needed it. With Sam came Wanda Maximoff, quiet but kind, with a gentle presence that somehow grounded everyone. She slipped into the group as if she’d always belonged there, the one who remembers little details and checks in on everyone. Wanda’s the friend who sits with you in silence when you’re upset, offering comfort without needing words.

You love them all — each one has carved out their own space in your life and heart. But then there’s Bucky.

Bucky is different. He’s been there the longest, woven into your memories and heart in a way that’s impossible to untangle. Somewhere along the line, he went from your best friend to something more, though he never seemed to notice. Bucky is everything you love and everything that frustrates you; he’s the guy who makes everyone around him feel like they’re the only person in the room, but he’s also the one who never stays attached to anyone for long.

He’s the smooth-talking charmer who flirts with every girl in sight, the perpetual bachelor who’s never been one for serious relationships. And while that should make it easier for you to keep your feelings hidden, it doesn’t. Because every time you see him with someone else, there’s a part of you that aches, wondering if he’ll ever look at you that way.

And yet, despite all the years and all the chances you’ve had to move on, you stay. Because Bucky is more than just a friend; he’s your home. You’re his confidant, the one who knows his secrets and his struggles, the one who’s always been there. It’s a role you wouldn’t give up for anything, even if it means watching him fall for everyone but you.

So, you keep your secret, tucked away behind the laughter and the years of memories. Because as much as it hurts sometimes, you’d rather have Bucky as your friend than risk losing him altogether.

The smell of pizza fills your tiny New York apartment as Steve brings in the last box from the kitchen, setting it down on the coffee table with a grin. “Alright, who’s ready to lose at Mario Kart?”

“You mean, who’s ready to lose to me,” Natasha chimes, grabbing a slice and settling on the couch, challenging smirk in place. “You all know I’m the reigning champion.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Sam teases, snatching the controller out of her hands with a wink. “I’m about to wipe the floor with all of you.”

You laugh, wedged into the corner of the couch beside Bucky, who’s flipping through channels like he’s in his own world. “You’ll be singing a different tune once I lap you three times,” he says, voice casual, eyes on the screen.

“Talk all you want, Barnes,” you reply, nudging his shoulder, “but you’re not gonna win tonight.”

His eyes meet yours, that lazy, amused smile you know so well. “Bring it on, doll.”

Natasha elbows you, muttering, “You two better save the banter for the race, or I’m taking both of you out first round.”

Your friends’ laughter fills the room, echoing off the narrow walls that have seen a hundred nights like this, crowded with the people you’ve come to think of as family. Wanda arrives a few minutes later, holding a tray of cupcakes she’s decorated herself. “Special edition, fall flavors,” she announces proudly, setting them down in the kitchen. “Pumpkin spice, because I know how basic you all are.”

Steve scoffs but grabs one immediately. “Did you just call me basic?”

“Take it as a compliment,” she teases, leaning into Sam, who gives her a quick side-hug. “Means you have taste.”

In the middle of this, Bucky slings his arm across the back of the couch, close enough that his hand almost brushes your shoulder. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, feel the way your pulse picks up—things he’d never notice.

“Why don’t we just skip the race and go straight to the part where we talk about how I’m a hero and you’re all my loyal sidekicks?” Bucky quips, popping open a beer and flashing a grin that could melt steel.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “In what world do you get to be the hero?”

“In my world,” he replies with a wink, leaning in closer. You catch Natasha’s look over the rim of her drink, one eyebrow raised as if to say, See what I mean?

The hours pass like they always do, a blur of laughter, arguments over who cheated and who didn’t, Wanda’s cupcakes disappearing one by one, and Steve trying to prove he can actually beat Nat, despite his track record saying otherwise. It’s only when the clock hits midnight that everyone starts to wind down.

As they get ready to leave, Natasha gives you a long look. “See you tomorrow?” she asks, her tone casual but her eyes full of something else.

You nod, managing a smile as she heads out with the others, leaving just you and Bucky to pick up the empty cans and plates. He nudges you as he gathers them up. “Another night, another victory,” he says.

“You were lucky, Barnes,” you say, rolling your eyes.

And maybe he’ll notice one day—how much it means to you that he’s here, that you’re the one left cleaning up with him every time the night winds down. But for now, he just laughs, flashing that grin of his that you can never get out of your head.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous of my skills.”

“Skills?” you snort, tossing a pillow his way. “All I saw tonight was a lot of luck.”

He catches the pillow mid-air, grinning. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

There’s a lull as you both continue gathering up cups and plates, the quiet feeling comfortable, familiar. Every late night ends like this: just the two of you, unwinding after hours of laughter and chaos. You’re stacking plates by the sink when he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms with that easy, relaxed posture he gets when it’s just the two of you.

“So, what do you think of Kate?” he asks, out of nowhere.

You freeze, not quite sure how to answer. She’s… fine. In fact, she’s more than fine. She’s exactly the kind of person who should be with Bucky—smart, confident, and with a wit sharp enough to keep up with him.

“She seemed nice,” you manage, “I only met her the one time near the end of summer break” avoiding his gaze. “Why?”

He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “I dunno. We’ve been talking a bit, and she’s… I don’t know, different.”

Different. The word sits heavy in your stomach, weighted with the implication. You force a smile, willing yourself not to overthink it. “Different’s good, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” He nods, looking thoughtful in a way that makes your heart sink, because this—this is new. You’ve watched him brush off a hundred girls, seen him roll his eyes at the idea of commitment more times than you can count. But he’s not brushing Kate off, and that terrifies you.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “if you’re planning to bring her around, at least let me so I can order extra pizza because 3 large pizza’s arent enought with Steve around”

Bucky chuckles, ruffling your hair in that infuriatingly casual way he’s always done. “You’re the best doll, you know that?”

The words are simple, playful, but they pierce all the same, a reminder of just how invisible you are to him in that way. “Yeah,” you say, a little quieter, “I know.”

[syntheticavenger]

On My Mama - Two

Thank you to @cocobutterqwueen for the support while I was trying to map out this second chapter!

Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x Female Reader

Tyler Rake x Female Reader

Andy Barber x Female Reader

Jax Teller x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, more angst, jealousy, a lot of male posturing, persuasiveness.

Summary | Being a single mom with a complicated relationship with your ex-husband makes for an interesting summer after a school event and an unexpected errand puts you front and center with some eligible contenders for your attention.

True to Jax’s word, you’re in and out in less than fifteen minutes, happy to leave Melanie as she gave you a polite but pointed stare when you tried once more to pay him. He wouldn’t have it, slipping you his card in case you needed anything else, his cell written on the back. Not wanting to get in between Melanie’s distraction, there’s nothing left to say but to lobby another gracious thank you his way and slip into the driver’s seat. 

You found out much more than you ever wanted to in those short moments, Melanie whispering in your ear whenever he was out of earshot every detail that she had gathered about him. A single father to a son, a seven-year-old named Abel, rumored to be part of a biker gang – Vice President, Melanie had told you dramatically, her eyelashes batting when she says it like a secret – and more importantly, the best mechanic she’s ever had. 

Nevermind that her husband doesn’t particularly like that she takes her car to get repaired here, a fact she reminded you about at least three times. Melanie’s daughter tells every single bit of her mother’s business and Mia, at her young age, parrots it right back to you, laughing when you sometimes widen your eyes at the somewhat scandalous details, such as when Melanie bought store bought cookies and passed them off as her own, telling her daughter to stay quiet.

But as you had learned, there was no such thing as a secret to a five-year-old.

🌤

The late 90’s music blares through the speakers, pushing your cart down the aisle to continue your search  for marinara sauce. School nights are hard to plan for, especially with Mia’s ever changing appetite. 

This week it’s all about pasta, opting for spaghetti for dinner, even as you feel a small wave of guilt for the vegetables you will puree in the sauce. Reaching for a jar, a familiar face catches your attention, Laurie Barber giving you a wave when she approaches.

You know Laurie well enough to know that she has some gossip to share, usually between her and Melanie trading stories during field trips or snack day rotation.

“How have you been?” she asks, a hint of mischief in her smile. “I’m so happy I ran into you.”

“Oh?” you reply, noticing that she looks around before she finally speaks to make sure the coast is clear.

“You didn’t tell me your ex came to the parents’ lunch,” Laurie accuses playfully. “I had to find out from pictures?”

“Pictures?” you repeat, Laurie nodding her head, digging her phone out of her purse. 

“Of course there are pictures! I’d seen him with Mia when you had pictures of him with her as a baby but holy hell, that man is handsome,” Laurie praises, showing you a photo of Mia in Santiago’s arms, both of them looking intently at a finger painting. “Him being at the school is a good sign, right?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, Laurie slipping her phone into the pocket of her pants. “It’s a start.”

“Still not on the mend, huh?”

“We’re divorced, Laurie. There’s no going back.”

“Don’t I know it,” she agrees. “It’s been at least three years since Andy and I divorced and I never look back. We got a great kid out of it and Andy’s moving on up in the world and he’s up for pretty big promotion.”

“Andy? That’s great.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t see him. He saw you,” Laurie teases, seeing you shake your head in response.

Every single mother throws themselves at Andy Barber.

You aren’t one of them.

“I guess I must have missed him,” you reply, Laurie shrugging her shoulders.

“You know Andy. I wish he wasn’t married to his work that much so he could get out and see the world, maybe date a nice girl who understands that sense of righteousness that he can’t seem to shake.”

“It’s nice that you’re on good terms.”

“Are you and Santiago not?���

“No,” you say quickly, hating that you feel like you’re now put on the spot. “I mean, we’re good, I guess. I was surprised that he wanted to see the school, he’s pretty much been against her going to public school since before she could even talk.”

“Avon Academy isn’t close to being terrible. He’s always had impossibly high standards, hasn’t he? Didn’t he go to a boarding school in Switzerland?”

“He did. If he had his way that is probably where our daughter would be right now.”

“Alone?” Laurie says incredulously. “She’s five!”

“No, not alone. I’d most likely be in some apartment in Zurich, trying to keep myself busy.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

“It’s lonely,” you respond, Laurie nodding, realizing that you aren’t willing to give up more details.

“Well, selfishly, I’m glad you and Mia are here. I’m also thankful for Santiago for gracing us with his presence.”

You crack a smile then, Laurie trying to contain her laughter as you both laugh. It’s absurd to discuss anything regarding your ex-husband but you know that Laurie is a safe space for you and that little bit of relief is what you need.

“Speaking of hot dads, Melanie told me you got your tire fixed. Jax Teller, huh?”

“Oh, God,” you mutter, running a hand down your face. “She really tells everything, doesn’t she?”

“Your fault for giving her a ride. Come on, don’t be shy.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’ve seen him like once and he wasn’t even on a motorcycle. He showed up in a truck to pick up his son.”

“Abel is seven, Laurie.”

“Still disappointing,” Laurie reminds you. “Barely got to see him up close and personal.”

“He’s nice.”

Laurie lets out an inelegant snort at your response.

“Nice? Nice is my neighbor across the way who wears a cardigan and a polo shirt and offers to water my lawn. Jax Teller is not nice. He looks like he could rail you into next week and send you off with a pat on the -”

“Laurie!” you admonish, hearing her laugh.

“I’m kidding but also,” she trails off, tapping the tip of her nose. “You know it’s true.”

Laurie’s cell goes off in her purse, picking up her basket.

“Shit, it’s Andy,” she mutters. “Probably needs me to pick up Jacob. I’ll see you at Jacob’s birthday party. Can’t wait to have a slice of your homemade cake!”

With a nod, she rounds the corner, speaking quickly while you add a box of noodles to the cart when you realize what she told you.

Birthday party?

Birthday cake?

🌤

“You said what?” you ask softly, Mia chewing as she hums.

“I said you could make Jacob’s birthday cake,” Mia offers proudly.

Placing your fork down on your plate, you stare at the wrinkled birthday party invitation that you had to dig through Mia’s unicorn backpack.

“Sweetheart, remember we talked about this? You ask Mommy first.”

“I did,” Mia insists, a smear of marinara at the corner of her lips. “You made mine when I asked.”

“Yes, you asked me to make yours. You did not ask me to make Jacob’s.”

Her little face scrunches up in displeasure at your hesitation, swallowing her food before she defends herself.

“But you’re good at it! Jacob’s daddy said you make the best cake in the whole world!”

“Mia,” you warn, seeing her little shoulders slump.

“No cake?” she asks pitifully, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Mommy? It’s his birthday. He has to have cake.”

“I don’t even know what flavor he likes.”

“He likes banilla!”

“Vanilla,” you correct gently.

“Vanilla and he likes vanilla frosting,” she enunciates. “He told me so.”

With a sigh, you get up, Mia following suit, nearly on your heels when you check the pantry to make sure you have everything you need.

“You’re going to make it?!” she asks, clapping her hands together excitedly. “You’re the best mommy in the whole world!”

“I’ll make it if you promise to finish your dinner.”

Mia gasps, running back to her chair as she climbs up, ignoring your warning for her to wait for you to help her, slurping spaghetti into her mouth.

“We gotta get a gift,” Mia reminds you, as if she didn’t just tell you last minute. “He likes cars.”

“We’ll go tomorrow after school, how does that sound?”

“Okay.”

She finishes her food, watching as you pick her empty plate up from the table, remembering her manners as she wipes her sauce coated fingers with a napkin.

“May I be scused?”

“You may,” you agree, seeing her jump off the chair as it slides backward slightly, nearly giving you a heart attack when she bolts up the stairs.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” you call out, hearing her slam the bathroom door.

Pulling out a mixing bowl, you start adding in the ingredients, hearing Mia singing loudly at the top of her lungs.

🌤

You have to hand it to Laurie.

The woman knows how to throw a birthday party. As if directly ripped from a Pinterest page, you and Mia walk through a blue and silver balloon, Laurie’s headband green with alien googly eyes that move back and forth when she hugs Mia.

“Jacob’s out back,” she tells Mia, holding out a pair of headbands – one like hers and another that is hot pink with the same eyes but with lashes. Mia plucks the hot pink ones from her hand, handing them to Laurie so that she can place them on her head, smoothing out her hair before she does so, both of you knowing that she’ll either lose it or break it by the end of the day.

Laurie spies the cake you hold, the piping in blue with an astronaut on the left.

“God, I love your cakes,” Laurie murmurs with glee, taking it from your hands. “I was so happy that Mia said you would do it because I was at my wit’s end with him and trying to make up his mind. First it was a western themed party and then it was a dinosaur party and finally, at the very last minute, he wanted a space party. Gotta love the indecisiveness.”

She looks at your green sundress, settling on your white Mary Janes.

“Finally,” Laurie teases. “You got smart and finally wore flats.”

You were never sure of a dress code, especially with a child’s party. Every party in the city that you attended, kid or not, you were dressed up, right down to the sky high heels. After the last birthday party, you’d gotten wise once your heels had sunk into the grass, leaving a stain that you couldn’t get out.

You pass a contingent of parents, mostly fathers, talking in a huddle, beers in hand while you follow her into the kitchen.

“Andy will be so thrilled that you made a cake. I swear he kept asking. Do you know those peppermint brownies you made last Christmas? He took half the pan home and -”

“I did not,” Andy denies, his gaze settling on the cake when he steps into the kitchen. “Well, well, well. Looks like Jacob got his wish after all.”

You forgot how handsome Andy Barber is up close and personal, his mischievous smile on display when Laurie rolls her eyes.

“Jacob got his wish,” Laurie repeats to you, moving behind you after she sets the cake down. “I’m going to check on the bounce house. Make sure he doesn’t take a slice before the birthday boy, hmm?”

She’s out of your line of sight before you even have a chance to answer, Andy opening the fridge, pulling out a beer before he pauses.

“Do you drink?” he asks cautiously.

“I do.”

Still holding the beer in his hand, he glances at the pitcher on the top shelf.

“Beer or what I think may be a cosmopolitan. Laurie always has some sort of signature drink for these types of things.”

“I’ll take a beer,” you offer, Andy placing it into your hand after lobbing off the cap.

“Good choice. Last time we had a mom who downed three Tom Collins before she realized what hit her.”

You don’t dare share that you’re a lightweight, taking a swig of your beer while Andy leans back against the counter.

“I saw you at the parent luncheon, didn’t I?”

“I was there,” you confirm.

“That lunch was something else,” Andy comments, making a face. “I thought Jacob was teasing when he mentioned glue. Turns out the kid was onto something.”

“Glue?”

“You didn’t try the sandwiches?”

“No,” you say, trying to stifle your laughter at the look of pure disgust on his face. “I’m sure we’ll get a letter of an apology like we did with the dirt pudding cups last year.”

“I must have missed that.”

“You’d remember,” you point out, suddenly feeling self-conscious when you notice his eyes lingering on you. “What?”

He straightens up, looking over your shoulder, his index finger moving in a circle.

“Turn around?” he asks, your eyes narrowing suspiciously as you turn, seeing the ties of your dress float around you.

“Shoot,” you mumble, placing your beer down to try to reach behind you.

“I can help you,” he offers, keeping still when you feel his hands pick up the fabric, carefully drawing them together, the warmth of his breath on your back as he checks to make sure you’re comfortable. “Too tight?”

“No,” you respond, feeling him tie it quickly, the faint scent of his cologne lingering as he ties it slowly, your eyes looking up at the ceiling, staying still, feeling the slight tug of the bows before you feel him step back to look in approval.

“Better.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling embarrassment wash over you when he waves your appreciation away.

“I was hoping I didn’t touch you with cold hands,” he answers. “Or get into your personal space.”

“I didn’t feel a thing.”

“No comment about the personal space?”

He smiles, lifting his beer to you before taking a sip. 

“Seriously though? Thanks for the cake for Jacob,” Andy thanks you, nodding toward the cake. “This kid hasn’t stopped talking about it once he found out. I gotta admit, they’re pretty damn good. I don’t know what you put in them but I can’t just have one slice.”

“I do the buttercream by hand.”

“Really? Tastes like heaven, that’s for sure. Not sure what you do for a living but if you made that career, I’m just you’d make a fortune.”

“Project manager,” you say, Andy nodding in response. “Wish I had the time. Baking relaxes me.”

“I’d be happy to eat your cake anytime,” he says, trailing off when he realizes what he’s said, laughing to himself as your eyes widen, biting down on your lips at the comment to keep from laughing yourself, when you hear Laurie coming back inside. Eyeing the cake, she looks up at you, turning to Andy.

“Cake is still intact. Guess she distracted you enough.”

🌤

Pete nudges Tyler in the side when you pass by, herding a small group of Jacob’s friends outside who were late arrivals, Laurie calling out to them outside to get their gift bags.

“You’re a married man, Pete,” Tyler reminds him.

“And I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I have eyes, you know,” Pete counters. “Judging by the rest of us gawking, we all have eyes.”

Tyler can see Hunter running, playing tag with the other kids as they laugh and scream. He catches a glimpse of you, beer in hand as he sees Andy next you and Laurie. It’s a scene he’s still getting used to, seeing Laurie and Andy divorced but still cordial. It’s wistful thinking to believe he could have the same, knowing that the shared custody took years to be processed.

“Does Barber know that Mia’s dad is back in the picture?” another father asks, raising an eyebrow at the sight outside. “Bold move, Andy. Right next to your ex-wife.”

“He never left,” another man chimes in. “Look at her. You really think he wasn’t that far behind? Surprised he showed up, he never comes to these things.”

“Reconciliation,” Pete says with a confident nod.

“He came because it was a special occasion,” Tyler points out, the men turning to look at him.

“How do you know? She told you?”

“Hunter knows Mia through school, and she told him that her father was going to be there because it was important.”

“So, he’s still out of the picture,” one of them hints.

“I don’t hear any of you offering to step up and take care of his child so unless you’re willing to break up your marriages or take on another responsibility, you’re all creeping on a single mother who doesn’t know that you’re looking at her. Excuse me,” Tyler responds, breaking away from the group as he heads outside.

🌤

“Honey, it’s alright,” you say softly, holding onto the boy’s arms gently to keep him steady after he was dropped off unceremoniously on the door step. “It’s alright. You don’t need a gift, okay? Your gift is that you’re here. Your presence is enough, I promise.”

Tyler peers over to look at the boy who is nodding, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Abel Teller.

No doubt his mother had dropped him off without a word, a far cry from his father, Jax, who would have come in to say hello. He would have most certainly provided a gift, even though it wasn’t required, seeing Abel shake his head when he’s asked a question.

“What’s your name?” Tyler hears you ask, soothing him as you dab at his tears that slide down his cheeks. 

“Abel.”

“Hi Abel,” you respond, introducing yourself. “Jacob’s outside. I’m sure he’ll be happy you’re here. Are you ready to go in and have some fun?”

He sniffles, nodding his head when Tyler clears his throat.

“Hunter’s here as well, Abel,” Tyler speaks up. “They’re playing tag, I think. You like that game, don’t you? Why don’t you come with me? They’re still in the thick of it.”

Abel’s eyes light up at the game, following Tyler to the boisterous crowd of children. A few of them recognize him, calling out to him before he leaves Tyler’s side. He can feel you standing next to him, your gaze settling on your daughter who is climbing up the ladder to the slide.

“You know him?” you ask, Tyler nodding as Abel takes off running.

“Yeah,” Tyler says after a pause. “He’s a good kid. His mother… she’s not always present. Father does what he can but when it’s her weeks to take him, it gets a little complicated.”

“I can’t imagine.”

He can hear the uncertainty in your tone, your fingers gripping your beer bottle tighter. He can tell you’re thinking about Abel and before it can go deeper, he nods at the beer in your hand.

“Need another one?”

At his question, you look at him in confusion before he smiles. You’ve been nursing that same beer since he’s seen you, absentmindedly ripping at the wrapper with your nail when no one is looking, a nervous habit that he finds adorable.

“I’m good,” you answer. “Thanks though.”

“How’s it taste?”

You look up at him, unsure of why he’s asking by the way you raise an eyebrow.

“Great,” you tell him, forcing cheerfulness into your confirmation.

He laughs then, seeing how stubborn you are. 

“Never met a woman who liked room temperature beer. You’re one of a kind.”

He sees you smile then, nodding at your lie.

“It tastes terrible,” you admit with a laugh. “But I was running around and by the time I got back to it, I didn’t want to ask for another one. It’s like coffee. I end up reheating it at least four times because I don’t have the time to finish it in one sitting.”

“I can get you another one, you know. No pressure, of course,” Tyler says, putting up his hands.

“I would like one,” you tell him, placing the bottle in his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“Thought so. I’ll be right back.”

Mia stops mid run to wave at you, grinning wide when you wave back, taking off after Hunter and Abel when Tyler hands you a beer.

“Thank you,” you say, looking back at the kids when Laurie gives you a pleading look, motioning with her hand that the cake needs to be cut.

“Shall we?” Tyler says.

Laurie calls out to Jacob, the kids lifting their heads so quickly that it reminds Tyler of meerkats, nearly a stampede as the dads remind them to slow down as they head toward the table.

🌤

Forks clink dully on the paper plates, frosting smudging on faces and clothing, moms swooping in to wipe mouths and clean off messes. Mia sits between Hunter and Abel, picking up a buttercream star and eating it, eyes closing in bliss as she dances in her seat.

Collecting discarded plates, you nearly run into Andy, who holds out a trash bag for you to toss them in.

“They’ll sleep good tonight,” Andy assures you, seeing the trio run into the house. “And I know I said this already but the cake… you just knocked it out of the park. Amazing.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

Between the number of kids and adults moving around you both, you focus on cleaning up the leftover cups of juice and water while Andy picks up the plates, working together in unison. 

You don’t really know the ins and outs of his and Laurie’s former relationship, only that they seem to have the co-parenting thing down to a science, no ill will, just a simple partnership that works well for them. Without meaning to, your mind wanders to if they sleep together, much like you and Santiago, watching his tongue run over his lip as he focuses the tower of plates in his hand to the trash.

You blink the impending thought out of your mind. It definitely isn’t any of your business and it only makes you more embarrassed that you have no self-control with Santiago.

Which is only half-true. You’ve been cordial when he asks about Mia, sending him pictures of her at the birthday party.

And you’ve conveniently ignored his text from the picture with you and Mia under the balloon arch.

Nice dress.

“Seriously though,” Andy says, any hint left of Santiago disappearing in a flash as he smiles at you. “Thanks for coming and helping. Laurie couldn’t do this without you, and I know I couldn’t clean this up alone. Crazy how people love coming to parties but when it’s time to clean… it’s suddenly time to go home.”

“I’m still here, Barber,” Tyler interrupts, holding up a trash bag. “Did you forget about the poppers with the streamers in them? They’re everywhere.”

“When Laurie throws a party, she goes all out, I told you,” Andy informs him.

Laurie stands, rubbing her lower back with her fingers when the doorbell rings. The small clean-up crew continues on, tidying up before the vendors come and finish up. A soft whisper of your name from Laurie makes you move away from the Andy and Tyler, both of them engaged in sports talk.

Hunter and Mia are asleep on one side of the large sectional, Jacob laid out in the middle and Abel on the other side. Standing in the entryway, Jax zeroes in on his son before he engages in a hushed conversation with Laurie for a moment, both of them turning their attention on you when you approach.

“Sorry,” Laurie says, frustration in her voice as she gives you a small squeeze of your hand. “I’m going to send Abel home with a gift bag. Would you mind showing Jax where he is?”

Jax gives you a glance when you give him a smile, hearing him sigh behind you.

“Sorry to come so late,” he says in a hushed voice as he looks on at the sleeping kinds. “Got word last minute that my ex wasn’t going to pick up Abel and I was doing a double at the shop.”

“He’s been fine,” you assure him, watching as he carefully picks up his son without waking him, brushing back his hair as he focuses on his son’s face for a moment. It’s a tender moment, one that you don’t pay attention to for too long, unsure of what to say. You can feel the anger radiating off of him, muttering to himself as he places a kiss on Abel’s head.

“We’re going home, buddy,” he says, Abel’s eyes opening for a scant second before closing once more.

Laurie meets you at the door with Abel’s gift bag, Jax extending his hand to you as you shake it, Laurie giving him a hug, careful not to wake Abel.

“You know he’s welcome here anytime,” Laurie tells him, the sliding glass door closing in the distance.

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Barber.”

“Laurie is fine, Jax. Do you have my number?”

When he shakes his head, Laurie has her phone in hand, waiting for Jax to recite his number.

“I’ll make sure she has it too,” Laurie promises, referring to you as he nods, giving you a hint of smile.

“Have a good night, sorry again for being so late to pick him up.”

Laurie closes the door after you both see Abel get settled into the truck, turning around to face Tyler and Andy.

“Teller?” Andy asks Laurie.

“The one and only.”

“Pity I missed that,” Andy murmurs. “I would have liked to ask him a few questions.”

“You leave your interrogations at work,” Laurie fires back softly, keeping her voice down. “He’s a father doing his job.”

“Oh, he’s got a job, alright.”

Tyler checks his watch, heading toward the couch where he looks over the remaining sleeping kids. You follow suit, your cell phone vibrating in your purse that is on a chair.

“Need some help?” Tyler asks, Laurie and Andy still in the foyer, their hushed voices a cue that he’s not ready to let whatever he knows about Jax Teller go.

“Actually,” you pause for a moment, looking at how peaceful Mia looks. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

He’s gentle when he scoops her into his arms, cradling her to his chest as Mia doesn’t move, her breathing steady as he carries her toward the door.

“Not everything has to be investigated, Andy. Sometimes people can make mistakes and learn from them,” Laurie says, her words fading out when she sees Tyler holding Mia.

“I hope my spirited debate with Andy didn’t scare you away,” Laurie says, shooting Andy a glare. ‘We differ on justice and knowing when to pick our battles.”

Andy stays silent, his eyes locking with yours.

“Thanks again for today,” he says, Laurie nodding in agreement. “Get home safe.”

Tyler waits until you collect your purse, hug Laurie goodbye and give Andy a quick hug, inhaling the scent of his cologne once more that is intoxicating. Underneath that Henley, you realize there is a solid wall of muscle, something you weren’t expecting to feel before you head out the door and down the steps, opening the backseat for Tyler to place Mia in her car seat. Her head falls back on the headrest, still fast asleep when you close the door, checking to see if the movement woke her.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, waving to Laurie, who is standing in the doorway.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

Warmth radiates off of him, trying to get the picture of how quickly he had lifted Mia into his arms so smoothly out of your mind.

“I was thinking,” Tyler says, looking over behind you to see Mia still asleep. “If you’re interested, maybe you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

It’s finally cool now that the sun has gone down but your face is warm, nearly burning with anxiety on what to say. You haven’t been asked out on a date since your ex, let alone even entertaining the thought if you were ever asked.

But now you have been asked and you need to give an answer.

You only get one chance at this.

“Sure,” you reply. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” he says. “I can give you my number. There’s no pressure, of course, if you find that you want to cancel or that you’re not interested then let me know and -”

You recite your number, Tyler realizing almost too late as he punches in the number, sending you a text.

“Get home safe and uh, just let me know when you’re interested in going. My schedule is pretty open this week and next.”

You see Andy standing next to Laurie, both of them waiting until you get into the car, turning on the lights and the engine starting before they take a step back into the house. Easing out of the parking spot, you see Tyler heading back inside to presumably get Hunter, text messages popping up on the screen during your drive home.

Birthday party? Is that why you’re all dressed up?

Need a favor.

I’ll be there in an hour.

At the last message, you look at the timestamp when you pull over. The time is nearly ten and the message was sent almost an hour ago. With Mia still fast asleep, you take the quickest way home, unsure if he’s already beat you there.

🌤

Pulling into the garage, you see him leaning against his SUV, your resolve hanging on by a thread.

He never visits at night. Always morning, always in between meetings or a flight, or some appointment.

When the car is turned off, you hear the back door open, looking over as he studies Mia’s sleeping face.

“Out like a light,” he murmurs, smoothing back her hair. “She must have partied hard.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask quietly, his dark eyes snapping up to look at you.

“You didn’t get my texts? Got a late flight out tomorrow, Derek was able to charter it at the local airport, so I figured I’d come and see my girls.”

He unlatches Mia from her car seat, careful when he lifts her into his arms while you get out of the car. In a way, it feels like this should be a snapshot or normalcy, domestic life that you had a taste of once that had been snatched away without having properly processed what had transpired before it was too late.

The promise you had made to yourself still lingers in the depths of your thoughts, propelling you forward when you open the door, letting Santiago carry Mia across the threshold, heading up the stairs slowly while you watch him disappear.

It would be so easy to fall into the same routine. To have him share your bed, to give and give as he takes, lusty promises against your skin that he doesn’t intend to keep because he knows you well enough that you won’t hold him to it.

Placing Mia’s gift bag on the kitchen island counter, you know you could follow him, let his lips trace a line down your neck.

Picking up your phone, you send off a text, heart skipping a beat at what you’ve done. For a moment, you don’t think there will be a reply.

Your answer comes swiftly, Santiago coming down the stairs.

I’m glad you made it home safe.

🌤

Santiago follows you up the stairs, your silk robe billowing out behind you.

“I liked the pictures,” he tells you once you reach the top of the stairs. “I’ve always loved the color green on you.”

“Why are you really here?” you ask, turning around to face him. His shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a hint of the chest tattoo.

“I told you,” Santiago reminds you. “I wanted to see my girls.”

“Since when?”

He leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest when he narrows his gaze.

“Since I saw the pictures you sent me. You’ve always held people’s attention. A child’s birthday party is no different.”

“I wasn’t sending them to you to make you jealous.”

He smirks at your passionate denial.

“And I’m not jealous. I know every inch of your body, every little nook and cranny that makes you come apart. They don’t know you the way I do so no,” Santiago says with a sigh. “I don’t think you were trying to make me jealous, but I think you’re lonely. I think the men in that picture know it too, judging the way they were staring..”

“I’m not.”

He gives you that perfect smile, looking you up and down.

“We both know how this always ends. We’re good for each other. Maybe not emotionally but physically, we’re compatible and we always have been. There’s no one else I would have wanted to have my child, to be the mother of my precious daughter. I can’t get enough of you still.”

He pushes himself off of the wall, settling his hands on either side of your face, your fingers wrapping around his wrists. It feels euphoric, his lips close to yours, body pressed against you, and it feels familiar, like you aren’t living separate lives when he kisses you.

“I can’t,” you whisper against his mouth, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can. I’ll take care of you like I always do.”

Your hand flattens on his chest, feeling his heartbeat when you close your eyes. You want to, you already know how it would end, tangled in sheets and alone when you wake.

Satisfied but alone, yet again.

“I can’t sleep with you anymore. This isn’t healthy for either of us. You can have the guest bedroom,” you answer, moving away from him as he lets you go.

“Guest bedroom,” he repeats, seeing you head toward your bedroom. “I’ll leave the door open if you need me.”

Closing the door behind you, you lean against it, squeezing your eyes shut as you ignore the ache between your thighs.

🌤

Sun shines in your eyes, startling you when you toss away the blanket, looking down to find yourself still clothed, clad in your shorts and t-shirt. The sigh of relief that flows from your lips gives you a sense of calm, nearly laughing to yourself that you had the willpower to deny the man who you’ve willingly given your body to after the divorce.

The savory scent of breakfast hangs in the air, scrambling to get up when you look at the time. It’s well past the time you had meant to wake up, running down the stairs to stop in your tracks.

Santiago cracking another egg in the bowl while Mia carefully picks out pieces of fruit to place them on a tray. Bacon, pancakes and oatmeal is on the table, something you haven’t had the time to make in at least six months with Mia’s busy school schedule.

“Oh, you’re finally up,” Santiago greets you, Mia dropping a strawberry on the counter as she hops off the step, running after you when she clings to your legs.

“Hi Mommy! Daddy and I are making breakfast!” Mia announces loudly, standing on her tiptoes to see what her father is doing. “I want an o-mel-le.”

“Omelet,” Santiago corrects gently, Mia nodding.

“Yeah, one of those!” Mia agrees.

Santiago cleans as he works, wiping off a counter before he checks on the omelet he’s making for Mia. 

A ripple of resentment goes through you at the thought of what this means. He and Mia always make breakfast together when it’s his week with her. It’s something Mia looks forward to when she’s packing her suitcase to see her father, knowing that the best you and Mia can do is a rushed breakfast of toast or instant waffles.

Father of the beginning of the day, you think, sitting at the table after Mia points to your chair, Santiago placing a glass of orange juice in front of you.

“Breakfast is almost done,” he reminds you. “Coffee?”

Before you have a chance to answer, a mug of hot coffee is placed next to the orange juice, Mia giggling when he turns back to the stove, flipping the omelet over as she claps her hands excitedly.

Mia whispers to her father, the hushed discussion reaching you. Curious, Mia covers her mouth when she sees you staring.

“Secrets don’t make friends,” you tease her gently.

“We’re going on a tour!” Mia blurts out, Santiago plating her omelet, holding it high above her head.

“A what?” you ask, Santiago placing her plate down and lifting Mia onto the chair.

“A tour,” Santiago repeats.

“I heard her,” you protest, Mia grabbing her fork as she stabs into her breakfast. “A tour where?”

Santiago sits across from you, Mia focused on shoving a piece of fruit in her mouth as he looks at the breakfast spread and back to you.

“We’re touring St. Mary’s today.”

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

RO reaction to MC being like a really good cook and always waking up or coming home to a hot fresh meal?

Also, I wanted to ask, what sort of occupations will MC get to choose from in game?

The occupations that I have written down as of now are: Manual Labor, Thief, Hunter, Tracker/Bounty Hunter, Crafter and one secret profession. These could change later on. 🤷🏽‍♀️

-

Cassandra: She would enjoy the food and feel loved but it would irk her big time her own lack of cooking skills, not that it's really her fault, she grew up with cooks to do that for her. She would double her effort to learn to cook things for you too, if MC is male she is studying cooking non-stop to try and fit her felt 'womanly duty' to do that for him. Remember that in Castellio gender roles are still a very huge thing, it would actually be very emasculating for a male MC to be cooking regularly for her and a failure on her part not being able to cook.

Valeria: Gives her thanks with kisses and baking desert. She feels like it's the perfect trade! She even starts to day dream of you two making the bakery more into a restaurant sort of thing with both of you guys in the kitchen; MC cooking and her baking. She knows if MC is male that they might get some odd looks but she doesn't really care, she could cook if she wanted to and she doesn't see MC as any less of a man for taking care of her this way.

Tomás: If MC is female I hate to say it but he sort of expected you to do this for him? He isn't ungrateful by any means though! He thanks you every time but it's just not really a surprise that you cook things for him. It's just like he expects that any manual labour needs to be done around the house, or if there is a bug than needs to be killed, or if someone needs to be punched, it's his job. He enjoys the gendered roles and is happy to fulfill them in your relationship. If MC is male... lmao it only help cements the idea in his head that MC is the 'woman' of the relationship. It's toxic sure, but he was raised this way and has a harder time in a same sex relationship because of his tradition and culture.

-

Ludovica: Is so happy every time she wakes up and falls in love with MC more and more every passing day. She can't cook either but would be willing to learn only if MC asked or mentioned it, otherwise she is content with MC cooking for her. She has a cook on staff but would be happy just having his job being for him to fetch ingredients for MC. She would not let him go because of how long he was been under her employ and how he was always kind to her, even when her late ex-husband was alive. Romandi has no strong gendered roles anymore so she doesn't thank any different if MC is male or female.

Aurelio: Loves waking up to the smell of MC's cooking and has heart filled eyes when MC brings him lunch, he always prefers taking MC out to dinner though. Would be okay eating dinner at home with MC some nights but showing MC off and being foodies together is his heart's true desire.

Elio: This man basically ate stale military ration tasting food for years and was content, falls head over heels for MC's cooking and refuses to eat anything else after getting used to it. Will not eat out and will stay home and starve until MC makes food, only begrudgingly eat other things went MC is away but writes about them hurrying up and coming home because he wants to eat their food in his letters to MC.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

trading paper dolls - chapter three

Fandom: Masters of the Air Rating: T Chapter: 3 / 3 Word Count: 3982

Summary: Tired of the pin-up girls, Alex draws Buck Cleven in a similar style, never intending for the sketch to fall into the hands of Bucky Egan.

read on tumblr: one | two

Gale drowned himself. He took the drawing to the sink that was crowded in the mornings but not at that time of day and watched the door as he held the paper underwater, shredding it until he could push the pulp into the drain with his fingertips. The task wasn’t difficult or strenuous; the paper was already so soft that it tore with ease. When it was done, he wiped his hands dry on his overcoat and went out. It had only taken a few minutes.

He had never tried to attract more attention than what was necessary for the boys to respect his rank. He didn’t boast, didn’t dance, didn’t get drunk. He stepped into leadership as a major because it was what he had to do, and he thought he did a fair job of it, keeping a level head and watching out for his boys. But it seemed he had attracted more attention than he’d been aware of. He had been not only observed but commissioned, commissioned into a drawing his fingers had since turned to a mush that hadn’t appeared dissimilar to many of their meals.

John had claimed responsibility, but it wasn’t as though Gale didn’t know where the sketch had come from. In their very bunkhouse lived the man who provided such things for the camp at large. Unless there were another man who did the same sort of drawings—but of male subjects—in secret, Gale knew the artist was Alex. Alex had been quiet, then, quickly, after Gale made the effort to speak with him, Alex had been forthcoming and warm. He was sharp, he was keen to be useful with his mapping abilities, but now Gale saw that he hadn’t yet learned everything about the lieutenant, because he hadn’t expected this from him. It left Gale feeling exposed.

Aside from destroying the drawing, he attempted to stick to his regular routine. He soon decided that no one else knew. The other option—that his boys were not only liars but incredibly good liars—was impossible. Gale couldn’t start doubting everyone around him, everyone he had flown with and trusted. He would be dishonouring them and himself to assume the worst of them after all they’d been through together. He wouldn’t bring the disease of paranoia into this camp, not amongst their forces. The problem of the drawing was a strange but isolated one, which should’ve been some relief to him.

He knew. Alex knew. John knew. John had barely told him, and Alex hadn’t told at all. Of course, Gale had been tempted to confront him. He felt he was owed an explanation, because surely being drawn like that was a sign of disrespect. That was where it got tricky though; Gale didn’t believe, in general, that pin-ups were disrespectful. Maybe they weren’t exactly appropriate either—not the kind of art you’d want shipped home to your mother with your effects if you bought it over Germany—but they were meant for admiring. They were tokens of the softness men missed in places like this, in circumstances like these. Was he that type of token? Was he an ideal?

The thought made Gale feel imaginary. It was hard enough to keep tabs on yourself here, to wake each day still knowing who you were. Where did you preserve your identity when nothing really belonged to you? On a piece of paper?

But the paper hadn’t been his, so that couldn’t be right. What need did John have to preserve Gale in a drawing when he had the real person? This puzzled Gale. It kept him subdued around the boys, and around John in particular, which was strange. He’d been feeling, lately, these urges to reach out for John. They all moved in such close contact, lived in such cramped quarters, that Gale would sometimes lie awake in the night and imagine digging a tunnel only he knew about. Not for escape—just for a place to go be alone for a while. John was the person who drove him closest to the edge, but he was also the only one Gale couldn’t leave, even in these fantasies where he burrowed into the earth and panted hot breaths in the dark. He had touched John at last—their two hands in John’s pocket, Gale’s light contact with John’s rough cheek���and then John had tucked the folded drawing into his palm. He had put the page between them.

Gale wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t given in to his instinct to slip his hand in alongside John’s. Would John have ever told him about the drawing? Would he have wept when he did? Gale wasn’t sure he understood the crying anymore than he understood the sketch—not the reasons behind them—but he was beginning to understand how they made him feel.

The revelation happened over the course of several days succeeding his discovery of the drawing. The food was shit. The wind whistled through the cracks in their bunkhouse walls. The thin patch in the heel of Gale’s sock had worn into a hole. The realization couldn’t fill his stomach or block the wind or darn his sock, but it changed something he couldn’t physically feed or shield or warm. He saw that he was treasured. He was. He, who had never felt less worthy, here in what seemed like a cold hell. There was a stalwart sense of brotherhood between the prisoners of this camp, but he hadn’t believed tenderness could survive in these conditions.

Reflecting on the drawing’s wear, Gale felt himself an accidental witness to not only gentleness but passion. Flapping in the cold wind hadn’t done that to the paper; it had been transformed by heat and sweat. Those things had touched a paper body that wasn’t his… but was meant to be.

—

The day Buck asked the question, Alex didn’t see it coming.

Though it wasn’t providing much warmth, the sun was shining, and that was a comfort they hadn’t enjoyed in what seemed like weeks. The wind had gotten itself tangled up between the trees, or lain down in some field; wherever it was, it was elsewhere. Sitting on the step outside the hut was almost pleasant, if you forgot about who was watching the step and where the step was and how they had gotten there and why they had to remain. But you did have to forget sometimes in order to breathe. Alex planted his hands behind him and leaned back while Buck stretched his legs out ahead of him.

He'd been describing the P-51 Mustangs again. Buck always wanted to hear about them. It’d gotten so Alex could tell Buck was imagining himself inside one, eyes closed as he asked where was this gauge and that, how were his sightlines if he turned his head just so.

“You could fly that baby blind,” Alex said, grinning.

Buck grinned back.

“Wouldn’t that be something.”

Alex agreed that it would, then he explained how, when you flew something so sleek and fast, it felt like an extension of your body. Instead of rushing to give Buck an account of missions he’d flown, Alex lingered over sensory memories of getting a feel for those planes. He recalled early days in training as he talked. His eyes were closed too when he spoke of easing a Mustang into a smooth bank, tilting her until it seemed he was sailing along on sunbeams. At the time, he’d sweat—damn near cooked—in the cabin, but now, he tried to feel just a little of that warmth, draw it through time to nestle up against. He was hunkered right down in the memory until he heard Buck say, “How’d he ask for it?”

Alex opened his eyes and frowned. “Say again?” He was lost. Buck wasn’t looking his way.

“When Bucky came to you about the drawing, how’d he… what did he say?”

“Oh. Well…”

Alex’s heart was racing, but Buck looked as calm as anything, staring out at the yard while Alex watched the side of his face.

There was so much information in the question. First, it informed Alex that Buck had found out about the drawing, someway, somehow. Second, it told him Buck had connected the drawing to Alex and Egan both. Third, it said Egan hadn’t ratted on him, since Buck didn’t know about the drawing’s exact origins. Finally, the question meant Buck wasn’t angry with him. He definitely didn’t sound angry, just like he was placidly working on a problem. Alex had seen him that way before during the meetings he and Macon were now included in, meetings for plotting escape routes and learning the fastest and quietest ways to incapacitate the enemy if they had to fight their way out.

But how to answer such a question? Now that Buck knew Alex had sketched him without his knowledge, he probably owed him the full truth, and telling him that meant admitting Egan hadn’t come to him at all. And what about the silent deal he’d made with Egan whereby they kept each other’s secrets? If Alex’s had been exposed, did that void Egan’s as well? Or did Alex ignore it all? Maybe the way forward here was to find his own escape route from a matter that no longer involved him. He could see what his role had been and he felt, for better or worse, that he’d played it. The rest was between Buck and Egan.

“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” Alex said. The explanation, though evasive, wasn’t a lie—Egan had snatched the paper during a raid of the bunkhouse.

Buck looked disappointed that Alex had failed to satisfy his curiosity.

“You know,” he said, eyes still forward, “Bucky ran and got recaptured more than once after parachuting from his plane. He fought like hell trying to escape. He could’ve died. They meant to kill him.” Buck turned his head to look back at Alex. “He gave me that drawing like a surrender.”

Alex’s lips parted, but he didn’t know how to respond. He understood how the most difficult thing was sometimes to go willingly. For a man with grit, a man with strength and ideas and convictions, it was easy to value control over everything else. You got so used to protecting your right to make your own choices, Alex thought, that it was hard when somebody came along who made surrender seem not only possible but appealing. Alex had learned this lesson with his sweetheart back home, but not everybody had a sweetheart back home. Not everybody got to learn to let go on a porch swing in Detroit while the condensation on a glass of lemonade hid their nervous, sweaty palms. Some people had POW camps and paper dolls and that was the best they got.

“That doesn’t mean he’s weak,” Alex proposed cautiously.

“No,” Buck agreed. “It sure doesn’t.”

“If you find you’ve got to know just what it does mean, I’d suggest asking him.”

“No two ways about it, huh?”

“There never seems to be for anything worth doin’.”

Buck rose. Alex hadn’t meant for him to act right then, but it wasn’t as though they had a list of pressing duties that needed attending to.

“Thanks for your thoughts, Alex,” Buck said, leaning down to where Alex still sat and extending his hand.

Alex nodded, shaking it. “Buck.”

When he expected Buck to withdraw his hand, Buck tightened his grip instead.

“One more thing,” he said. He leaned a little closer. “There aren’t any others of me out there, correct?”

“That’s correct,” Alex promised, meeting Buck’s assessing gaze with his steady one. “And there won’t be.”

Buck released his hand and, sitting forward once he was alone, Alex released a heavy sigh. Not too bad, he thought. It was behind them now. He’d even managed to resist joking that, if there had been other pin-up drawings of Buck, Egan surely would’ve collected them all up by now. No, he’d handled things the best he could’ve. The rest was for the two majors to sort out.

With the day as fine as it was, Alex eventually pushed himself up off the step and took a walk across the yard. He could see Macon and DeMarco busy with something. They were looking at the ground. As he neared, he panicked, but tried not to show it. They’d drawn a ring in the dirt and, staring at it, DeMarco kneaded the back of his neck in frustration. What the hell had they done? Put a goddamn map in the yard, right where the goons could see? Alex fought the urge to walk faster.

There were stones scattered across the dirt.

“What’s this?” he asked Macon lightly.

“I’m plottin’ my move,” Macon said. “What would you do?”

Alex’s eyes widened at his friend’s casual tone. He didn’t realize his expression had been observed until he heard DeMarco’s laugh, rough like the scruff on his cheeks, and looked up.

“It’s marbles,” he said. “We’re playing marbles with rocks.”

“Oh.” This was an amused huff from Macon. He had glanced up to see why DeMarco was explaining and also caught the look on Alex’s face. “Shit! Speakin’ of marbles, Alex here’s thinkin’ we fuckin’ lost ours, Benny. Thought we was out here holdin’ cartography club.”

He doubled over laughing while Alex rolled his eyes. Well, at least Macon appeared to be feeling better.

DeMarco crouched to consider his next shot. Alex angled his head close to Macon’s ear.

“I’ll just leave you and ‘Benny’ to it. I just got an idea for another drawing. Maybe two guys from our bunkhouse this time?”

Macon glared at him, but Alex was grinning now.

“It ain’t like that,” Macon protested. He took a playful swipe at Alex, but Alex stepped clear. Macon winced as he twisted, hand hitting nothing.

“Watch your neck, now,” Alex cautioned. “Then again…” He glanced to where DeMarco had circled away from them, lowering his hand to the dirt in preparation to flick a stone towards their makeshift target. “I saw him rubbin’ his neck. Maybe he could do yours.”

Macon pointed a warning finger.

“Don’t interfere in other people’s business.”

Alex only smiled and backed away. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. If this Buck and Egan thing worked out, it might be nice going two for two. It’d be a way to pass the time.

—

“Right where I thought you’d be.”

Bucky smiled at the sound of Buck’s voice and allowed the chair he’d rocked back on two legs to fall forward again onto four. He listened as Buck’s even steps entered the room, their room—everybody’s room, but their room at the moment, because it was empty but for the two of them.

“Creature of habit,” Buck continued as he strode into Bucky’s line of sight.

Bucky glanced up and his smile broadened.

“Imprisonment’ll do that to a guy.”

“S’pose so.”

Buck grabbed a chair and dragged it around, then straddled it backwards, facing Bucky. He crossed his arms along the back. Bucky couldn’t help his light laugh, waiting for Buck to speak. They hadn’t done much of that (talking) in days. Bucky was scared, not that he’d say it. The laugh was more of an anxious giggle, which was meant as a question: Where are we starting from? Because he didn’t know how to begin anymore. He didn’t know how to step back into the last normal conversation they’d had without his feet going out from under him, slipping on the bloody wheel of his heart. He kept trying to get his balance, but that heart-wheel kept spinning, faster each time Buck caught his eye or called his name. He felt choked; he wanted to run. He fixed his gaze on Buck’s face and, grinning with a nervous brand of hilarity, said, “Hi.”

Buck smiled back, amusement in his eyes. Bucky thought he looked like maybe he didn’t know how to begin either.

“Hey there, stranger,” Buck replied, soft and low.

Now, as long as Bucky didn’t cry—he started to, and thumbed the tear from the inner corner of his eye.

“We got some business, Major?” he asked, smiling at Buck, at himself, at his control leaving him like a kite string jerking through his hands.

“We do,” Buck said. “You wanna lead?”

“Buck, if I knew the steps, I’d already be on the floor.”

Bucky pressed his finger into a crack in the table, tracing back and forth until Buck’s hand hovered over his. After a breath or two, it landed. Bucky stared at it covering his own.

“You don’t have anything to say?” Buck urged.

Swallowing, Bucky shook his head.

“I’d ruin it.” His voice came out hoarse.

“Maybe”—from his tone, Bucky could tell he was teasing—“but isn’t it worth trying?”

“I don’t really know… how to apologize for somethin’ like that…” Bucky fumbled out.

“You wanna apologize for it?”

Surprised, Bucky glanced up.

“Don’t you want me to? Isn’t that what this is about?”

Because the hand—it was comfort. The words were a return to their old friendliness. The privacy was necessary for the topic at hand, until they buried it deep and left no marker.

“No,” Buck said simply. “I was hoping we understood each other now.”

Bucky laughed loudly then, head thrown back, hand on his chest. When he looked at Buck again, his friend was blushing.

“Well, radio man,” Bucky started with a grin, “I think we got our wires crossed somewhere ’cause—”

“You’re in love with me,” Buck blurted. The abruptness, so unlike Buck, would’ve been enough to stop Bucky in his tracks, but then there were the words—petal-strewn overkill if the point was just to shut Bucky up.

“Tell me quick if I’m wrong,” Buck went on, “’cause I’ve looked at this every which way and it’s all I’ve got, John.”

“Buck. Gale.” It was possible the world was ending and Bucky couldn’t seem to clear his throat.

“I didn’t think it’d be like this,” Buck said, so faint Bucky wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. All he could do in response was shake his head to show he didn’t follow. “I thought I’d see it comin’. You snuck up on me, John.”

If Buck kept using his name like that, Bucky believed he might do something impulsive, like bite his friend’s lip between his teeth.

“Me?” he checked.

As though to demonstrate just how impossible the idea of him sneaking up on anyone was, Bucky scraped the chair back as he staggered to his feet. He needed to pace. He couldn’t deal with this unless he was moving.

But Buck’s leg shot out and kicked Bucky’s chair.

“Sit your ass back down and listen to me,” he snapped. Bucky stared at him. “I’m tryin’… I’m trying…”

Slowly, Bucky reached for his chair. He lifted it off the ground so its legs wouldn’t scrape. He set it down close to Buck’s. He put his hand on Buck’s knee.

“You love me too, huh?” he guessed, as crazy as it seemed. “That the size of it?”

“Just about.”

They chuckled over how badly this was going, how well. Bucky booted the leg of Buck’s chair.

“What’d you do with my pin-up?” he demanded jokingly.

“Got rid of it.”

“Yeah? You got some nerve, Buck. That was my property.”

“You don’t need it anymore,” Buck told him.

Bucky leaned in, taunting. “Says who?”

“Little closer and I’ll show ya.”

Bucky went smiling. He got as close to Buck as he could before the tiny bit of him that was still unsure he hadn’t made a mistake somewhere and misunderstood hit the brakes. He could feel Buck’s breath on his face; he’d have bet Buck could feel the same on his. He could see, up so close, where the cold had chapped Buck’s skin, and he could see when Buck made up his mind to kiss him. Bucky closed his eyes between that moment and the next, and then there was the pressure of Buck’s mouth, making him almost leap out of his skin.

He'd spent weeks sharing a bed with that sheet of paper, like a lover. Before that, he’d spent months lugging his heart around, heavy with the enormity of his infatuation. Years he’d known Buck, liked Buck, cared about Buck more than he cared about anyone else he knew or had known. It wasn’t sudden. And yet, as Buck’s mouth opened just slightly and Bucky felt the difference between his dry lips and his wet tongue, it was. He moaned because he’d never been shy, and that put his lips in contact with Buck’s teeth—another new feeling—because Buck smiled at the sound.

Determinedly, Bucky cupped the back of Buck’s neck and kissed him harder, deeper, tilting his head. They couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want a pause to let Buck speak or to stare into his eyes. He knew what he sounded like, knew how he looked. Really, Bucky would’ve kept going even if he hadn’t been able to breathe. He held Buck greedily against him, wishing there weren’t a chairback between them so it could be more than their mouths, more than his hand now on the back of Buck’s head. I did, he thought. I thought it’d be exactly like this.

Buck was like a food he’d been deprived of, though Bucky couldn’t think what that might’ve been just then, because there was nothing he wanted to taste more than Buck’s mouth. Again and again, he opened it wider with his lips, dove forward with his tongue. He found Buck a little coyer until Buck snatched him by the front of his shirt and yanked him to the edge of his seat. Bucky had to feel blindly for the table and grip it hard to prevent himself from knocking the chairs aside like he wanted to. He wanted so much.

He surprised himself by being the reasonable one, the thoughtful one. He eased Buck’s grip from his shirt and slowed their kisses to a last lick from Buck’s tongue over his bottom lip.

“Welcome to the goddamn bunkhouse,” he whispered. “We got roommates, and they’ll come back sooner or later.”

Gaze lowered and mouth pink from Bucky’s efforts, Buck smirked as he straightened Bucky’s shirt.

“Ain’t that a shame.”

“I know some good hiding places though,” Bucky bragged.

“Do you now?”

“Kept that drawing secret, didn’t I?”

Buck shook his head in amusement. “That’s a little different. You can’t hide me between the pages of a book.”

“I didn’t hide it between pages,” Bucky informed him, smiling devilishly. “I hid it between sheets.”

“You can’t hide me in your bunk.”

Bucky slouched back in his chair and smirked at Buck.

“You can’t,” Buck repeated, fighting not to laugh at the way Bucky was so clearly uninterested in listening to him.

“That’s one opinion,” was all he would allow.

“An opinion,” Buck echoed in disbelief. “I call the other option insanity.”

“You call you in my bed insanity? I call it somethin’ to live for.”

And Bucky meant it in that big way, in that grand way. He meant it in a small way too: that he would live little by little for it, that the sun rose and set on his wanting of Buck, but it would’ve risen and set anyway. He would live for the possibility of Buck in each moment, from his first stirrings of wakefulness in the morning to the final shift on the sheets that let him sleep with some modicum of comfort in this forlorn place. Someday, mark my words, his sly smile and raised eyebrows said to Buck, you’ll be on those sheets with me. And, boy, won’t we live then, Buck. Won’t we live then.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The first song of spring (pt. 2)

Elrond x reader

Part one is here! And since this has gotten so long but the story is still incomplete, there will now be a part three!

*****

In the next few years, a close relationship develops between you and Elrond. You exchange letters often and regularly, and he comes to Khazad-Dum once a year - ostensibly only to visit Durin and Disa and discuss work and trade relations with Lindon, but he would lie if he said those are the only reasons that attract him towards the Dwarven Kingdom; likewise, you wish he could forego all his other duties and obligations, to spend more time with you.

As lovely as it is to exchange letters, pouring all your feelings and thoughts in yours, without fearing to be judged or mocked, and reading and re-reading his avidly until you have learned them by heart, having him in the flesh next to you fills you with an happiness you have never felt before. Making new friends has always been hard for you, given your natural shyness, but with him it is different... so different that you feel like you have known him forever; you know you can trust him, that he will not mock or criticize you even if the two of you disagree on some matter, you admire and respect him.

You know it is dangerous; that the longer your friendship with him lasts, and the deeper your bond grows, the more you risk your secret be discovered, that Elrond will accidentally mention your name with someone in Lindon or confide your existence to a friend, who will then tell to someone else... Given how important it is for you to remain hidden, the best thing to do would be to stop all contacts with him, breaking that friendship whose very existence puts you in danger. But it is already too late, you reason with yourself trying to silence your fears, and even more importantly you trust Elrond, who has promised not to talk about you with anyone.

He doesn't. Smart and perceptive as he is, Elrond cannot help wondering about your need for secrecy, which he often feels uneasy about, and the terrible events, or crimes, that may have pushed you to break every contact with your own people; still, he has given you his word, and no reason could ever make him break his promise. And more than anything else, he confesses to himself as he offers you his arm as you walk under the high ceilings of the mountains and he feels his heartbeat accelerate when you smile at him in thanks, I don't want to know. If the truth could really ruin everything and separate us, then I'd rather it remains a secret forever. He never mentions it with you, nor he tries to convince you to come to Lindon with him, even though he knows how unhappy you are living in the Dwarven Kingdom and that even Durin and Disa would like you to leave and live your life at the fullest somewhere else; he is determined to respect your decision, and he is content with what you have now, a close and affectionate epistolary friendship and occasional visits that deepen your bond even more.

No one in Lindon knows about you; Elrond doesn't keep his visits to Khazad-Dum secrets, but everybody think he is visiting his Dwarven friends, and that the letters he often receives from the kingdom are theirs. Yes, he is happy leaving things as they are... at least until one night when, as he admires the starry sky out of his windows at the King's palace and wishes he could share that spectacle with you, he realizes his affection for you has gone beyond a simple friendship, and that you have captured his heart like no one had before. If only you would accept to leave Khazad-Dum to be with him, if only you would cease that self-imposed exile and permit yourself to be happy...

Then, suddenly one day, all his doubts are solved, in the most unexpected manner.

Elrond has been called to the King's study to discuss the main topics of a new speech he will have to write - an important duty he finds pleasant and relaxing nonetheless. He is waiting for Gil-Galad to finish talking to one of his advisers when, looking around the room, he notices a small framed portrait on a dresser. He curiously steps closer to examine it... and his heart jumps in his throat.

It is you!

Unless the painter has done an horrible job depicting another maiden, he is sure of it; your hair is stiled differently, but he would recognize you anywhere. Why does Gil-Galad own your portrait? It must mean that he knows you, but how? What is the relationship between the two of you? Is it possible that the King himself is the reason for your departure...?

Gil-Galad is finally ready to receive him. Elrond dutifully takes notes as the King speaks, assuring him the speech will be ready in time, and then, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can, he asks: "Who is the maiden in that portrait, aran nin? I don't think I have ever seen her".

Gil-Galad's reaction is telling, even though he likewise attempts to pretend he is not affected; his expression, Elrond thinks, suggests that he forgot to put the frame back in its place and he never intended for anyone else to see it. He reaches out to hold the small portrait in his hands, looks at it for a second, and then gently hides it in the dresser's top drawer.

"No one. It is no one" he says, the tone that strongly discourages his herald from asking other questions "Now, about the speech, I would like you to add..."

Elrond needs to know more. He knows the matter doesn't concern him, that if you knew what he intends to do you would beg him to stop and that if the King ever found out he is snooping around, he would be in serious trouble, but he can't help it. He has never been a meddler, and the last thing he wants is to betray people he respects and loves, but he can't do otherwise... and in his heart, he fears that he won't be able to commit to you if he doesn't discover the truth about your past. If it turns out you are guilty of some terrible crime, which is why you now live as an outcast, he knows he will continue loving you; but he can't go on simply not knowing.

He bides his time, knowing that if the High King ever found him snooping in his chambers, the consequences would be dire. Finally, one day Gil-Galad leaves for a few days, headed to the Greenwood for an official visit. As soon as he feels safe and taking all precautions not to be seen, Elrond steps into the King's study, retrieves your portrait from the drawer, takes his horse and rides to Eregion; lord Celebrimbor is the King's oldest and most trusted friend, therefore, he reasons, if there is someone who can tell him what kind of relationship exists between you and him, it is the lord of Eregion's himself.

"Ah, yes; the King's daughter. A terrible, terrible story" Celebrimbor says as soon as Elrond passes him your portrait; they are together in the forge, where the lord of Eregion was working on his latest project.

Elrond, already perspiring because of the heat, is almost left speechless. "His... daughter?!"

"You have a right to be surprised, but yes, Lindon once had a princess, even though she disappeared many years before your arrival. The princess was much-loved by her people, as well as her father; she lived peacefully in the kingdom, until that fateful day."

"What happened to her?"

"It was because of an accident. An Elf named Marion was one of the princess' few detractors, apparently because she had refused his romantic advances; what until then had been a tranquil friendship turned sour, and it was clear to everyone the two couldn't stand each other. One day, the princess and Marion casually met near a cliff above the sea; they started arguing like they had done a thousand times before, and the princess pushed Marion away from her. Unfortunately, because of that shove, Marion slipped and fell in the water, in a point where the water was particularly shallow and some large rocks emerged from the surface. Marion's body violently hit the rocks and was then carried away by the current.

The princess, horrified, was sure she had killed him; he had fallen from such an height, and if he hadn't smashed his head against the rocks he would have drowned, since he couldn't swim. Obviously it had been an accident, since while she loathed her former friend she would have never hurt him, but she feared that no one would believe her, since her disagreements with Marion had been a secret for no one. So, out of fear and guilt and shame, she decided to run away; she couldn't stand the idea of her father, who she loved so much, knowing she was a killer, and she didn't want him to have to choose between his love for her and his duty to severely punish a killer. She slipped back in the palace, packed a bag, left a note for the King, and fled.

It was all for nothing, because Marion had miraculously survived the fall. A gentle current had carried him ashore and, bleeding and freezing but alive, he was able to return to the palace, where he told the King what had transpired; for all the hostility and the enmity that had existed between them, he insisted that the princess had not intended to hurt him, least of all kill him, and did not deserve to be punished.

The King, already beside himself with grief after reading his daughter's note, sent a number of emissaries to look for her, inform her she had done nothing wrong, and bring her home. All in vain; a day and a night had already passed since the princess had left, and even though dozens of Elves looked for her far and wide for months, no one was able to find the slightest trace of her passage, or to discover where she had headed."

Celebrimbor shakes his head sadly. "The poor maiden, wherever she is, must be wracked with a guilt she has no reason to feel, since the Elf she thinks she killed is alive and would testify it was all an accident, and her father has lost her after looking for her for years. It is no surprise he has ordered that her name should not be uttered anymore in the Kingdom; the memory must be too painful for him to bear. A real tragedy, don't you think?"

Elrond nods, his heart and his mind in turmoil; he had suspected you were hiding because you had committed some grave crime, but this... He would have never imagined. "Thanks for telling me, my lord."

"It was my pleasure; I was very fond of the princess, even though it pains me to think about her." Celebrimbor answers with a sad smile as he gives back the portrait "Do not mention this to the King, I pray; believe me when I say he has suffered more than any other Elf in Arda for the loss of his daughter, and the less he thinks about her, the better."

Elrond promises.

As soon as he returns home, he hurriedly starts writing a letter, desists, and saddles his horse to gallop towards Khazad-Dum.

Tagging as usual @starlady66 and @grinkitty.

[steppingstonesuniverseguide]

One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 3/26

Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.

He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.

It'd have to be okay.

AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)

(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)

Author Note: There is some sword/knife violence in this one.

“Are these tomatoes?!” An excited scream was what woke Tommy up. It was not even two hours after he’d fallen asleep and part of him wanted to be pissed about being woken up when he was so exhausted. The other part of him smiled into his pillow.

“Cut them open,” Tommy called back.

He listened to the rustling coming from the kitchen area as Tubbo rushed to do as he said. “Seeds?” Tubbo asked after a moment, his voice quieter and closer now like what he was saying was a secret. It was a secret. Tommy peeled his face off of the pillow to look up at the boy in their bedroom doorway. “Where on Earth did you find these?”

“I stumbled on a hidden community garden on the way back from work last night,” Tommy explained.

He watched the war on Tubbo’s face as he bit his lip. His hands were covered in tomato juice from where he’d picked a few seeds out of the vegetable. He was cradling them between his palms now. “These are very illegal to have,” he said. Yet, despite his half-hearted protest, the seeds had already started to sprout in his hands. As Tommy watched, a baby stem curled up his finger, a pair of leaves opening and sitting at the tip of his thumb.

“You should find some dirt for them,” Tommy suggested softly.

“Right,” Tubbo agreed. “Dirt, water… and sun somehow in a place no one can see. Or maybe a grow light in the bathroom? I’ll figure something out.”

Tommy nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open. Tubbo seemed to notice. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was just excited.”

“I know Tubs,” Tommy yawned.

“You got back kinda late last night, huh?”

“Had a run in with the SBI,” he said.

“Are you hurt?” Tubbo asked, concerned.

Tommy shook his head. “They didn’t even manage to get a finger on me,” he assured proudly, but then deflated a bit. “But, uh, Dream wasn’t too happy that I didn’t arrest them. I got whatever they were trying to steal, but that wasn’t enough for him. So… no paycheck.”

Tubbo frowned. “What were you supposed to do?” he asked. “1v3 the SBI of all people?”

“Apparently.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Tommy reminded.

“I hate that you fight them,” Tubbo said, quietly. “The Blade killed 4 level 6 heroes with a flashlight and a set of car keys two years ago and that’s with him being taken unaware and alone.”

He’d also held a sword to Tommy’s neck once. It had been just them alone in an alleyway. He’d lowered it a moment later and slipped away into darkness without a word. Tubbo didn’t know that though.

“Eh, Philza’s scarier and Whippoorwill’s more creatively bloodthirsty.”

“They shouldn’t send you after any of them.”

“They know I’m a big man!” He paused at the look on Tubbo’s face. “I’ll be fine,” he promised.

“I just worry…”

“Don’t,” Tommy said. “I’m wily. Like the coyote… wait, no. I’m the Road Runner! The Road Runner wins those things, right? Never gets caught, right?” He’d never really had an opportunity to watch cartoons. He’d just absorbed knowledge from other people talking about them. “That’s me! Meep meep motherfucker.”

Tubbo cracked a half smile. “Well,” he said. “No paycheck, but we do have veggies and veggies that will regrow if we’re careful to hide them. Well, the tomatoes are fruit, but still.”

“Not a fruit,” Tommy enlightened him.

“I… they are?”

“No,” Tommy said solemnly. “I reject that reality.”

Tubbo stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. “Go back to sleep Tommy. I’ve got to get ready for work anyway. I’ll make you something for breakfast and leave it in the fridge.”

“Mmm, thanks.”

“See you at work,” Tubbo said, closing the door behind him. He and Tubbo’s work schedules just barely overlapped. He worked 4am-2pm and Tommy worked Noon-10pm with one day off a week. They’d somehow managed to scam having the same days off this month thanks to Puffy, which was nice. Otherwise, they’d barely see each other except when they were both asleep.

…

Thinking of sleep...

Tommy woke to the sound of an alarm on his phone at 8am. He barely resisted the urge to throw it out the window. The only thing that stopped him was that it was expensive company property, and he did not need to have that added to his bills.

Groaning, he pulled himself out of bed and into the small bathroom to take a shower. He hadn’t gotten the opportunity to wash the gross off himself last night. He winced in sympathy for Tubbo as his bedmate.

A few minutes later, he was padding into the kitchen. He glanced in the fridge to see a Tupperware container labeled ‘Breakfast’ in Tubbo’s horrible handwriting. Popping open the lid revealed scrambled eggs with tomatoes mixed in, and after making some toast, Tommy sat down on the recliner to eat. (It’s fine. It was already stained to hell when the dragged it up here from the trash, so it wouldn’t matter if he spilled.) There was a sticky note on the arm that didn’t have a bite taken out of it. ‘Buy melk and bread today, pls.-Tub’ it read.

Tommy grabbed the discarded pen next to it and wrote ‘No.-Tom’ with a smile on his face. It looked like he was going to the store before his shift today. He glanced at the time on his phone. Ugh. He should probably get moving if he wanted to get to the shop and back before needing to leave for his shift.

Reluctantly, he put his dishes in the sink and went to the bedroom to change. He pulled Tubbo’s green hoodie over his t-shirt for warmth since it wasn’t like the boy was using it right now, and it was the warmest piece of civilian clothing they had. He counted out how much money he had in his wallet, winced, and dug his hand into their ‘saving’s account’ (and old pickle jar).

Figuring he had enough cash on him, he left the apartment. His and Tubbo’s apartment was on the 2nd floor of the building. It was the lowest priced housing they could find within walking distance of the Hero Guild’s HQ. They’d had the option of living at the much nicer apartments the Hero Guild provided, but they’d quickly learned those came with a cost much steeper than the one they paid for their dirty little two room apartment. They’d bolted as soon as they’d realized the apartments came pre-outfitted with cameras. They weren’t dumb.

They were lucky, really, that they were able to afford this place even with its lack of an elevator and staircase so rickety that Tommy was worried he’d need to use his powers to survive them one of these days.

It wasn’t that the Hero Guild didn’t pay well, it was that it didn’t pay people like Tubbo and Tommy well. Your salary wasn’t based on what you did or who you fought. It was calculated based on two things: years of experience and rank. He and Tubbo each had a bit more than one year of experience. Tubbo had rank 1. Tommy had rank 1.5 even though he’d regularly been doing rank 5, maybe even rank 6 work lately, but people under 18 weren’t allowed anything above rank 1.5.

Then, on top of that, they were both hit with what was referred to as the “teenager tax.” Minors weren’t really allowed to work for the Superhero Guild, at least not on their own. They needed an adult sponsor (which was actually kind of the opposite of a sponsor because part of Tommy and Tubbo’s paycheck was siphoned off to them in payment for being mentors.)

Still, it was better than how Tommy and Tubbo had been surviving on the streets ever since Tubbo was tossed out of his house. They were, at the end of the day, able to pool their resources to pay rent and eat every month no matter how much of a stretch it ended up being sometimes.

Plus, they wouldn’t be 16 forever. With Dream as his sponsor, three years of experience, and the work he’d already been doing for the Guild, he was positioned perfectly to climb the ranks quickly when he shucked the shackles of childhood. He’d be making the biiig money then. Tubbo would probably struggle a bit more since his power was not really a combative one, but Tommy was sure he’d also get promoted eventually.

Who knew, if Tommy managed to be good enough and to kept Dream’s favor, maybe Tubbo could even quit and get a gardener’s license or something. That would be nice. He’d definitely be happier then. Tubbo with a garden of his own. Now that’d be a sight to see.

The thought put a smile on his face as he entered the small grocery store a couple of minutes later. The woman manning the till gave him a suspicious look as he entered, probably because he was an obviously poor teenager with no parents to be seen. Tommy half wished he was allowed to flaunt his superhero identity so people would stop glowering at him like he was going to steal shit whenever he went anywhere. Of course, if he did that, then people like Whippoorwill with his desire to slowly peel Tommy’s flesh off his bones to make into soup (Yes, it did sound gross. Yes, Whippoorwill really had said that. And just because Tommy sprayed mace into his mouth one time! Dude was mental.) would be able to track him down at home. That would put Tubbo at risk.

As it was, he had to bear the lady’s unpleasant expression as he scanned the aisles.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a nasty voice after he stood there for a few seconds too long apparently.

Tommy rolled his eyes and pulled the wad of cash out of his pocket to show to her. “Buying bread.”

“Aisle 2,” she said, still sounding like a fucking asshole, but not quite like she was going to push the panic button behind the counter to summon a hero to arrest him.

Ignoring the eyes that remained on him, he wandered over to peer at the expiration dates on the bread. He was trying to decide which option was better: bread that was a bit more expensive but would last longer or bread that was cheaper and expired in a few days when he heard the sound of metal scrapping on metal.

Tommy’s head jerked up to see some guy with a giant sword at the front counter. Now, Tommy could immediately tell he didn’t quite know what he was doing with a sword, and it was much too big for his lack of muscles, but still, anyone could be dangerous with a giant sharp thing in their hands.

Ugh. Come on. He wasn’t on duty. He didn’t even have his costume for crying out loud.

“Man, do you really have to right now?” Tommy asked him as he rounded the corner, irritated. It probably… wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but it did get his attention away from the nasty lady by the register that he was holding at sword point. Tommy grimaced when he realized she was too far away from the panic button to hit it.

“You have a problem, kid?” the sword wielder asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, taking a nonchalant step closer. The guy let him, seeming not to register him as a threat in the slightest in the too tight green sweater with a daisy on it and ripped jeans. “Last night really fucking sucked for me. You couldn’t have done this, I don’t know, in 20 minutes?”

“Believe it or not I’m not on your schedule,” he said with a curled lip. The sword had dropped just a bit, too heavy for him especially when his attention was split. “Now shut up, kid.”

He took his eyes off of Tommy for a moment to return to his crimeing and Tommy jerked forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting. The sword clattered to the floor and the nasty checkout lady took her chance to dive for the panic button.

The man stared at him in shock for a moment as Tommy kicked away the sword, but he quickly recovered, fury on his face. He lunged forward suddenly taking Tommy unaware as he’d been focused on making sure the sword was far enough away. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been the only sharp thing on him. Tommy gasped even as he punched the guy in the face sending him sprawling.

A moment later, a superhero Tommy vaguely recognized, the Boomerang or something, crashed though the door and surveyed the scene. The nasty lady pointed at the man Tommy had just punched and who was getting to his feet with a bloodied knife. Boomerang was on him in a second.

Tommy slowly looked down at his bleeding side, feeling a bit dizzy.

“A-are you okay kid?” the woman at the register asked. She suddenly seemed to be trying to be a whole lot nicer to Tommy.

Tommy breathed slowly, strangely calm. Why, oh why, did he have to get stabbed off duty? He didn’t have the money to deal with this sort of crap. At least it didn’t seem too bad… Tommy thought. “Does the store have medical supplies, perchance?” he asked as Boomerang stopped beating the sword man’s face in and started to put him in handcuffs.

“Shouldn’t you… go to the hospital?” she asked.

“Nah, he’s as bad with a knife as he was with the sword,” Tommy said. “‘Tis just a flesh wound.” Probably. He hoped.

She looked at him for a long moment. “I…” she said and honestly the concern pinching at her brow was just annoying. Tommy almost liked her better when she was being a bitch. “Yeah, we should have some stuff. Let me… Let me go look for you.”

Tommy nodded at her. “Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna…” He slowly sunk down onto his knees. “I think I’m going to sit here for a minute ‘till the shock wears off.”

Author Note: He's fine. It's just a light stabbing. As long as he doesn't do anything strenuous or get shoved around at all, he should be a-okay.

[chaosdndsquad]

Reflections

The trip to the marketplace from the temple is uneventful—which is an achievement in itself considering the chaotic company Sasha now keeps…and now occasionally adds to, much to her regret. (Noa and several other of her troops are undoubtedly jumping and cheering for joy at this new development in Sasha’s character.)

Ash and Fang walk ahead, leading the way to the potions shop. Korel and Magda are talking together, heads ducked low and close, like they’re sharing secrets. Sasha can’t bring herself to be curious, too wrapped up in her own problems to wonder if others are dealing with their own. Over and over again, the events of yesterday and today play like a bard who only knows one song.

“We’re here.”

Such a simple phrase, and yet the one that gave Sasha the most hope. She remembers the agony and self-destruction tendencies she had when mourning Maya. When she survived it, she thought nothing could be worse. She was, evidently, wrong. If it wasn’t for having to take care of Magda, Sasha doesn’t know what or who she would be in that first month of mourning the 512th. Magda had saved her life…in more ways than one. Sasha doesn’t know if she will ever be able to repay this debt, but she is certainly willing to try.

This brings her to her next reflection.

Sasha is a focused person. That’s one of her best traits as a leader if she’s being honest. She can zero in on anything with a certain ruthlessness that has caused her many late nights and an unhealthy addiction to coffee. It is a trait that has served her well in the military. Even when she transferred to the 512th, with their lax policies and disordered nature, Sasha had used her skills to mold them into one of the best battalions in the GRA. She had always seen her dedication as positive, but now, it was easy to see just how much she had allowed that same devotion to turn into blind faith. Sasha could also see how that same blind devotion bleed out into other aspects of her life.

Sasha had been hopelessly devoted to Maya when she was alive, and even a lot more when she was gone. Sasha knew that she could have learned to love Ioh Graylock in the same way.

Sasha was a fool to not realize she felt the same about Noa Montoya as well.

The taste of their final conversation still left a bittersweet tinge in her mouth. Sasha had meant every word: if she had to do it all over again, Sasha would trade spots with Noa in a heartbeat. All their friends would still be alive if Noa were Captain instead of Sasha. But maybe that’s why Sasha was promoted over Noa: Sasha had follow-through, especially when she shouldn’t.

But the thing that Sasha focused on the most, was the overwhelming amount of love that flowed from her heart. Developing feelings for Ioh was easy: a shared tired glance, fingers that touched for a few seconds longer than they should between friends, an amused smirk at a shinnies antics. Many times, it felt like Ioh and Sasha were the only two adults that acted like adults in the 512th. It was a comfort to lean on one another when the others around them became too much. They found peace in each other’s silence. It wasn’t a surprise that soft, tender feelings crept up on Sasha, but at least she was aware of them.

Noa had snuck into Sasha’s heart without knowing.

It was a relief, honestly, when Sasha realized that she had a crush on Ioh, because Ioh was nothing like Maya. Ioh, the exasperated, sarcastic medic who would soon as chew you out with a lecture as she would patch you up. Ioh was as cool and dry as a night sky desert. Maya was a firework show ready to go off at the first opportunity.

Noa wasn’t a firework—not like Maya--but she was a dancing flame all the same. Warm and reliable one minute, and then going in whatever direction the wind blew her, leaving you cold and wondering what happened. She picked up conversations just as easily as she would drop them, moments later when something else captured her attention. Noa was opposite to Sasha in all the ways Maya was, and a little extra. Sasha considered Noa her best friend, but she failed to realize how precious Noa had become until she was gone.

Sasha is pulled out of her musings when Bryn zips in front of the group without anyone noticing. She speaks to Ash and passes something along to him. Sasha takes the time to look, really look, at Bryn, their druid and flighty friend of the party.

Noa and Maya would have loved her. Bryn’s wild nature would fit like a glove alongside Noa and Maya’s. In another life, much kinder than this one, Sasha imagines that she and Noa could have raised a child whose nature is similar to Bryn's.

And that was the crux of it all. Maya, Sasha’s first love and forever twenty-three, was not nurturing as Noa and Ioh had been. Maya, for all her talent and excellence in her field, had ultimately been given a  leadership position over everyone else because of her family name. Maya, in turn, had taken the title not for the honor or pride in her skills, but because being in charge was new, exciting, and an excellent way to pass the time until the next campaign came along. Noa, Sasha knew, had asked for leadership positions: not because she wanted a new challenge, but because no one else would take up the responsibility. Noa, for all her flighty nature, wanted to take care of her shield siblings: because no one else would, and she knew she could do it. That was the difference between Noa and Maya: Noa cared in the same ways Sasha did. Maya cared for as long as it interested her.

Sasha snorts, bitter amusement trickling her thoughts away. She’s being too harsh on Maya’s memory, she knows it. Maya was twenty-three and Noa was twenty-eight: a five-year age difference that allowed for more growth and maturity than Maya would ever get. Wasn’t Sasha a vastly different person than she was five years ago? Who knows how Maya would have grown if the world was kinder to her fate? How would Noa, Ioh, and the other ninety-eight people Sasha have buried in that peaceful meadow of Pada?

She looks up at the big tree, in the center of the city. The trunk is at least a mile wide, the branches cover the sky so much that Sasha can’t see what the weather is like above the canopy. Her friend’s last words to her whispered on the wind, were not of righteous anger or hate as they deserved. Sasha had expected them to be angry, vengeful, towards her. She did not expect friendship. She did not expect love.

“We’re here.”

How easily two words can flip her entire existence on its axis. Sasha had thought herself a walking cemetery, carrying all these names and regrets with her until it was finally her time to join them. She was simply waiting to join them all, to eventually make the numbers one hundred and one. Now, a paladin in their honor, Sasha is a living memorial. Tattooed flowers and a hundred small leaves adorned on the shaved right side of her head, down her neck, and onto her arm, in their memory showed her dedication to Sasha’s new cause. She will bring her old friends' justice. And now Sasha knew they will be with her every step of the way.

Sasha glances back at Korel and Magda, heads still linked together and whispering over something. Sasha knows she is a loyal person…but now she knows there is a thing as being too loyal. She owes Magda a life debt, which is an unshakeable truth…but perhaps Sasha has been rather childish when it comes to her soft feelings toward Magda.

Sasha cringes at the memory of jealousy from last night. How many times had she flirted with other women while Ioh and Noa were around? How many trips to the brothel had Sasha made while they were in-between campaigns? Granted, the trips were fewer after she was ready to move past Maya, but she still made those lengthy visits every now and then. Ioh and Noa had expressed their displeasure, but that was because they were worried Sasha was slipping back into old bad coping habits, not because they were secretly jealous.

Sasha thinks of Magda kissing Primrose on the back of the hand in farewell and the childish jealousy that sprung up immediately afterward. She thinks she hid her jealousy well enough, but that doesn’t mean she was actually successful. She could be extremely petty when she puts her mind to it, and liquor can help embolden that particular trait. Now, Sasha is glad kept her distance last night during the potluck, giving the two happy women their space as they flirted with each other.

She’s a hypocrite, Sasha decides. A hypocrite who wants to hoard her favorite toy like a child. Disgust at herself coils in her gut, and Sasha quickly swallows it. She didn’t act on those feelings, that’s the important thing to focus on. She didn’t stop Magda from searching for happiness, especially considering that happiness wasn’t with Sasha.

They all enter the store and the proprietress, a pretty goth elven woman, pays special attention to Magda. Sasha makes it a point to look away, reading labels of potions she has no intention to buy.

She tunes them out (really, she must thank Bryn for this newfound skill) and continues to think. Sasha can’t be a hypocrite about this anymore. Magda deserves happiness. Sasha will not allow herself to get in the way of that, jealous feelings be damned. So Sasha has a crush on Magda. So what? She’s not alone in that if Magda’s admirers continue to grow as they are. It doesn’t matter. Magda can do as she likes, with whomever she likes. It’s not really Sasha’s business anyways.

Besides, Sasha has bigger dragons to slay anyways. Her friends won’t get justice if Sasha is busy being jealous and regretful. Sasha can get through this.

She just needs to give herself time.

[starseedfxofficial]

USD/CHF Falling Wedge Pattern: The Hidden Formula Only Pros Use The Silent Money-Making Formula in Action Ever heard of the USD/CHF falling wedge strategy? Imagine trying to fit your savings into a Swiss bank—only this time, you're trading your way in with ninja tactics. The falling wedge pattern isn't just another technical analysis doodle; it's the secret weapon of savvy traders who can spot hidden opportunities while others snooze. It’s like discovering the Swiss Alps, not from some tourist bus but by paragliding your way over them—exhilarating, isn’t it? Buckle up because we’re diving into advanced insights, and, trust me, you'll want to hang on for this. The Unconventional Setup: Why Falling Wedges Matter The USD/CHF pair—two heavyweights in the Forex ring—sometimes dance to a rhythm only a select few can hear. The falling wedge is like that awkward slow-motion scene in a rom-com: things are getting tense, prices are narrowing, and suddenly… wham! Price decides to pop, and not just any pop—we’re talking fireworks, gains, and everything else. So, why does the falling wedge make sense in this currency pair? Well, it’s all about ‘the squeeze before the cheer’—price narrows down like it’s getting cornered, but it’s actually gathering power, ready to punch upwards. Think of it as trying to shove a Sumo wrestler into a pair of skinny jeans—you know something's got to give, and when it does, it’s dramatic. The "Oops, I Made a Profit" Secret Everyone has that moment—buying a stock on a whim, or trading like a complete noob—yet, sometimes luck hands us that glorious win. But what if, instead of luck, you knew what makes a falling wedge signal go from "maybe" to "money in the bag"? Here’s the deal. As the falling wedge starts tightening up, imagine it as the market trying to suffocate volatility until it just can’t anymore. Prices break free, and here’s where many traders fumble—they either don’t trust the breakout or, worse, they bet in the wrong direction. Let me be your trading GPS for a moment: if you see momentum shifting after this wedge—yep, the breakout is real. Ride it. Why Traders Get It Wrong (And How to Nail It) Let’s bust a myth or two. Most traders think a falling wedge is just the market being fickle—some bad-news reaction or classic market indecision. That’s kind of like assuming your cat is on the prowl because it’s "just curious." No, it’s prepping to pounce—just like the market is, my friend. Ignore the noise, focus on the trend. It’s about strength—not panic. When USD/CHF breaks out, it's a show of confidence. Got your ticket? Here's where it gets cheeky: the wedge often lures traders into false optimism before setting them up for a quick fake-out. And that’s where our contrarian play comes in—you know the playbook. You wait for confirmation—watch that volume like it’s a blockbuster premier. How to Predict Market Moves with Precision The insiders' trick? Volume and RSI divergence. Yep, you heard it. If volume spikes as the USD/CHF exits the wedge, you’re in business. The smart ones—the ones sipping expensive espresso instead of crying over late-night ramen—know how to identify an authentic breakout. They look at volume rising like an oven thermometer, slowly confirming the breakout's legitimacy. Also, try a little RSI divergence—because even in trading, opposites attract. When RSI starts hinting at bullish divergence while the price is still floundering in its downward dance, grab a seat—the real action is about to begin. The Forgotten Strategy That Outsmarted the Pros Here's an advanced nugget: Don’t just spot a wedge—trade like you own the wedge. Many traders see this pattern, get in, and cross their fingers for a magical payday. What separates amateurs from seasoned traders is risk management. You’re not just looking for a breakout; you’re scouting for what’s beyond—like calculating position size and stop-loss placements so perfect, you could frame them in an art gallery. Consider entering right at the tip, as the price breaks out but confirm it by waiting for a retracement. Think of it as testing the waters before diving—if the price comes back, rests along the previous resistance line now turned support, and then goes up—that’s your cue. Ever heard of banking on a breakout retest? Most traders skip it. That’s like seeing a "Wet Paint" sign, touching it anyway, and being shocked your hand’s red. Test the setup—get your confirmation and avoid costly mistakes. How Falling Wedges Work Better in USD/CHF Than Anywhere Else The Swiss Franc—unapologetically safe, kind of like that friend who always tells you not to text your ex—pairs exceptionally well with the mighty dollar. The wedge works like a charm with USD/CHF, particularly in those periods of uncertainty (which, let’s face it, is most of the time). The Swissy, as seasoned Forex buffs call it, is known for its correlation with the Euro but has a mind of its own. When the falling wedge appears, particularly during economic turbulence (for instance, post-FOMC statements or shaky Swiss market data), you want to get your Sherlock Holmes hat on—investigate those hidden patterns. "Wedge It Out": The Real Magic Behind the Pattern Imagine watching a magic trick—the real magic happens not when the magician pulls out the rabbit, but when everyone else is busy guessing where the hat went. The real traders know that price action around a wedge isn’t just about seeing a narrowing trend—it’s about timing, waiting, and getting in when everyone else thinks it’s just a boring chart. Now, what’s special about the USD/CHF falling wedge is that it's usually in tandem with some pretty juicy fundamentals. Think Federal Reserve interest rate jitters, or SNB (Swiss National Bank) policies making headlines. When you see a wedge during those periods—guess what? The "magic" isn’t magic anymore—it’s carefully laid market psychology waiting for you to cash in. Case Study: "The 2024 Swissy Twist" In early 2024, when rumors swirled about potential SNB interventions, USD/CHF began sliding into what looked like another typical drop. However, there was a falling wedge forming—traders in-the-know (let's call them the espresso-drinking bunch) understood that Swissy's stubborn resistance would soon turn into upward thrust. Many skeptics saw this as just another push-down, but indicators like increasing volume and RSI were flashing signs of a squeeze. As predicted, the wedge pattern played out beautifully—and those who trusted the technicals made enough to upgrade their espresso machines.  Your Hidden Playbook for USD/CHF So there you have it—the USD/CHF falling wedge isn't just a mundane chart pattern; it's a high-stakes game of market psychology. Whether you're paragliding over Swiss mountains or trying to profit from a Swiss breakout, timing, strategy, and understanding of the fundamentals can lead to that perfect setup. What’s next? Get your hands on these strategies, watch the falling wedge form, and prepare to strike—you’ve got the hidden formula. Don’t just take my word for it—try it. Just be ready for that moment of realization—when the price pops, and you think to yourself, "Did I really just predict that?" Let’s hear it—have you spotted a wedge recently, or are you planning to try this strategy out with the USD/CHF? Drop your experiences in the comments. Got questions? That’s what we're here for! And remember, trading isn’t always about staying serious—sometimes, the best profits come when you’re relaxed, chuckling, and finding the fun in those chart patterns that seem ready to dance. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[moonelf19]

I have an unpopular opinion that might get me dogpiled by my social circles IRL

I think Baldurs Gate 3 is a "meh" game.

Before you grab your pitchforks let me say I'm so glad Larian is getting praised, that people are enjoying it. Really.

But the bugs and errors have absolutely ruined my experience, coupled with the fact that my first playthrough is with two other friends in multiplayer.

My friends begged and pleaded and refused to play anything else when it was in early access, and even though I eventually put my foot down and refused to start any new saves after the SEVENTH FRESH START. In early access. Where we never even made it very far. Any time they added or changed anything my friends were like "ok time to start a new save file!" And girl. As much as I love making alts. I hated BG3 in early access. We did the same first 2-3 hours of that game too many times. I realized too late I was getting burnt and the damage was done.

When it full released I was so excited to jump back in having completely ignored it for so long. I made a new character, played for a few hours (speeding through the stuff I already had done) before discovering that my saving was corrupted.

That happened three times, with me changing settings and even reinstalling the game, before my googling finally pinged about the cross save articles.

Again. Damage was done. I was so incredibly frustrated I wanted to take another break.

Instead my friends convinced me to do a multiplayer for my first run through.

Huge mistake. Don't do that. Don't do multiplayer for your first time.

After we got through the part I had done a million times, I pointed out that I didn't know the story at that point so we should stick together. Nope.

Didn't happen.

The host went full main character syndrome. I would be in the middle of buying something, or doing inventory management, which I am very efficient at this point. But he would run off and do conversations and continue quests and I kept getting confused on what was happening.

And the one time I wandered off, while he and my other friend traded some gear, I accidentally aggroed some mobs and he absolutely scolded me for "trying to split the party". Apparently I walked past a HIDDEN DOOR that I wasn't aware of and AFTER I GOT INTO COMBAT he decided to go into the door and start a different combat, and got mad I wasnt following him.

Later I was talking to some NPCs and seeing if any of them had anything interesting to trade, like main character told me to do, and then he said he was continuing a quest and doing a riddle/secret and I was like where? What? Wait for me! But he didn't and by the time I showed up he had moved into the next quest.

I feel bad because like. I want to play game with my friends, and when it's combat it isn't so bad, although they pretty regularly do things that fuck up my combat skills. It's just.

It's not fun. It's not fun when my only role is to open locks and disarm traps and do sneak attacks. And whenever I try to talk to the NPCs he's like wait don't do the thing without me there. Like I'm not supposed to play the game because he might miss something, but I also have no idea what's going on because he is sprinting through act one "sinces he's done it so much in early access".

The biggest multiplayer problem is how often he will tell me "ok open this box and bring the thing to here" and I will be doing that, talking to a person, continuing the quest, but he will run off and like, fast travel, or make some decision that effects the world, and my game will crash. It's happened like five times now. The last time it totally corrupted my game, I had to fresh install, and when I came back everything in my personal chest had gone to his, and my twitch drops were gone.

Oh! And one time they asked if I wanted to play that night, and I said yes but I wouldn't be ready for an hour. Less than an hour later I got online and it turned out they didn't wait for me, main character was piloting my character and used a bunch of my saved arrows/potions "because there's no point hoarding them" and I was pissed. I know how much act 2 ratchets up the difficulty and I had told them I was saving resources. And he PLAYED MY CHARACTER, played our group save without me!!!

I figure ok, time to make a solo game and really sprint through it, on easy mode, just so I can experience the story and know what's happening!! I gathered my wits and rolled a wizard and started playing and wow. Uh. It's full crashed three times.

Tonight the latest crash was because I *checks notes* clicked to fast travel and somehow it tried to make a new marker on the fast travel icon, but also initiated the fast travel, so the game got stuck and I had to alt+f4.

So. Please continue to have fun. But also. This game has had so many bugs and crashes that I find it unplayable. I'll be back in 6 months when everything has been spoiled and the bugs ironed out.

Maybe.

[rnelodyy]

c!Dream and the rules

(/dsmp /rp, all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I think one of the most striking parts of Exile is something that I rarely see talked about, and it’s Dream’s rules. Or rather, how his rules were made to be used as justification to hurt Tommy.

The thing about exile is that, outside of the initial rule of “Don’t go back to L’Manburg”, Dream never told Tommy the rules, yet constantly operated under the assumption that Tommy already knew them, and had accepted them. The rules also changed constantly, without Tommy ever being notified until he was already in trouble.

The second time Dream told Tommy to put his armor in the hole, he didn’t tell Tommy to do that right away. Instead, the conversation went like this (slightly edited to remove stammering and unrelated dialogue).

Dream: Do you have, uh… something you wanna put on the floor here? Tommy: Yes. (drops two pieces of red concrete as Dream digs a hole) Dre-eam! You’re evil. You’re evil. Dream: Anything else, Tommy? Tommy: Nope! Dream: Oh c’mon, I know there’s something else you wanna drop down here. Tommy: (panicking slightly) No, there… (messages BBH “take this and run”, throws him the disc BBH had gifted him earlier) Um… I don’t reckon there is! (pause) Dream: Okay, are you suuuure? Tommy: YES. Dream: Alright… How ‘bout your armor, Tommy? Tommy: Well, no, this is- I actually earned this myself. Dream: I know you did! Tommy: Leave me alone. Dream: Just drop it in the hole, Tommy. Tommy: Wh- no, NO, you can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit, what do you mean?! Dream: (sing-song) Tommy… Tommy: What? (Dream hits Tommy with his axe, taking over half his health) Tommy: (screams, drops his armor) OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY!

The only rule Tommy was aware of at this time was that he wasn’t allowed to go back to L’Manburg. Dream had taken his armor the night before, but there was no indication that he expected Tommy to do this constantly. Taking his armor upon initially arriving at Logstedshire made some kind of sense, allowing Tommy to keep it would run the risk of him trying to fight his way back into L’Manburg. Taking his new, very shitty armor (seriously it was an iron chestplate and a pair of golden leggings he got from a ruined portal chest) made no sense at all, so the fact that Tommy was confused and refused to cooperate at first isn’t unexpected in the slightest.

And the thing is… Dream was aware of this fact. Throughout the conversation, he never really sounded annoyed, and was actively teasing Tommy at times. This isn’t a good thing btw, it’s a sign that he was fully aware that Tommy didn’t know what he wanted from him, and that that would create a situation where Dream could “put him in his place” as it were.

If you’re a parent, and your kid does something that’s not allowed, without knowing it’s not allowed, you don’t start off with a beating. You sit them down, calmly explain the rules to them and explain why those rules are there, then send them on their way with the knowledge that they shouldn't do it again.

This interaction wasn’t an instance of Tommy acting out and Dream correcting him. This interaction was a trap. Dream set Tommy up to fail by not telling him the rules beforehand, and when Tommy offered even the slightest bit of resistance and asked why he needed to drop his armor, Dream jumped straight to beating him. It’s a powerplay, plain and simple.

This is demonstrated again with the destruction of Logstedshire. Dream got pissed that Tommy disobeyed him by having hidden chests with gear under his house, and retaliated by destroying everything Tommy had built, destroying every item he’d collected, killing his pet and only foodsource, barring him from the Nether, banning everyone except himself from visiting, and telling him to start over from scratch after a whole lecture about how Tommy betrayed him.

Again, I wanna point out some specific lines from this lecture that illustrate my point very well.

Dream: You were lying to me! You were lying to me. Tommy: No- Why was I lying?! Dream: What do you mean, why were you lying?! Tommy: I wasn’t hi- I wasn’t- Dream: You hid things in a chest knowing they were things I wouldn’t want you to have! And you hid it in a way that way I would never find it!

Except Tommy didn’t know that. The contents of the stash were all items that Tommy had obtained previously without any issue (diamonds, emeralds, iron, ender pearls, some pickaxes, and some purely sentimental items like flowers, a jukebox, and pictures of Tubbo and L’Manburg). In fact, the vast majority of them came from Tommy’s aboveground storage, which Dream had full access to, and had looked through before!

Dream also never said Tommy wasn’t allowed to hide stuff, and there was nothing to suggest he didn’t want Tommy to keep secrets from him.

There’s been a theory floating around for a while that Dream knew about Tommy’s item stash beforehand, since it was a very strange place to dig a hole (like, right in front of the house in the center of Logstedshire itself, instead of out in the plains where the TNT wouldn’t damage any structures), and Tommy had previously forgotten to cover up the entrance ladder. While Dream hadn’t looked inside the house, he would’ve definitely heard Tommy place the block back.

If this theory is correct, then this was yet another trap. Dream knew Tommy had a hidden room, and instead of just saying “hey, I don’t want you to have a hidden stash, go put this back and fill in the room” (which would’ve still been bullshit btw), he went COMPLETELY ballistic, destroyed EVERYTHING Tommy had, and while doing it, kept admonishing Tommy for betraying him, said shit like “I thought we were friends”, and even accused him of preparing to attack Dream. Again, a powerplay.

Hell, even the exile conflict itself is this! Tommy was exiled for griefing the king’s property while being a high-ranking official in L’Manburg. Except Fundy, the then-president’s son, CONSTANTLY griefed Eret’s shit after the L’Manburg war, ranging from ripping down one of their towers to “shrink” it, filling another tower with water, and multiple elaborate plots to steal the throne from under their nose. But apparently, between all of that shit and the exile-conflict, the rules were silently changed, meaning Dream could exile Tommy for breaking a couple blocks and placing some rude signs in George’s house. Even the punishment itself was changed without warning, as Tommy went from being exiled from L’Manburg to exiled from “everywhere that’s ever been touched.”

...I was originally gonna make a different point here. I may put it in the reblogs, because I still think it’s very interesting. But, in the middle of writing this essay I had to stop because it was late, then I spent the entire next day packing up because I’m in the middle of a move. It's now the next evening, I'm sat in my new room, on my camping bed, I opened this doc because I pretty much forgot what I typed, I reread it, and then I realized… This isn’t an isolated series of events. This is a pattern for Dream.

Before Tommy first joined the server, there were only three set rules: no stealing, no griefing, and no killing people. Except by that point, those rules weren’t enforced at all. In fact, Dream broke all three at once at one point, by killing George and burning his diamond armor because he didn’t feel it was fair that George got to run around in full diamond when everyone else still had iron.

Tommy joined the server, and broke the rules like everyone else. He stole shit, broke shit, killed George for funsies… and he got exiled for it. Seriously, they dumped him in an empty snowfield for breaking rules that nobody had enforced for weeks. So technically, the Exile-arc isn’t even the first time something like this has happened to him!

During the events that would eventually spark the Disc War, Sapnap stole a bunch of Tommy’s items (including the only Netherite chestplate on the server at the time), and told him he’d only give the stuff back if Tommy helped him with a conflict he had with Ponk. Long story short, Dream tried to intervene and was killed by Tommy and Sapnap, and Dream stole Tommy’s discs to force him to apologize. He then kept the discs, and the Disc War followed. Sapnap, despite being the aggressor and arguably forcing Tommy to participate in the conflict, was never punished.

This proves not only that the rules can change whenever Dream feels like it, but that they’re arbitrarily enforced. Dream refuses to punish his friends for the same crimes he endlessly fucks over Tommy for.

L’Manburg was created in part because of the fact that the rules were unevenly enforced. Tommy, Wilbur, and later Tubbo were repeatedly killed, stolen from, imprisoned, and even held hostage for very minor crimes, while the people killing, imprisoning, kidnapping and stealing from them were able to do so without impunity.

This was also the point where Dream just started making up new rules; there was no rule against having governments on the server, or making a separate area where Dream’s rules wouldn’t apply, so Dream banned governments, and used this new rule as an excuse to kill them, take their items, and tear their land to shreds.

And that’s another thing: the punishments for breaking Dream’s rules are INCREDIBLY harsh.

Kill him non-canonically one time? Your most prized possessions will now be dangled over your head and used to hurt you for the next few months.

Make a country with different laws that doesn’t infringe on anyone’s territory, has no desire to expand, is explicitly pacifistic and open to trade negotiations? You’ll be forced to fight a war you’re in no way equipped to fight, you’ll be betrayed and murdered and have your land destroyed in front of your very eyes until you literally have no choice but to surrender.

Mildly vandalize the king’s house, which nobody else has ever been punished for? You’ll be dragged into court, exiled from your home, and subjected to weeks of abuse until you believe that all of your friends hate you and you actively want to kill yourself.

Hide some stuff in a secret chest? Your only shelter will be exploded, your pet/only food source will be killed, all your items will be destroyed, you’ll be banned from the Nether, and none of your friends will be allowed to come see you.

This is all such disproportionate retribution it’s ridiculous. It’s like punishing someone for speeding by blowing up their car with a ballistic missile.

So to sum up: Dream’s rules are arbitrarily enforced, and he can just straight up make them up on the spot if he feels like it. Sometimes, he won’t tell you a rule exists until you’ve already broken it, and you’re treated as if you broke it out of malice instead of genuine ignorance. And if you do break a rule, and he decides you have to be punished, it will always be a punishment so harsh it doesn’t even ATTEMPT to fit the crime.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty fucking corrupt and tyrannical to me.

When people say Tommy deserved exile, or made Dream spiral into villainy, or abused Dream somehow (seriously I’ve seen this take multiple times and every time it makes my brain melt) by breaking the rules, I would invite them to take a step back and ask themselves, why did that rule exist? Did Tommy know it existed? Was it enforced for everyone other than him as well? Does the punishment fit the crime?

Dream has a bad habit of making up rules, or enforcing old ones that were never enforced before, to punish those who threaten his power. None of the Dream Team were ever punished for anything, despite committing the same crimes as the L’Manburgians. That is, until they founded Mexican L’Manburg (i.e. went against Dream’s rule), at which point they were attacked by Dream and George was dethroned for “not being neutral enough.”

Tommy should’ve faced consequences for what he did. But those consequences should’ve come naturally, and been carried out by the people he hurt. Like, if Dream hadn’t intervened, griefing George’s house would’ve resulted in George griefing Tommy back in revenge. In fact, he DID do that, by turning Tommy’s entire house into granite and putting the Jump In The Cadillac picture on his front lawn.

These are natural, proportionate consequences. Exile was none of that. The Disc War was none of that. Everything that happened to L’Manburg was none of that.

Dream’s rules and how he enforces them are inherently corrupt and tyrannical. To pretend it’s anything but is disingenuous at best.

[chloegong]

that semi-AU romajuliette + benmars fic

i need a permanent place to store this after dumping a random google doc on twitter so here it is, the author writing fic for her own book because people gave me headcanons and they were too good not to make use of

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the one where juliette and marshall go out for a night out on the town and roma and ben have to go along to supervise because one time they accidentally committed arson —headcanon from twitter user @leonidasvaldz

a semi AU where Benedikt and Marshall were hanging out with Roma and Juliette in those happy months R&J had together in 1922 before everything went wrong (aka you can take this as canon because it will fit the timeline but the characters won’t have memory of this in the actual published books)

Disclaimer: i wrote this in one go inside a starbucks please expect ao3 user chloegong and not Author Chloe Gong who does multiple rounds of edits on her books

Second Disclaimer: nobody go putting this on goodreads before someone on my publishing team kicks my ass (rightfully so, i’m on deadline rn and i’m writing fanfic instead of my real contracted manuscript)

Mandatory reminder that Our Violent Ends is available for preorder with all links here :)

__

It wasn’t supposed to happen again. And yet, somehow, Benedikt was watching fire curl around the side of the building, the roof beams giving a loud groan before shuddering and caving in on itself.

He turned a look onto Roma. “Your girlfriend is a maniac.”

~

Five hours earlier...

Juliette climbed in through the window of Roma’s bedroom, careful to hug the burlap bag close to her chest as she landed on his carpet. The howling wind outside drowned out some of the clinking, but the glass bottles were still making a racket no matter how carefully she hugged the bag. She had gone full throttle for tonight; when no one was watching and her relatives were downstairs crowing over a game of cards, she had snuck around and robbed the liquor cabinets at the Scarlet mansion quite generously. Now she dropped the bag onto Roma’s floor with a huff, brushing a curl of hair out of her eyes.

“Where’s Marshall?”

Roma looked up from where he was reading, putting his book down and rising from the bed smoothly.

“Well, hello.” He strode toward her, stopping before her with his arms crossed. “Lovely to see you too. You do know it is my bedroom you just snuck into, right?”

Juliette pretended to jump in surprise, looking around wildly. “Do you jest? Oh, bother. Let me climb back out and go find my real lover. Marshall! Where are—”

With a huff that seemed to double as a laugh, Roma grabbed her wrist before she could turn around and leave through the window again.

“You’re hilarious,” he said dryly.

“I know.” Juliette reached up with her free hand, clasping her cold fingers right onto his neck. Though her palm was freezing from the bitter temperatures outside, Roma hardly flinched, he only shrugged his shoulder up to keep her hand there. He couldn’t fight back the grin. For several seconds, the two of them only stood there, looking like a pair of idiots smiling at each other.

Then his door opened.

“Are we interrupting something?”

Marshall bounded into the room, throwing the door wide open. With a horrified expression, Benedikt hurried in after him and closed the door quickly, listening for movement on the other side.

“Yes, leave the door wide open,” Benedikt said. “While any White Flower strolling the corridor can peer in and see the Scarlet heir standing there in a silly coat.”

Juliette stepped away from Roma, peering down at herself as if she had forgotten what she put on. “I didn’t think it was that silly. It’s my disguise.”

“You do look a little like a housewife,” Marshall said, considering the coat.

“A fifteen-year-old housewife?”

“I suppose that is exactly why you look a little silly.”

Juliette pulled a face, but refrained from arguing further. She was here tonight because Marshall wanted to see the new Scarlet club that opened along Thibet Road, and she had promised she could sneak him in. Unfortunately, Marshall was bad at keeping secrets, and the worst at keeping secrets from Benedikt. The moment that Benedikt heard Marshall was planning on entering Scarlet territory, he had decided that he would come in accompaniment.

Juliette supposed it was only fair. Benedikt didn’t entirely trust her, but he was nice enough. He tolerated her presence and always kept an eye over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t spotted on their territory if she poked her head in to see Roma. While Juliette didn’t know much about Marshall either, he was far warmer than his best friend, and for the first time last week, they had even enjoyed an outing with just the two of them. Juliette Cai and Marshall Seo—out and about in the border territories on a quaint evening.

That outing had ended with accidental arson though, so it was rather possible that exacerbated Benedikt’s desire to play chaperone. And of course, if Benedikt was coming along, Roma wanted to tag along too.

The arson was hardly their fault, Juliette and Marshall had maintained when the Montagovs asked questions. What kind of person left a stack of hay out beside a bar? And what kind of hay was that easily flammable just from accidentally whacking one of the lanterns on the awning onto the stack?

“All right.” Juliette hauled the bag up again. “Are we ready to sneak onto Scarlet territory?”

“Absolutely not,” Benedikt muttered, strolling past her for Roma’s window. “But is that going to stop either of you?”

Before anyone could answer him, Benedikt had already hopped the small gap between windows, climbing into their neighboring building for their route out unspotted.

“Great!” Juliette said. She passed the bag to Roma so he could do the carrying. What was the point of converting a rival gang enemy into a lover if not to lug around her heavy things? “Glad we’re all so enthusiastic.”

Roma sighed, clambering onto his sill and making the climb too. “The things I do for you, dorogaya.”

Marshall hurried after him. “I would argue you’re actually doing this for me, dearest Roma!”

With a snort, Juliette climbed out last, and pulled the window after her.

~

The Scarlet club had been a bust. Of course, Benedikt had figured that would be the case from the get-go, especially if they were sneaking in at such a late hour to avoid being seen by anyone important in the Scarlet Gang. At least Juliette had provided good alcohol, and now he squinted at the label of the wine bottle under the street lamps while they walked, taking the smaller main roads along the periphery of the city.

Up ahead, Roma and Juliette were whispering to each other, though they didn’t sound like they were talking in full sentences. Those two always communicated in looks and gestures, swapping languages whenever they felt like it and ending up with some incoherent tangle of words that no one else could comprehend.

“Is there anything left in that?”

Benedikt glanced to his side, shaking the bottle to show Marshall. “One last swig. All yours.”

Marshall took the bottle. He put it to his lips and swung up, his head tipped to the sky and the line of his throat bared to the night. Benedikt shivered suddenly, a line of goosebumps rising at the back of his neck. The season had turned cold and the wind that blew onto his face was biting. He wrote off his shudder to the chill, to the temperature dropping with the longer they spent outside at such an hour.

Suddenly, Marshall was squinting into the distance. “Hey.” His call summoned Roma and Juliette’s attention from ahead, who both turned around to see what the matter was.

Marshall pointed to the dark shape off the end of the road. “Isn’t that the abandoned factory we lost to the Scarlets?”

“Is it?” Juliette asked, a sudden glee in her face.

“Why would you say that?” Roma bemoaned. He didn’t bother trying to stop her as Juliette hurried ahead, eager to explore the factory. “Look what you’ve done.”

But Marshall was wearing a similar expression, his eyes scanning the factory as they approached closer and closer. Wordlessly, he handed the bottle back to Benedikt, and though Benedikt’s head was spinning from the drink, he still recognized the exact face that Marshall made before he was going to get himself into trouble.

“Mars—”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he insisted, tipping his chin forward. Juliette had disappeared into the factory. “You two be look-out. We wouldn’t want someone finding us here, right?”

Benedikt scarcely had a second to argue back. Marshall was already hurrying off.

~

Inside the factory, Juliette trailed her hands along the dark walls, her eyes wide. The machines looked strange in the moonlight, but stranger while sitting so idle. She was used to seeing rows and rows of workers in the daytime, trailing after her father as he ran inspections on the work of their trade partners. It might have been the wine in her system, but everything seemed to sway: sitting so inactive in movement that her eyes were imagining movement.

“Pst.”

Juliette almost jumped out of her skin.

“Christ,” she muttered, whirling around with a hand on her heart. Marshall slunk out from the shadows, both his hands in his pockets. “You gave me a fright.”

“Me? Frightening?” Marshall picked up a strange object on the table, inspected it for several seconds, then set it back down. “I am the least frightening person on the planet.”

“Yes, well, when it’s so dark, even a cuddly teddy bear would be terrifying.” Juliette felt around her dress. She thought she had tucked her lighter in here somewhere. There were little pockets sewn around the sleeves and armholes that she kept all her weapons, though if anyone asked, she would say she had the ability to materialize them out of thin air.

“Do you scream often at teddy bears?”

“Only when they sneak up on me.”

“I don’t see you screaming at Roma.”

“He gets a special pass. He’s only a teddy bear on the inside.”

Marshall snorted. He leaned down, trying to read the paper taped down to the table. At last, Juliette found her lighter—it was actually in her sock—and she brought it close, thumbing down the sparkwheel for a flame.

“Do not touch—for demolishing,” Marshall read under the new light. “Are the Scarlets going to build something new here?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Juliette replied. “My father doesn’t include me in his business meetings yet.”

“Hmm.” The shadows of the factory danced. Juliette thought she saw someone darting in her periphery, and she whirled around, but it was only Marshall’s shadow. Unfortunately, she had scared Marshall with her movement, and he bumped into her, asking, “What? What is it?”

The lighter flew out of her hands, landing on the paper.

“Nothing, nothing!” Juliette assured. “I was seeing things.”

But Marshall wasn’t convinced. He swiveled around. Peered hard into a corner. “Was it ghosts? I know this city has ghosts. All that death creates so many ghosts.”

Juliette tried to look where he was looking. She couldn’t see anything except the dark.

“There is no such thing as ghosts.”

“Just last week, I felt something walk by me and then there was no one when I looked. I swear to you, if it wasn’t ghosts then I—” Marshall stopped suddenly, turning around to look at the table. “Uh… is that supposed to happen?”

Juliette whirled around too. The whole table was on fire. “Oh, God.”

With a sudden pop, the fire sprung up and licked up to the walls. There had to be something sprayed inside the factory already to prepare for demolition, or else the flames would not be traveling with such intensive speed.

“Marshall,” Juliette said simply.

“Yes?”

She looked at him. “When the Montagovs ask, we blame the factory and say we have no idea what happened. Run!”

~

Benedikt and Roma kept watch in relative silence. Benedikt’s head was spinning, and his cousin looked like his head was doing the same if his swaying was any indication. Roma was humming softly under his breath, toeing the grass that grew around the abandoned factory.

Then, there was a sudden sound from inside, and the first tendrils of flames blew out from the topmost windows.

“Roma,” Benedikt said plainly. “I’m willing to bet my life savings that Juliette Cai just committed arson.”

Roma tilted his head up, his jaw dropping agape. At first, he could only stare at the growing fire, eating up the roof beams. Then, he said: “To be fair, it could have been Marshall.”

Benedikt threw his arms into the air. “Who looks more like the arson type, Juliette or Marshall?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“The answer was Juliette!”

Benedikt pinched the bridge of his nose. He was rapidly growing concerned, but before he could suggest they go in to search for the two, Juliette and Marshall ran out from the factory—laughing. The factory was burning down, and they were laughing, grasping at each other and spinning in circles right in front of the factory. They looked a sight: seconds away from collapsing atop of each other in utter delirium.

Benedikt turned to Roma. “Your girlfriend is a maniac.”

Roma was struggling to hold back his laugh watching her with Marshall. “I think she’s magnificent.”

Marshall stumbled, and Juliette squealed, reaching out to grab his arm before he could trip and land flat on his face. Benedikt almost—almost—let a smile slip. Before Roma could sight it and tease him for enjoying himself after all, he cleared his throat.

“What happened?” he bellowed.

“Faulty factory!” Marshall called back.

Benedikt shook his head, turning on his heel. They needed to get out of here before someone reported the fire.

“Come on!” he called back to the three. “Let’s go before the Municipal Police arrive.”

Upon Benedikt’s summons, Marshall left Juliette’s side and hurried to catch up. He slowed to a stroll once he was beside Benedikt, but Benedikt could feel Marshall watching him.

“What?” Benedikt asked. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure his cousin was following too. Thankfully he was, though it was mostly Juliette hauling him along, their hands clasped together and swinging while Roma kept looking at the fire.

“I think you enjoyed yourself,” Marshall replied smugly. “After all that complaining about sneaking into Scarlet territory.”

Benedikt reached out and rapped his knuckles on Marshall’s skull. With a shriek, Marshall darted ahead.

“You want me to enjoy myself?” Benedikt shouted after him, breaking into a run too. “Come back then! Let me throttle you!”

FIN.

[yesimwriting]

Hello! Your Nikolai fic tranquility is so beautiful! Can you write more for Nikolai? Maybe the opposite with reader having a nightmare? Or whatever you want just please give me more! If you have a tagging list I'd love to be included btw :)

A/n hii!! first off,, thank you! i was a little nervous about writing him for the first time,, but i love him so much (even though i love a good villain/morally grey character in love i think nikolai would probably make the least toxic bf in the grishaverse lol)

you gave me a little too much freedom here lol bc i have so many ideas for him!! lowkey might need to give him a longer fic/series soon when i catch up with requests!! WOW THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND FOR WHAT

Summary: Reader is a handmaid who has grown up assisting Nikolai. Through the years, the two have developed a special relationship that most definitely breaks royal protocol--they’re best friends and rivals on a good day, and dangerously close to being something more the second either of them is remotely upset or extremely happy. Learning about the fact that Nikolai was almost engaged to Alina (a good friend of yours) and being reminded of the fact that as royalty Nikolai has many prospects (both serious women worthy of his title and women only suitable for trysts meant to relieve tension) has you both realizing something you should have years ago.

Word count: 31210

Warnings: disclaimer--may not be the most cannon thing ever,, but i wanted the ‘child of the help competes and falls in love with the child of royalty’ energy okay?? Lol

I could do a whole blurb series with this dynamic nikolai x reader,, like just stories of them growing up together and randomly realizing they might like each other romantically?? I probably shouldn’t rn but i ADORE this trope.

--

The perfection of the room is disappointing. Idle hands, idle thoughts--so I work to smooth out a perfect duvet. Still, the thoughts come--aggressive and unavoidable. It’s silly, maybe even sad, to feel possessive over something that’s never been yours, something that could never be yours, but the harder I fight off the feeling the stronger it grows. Jealousy is a weed growing quickly in my chest, vile roots planted firmly in my heart.

Normally my favorite part of the day would be waiting for Nikolai to return to his room in the palace after dinner and his evening duties. He’s always a bit softer in the evenings, during my last check-in of the day. I’m normally thrilled to be done organizing his room early because that means the second he arrives there will be no distraction. Most evenings, he’ll find me perched in the seat by his bed, reading. He’ll mock-scold me for daring to defy his orders and reading ahead from the book we both take turns reading aloud from each night. He then warns me that I better react exactly the way I did when I first read it or else. That threat is always followed by a gentle laugh.

Tonight I’m in no mood for our nightly banter or even our nightly reading. My mother had warned me of the dangers of getting too comfortable with the royal family. I should have heeded that warning when she first gave it to me, the morning she found Nikolai and I fast asleep on a couch in the library as children. The palace likes to bring up the children of the staff by training them to attend to the next generation of royals. It makes the staff more efficient, a lifetime of knowing what someone wants makes you better for them. It also creates some level of connection, making betrayal a little less likely. Nikolai and I might have taken it farther than most. But now I want a reminder of the way we’re supposed to be--maybe if I detach now the bleeding of my heart won’t kill me. That has to remain secret, because if I explain it to Nikolai something in me will break. The one line between us will be crossed.

This will be the sixth secret I’ve kept from Nikolai in my entire life.

--

The secrets:

I don’t know why I was picked for Nikolai. I wasn’t particularly skilled, but still, the day came when my mother was told that I now worked directly for the Lantsov boy. It’s an honor, a true one, but my mother had been a little nervous. To whom much is given, much is expected--and I detested Nikolai. Not for being a prince, but for being a prince who thought girls couldn’t race or fight.

The day my mother came looking for me because I never showed up for dinner and she found Nikolai and I attempting to fight in the way only a ten-year-old girl and eleven-year-old boy would, she had looked truly mortified. Nikolai had only laughed, either oblivious to my mother’s embarrassment or uncaring about it. He had then hugged me--an expression of care that had left me reeling. I saw him more as a rival than someone to tend to, but in that moment I saw him as a friend. Even more so when he told me he didn’t want me to go yet and that he was upset that so much of the day had been wasted by studies that kept him with boring people and away from me. And then he invited me to his lessons--my mother was quick to attempt to decline politely, but the desires of a prince at any age outweigh that of a mother.

After that, everyone kind of just stopped trying to remind us of our propriety. The tutor at first was concerned about my presence, but Nikolai remained stubborn. I wasn’t a big enough deal to cause an argument, so I began to attend lessons with him almost every day, only staying away when my mother needed aid with laundry or cleaning. His parents must have been somewhat aware of our friendship, but they must have been oblivious to our closeness because it was never mentioned.

My mother’s worry began to ease, she’d even started to take some pride when I’d come to our room proudly proclaiming that I scored two marks higher than Nikolai. She did, however, warn that it might be more tactful to let him score higher.

The comment was casual, just a suggestion, but it left me feeling wrong. It was the first time since we met that I had thought about our different statuses. I didn’t tell him--and that was the first secret I ever kept from him.

As we grew, we traded physical competition for academic rivalry, trying to best each other in both lessons and games of strategy like chess and cards. But with growing comes responsibility. Nikolai started to have obligations that were meant to be private. I couldn’t follow him at all times. But he’d always come back from locked door meetings grinning like he carried schoolyard gossip instead of government secrets. He shared everything with me, even when I playfully warned against it.

He’d always step closer when I teased that perhaps he shouldn’t tell me everything. And then he’d say, “If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone--and I don’t want to live in a world like that.” Often, he’d give my hand a light squeeze before moving on like he had not said anything intimate.

On a day in which Nikolai was in one of those meetings, I became a woman. When I first saw the blood, I had been horrified--but my mother was quick to explain that it was natural. She said that I was now a woman, a wonderful thing, really--but a thing that came with obligations. She told me that I could no longer have the impromptu ‘sleepovers’ with Nikolai unless he ordered it. I told her he’s never ordered me to do anything for him.

She didn’t ease, something in her had started to become nervous again. My mother had recently started to act the way she did when Nikolai and I first became friends. I didn’t want to fall asleep in Nikolai’s bed while I was bleeding, but I didn’t want to never have another sleepover with him again. Especially not when she refused to explain why being a woman changed so much.

I had decided to avoid Nikolai as much as possible until the sting of my mother’s new rule faded. Unfortunately, that night Nikolai was extra talkative--excited as he insisted I stay for a little longer. Soon, I found his familiar good naturedness melting away my nerves and before I knew it I was laughing in the middle of the night. When my eyelids started to feel heavy, I had moved from the chair, ready to head back to my room.

Nikolai had looked at me oddly before he asked why would I leave so late when it would be easier for me to just sleepover? It was an innocent question, he did not know about my change and I had wanted to keep it that way.

I tried playing coy, but Nikolai has always had a talent for getting around my better judgement. I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but I remember him standing in front of me. It was the first time I noticed how much had actually changed over the years--he was now taller than me for the first time in his life. His hair had started to grow a little longer, golden and soft-looking--and his face seemed much more angular. But he had not lost his boyish charm.

“Y/n?” My name fell softly from his lips, and that was the first time I had ever noted the fullness of them. I didn’t understand why I considered that something worth noting. “Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

Perhaps I had been a little curt--nerves and hormones had left me not feeling like myself. I didn’t tell him about the bleeding, I couldn’t. That became the second secret I kept from him--but I did tell him that my mother had told me I was a woman now, and that women can’t have sleepovers. Not with those of the opposite gender. I made no effort to hide my confusion because I expected him to be as perplexed as I was. But he was not confused--in fact, he had the audacity to laugh. My face flushed, but I did not know why.

“Why is that funny?” Maybe he thought I was still too much of a child to be considered a woman. I assumed it a fair assumption, I had not grown the way he had--my shoulders had not become sturdier and I had not become particularly broader. Still, I would rather melt into the floor than tell him about the reason my mother now considered me a woman. “My mother did say that, and I don’t know what being a ‘woman’ has to do with staying in your room at night.” Something strange had crossed over his features then, something much more brooding than I was used to.

I had blinked at him as unexplained nerves pooled in my stomach. Perhaps that look would have been enough to keep me silent if he had managed to not grin. That self-assured grin that had always challenged me. “Well since you know everything about my mother now, maybe you can tell me why she’s been acting strange. She’s starting to act the way she did when we first became friends.” I expected him to at least pretend to be worried. Perhaps his parents had spoken to her and had mentioned wanting our friendship to end. But his grin had only grown. Pride left me angry. “She did say that I could stay if you ordered it--but I’m glad you’ve never ordered me to do anything, so I can leave right now because you’re acting as odd as her. I don’t understand what you could find funny about our friendship ending.”

He had stopped me from storming out of his room by placing one hand on the wall between me and the door. “Y/n, don’t be cross--I’ll explain it all, I promise.” Angry pride made me want to storm away from him, but curiosity and something unknown and warm kept me in place. “Do you remember when we read the play about the rival families, how the two main characters had kissed?”

I remembered that part of the play especially well. The concept of kissing so casually, outside of marriage, had been jarring to me. “Yes.”

“Now that we’re older, your mother must be worried that we might do that.” He paused before leaning against the arm he placed on the wall to keep me from leaving a little more. “Kiss.”

The clarification was not needed--in that brief pause, I had allowed myself to imagine no distance between our lips. Something in me burned with embarrassment when I realized that some part of me found the thought appealing. The only thing I wanted in that moment was assurance that Nikolai would never know I felt that. That was my third secret, and the weight of it was heavy against my chest.

Still, though, all of my confusion had not yet left. “Is there much harm in a kiss?”

The question had left an odd smile on his lips. “There’s potential harm in what it could lead to for the woman, but not so much for the man.” He exhaled slowly as my face tensed. He could always read me too well because he was quick to add, “What it could lead to isn’t a bad thing, it’s meant to be pleasurable, but it’s serious.” I did not understand, but a part of me was starting to grow okay with that. Nikolai’s voice had started to become lower than ever, and his gaze remained tense. Perhaps if I accepted the confusion for now, things could go back to normal. If the conversation ended, I could stop thinking of his lips and his hands and what it would mean for them to touch me. “It’s considered a vice, like drinking or gambling.” The additional comment helped more than it should have. A vice--not scary and not painful, but not something to indulge in. That’s enough explanation for now. “If you want to know, I won’t deny you.”

I appreciated the offer tremendously. The vice that comes after kissing is clearly something that’s been intentionally kept from me. It’s something he was privy to that I was not, and he offered it to me like so much else. But if knowledge that my mother feared us kissing made me think of his lips, then I doubted I could handle knowing what comes after kissing.

“I’ll let you know when I want to know, but I appreciate the offer.” It felt like a fair response. His snarky grin came back immediately. Irritation rooted itself in my stomach. I hated not knowing more than him for once, but I still had one question I could not relinquish. “But what does that vice have to do with orders?”

At that, his smugness faltered. “It’s not unheard of, for princes and handmaids--for a prince to obligate a handmaid in order to fulfill his vice. Though many handmaids fill the vice of their own will for benefits.

The explanation left him like a confession. I didn’t understand his hesitance--it’s not like he’d ever make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Even when I worked, he was hesitant to ask me to go out of my way to bring him a glass of water. And I couldn’t imagine gaining anything from offering Nikolai something I didn’t really understand. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my life had more privileges than many palace servants. “Oh.”

His eyes hardened. “You know I’d never--”

“I know.” It was finally easy to smile again. “I never thought otherwise.” Something in him seemed to ease at that, his eyes went from hard to warm in less than a second.

I had no more questions for him and I was also no longer a flight risk, but Nikolai did not move. He did not step back to create a more appropriate distance and he did not drop his arm. His gaze, however, did move--dropping downwards, and slightly away from my eyes. I did the same, my eyes falling to his lips.

The silence between us began to make me feel like something in me was in danger of overflowing. “Then I guess my mother is once again worrying for no reason.” Strangely, I did not feel the need to feel embarrassed about staring at his lips. “Because I would never particularly want to kiss you, Nikolai Lantsov.”

The comment was meant to be teasing, a joke to clear away unknown tension. I should have known better than to challenge his pride because he instinctually moved his hand off the wall and beneath my chin. I did not flinch when he tilted my head upwards slightly with his fingers. “I could get you to want to kiss me if I wanted to.”

Three secrets in one night. I did not think I could bear a fourth one. “Hm…” The ground we treaded on felt unstable, but something in me trusted Nikolai to not let me falter. “I should--I should go before I give my mother anymore cause to worry.”

His fingers had brushed down my chin easily as he dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

And that he did. The days passed without mention of the last time he asked me to sleepover. It was as if nothing had changed except now I found myself noting things I most definitely did not want to note. These didn’t feel like individual secrets because it felt easy to group each admirational thought into one secret. Soon, that became my new normal--easy banter, easy touches of hands, and easy yet silent admirations of his beauty.

I never wandered too hard about what the vice that kissing can lead to entailed. I didn't particularly want to know, but knowing that I could ask Nikolai at any time brought a sense of security to me. But besides that, I never thought of that conversation until the day I was asked to look for Nikolai because he was late for dinner.

That in itself was odd, most of the time when Nikolai was late it was because he was with you. I checked his room, two other rooms he was known to frequent, and then finally the library. First, I noticed a handmaid two years older than me. I was finally at an age when one begins to compare their beauty to those around them, and I recognized the girl as gorgeous. She was better endowed than me, physically, and she always seemed fun. And then I noticed Nikolai, standing closer to her than I’ve ever seen him stand to anyone. His expression was serious as the girl giggled.

Nikolai’s expression shifted from tense to shocked when he saw me. “Y/n.”

It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what I had interrupted. Guilt and jealousy were quick to twist in my stomach. “Dinner--your parents sent me to look for you.”

He was quick to walk around the girl, who was quick to glare at me. I attempted to disappear down the hall after mumbling a quick apology, but Nikolai was faster than me.

“Y/n,” he did not hesitate to grab my wrist.

It shouldn’t have irked me the way it did, after all, neither of us had ever really hesitated to touch each other. I had always reached for him when I wanted him, and he had done the same. But the thought of the same hands that touched the most beautiful girl I had ever seen on me left me bitter in a way I didn’t understand.

Still, I pushed through all of that. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, your mother asked me to look for you because she assumed you’d be with me when you were late to dinner. I didn’t think that there’d be--”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The words came out flat as his eyes took on the same quality they did the night he explained my mother’s concern to me. “Valaria wishes there was something to interrupt, but there wasn’t.”

Oh. I refused to let the correction inflate me. “Would you like me to not come to your room tonight?”

The offer felt awkward to make. “No,” the answer came quickly, “In fact, go there now--I want to see you right after dinner. I’ve missed you today.” The instruction left my face feeling warm. “We could read an extra chapter of our book if you’d like.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Yes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

True to his word, Nikolai was quick to return to his room. He had come back to me eagerly, going out of his way to squeeze my shoulder as he entered the room.

I opened the book to the chapter we had left off on, but before I could start reading, Nikolai stopped me. “Sit next to me?”

The question came softly. It had been some time since we sat next to each other on his bed. Still, I moved off of the chair and to his bed. Something in me longed for the familiar closeness of childhood. I allowed him to play with my fingers as I read.

“You know you could take one night off from me if you wanted to.” The admission left me softly, part of unsure if he was still paying attention to my words. “She was pretty, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you told me you wanted me to not come tonight.”

Nikolai exhaled easily, squeezing my fingers once. “I said I wanted to see you and I meant it.”

It took all of my energy to push past the way his words made my stomach leap. “In general, if you ever--”

Nikolai cut me off by laying his head on my lap the way he used to. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” It was the first time in years that he spoke to me in a way that acknowledged his authority. “Keep reading please.”

And that was the last time we had ever mentioned other handmaids in that context. The fifth secret I ever kept from him was the way I worried that one day that would change.

--

The door creaks open while I’m in the middle of fluffing an already pristine pillow. Nikolai steps into the room, but I continue to work.

“Darling,” he breathes too easily, “Today has been painful.” I straighten, looking at him as casually as I can manage. “And now I have to deal with you being mad at me.”

Damn him and his ability to read me with one look. “I’m not mad.”

“You know you can’t lie to me,” he sighs, stepping forward, “We’ve known each other too long for that.”

I press my lips together, irrational anger pushing itself into me at an odd angle. “We’ve also known each other too long to keep secrets.”

His eyebrows draw together, a look so quizzical I’m reminded of our schooling days. “What secrets have I kept from you?”

Mentioning that had been a mistake. I exhale as flatly as possible. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” My dismissal only has Nikolai’s expression hardening. I drop my gaze. “Unless you need something, I’m retiring my services for the evening.”

I take a reluctant step towards the door, eyes attached to the floor. “Y/n,” his voice is gentle. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Please let that be at least somewhat believable. “I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself in the morning.” I take another step, a little more assured. Nikolai’s hand is on my shoulder before I can escape. “Nikolai--”

“Y/n,” his voice is that of velvet, “I can’t have you be mad at me. Not now.”

Sighing, I meet his gaze. The tiredness I see behind his eyes is almost enough to chase away my nerve. What I’d give to be able to melt into our familiar routine. “Then you should have told me you were almost engaged to a literal Saint--the same literal Saint who’s one of my closest friends.”

Nikolai’s expression shifts as his hand drops from my shoulder slowly, fingers brushing down my arm before he finally intertwines our fingers. I bite my tongue to avoid squeezing his hand, but I don’t move to separate us either. He studies me silently, eyebrows drawn together. The longer he stares, the more whatever turmoil he’s experiencing seems to dissipate. After a minute of silence, I can read his expression perfectly. His lips are pressed together in that coy way--the way he only looks when he’s suppressing a smile.

I loathe him for it. “Nikolai Lantsov, don’t you dare laugh--not after what you did. Do you have any idea what it felt like to have Alina casually mention the fact that you almost married her casually? Like that was common knowledge to everyone but me?”

My words break away the last of his self control. He grins, flashing his annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to want nothing more than to see you and then you let me believe something may actually be wrong when the only issue is your jealousy?”

The amusement in his tone is like poison to me. I find the strength to jerk my hand away from him. “I am not jealous.” He laughs; I am further enraged. “I am not.” The genuineness of my anger must finally register on some level, because he tries to suppress his smile. “I have every right to be mad at my best friend for not telling me that he was almost married.”

“We didn’t exactly come close,” he manages, expression still much too light for my taste. “I’m glad for Alina’s sake, I’m not sure being a Saint would be enough to protect her.”

He is infuriating. “I’m not sure anything you have will be enough to protect you.”

Something in his gaze shifts, softening the tilt of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that.”

I don’t know what I expected from him--but not this. I thought he’d be at least somewhat apologetic. “You should have told me.”

“I would have if I felt it was significant.”

“I’m your best friend--your marriage is significant to me. And even though it’s not like you’re engaged to her right now, you should have told me. You know I talk to Alina all the time.”

He sighs once, a hint of apology threatening to ghost over his eyes. “If I knew not knowing would have upset you so much I would have told you. I was--I was just so excited to be around you again I didn’t see much relevance in anything that didn’t involve you.”

The intensity that Nikolai regards me with is enough to wither all of my fury. But without my anger, I am left spiraling in emotion that I’ve been pushing against for years. My mother’s warning about relationships with those above us rings in my ears--sharp and headache inducing. I am still when he reaches for my hand again, but I do no allow myself to return the gentle squeeze of his fingers.

“I’m not sure much outside of you has significance.” He’s giving me a look I am familiar with. A look he often uses to chase away my anger.

Without my anger, I have nothing to keep me from melting into him, indulging in his presence fully. It’s so easy with him and I blinded myself to the danger of that. He may not be marrying Alina, but one day he will marry someone. A person worthy of his status--and what would I be left doing? Washing their laundry? Tearing up when I dusted the library and came across a book we had read together? Enough damage has already been done--I need to cut myself with this blade now in hopes of making sure I can one day recover.

He will get married one day, and nothing will be the same. And that’s a good thing--he deserves the love of a princess or queen. I want his happiness, even if it’s not with me. But some vindictive part of me hopes that some part of him will miss me. That some part of him will be dulled without me.

I’m a fool--he will remember me as the handmaid from his youth. The girl who made him laugh once or twice before he grew up. I force my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t win me over with words every time.” I need to get out of here before he says something that makes me lose all resolve. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be here to prepare you for breakfast.”

“Y/n.”

I step forward, refusing to look at him. “Goodnight.”

He sighs, his hand quick to grab my arm. Before I can question him I feel myself pulled back. I expect him to pull me just close enough so that I have to meet his gaze. He continues, pulling me sharply before placing a quick hand on my shoulder, forcing me down. My back hits his bed.

I sit up as soon as the reality of what just happened seeps into my mind. “Nikolai, what in the Saints--”

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”

I scoff, thoughts of escaping him put on hold by the principle of pride. Fine. I’ll beat him one last time, and then I’ll let us separate. I shove him. He laughs--of course this is funny to him. He got to keep fighting past the age of about eleven. His laughter adds to my anger, I move to shove him again, but he catches my wrist easily. I struggle against his hold, shoving him a third time with my still free hand. He pushes me slightly. That’s all it takes to unleash familiar habits.

Our small fight is hardly fair. He has all the advantage--more training, and he’s standing above me. When I finally make a move that might give me some success, Nikolai leans forward. He practically tackles me, his weight forcing me flat against the bed.

I move an arm, ready to push him off of me. Nikolai snags my wrists, holding them above my head. “This means I win.” I roll my eyes, anger returning.

“Let me go.”

He sighs tiredly, but the smugness radiating off of him is suffocating. “Admit that you were jealous.”

There are a lot of things I am willing to do for him--but never that. I cannot give him the one separation I still have. “I wasn’t.”

“Then why are you mad?”

I press my lips together. “I told you--”

“Do you really think you could lie to me?”

“You don’t know me that well.”

Nikolai moves his freehand, touching my chin as a way to ask me to look at him. I meet his gaze hesitantly. “Yes, I do, and that’s never bothered you before but it does now.”

Maybe this is a conversation better had bluntly. “It bothers me now because you’re too old to hold onto the daughter of a palace handmaid and I’m too old to pretend that our different statuses don’t matter.”

“Y/n,” he breathes, “Nothing’s changed. Status didn’t matter to me when we were children, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“You can afford to say things like that.”

“What good is my title if it means I can’t,” he pauses, eyes hesitant, “If I can’t keep things the same between us?”

I smile, the sadness of the look weighs on me and I can’t even see it. “Nikolai, you always knew things would change.”

“No, I--”

“You can’t tell me you think your future wife would like you having such a close relationship with a handmaid.” I press my lips together. “One day you’ll fall in love and get married and you’ll want me to leave your bedchamber as soon as dinner is over because you’ll be eager to spend time with your wife.” His gaze hardens. “And that’s not a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thi--”

The last syllable of my sentence dies in my throat. Nikolai, who must be possessed by something, leans down and presses his lips against mine. I beg myself to resist, but his gentleness is everything I’ve ever wanted. He releases my hands in favor of holding my face. That’s all it takes--my hands move without my permission, into his hair--pulling him closer to me. What am I doing? I’m insane. Placing my hands on his chest cautiously, I push just slightly. He’s quick to obey, pulling away while allowing his teeth to brush against my bottom lip.

I gape at him--taking in his now slightly swollen lips. “Nikolai.” He can’t do this to me. We’re friends. Despite the fact that I’ve loved him more than I should--we’re friends. “You’re being extremely unfair.”

He draws his eyebrows together, sitting up quickly and moving off of me. “I’m being unfair? I have spent my entire life loving y--”

I sit up, furious in a new way. “You have not!” This is the dumbest I have ever been. I move to stand, still feeling the softness of his lips against mine.

“Your tooth fell out.” The sharpness of his words forces me to still.

“What?”

I can’t bring myself to turn and look at him, but I’ve always been able to feel any heaviness he bears. The weight of it leaves little room for air in my lungs. “You were ten. I told you ‘girls couldn’t fight’ so you punched me in the face. That was the first time we ever fought--I didn’t mean to hit you in the face, but you moved. You moved and I hit you in the mouth and your last baby tooth fell out. I expected you to cry or get angry, but you just blinked at me and laughed. You were happy to lose your last baby tooth because it meant you were grown up. And then you smiled and asked me if you looked older. If anything, the gap in your smile made you look younger but I told you that you looked like a grown-up because I wanted you to keep smiling. Because your smile made me feel like I won something.” I turn on my heels, but I cannot meet his gaze. “That was the moment I fell in love with you--so don’t tell me I haven’t spent my entire life loving you.”

The weight of his words is harder to survive against than the heaviness of his feelings. “Nikolai, you know we can’t ever be together--”

“Why not?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I manage, voice low, “You almost married the Sun Summoner--”

“That was political--”

“Exactly, your marriage is meant to be political, and if it happens to be out of love--which is what I hope you get, because it is what you deserve--it will be to someone of status.”

Nikolai stands, the movement is that of a king, not the boy I know. “I do not want status or to love someone else--I want you.”

“I can’t take that from you--”

“You can’t take anything from me because I’ve already given it all to you.”

I press my lips together, heart tearing for him. “I love you too much to ruin you.”

My words seem to snap something in him because his eyes darken, the way he watches me adjusting accordingly. “You can’t ruin something that’s always been yours.”

I let myself smile. At him. At his words. At the foolish hope the child in me has clung to after all of these years. I reach for him thoughtlessly, because I have the right to. Because I’ve always had the right to. He’s quick to respond, kissing me with much more security than before.

This time, he pulls away of his own regard. “You still haven’t admitted that you were jealous.”

His teasing smugness isn’t as sour to me anymore. “I wasn’t.”

Nikolai pulls me towards him easily, lips threatening to brush against me, warm breath against my face. “Are you sure, darling? You were awfully quick to claim what’s yours.”

I roll my eyes, grinning so widely I’m surprised my face doesn’t yet hurt. “You’re the one that fell for a ten-year-old girl with a bloody mouth.”

When he smiles back at me, he places a hand on my hip, pulling me forward slightly. “That I did.” He pulls me forward slightly. "Does this mean you can sleep in here again?"

"If anything, this is more reason for me to sleep in another room." He rolls his eyes, pulling me even closer. "But I won't tell if you don't."

Nikolai leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Deal."

tags: @deardiarystuff @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[jacqcrisis]

Idea time in the same universe as Left Turn: Farmer’s son back in the early stages of humanity, who doesn’t know he’s a witch cause him mom died and his dad is not, keeps seeing something at the far end of their fields. Every few months, one of their sheep goes missing, to the point its becoming a problem, but their livestock dog isn’t alerting at night. They look for the predator or even just the remains, but nothing is found for a long time.

Until one morning, the son finds the scraps of an old ewe that they lost, just some of its leg completely shorn of its wool. Nothing else is left, no evidence of bone or offal, just the ant covered limb with a chunk taken out of it. The locals are talking about about the body of a recently deceased elder having gone missing from the family’s hut, a fight breaking out between the people in the village as to who is responsible.

It’s another few months later, the son staring out into the fields as he practices powers he knows to keep secret that he sees the dog running, whining and crying uncharacteristically as she hides behind the homestead. Out past the slumbering sheep, someone or something moves, stalks silently through the animals. It looks like a person, two legs and two arms, but in the bright full moonlight, it’s clear this long lanky thing is anything but. 

He must smell the boy, his perusing of the sheep halting as he straightens, uncanny and frightening at his eyes shine and strange teeth glint on the side of his face. The son knows he should call out, raise the alarm, terrified beyond measure and yet....

Curious. He’s seen strange creatures like this before, masquerading in the village when he and his father go to town to trade goods. No one ever seems to notice them, but the son does, always wanting to speak to one, but never getting the chance. Tonight, that changes. 

After a cautious approach, the creature suspicious and asking why the boy isn’t yelling and the farmer’s son asking is he’s the one who took the deceased elder. The creature admits, yes, that was him and when the son asks why, he goes on to explain animals die, and other animals eat them when they do, and who is he to disrupt that order. Thought he didn’t realize a witch lived here, otherwise he wouldn’t have broken the accord between their two people.

The boy is stunned, taken aback, This thing knows what he is? Knows about people like him? He can’t let this opportunity slip by.

After a conversation, a deal is struck. He’ll help this creature hunt, find suitable food, so long as the creature tells him about the world he’s apart of but has never known. The creature agrees, more so out of boredom and the promise of another pair of hands getting him fed than any altruism. 

So it goes, for months, spending long nights together, the creature telling him about all he should’ve learned from his late mother, overseeing him practice his magic, and just generally listening to the schism he feels around everyone else. The boy helps him hunt, more safely take bodies of deceased villagers, better his living situation and his clothing in time for winter, and offers companionship a newly adult changeling rarely has.

It's a song and dance as old as time. Two people alike and bonded in circumstance finding something unique and wonderful in the other. Impossible, perhaps. Unexpected, certainly.

But not all good things last and I don't know if I'd like this more to end tragically when the farmer and the village find the creature or if farmer's son saves them with his magic and they escape into the night. Probably the latter cause I'm a sap, but eh, it's a fun idea either way.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards

(Technoblade x Reader) link to Pt. II :)

Picking up a bundle of wood you let out a soft breath, you watched as it escaped out your lips in front of you in a small cloud. Trudging through the snow you made your way back to your house, well it wasn’t really your house. A few months ago you ran into Technoblade while he was searching for a new home far away from this place called L’manburg; he told you he was in retirement and was surprised to find another person all the way out here. As a wandering adventurer, you eventually won him over with your charm, wit, and humor.

That was a joke of course.

You both started a mutual trade agreement, on your way back from the adventures you’d always take a pit stop at his place so he could see if you had anything worth trading. It started slow, he realized you would come back very late at night, and very weary. He offered you to stay the night once, then once turned into twice and before you knew it you began to stay at his place after every late-night adventure. As you spent more time together he helped you become a better fighter, and farmer and you helped him learn social skills and how to cook food that wasn’t steak.

He never told you about his time in the country of L’manburg or why he was in retirement in the first place but you didn’t mind. Everyone has their secrets and even if both of you were considered friends at this point you never pried. Not even when you’d catch him mumbling to himself about chat, or the bloodthirsty look in his eyes after he killed an animal. You kept your mouth shut out of respect, you could tell he appreciated the gesture.

You earned yourself a friendship emerald after he introduced you to his oldest friend Philza, the man treated you like you were his family. It made you feel wanted and welcome, Techno had a little smile on his face the entire interaction as the both of you bonded. In his mind he was ecstatic his two favorite people were getting along. Techno walked Philza out of the house and returned holding an emerald out to you, you knew how valuable these emerald were to him. You were in such shock and awe you almost started crying which caused him to panic.

“I’ll treasure it with my life.” You told him kissing said emerald gently, blush spread across his pale face to his pointed ears.

“I’m glad.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Chat- chat stop I’m not simp.” You heard him whisper hiss softly but you ignored it, choosing to smile at him instead. He noticed and his blush only deepened. You took his hand, it was so small intertwined in his own, and squeezed it softly.

Eventually, the both of you grew closer than just friends which understandably scared the half pigman to death. You caught him mumbling to himself more frequently, especially when you both were out fighting monsters and gaining experience.

Things like: “I’m not a simp” and “Calm down I’m gonna protect her” as well as “I can’t just say that!” Were very frequent mumblings of his, your brow furrowed and after fighting a baby zombie you turned towards him,

“Hey Technoblade you doing okay?”

“Yes!” He sputtered out reassuring you that he was just fine by saving you from a Skeleton.

You two watched the sunset that same day from on top of a snowy mountain and he confessed to you. The confession was a bit rough around the edges but then again so was he, so to you, it was perfect. You took his hands to get him to stop rambling and kissed his knuckles. He made an embarrassed sound and looked away from you, you cooed teasingly at him and accepted. From then on you both were attached at the hip, well as attached as he’d let you be there was still that level of awkwardness that came with any new relationships but it was wonderful. You’d both spent hours by the fireside as he read to you, you’d help him care for Carl and get enchanted books all the while you were in awe of this magnificent and mysterious man before you.

Shaking your head smiling to yourself you trudged back to his house, the emerald around your neck bounced in tandem with your steps. Technoblade never liked leaving you alone, you reminded him constantly that you had a life before he was in it but he still seemed to be on edge. You figured it had something to do with his past so you did your best to reassure him that you’d be safe when he was away; Techo seemed to appreciate your efforts at least. Whenever he got back from what you assumed was visiting Phil (after all, Carl was gone), you were going to run him a bath and braid his hair the way he liked. Maybe you’d make him a nice dinner then you’d both fall asleep together while reading. It’d earn you some soft kisses and snuggles later, you giggled to yourself as you put away the wood. If you told anyone else this giant of a man, who you’ve seen wipe out hordes of monsters like it was nothing, loves to be cuddled at night they’d call you insane.

You wandered down into the basement to feed his cow but the sound of a blocks-breaking startled you out of your daydream. You whipped around pulling out your sword in the way Technoblade showed you and came face to face with a blonde child peeking out from the floorboards.

“What the FUCK?!” You both shrieked at one another, he moved to try and scramble back down the hole. You followed him down his ladder, you weren’t going to let this child get away with living under your boyfriends’ house so easily. You backed him into a corner and took note of his beat-up appearance and his attempts to look brave as he held up his hands. Sweat gathered on his brow but you didn’t let your guard down, before you could open your mouth to question him he began to talk so fast and loud you could barely keep up.

“OI, OI, OI, OI! LADY, LADY, LADY, CALM DOWNNNN CALM DOWN! SEE, SEE WE’RE BOTH IN TROUBLE CAUSE WE’RE BOTH STEALING- BORROWING FROM THE BLADE! THE BLADE KNOWS ME! I AM HIS LITTLE BROTHER, TOMMY, I AM SURE YOU’VE HEARD OF ME! THEREFOR I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG. YOU-YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, ARE A STRANGER! YOU KNOW HE’S A BLOOD GOD RIGHT? HE’LL ABSOLUTELY KILL YOU, BUT BUT! IF WE KEEP THIS BETWEEN US I WON’T HAVE TO TELL HIM ANYTHING AT ALL FAIR? SEEMS FAIR TO ME-”

You reached your hand out to cover his mouth, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Start again. Softer and slower. Techno never told me he had a brother.” You watched the eyes of the blonde widen in surprise, assumingly at the notion that you already knew Technoblade. Slowly you removed your hand from his mouth but didn’t lower your guard. He cleared his throat, swallowing tentatively.

“I’m Tommy. We’re not related by blood- who ARE you?” he pressed still completely baffled at the appearance of a GIRL who knew Technoblade. Before you could even respond to him he let out another baffled cry. “DOES HE SIMP FOR YOU!?” He shrieked pointing at you as he waved his finger around. “THERE’S NO WAY- HE DOES HOLY SHIT!” Tommy laughed as you blinked rapidly, how was he able to read all that without you even saying anything? You were trying to process who this kid was while also being stuck on the blood god thing. You felt Tommy’s arm around your shoulders suddenly as he pulled you close. “Well, Miss Blade now that we know who you are maybe we can strike a deal-“

“Absolutely Not.”

“HEY! Come on now.” Tommy whined loudly, “I need your help here! Look I’m sure you know why he’s in hiding and all...and well...I might’ve pissed the same people off and-”

“Actually no. I didn’t know that…” You spoke softly deflating a little, “He’s in hiding? From who exactly.”

A look of shock came across Tommy’s face, “You mean...you don’t know? Like about L’manburg and his betrayal.”

“Does it sound like I know? Look Tommy you seem like a nice kid really, but you need to leave-”

“Nonononnonononono. Look it’s fine, I’ve been living here for weeks now-”

“WEEKS?” You snarled a pink flush coming to your cheeks, you grabbed the boy’s arm and began to drag him up the ladders in Techno’s house. Hee was going to kill you like actually this time. You were about to throw open the door but it swung open in front of you. Techno was standing there completely bruised and bloody and you immediately dropped Tommy in favor of him.

“Oh my god Techno what happened?” You breathed out a worried breath he was about to respond before he noticed Tommy. He grabbed you by the arm and pushed you behind him guarding you with his body.

“Tommy.” He snarled as the boy once again shrieked and booked it back down the ladder Techno turned towards you, “Stay here.” Technoblade commanded you softly the look in his eyes could only be described as desperate. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t…” You murmured watching him disappear after the British boy, you hoped he was going to explain everything to you after he dealt with the raccoon. You could hear them shouting from down below you, you couldn’t push it off any longer you needed to get answers from him.

~~~~~~

Part II maybe? Lmk if there’s an interest! Cause I love this man with my whole heart! Thanks so much for reading 🥺✨ link to Pt. II :)

[ayamturd]

brother│sbi family

summary: y/n will always stand by their brothers no matter the hardship or challenges they should overcome in the end.

song: Brother by Kodaline

warnings: angst to fluff(?), cursing, blood/gore descriptions, death, slight spoliers for dsmp

pairing: in-game platonic!sbi family

a/n: i heard this song the other day and knew i had to give it a try (give it a listen!). also, each section/scene change is supposed to show a period of growth for the reader, both in age and confidence wise. as always, pls feel free to comment or give feedback!

wc: (4.1k) - m.list

When we were young we were the ones

The kings and queens oh yeah, we ruled the world

“Techno, wait!” 

“Keep up then, slow poke!” 

Technoblade and y/n were running through the village, laughing like madmen while jumping over the hay bales serving as their mini obstacle course. They were passing the time while Dadza finished his tradings with Wilbur, him volunteering to assist in hopes of exploring the market place. As they continued their chase, Technoblade began to gain a lead; his long limbs giving him a far unfair advantage against his smaller sibling. He was nearing the local well in the town square, and y/n knew they would have to take drastic measure before he could claim victory. 

Quickly assessing their surroundings, y/n grabbed the first product they could snatch off the closest stand. They beamed it at Techno, the potato hitting him on the back of his head, causing him to falter and trip over his hooves. Y/n leaped over him, grin wide when hearing the vendor and their brother yell after them.

“Y/n! What gives?!” Technoblade scrambled up in a hurry, rushing to meet their stride. Y/n only cackled, shouting back, “hey, it’s like you once said, ‘What the ancients called a clever fighter is one who not only wins, but excels in winning with ease.’”

The sun beamed down in the late afternoon, yet y/n was too driven to notice. They reached the center square and rang the bell, signifying their win. “I regret teaching you the ways of Sun Tzu.” Technoblade was panting with his hands on his knees; he had tried to catch up given his fall slowing him down, but ended up running in vain to his defeat.

“Ahh you don’t mean that now, do you?” Y/n climbed up the well and jumped on Technoblade’s shoulders, forcing him to adjust to the sudden weight while they gripped his pink hair. He grunted, “I do if it means you beating me.” Y/n giggled. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll always remember your miserable loss as the origin of my success.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Despite their bickering, the two children held large smiles, snickering while spinning carefree and contently. They tuned out the world, purely existing in the moment while conquering each trivial challenge at a time.

We've taken different paths

“Come on, y/n, you’ve got to let go some time or another.” Y/n clung onto Wilbur’s side, curled into his chest while the lanky man hovered his arms above them.

“Not until you hug me back, you jerk!” Wilbur sighed, pulling them in again. “I already hugged you in the house. We’re not gonna be here for another 10 minutes, right? You know how impatient Tommy can be.”

“Alright, fine you dickhead. I’ll let you go. See if I care the next time you want a hug,” y/n huffed. They pulled away in haste and crossed their arms, turning away from him completely. 

“You’re such a cry baby, s’not like we’ll be gone forever. Can visit and shit,” Tommy spoke up, walking towards the pair with his saddle in hand.

“Shut up, bitch. I won’t miss you anyway, I was talking to Wilbur.”

“Like hell you won’t!”

Wilbur stepped between the two, hand on Y/n’s shoulder and a push to Tommy’s face. “Maybe it’s best that we’re leaving, y/n. Tommy’s obviously influenced you too much.”

“Why the hell you say that like it’s a bad thing?!”

“Ugh, God please no.”

Despite all odds, y/n was the shortest in the family compared to all the boys. They were forced to look up at Tommy while he glared down at their smug face. 

Phil came forward from the house and chose to stand besides y/n. “I’ve only just gotten them to leave, don’t tell me you’re holding them down any longer.” Y/n muttered a small no. Wilbur and Tommy looked offended at the comment, and Phil only chuckled at the sight. “You’ll see them soon, y/n. You know they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to explore, and one day you’ll take your chance too.”

“Yeah, I know,” y/n sighed and leaned into Phil’s side. They were openly pained to have their brothers leave their home, disliking the idea of their family separated, yet they knew they didn’t have the right to stop them from their ambitions.

Phil checked over their supplies once more before patting their shoulders with encouraging words. Giving them room, the brothers mounted their horses and pulled the reins to the East, taking one final glance at their home. They both waved and rode off. 

The sun laid above the horizon, strips of color spread across the sky as night began to fall. Though they were too far to hear, y/n waited a moment before speaking. “Till next time.” 

And travelled different roads

“You can’t be serious.”

“You rather I leave them to die?” Technoblade was packing, grabbing his best weaponry and stuffing rations into his satchel. Although contemplating to bring his armor, he opted out of it in favor of traveling light. Y/n was trailing behind the large piglin, eyes irritated and upset. 

“How can you say that? I’m only concerned on why you think a revolution is what they need right now!” Technoblade spun around at their words, standing above them menacingly. Any rational person would be afraid if it weren’t for the fact that they grew up together. 

“Y/n. You and I both know there’s a reason they called me and me alone. I’m going there to help and do what is ask of me. What else do you expect from all of this?” Technoblade spoke steadily, his chin still raised while his eyes looked down at them. It only angered y/n more. 

“What I expect, Technoblade, is for you to be their brother and help them! Be their brother for once and not just ‘the Blood God’!” Y/n emphasized each point with a jab to his chest. It was rare for the two to fight at all, them being considerably close and maintaining the same idealization for the most part. 

Techno only narrowed his eyes before grabbing y/n’s wrist. “We’ve talked about this, y/n. Don’t act like you don’t understand the difference between ‘the Blood God’ and myself. Don’t act like there is a difference at all.” There was a slight pause as y/n’s eyes widen at their close proximity, Technoblade having had moved closer towards their face.

“… you’re hurting me, Techno.” Glancing down at their hands, Technoblade immediately let go and grabbed his crossbow behind y/n, leaving the room as if the conversation never happened. Y/n was quick to follow him before he left the house. 

They screamed out, “This isn’t right, Techno! For their sakes, you and that tactical brain of yours should realize that at the very least!” Technoblade stopped near the exit and tilted his head to the left, a brief silence before speaking. “If you weren’t so afraid of the world, you could always go save them yourself.”

He slammed the front door close at that, leaving a still y/n in shock at his words. The night was dead quiet as y/n stood there for some time, a ringing silence impeding the air. Phil came down the hallway from his room, tired yet aware of the situation; he was admittedly awake during the argument. “Are you alright, dear?” His voice was soft as he was unsure of y/n’s current emotions, their back to him while facing the front door. Y/n turned towards him with teary eyes.

“No.”

And when you're in the trenches

And you're under fire I will cover you

“Ya’ know what, Wilbur?” Tommy was sitting on a furnace, Wilbur leaning against the cavern walls across him. They were both eating dinner together in the dark, dimly lit and empty space, the only sound coming further down the cave where Technoblade farmed until Tommy spoke up. Raising a hand to chew, Wilbur swallowed before asking a what?

“I’m getting real sick of potatoes.” They both laughed at that, temporarily finding joy in the small joke before fading back into a helpless silence. They were still reeling from their situation; no home, no friends, no government to stand with. While they were in the presence of their brother, Technoblade was focused on their main goal: revolution. Even through perseverance, the brothers couldn’t help but feel exhausted from the efforts, the previous war having taken a toll in spite of the approaching age of a new one.

“I miss home,” Tommy expressed, eyes trained to the ground. Wilbur stared at the boy before looking down at the baked potato in hand. “Me too.” 

A sudden noise came from above, as if someone broke down their stone entrance. Although Pogtopia had gained an underground support from the citizens of Manberg, their location was still undisclosed to the others, secret letters and Tubbo being the only communication. Grabbing his sword, Tommy nodded to Wilbur and headed up the steep stairway. Wilbur briefly looked up and ran to warn Technoblade of a possible intruder. 

Weapon in hand, Tommy creeped up the path determined. Footsteps echoed underground and Tommy paused to push himself against the wall. The light of a lantern glowed ever so brighter with each approaching step behind the corner above. Right as he rose to strike, a familiar voice spoke out. 

“You’re not seriously going stab me now, right?” Tommy’s gaze shot up to see his sibling smirk at his surprise. “Cause that would suck after traveling this whole way to see you idiots.”

Tommy laughed breathlessly in disbelief before shouting their name for all to hear. He ran up to quickly embrace them and pulled them down to meet the rest. Technoblade and Wilbur visibly relaxed at the sigh of the two, weapons dropping to their side.

“You’re here,” Technoblade stated, his eyebrows raised unexpectedly. Expression neutral, y/n only spared him a glance before looking to the side. “I’m here.” 

Wilbur ignored the small tension and walked forward, a soft smile at the sight of them with his arms raised. “Am I still allowed to ask for that hug?” Y/n grinned and let him engulf them in a hug. They squeezed his torso tight while they swayed slightly side to side. Tommy, elated to see his sibling for the first time in practically years, vocalized his excitement loudly behind the embracing pair.

“Are you here to help us fight?!”

Y/n hesitated before turning back to smile wearily, “I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

If I was dying on my knees

You would be the one to rescue me

“You want to be a hero, Tommy?”

The battlefield was suspended in apprehension, everyone amassed on the small platform above the caved in trench. Standing before them, separated by the broken landscape, Technoblade held large, black skulls in each hand. In front of him, two structures of sand guarding his sides. He was perched over them, eyes red in blood-like fury with tusks that pointed in pride and determination. Y/n gaped in horror at the sight, whispering a small no that fell on deaf ears. 

“Then die like one!”

A sudden light blinded the field, Technoblade having had completed the ancient ritual due for destruction. Before anyone could collet their thoughts, a small force pushed everyone back. Strong winds blew as dust covered the the terrain, and from the ashes of white fire rose two mythological beasts with holo eyes and a grotesque body of dark bones. There was a beat of stillness before chaos erupted.

Yelling and panic ensued as some began fighting the monstrosities while others worked to kill those preventing the end. Y/n felt lost as others pushed and pulled them every way. They tried looking for their brothers, crying out their names in the frantic space, but could no longer define anyone in the tumultuous crowd overwhelming them. 

By the time they were able to separate themself from the group, a building hum penetrated from above. Explosions descended around them as they became trapped by the blasts. Arms covered and crouched close to the ground, Y/n was helpless to the wither, and they stared in dread as the creature began to glow to attack once more. 

Before they met their final end, however, colors invaded the sky and erupted against the wither’s side. It roared in rage at the measly ambush and turned to find the source. Y/n was still frozen in the futile position, but was hoisted from behind and dragged up the small crater entrapping them. 

Technoblade let go of their weight once on solid ground again and stepped away immediately. Y/n, wheezing from the realization they could have died, turned to look up at their brother while still laying on the ground. Arms beneath them, they struggled to raise their head to him. 

“Why, Tech,” y/n exasperated, eyes begging for a justification for more destruction beyond that of their recent brother’s death. Tears fell in anguish of the devastation around them. “Just why?”

“Not everyone can be saved. Not everything is worth being saved.”

And if you were drowned at sea

I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

“Come on Toms, stay with me now.” Pulling with all their might, y/n grappled the thin boy through the water as they fought to swim against the current in the rising dawn. As they crawled onto the sandy shores, the heavy weight of being completely soaked left them restless on the beach. Taking a moment to breathe, y/n gathered their strength before rushing to Tommy’s side.

“Come on, Tommy. You can’t do this to me now.” Y/n laid him completely flat and started to push his chest in rhythmic beats, shoving down as hard as they could to save him. 

He was already incredibly pale from the cold depths of the water, and y/n could only assume he had been in the water for some time before they arrived. 

Every so often they would glance to discern any movement or change but would go back to focusing on reviving their brother entirely. As more time passed and Tommy refused to move, Y/n grew frustrated and speed up their pace harshly, tears clouding their vision despite their resolution. “Please, Tommy. Please. I can’t lose another one of you. Not again.”

With a sudden twitch, Tommy jerked before coughing up water and trembling with the rush of air to his lungs. Y/n looked up to the green horizon and closed their eyes in relief, tears streaming down their cheeks before they reached down to hold the boy close. Gently bring him into their arms and caressing his long wet hair, Tommy continued to draw breaths with his arm hung limply around them. He clutched the fabric on their shoulder, whimpering in a small voice,

“Y/n? Are you really here this time?” Y/n squeezed him tighter.

“It’s really me, Toms. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.”

And if we hit on troubled water

I'll be the one to keep you warm and safe

“This is not a trial, Technoblade.” Quackity motioned to the anvil strung above the stage, beaming at the seething piglin through the bars of the cage. “This is an execution. We are going to kill you.” 

Hidden beneath the breath of night while under the effects of the invisible potion, y/n observed from the roof of a nearby house. Although they kept their distance from everyone in their family besides Tommy, y/n couldn’t ignore the apparent ‘Butcher Army’ when they passed through the forest where they were collecting wood, their brother strung behind them as if on a leash. 

Y/n glared at the immaturity of the young boys, despising the belief that more death will create peace in a land built on bloodshed. While their relationship with Technoblade was rough considering their last encounter, they couldn’t deny the fact that he had a right to hold his certain principles and acted out in aggression to the others’ mistreatment; though arguably to an extreme.

Their gaze shifted when the mercenary, Punz, announced his arrival with thrown snowballs and began spreading TNT as an apparent distraction. Deciding to aid in the diversion, y/n pulled arrows out of their quiver and aimed to target the boys when they tried to assault him. 

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Fundy screeched out in revelation after barely managing to dodge an incoming arrow to the leg. Despite all efforts, Quackity realized their intentions and ran to pull the level. As he let out a joyous shout, y/n dropped their bow in fear, eyes trained on the falling anvil before it was meant to strike and scrambled to their feet. To their astonishment and utter relief, a faint, green glow emitted once Technoblade was supposedly killed. The Blood God had escape death. What a surprise.

Y/n watched as Technoblade climbed swiftly out of the cage and followed a green figure mounted on his horse through a tunnel hidden beneath a stone hill. They knew from pass whispers and Tommy’s harsh words that it was the warrior, Dream, having had only seen the daunting smiling face in a blur during the war. They were aware of the torment the man had caused to their family, both in the war and in Tommy’s exile.

Sliding down the tile roof, y/n jumped off the building and maneuvered their way down, ignoring the stare of their imprisoned father on top of the nearby balcony as the potion’s effects started to fade. They noticed Quackity trace the foot steps of Technoblade’s hooves, and stalked behind him as he entered the small hole. Pausing before leaping in themself, y/n looked up to see Dream already staring down at them, arms crossed and in wait. 

He stared at them expectantly, which made y/n’s patience wear thin once hearing Quackity lowly state how he planned to kill Technoblade then and there. Narrowing their eyes in annoyance, y/n gave Dream a final glare and blocked off the entrance once entering. 

They pulled out their axe and treaded quietly down the tunnel before pausing behind the broken wall to an old vault full of chests. 

“—nd I don’t care how long it fucking takes me, or what I have to do to get you, Techno. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I just have on question, Quackity.” Technoblade paused as Quackity asked him to continue.

“Do you think you’re enough, to kill me? Even unarmed, with iron armor?” They both ever so slightly gripped their weapons tighter, stance shifted as they prepared to fight.

“You know what? Let’s fucking find out, you son of a bitch!” Their weapons clashed as they dodged the blow from one another. Quackity delivered each blow with blind determination while Technoblade played defense with each graceful side step. Eventually, Technoblade knocked his pickaxe into his face, Quackity yelping in pain and holding a hand to cover the wound. 

When turning his back to move further down the tunnel, Technoblade risked leaving himself vulnerable to the crazed butcher. Quackity stood despite his injury and tried to attack him from behind.

Y/n took the opportunity to run towards him, axe prepared to strike. Before Quackity could turn to defend himself, y/n swung the axe into his neck. Blood instantly pooled at the cut as he struggled to breathe, and y/n ripped their blade from his flesh. He fell to his knees while grasping helplessly at his wound, choking on his blood before falling to the side. 

While they had a distaste for violence, unlike their brother, y/n couldn’t excuse the attempted murder of their family by any means. 

Technoblade stared in reverence, eyes darting between Quackity’s slump figure and his sibling covered in an excessive amount of blood from the attack. Y/n stepped forward and grabbed a lead from their belt, having previously found it abandoned in the snow. No words were exchanged as they silently pulled Carl through the sewer system, blood casually staining the water as they walked through. Technoblade only spoke once they reach the surface.

“Pog.”

And we'll be carrying each other

Until we say goodbye on our dying day

“Are you alright, y/n?”

Broken sobs become shuddered breathes as y/n hears the voice of their late brother. They lifted their eyes from beneath their arms that held their legs together while pushed against the very corner of the room, their current position reminding Ghostbur how small anyone could look when upset. Ghostbur slightly frowned at their lack of response, floating closer to them to observe their tears, lighting the space slightly with a soft glow. 

“What’s wrong?” Despite the innocence behind his echoed voice, y/n couldn’t help the pain from hearing his concern. “Nothing that matters, Ghostbur. Nothing that anyone could fix anyway.”

Ghostbur didn’t like that response, refusing to believe that sadness could exist without a solution to bring an end to despair. He reached into his pocket, hands carefully holding some dye out towards y/n.

Y/n tilted their head in confusion, tears having stopped running but still present. “What is it?”

“It’s blue! Here, here, take some.” Ghostbur placed the colored substance into their cupped palms, explaining its significance with a gentle smile. “See, when someone is very angry or sad, the blue sucks away all your sadness and turns blue! And what you can do, is you can throw the blue away, and that’s all your sadness gone.”

Although strange and futile, y/n couldn’t help the smile form on their face from Ghostbur’s clarification. Ghostbur gasped excessively, causing y/n to chuckle lightly. “It worked! Do you feel better now, y/n? I have more blue if you need as well!” Pulling an incredible amount that began to pile on the floor in front of them, y/n giggled at the sight.

Y/n wiped their eyes with the back of their hand, breathing in and out to recollect themself. “Thank you, Ghostbur. Never change your wonderful self.” The ghost grinned brightly at that.

“Of course, Y/n! Never change your caring self either!”

Oh brother, we'll go deeper than the ink

Beneath the skin of our tattoos

“I have to ask, Y/n. Why choose them?” Y/n stood before Dream in their kitchen, the man having had shown up unannounced at their front door and began asking vague questions. 

“What do you mean?” Y/n was unnerved by his demeanor, never having held a conversation, let alone utter a word, with him before despite small, yet silent encounters. They refused to show discomfort, though they didn’t have a mask to cover every waver in their voice or their jaw visibly tighten.

“Oh, you know.”  He turned to walk around the small living space, hand skimming over a chest surface before continuing to speak ominously. “Time and time again, I’ve seen you run and fall to your knees for your so-called family. Yet as time continues on, I’ve seen them give you nothing in return.” He paused and faced them again. “What’s the point of saving something that does nothing but hold you down?”

Though we don't share the same blood

Y/n crossed their arms in defiance, finally understanding his intentions and glowered at his objective.

“You wouldn’t understand, Dream. Even if you tried.” He looked confused at their response, tilting his head slighting while his masked continued the same haunting smile. Y/n smirked.

“Your seen weakness gives me strength. I fight for everything because of them. Your lack of attachment leaves you nothing to gain.” Dream bent forward in mocking interest, though y/n knew better than to give in. “Is that so?”

“You tell me. Who will come running to your aid when your lies eventually catch up, and everyone realizes the things you’ve planned behind their backs?”

“I have my ways. Ways that insure I’ll have people on my side when I need.”

Y/n scowled before stepping forwards, leaning into his face. “Say whatever you need to say to comfort the idea of your downfall. I don’t care about you or your motives, leave my family alone or I will personally see to it you meet your expected end before its fated to happen.” Dream let out an amused breath in response. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise."

You're my brother and I love you that's the truth