#this is said with love in my heart though again this fandom is really nice sometimes im just like. guys x_x

[w1ld-k4t]

‎‎‎‎‎Panty Thief Conundrum

CONTENT WARNING: Yandere!Caleb being a freak, like incredibly so. Stepcest is a given with this guy when MC is involved. Panty/Bra/Clothes stealing, sniffing and... other things. He's a creep here, I was not nice to him. Manipulation, mention of punishments. Please be aware, loves.

SYPNOSIS: Caleb can't find any of your underwear in the laundry because you've started going commando most of the time.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have never written for the lads before, let's be clear. Let alone Caleb, let alone fandom Caleb. I apologize for any OOC-ness. That said, this shit just ripped itself from my subconscious and forced itself through my fingertips.

Preposterous.

Evil. Cruel and unusual punishment, really.

He finally has the girl of his dreams back, the love of his disgusting, perverted little life.

And yet, as he rifles through the laundry basket with growing desperation (ripping past any articles of clothing he’s not interested in, really), his dirty heart nearly cracks in two.

WHERE are your panties? Your bras, even?

He hates himself for it. He really, truly does. But ever since you finally accepted him back into your life, your home and, stars, your fucking arms, he can’t deny that this is something he’d been looking forward to for a while.

Doing your laundry for you again. Out of the kindness of his heart, is what he wants to tell himself.

But the pair (his favorite pair) he’d kept with him after he’d left lost your scent a long, long goddamn time ago. Maybe it would’ve kept longer if he hadn’t soaked it in his cum nearly every night while he was away. Hell, he tore a hole in them after the explosion. After he was sure he’d never see you again.

So where, pray tell, are your FUCKING panties?

He can’t just… well, maybe he can ask. If he words it right, plays the role of the concerned, loving gege. Then he could get his answer.

It doesn’t have to be awkward. Or perverted. Just… looking out for you, like he always did. Does.

Will. Whether you like it, are aware of it or not.

So when you open the door to your room after hearing him knock and he’s standing there with his usual, lopsided smirk and the emptied laundry basket in under his arm, you shouldn’t really suspect a thing. He already has the laundry going, audible from down the hall.

“Heya, Pips,” as he leans against the door frame, using his free arm to prop himself up against it. You’re having to look up at him, as usual. The bastard.

“Not to, uh…” his elbow bends, scratching awkwardly (convincingly, he hopes) at the back of his neck. He makes an effort to move his eyes away from your own, despite the confusion etching into your features, “Not to pry much. But are ya washing yer under-stuff separately or somethin’? Or did’ja just forget to throw em in?”

And when you blink, brows furrowing, his heart spikes in anxiety.

“I just got back to takin’ care of ya,” he tacks on quickly, “Would hate to mess up again already.”

Your silence doesn’t help his racing heart. He risks a glance up at you, and-

You give a small, amused snort? Cute... but what’s so funny?

“You’re fine, Kay,” you shrug, giving him a relaxed, trusting smile of your own. Trusting, he notes, having his heart race for a different reason, “Neither of us missed anything. I just don’t really wear any these days.”

What?

“Not unless I really have to.”

He stares at you for a moment, lips floundering. His eyes nearly glance downward at your breasts, your crotch, holding his gaze on your face with great effort. Were… Were you not wearing any right now? Something about that has his blood rushing straight to his cock, a heat rising to his cheeks. But, stars, has he gotta pull himself together.

“Really?” He huffs back with his own amusement (a habit he’d learned from you… he has a lot of those), “Can’t say I really get it, but whatever makes ya comfy, Pipsqueak.”

The smile you give him is nearly his undoing as you return back into your room. He lingers, though, his eyes trailing down to the curve of your ass in those damn too short pajama bottoms. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, eyes wide in curious wonder and… Well, his cock was starting to hurt in his jeans. Let’s say that.

“By the way,” he trills after a moment, needing wanting a reason to stick around a little more and imagine what your bareness must look like. How he could slip your shorts aside so easily and-, “Whatcha thinkin’ for dinner today? I’ll make whatever ya want. Call it a… reunion gift.”

You want to deprive him of fucking the remaining scent and discharge that lingered on your underwear? Layering it over his nose while he pumped his cock to the imaginary rhythm he uses to fuck you in his head?

That’s fine. He can punish you for it later. Once he has the ball rolling on your guys’ relationship.

For now, though, he’ll compromise. Improvise, even, and just fuck his cum into the crotch of your shorts and pants after you get done wearing them for the day.

He’s not picky.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope you liked this, whoever may be reading. It was fun. It's fucking haunting me that this is the first thing I wrote for my blog, but it was fun nonetheless. I'm a whore anyway, so it works.

Credits: Almost forgot since it's past midnight. The dividers are from thecutestgrotto. Eye banner is from the Harper's Bazaar x LADS Collab. All writing is done by me.

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

edit : i'm sorry but this post is messy i don't like how this is the ramble that got the most attention shhffs please check out the addendum in the reblogs if you want a more clearer analysis

-

FIRST OF ALL the thing about the paint huffing - Other than that it's funny - is that we were getting ragatha at her most honest . she's more reflective and reveals her mind more which is a Lot considering that she has shown herself to be a people pleaser trying to avoid conflict . this is Literally The Last thing she wants

and honestly it would be fun to see the fallout of this in episode 5 when she would inevitably sober up and be Mortified about that fact considering she said This to gangle here

like . interesting ragatha . is that why you Do Not Stop Jax when he goes to bully gangle . other than not wanting him to hate you you also prefer it if gangle is in her tragedy state . is that it . Is That It -

also you guys don't know how much i fucking screamed at these scenes okay . there's nothing i love more than nice characters that show their less than desirable traits . my favorite thing about ragatha is not that she's a sweetheart but that she's Dishonest . even to the point that gangle mentions it in her talk with pomni

like my ongoing theory right now for the ' evil ragatha ' comment gooseworx made for episode 5 is that ragatha's going to say or do the Most Morally Ambiguous thing possible that will send the entire fandom on fire . like we're talking Arguments on whether she's in the right or wrong Even though this is a show that invites nuance instead of black and white views , and it'll be so fucking marvelous to witness

NOW . i really don't think she's faking being nice ! i believe with all my heart that ragatha's inherently Good and i will throw hands at anyone who thinks otherwise . it's just that she's just Repressing What She Thinks About The Others because , again , Avoiding Conflict ! which is shown by how annoyed she got with pomni talking to gummigoo ( gayass ) , what she said to gangle , and what she said to zooble

yes i screamed about the toybox interaction i knew that ragatha was going to not like zooble's grouchiness But I Digress .

all of this is interesting because . again , ragatha's a people pleaser trying to avoid conflict . i think her reasons for being nice and helpful are both selfless and selfish . selfless - she doesn't want anyone to go through the stress and pain of feeling alone , and selfish - she doesn't want anyone to hate her . they're like a smoothie , she's not one or the other . it's just that the latter reason ... has a lot more influences on her thought processes than she'd like to admit .

and that's showcased if you look at episode 2 with her conversation with kinger . she was worried about pomni going through something traumatizing , yes , but she added that she thinks pomni doesn't like her that much . which . it's a small piece of dialogue but it really shows how much ragatha's Gripping That Fucking Fawn Response . yes , her concern is everyone's wellbeing , but she also Would Not Like It If Anyone Hates Her , to the point that it'll stick to her . and she'll try So Hard to compensate for it .

like . she is really a nice person but she's dishonest because she doesn't want to be hated which is very much a selfish reason . she's falling into that pitfall of ' a friend to all is a friend to none ' . argh . why is she so complicated god i'm going to put her in that deepfryer again

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Better, Not So Hidden Half

Part 2 of The Better, Hidden Half

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: After Tim decided he didn't want to keep you hidden any longer, you meet the rest of his friends (colleagues, as he prefers), but not the way he planned.

Warnings: depiction of minor injuries (Tim), fluff, grumpy!Tim, Smitty, mentions of drugging

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

When Tim was infected by an unknown biological weapon, he told you that he wanted to stop keeping you separate from the rest of his life. You’re his better half, and he cares deeply about you and your safety, but that doesn’t mean you should be his hidden half. During his short stay in the hospital, Wade introduced you to Lucy Chen, Tim’s rookie, and John Nolan. Since then, however, Tim hasn’t done proper introductions or made any real changes. He has started wearing his wedding ring to work, though, rather than leaving it on a chain around your neck. Baby steps, maybe, but it’s progress.

Your phone rings while Tim is at work, and your breaths grow shallow when you see Wade’s name on the screen. The last time something happened to Tim, Angela called you; any time you see Wade Grey, Angela Lopez, or Talia Bishop’s names appear on your phone, your heart drops in fear for your husband.

“Hey, Wade,” you answer softly.

“Can you please come talk some sense into your husband?” he asks.

Wade's tone and accompanying sigh are all you need to hear to know he’s tired. Sirens have surrounded you all day, so you’re not surprised that something happened.

“About what?” you reply.

“Sorry for the surprise call,” he adds, “I know those can be concerning, so I’ll go ahead and tell you that Tim was in a minor accident, but he’s refusing to get looked at.”

“Shocking,” you joke. “I’ll be there soon. How is he?”

Wade begins to answer, but you hear Tim yell, “If I need a break, I will take one!” in the background.

“Sounds about the same as usual,” you say and answer your question. “See you in a few.”

“Thank you. You’re the best honorary cop I’ve got.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Sergeant Grey.”

When you walk into the Mid-Wilshire Station, Tim and Wade are nowhere to be seen. You see Angela waiting nearby, and she rushes to hug you after you wave.

“Are you finally here to meet everyone? Since someone decided that he needed to talk to you alone to heal last time?” she asks playfully.

“I’m here because Tim is injured and stubborn,” you answer.

“And he’ll still be injured and stubborn after you meet the boots who can’t stop talking about you.”

“Is he okay?” you whisper.

“He’s fine. Barely injured, I promise.”

You nod and thank her before she leads you toward a small crowd of officers. Talia says hello, and the three in long sleeves stand up straighter when they see you.

“Mrs. Bradford, nice to see you again,” Lucy greets.

“You too, Officer Chen,” you reply.

“Lucy, please.”

“You’ve met Lucy and Nolan – however brief Tim kept it. And this is my rookie, Jackson West,” Angela introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer with your handshake.

“So, you married Bradford?” he asks. “Why?”

You chuckle at the question but can’t answer your cliched answer of because I love him, and he’s really just a big softie under the sarcastic eye rolls and grumpy yelling before Nolan asks another question.

“At the hospital, you said less than five words to Tim, and he listened. No complaining, no hateful looks, just immediately obeyed. How do you do that?” Nolan inquires.

“Wait – how did you meet?” Jackson adds. “Let’s be chronological.”

Nolan nods in agreement, and you prepare to answer.

“Then I want to know your first thought of Tim. Before you met, just saw each other, whatever… what did you see that drew you in?” Lucy asks.

Angela and Bishop smile as your eyes bounce between the rookies and their never-ending questions. You can’t answer one before the next one is asked, and though you don’t feel the same, you can understand why Tim didn’t want you to meet them all at once.

“No!” Lucy exclaims. “Where did Tim propose?”

“The place where they met,” Talia answers.

Nolan turns quickly to yell, “You knew Tim was married! Why didn’t you mention her?”

“She’s not my wife,” Talia replies sarcastically. “Not my story to tell.”

“I would have talked about her because she’s my best friend,” Angela interjects. “But Tim threatened me.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bradford,” Jackson says. “We’re just excited and shocked and have so many questions.”

“Mrs. Bradford?” a passing officer asks. “You’re too young to be Mom Bradford, and you’re not his sister…”

“I’m Tim’s wife,” you finish.

“This is Smitty,” Angela tells you.

She winks quickly, and you nod in understanding. You’ve heard plenty of stories about Smitty, and more than enough complaints when you’re alone with Tim. He seems unique, to put it lightly (and kinder than Tim does).

“You married Tim Bradford? Was he by any chance in possession of narcotics or mind-altering drugs when you met? Because it’s pretty easy to convince a woman to do something these days, just a little powder in an uncovered drink, you know,” Smitty continues.

“Smitty, have you drugged a woman before?” Nolan asks. His suspicion is evident in how he asks and the narrowing of his eyes.

“Well, Officer Smitty,” you begin. You nod at Angela, and her smile grows when she realizes you plan to play along.

Tim stands with a quiet grunt of pain. He stretches to the side to fight the growing stiffness and sees Lucy talking to a group of people. Smitty approaches the side, and Nolan steps back to reveal the focus of all of the attention. Tim doesn’t think twice and races out of Wade’s office to save you from the boots.

You address Smitty but don’t say anything more before Tim wraps his hand around your arm while the other grips your hip and pulls you backward. Tim moves you away from Angela and ignores the protests that follow your sudden departure. You don’t fight him as he leads you into Wade’s office. Wade looks up and mouths a relieved thank you.

“Tim, as much as I love meeting the people you pretend not to care about, would you please stop getting hurt and giving me an excuse to drop by unannounced?” you ask.

“I didn’t get hurt,” Tim argues.

His hands are still on you, so you turn in his hold to look at him. Several scrapes litter his left cheek, and you run a gentle finger under them. You can see that his shoulders are tense but you're grateful that his injuries seem to be limited to some stiffness and scrapes.

“What did Wade tell you?” Tim whispers.

“That you were being stubborn and not listening,” Wade mumbles behind you. “I’m surprised she believed me.”

Tim keeps his eyes on you but doesn’t comment further on his injuries or the rookies you just met. He looks down, and you follow his eyes to his hands. His left hand is wrapped tightly with gauze and bandages as he slides his right hand into his pocket.

“Had to take this off,” he tells you.

You extend your hand to accept his wedding ring and curl your fingers around it. After unhooking your necklace chain, you slide his ring on and keep it safe against your chest. Tim nods once it’s secure with you and pulls you to sit beside him. You lay a hand against his right cheek and smile as he leans against your hand. He leans in and kisses you quickly before glancing at Wade to ensure he isn’t watching.

“He’s seen us kiss before,” you remind Tim.

“And I will never let you forget it,” Wade agrees, focusing on the paperwork before him.

“No mind-altering drugs required,” Tim says with a small smile.

“Now I understand why you didn’t want me to meet Smitty.”

“I warned you.”

“Luckily, Angela introduced me to the rookies first, and I invited them over for dinner on Sunday. Wade, you and Luna are welcome to come, too, if you’d like,” you say.

Tim groans as Wade promises to pass the invitation on to Luna. You sit back carefully as Tim leans against you. He’s grumpy about your new connection with the boots but loves you. Tim meant it when he said he didn’t want to keep you hidden and risk wasting his life by separating from everything else that matters to him.

“Lucy won’t shut up,” he realizes with a dramatic sigh.

“Yeah, because I’m sure you carry half of the conversation as it is,” you tease. “Don’t forget how well I know you, Bradford.”

“As long as you don’t forget that I don’t like these people, Bradford,” Tim counters.

“You let Angela come over all the time. And don’t give me the whole ‘she scares me’ thing; you love her.”

Tim moves closer to you to whisper, “I love you more.”

“Then go get a full physical examination. Make sure all the handsomeness is still put together like it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Then maybe you don’t love me like you claim to. That’s why you leave your ring with me, right? Easier to bring women in when no one knows you’re married.”

Wade fails to hide a laugh before he covers it with a fake cough. Tim shakes his head but kisses you again before standing. You follow him to the door and thank Wade for the call. Tim waves everyone over, and Lucy beats the rest of them by a solid three seconds.

“Hi again,” she tells you.

“I’ll go see the medic if you rescind the dinner offer,” Tim tells you.

“You’ll go see the medic either way, so no,” you reply.

“We’ve decided a better way to ask questions, and we’ll give you time to breathe in the future,” Jackson says. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, Jackson. I understand the excitement; not the shock because, I mean, look at him," you wave toward Tim and continue, "but it’s not every day that you meet Officer Grumpy’s secret wife.”

“Did you just gesture to me like I’m a game show prize?” Tim murmurs.

“Tim and I will be happy to answer all your questions at dinner. It was very nice to meet all of you, and if Smitty asks again, I was absolutely drugged.”

Tim drags you away once again, and Angela only hears him ask, “Officer Grumpy?” before the door closes behind you both.

You turn and place a hand under Tim’s chin. One touch, a smile, and a kiss turn Tim back into your loving husband. He didn’t realize that keeping you separate from his work life gave you a unique power over him because he’s never had to hide his love for you or the physical affection he’s grown to crave.

“Be careful,” you request softly. “And call me if they find any other injuries.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim answers.

“Don’t,” you warn.

“You kissed me first.”

“Thanks for letting me be part of your life, Tim.” He nods and kisses you slowly, but you push him away to warn him, “Ask Angela to tell you about Smitty before he says anything about our relationship.”

“You talked to Smitty, too? Maybe I should start leaving you at home again.”

“I love you,” you call over your shoulder.

“I love you,” Tim replies.

He walks back into the station with two things on his mind: learning what Smitty thinks about you and Tim that was worth a warning and getting home to you. Your touch, kiss, and the soft return of his ring will always be the best part of Tim’s day, and even though he wears his ring more often now, you still pull him in because he needs you more than he’s ever needed the ring.

[ziggymars]

mirror, mirror (18+) - cl.16

Charles Leclerc x Reader

winner from this poll

warning(s): sentences that would have gotten me lobotomized in the 1900s, terribly translated Italian AND French, established relationship, fingering, squirting, daddy kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv, cream pie, horn dog charles and awful writing probably, please don’t hate me im intimidated by the f1 fandom even though i am in it ..... also i didn't proofread the whole thing please forgive any errors, they will probably be fixed soon. minors pls DNI.

word count: 3.7k+

A/N: mama an inchident behind you ! I know I was going to post this like a month ago, but I'm going through it sis AND my computer ate the original so I had to rewrite this oop. i'm very sorry to everyone who was expecting timo, the mexico city gp had me feral so you get this monstrosity. don’t hesitate to send any dirty thoughts you have about charles, perhaps inspiration will strike and i will give you the gift of sinful prose. i'm nervous to post this but i'm going to anyways xoxo zigs

The first thing you usually hear that is a clear indication that Charles is home, is the purr of his engine pulling into the driveway. A sound that had quickly become one of your favorites. A cacophony that drove your neighbors completely mad, music to your ears. Next came the jingling of his keys, echoing in the foyer. Which was very clear to you from where you stood. Today you were faced in front of a ginormous mirror. It had just gotten delivered but the installation guys wouldn't be able to make it until next week; so now it was placed, halfhazardly, against the wall in the living room. Definitely not where it was supposed to go. It looked kind of nice there regardless, reflecting the warm glow of lights in your shared home.

You glanced over at the clock, a familiar anticipation bubbling inside of you. He had mentioned an interview with Max earlier, and you could only imagine how it had gone. The door creaked open, and you turned your head -- a warm smile spread across your face at the sight of him. There he was, looking so effortlessly handsome as he always does. "Honey, I'm home!" He chirped, once again, as he always did. Charles strode to where you stood, and he stopped in his tracks for a moment as his eyes fell on the mirror. "Wow, um.... that's huge," he said with a raised brow, astonishment clear on his features. He continued walking towards it and ran a finger along the ornate frame, your eyes following it the entire time "I didn't expect it to be this big."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his observations, you had thought the same thing when it came. "Neither did I." You said as you followed closer to him to wrap an arm around his side, head on his shoulder. "What do you think?" You asked, "I think it will look really nice in the stairway. Installation guys can't make it until next week though.”

Charles mirrored you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He tilted his head to the side as he studied his reflection and then he began to study yours. "I think it will look really amazing once it's put up. For now it takes up a lot of space, no? I guess that's alright." He said, the last part mostly to himself.

For a moment, you both stood there, caught in the sight of your reflection. There was something intimate about it, even if both of you were fully clothed. It captured your visage but also the energy in the room; remnants of shared memories and love. An idea came to him that made all of his cares about its current placement fly out the window.

"Do you want to try it out?" Charles asked suddenly, catching you off guard. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't you want to see how we look together?"

A warm flush spread across your cheeks and you ripped your eyes from his reflection to look at him for real as you asked "Together?"

"Of course. You know what I mean." He laughed and turned his gaze to look at you too, the intensity making your heart skip just a beat. "Please. Let me play with you, il mio cuore."

Your shoulders brushed as you turned to face him, your mouth opening to protest. You had two Cornish hen's in the oven that you desperately did not want to burn. It wouldn't have been the first time you nearly started a fire because of Charles' obsession with pleasing you. It was a protest that he didn't even let escape your mind before he was placing a finger over your lips to silence you. "Just turn it off, if you're worried about dinner." He knew without you even having to say it, he could smell the aroma from the kitchen. And while it did smell really, really good -- the pull to explore this mirror’s capabilities was too strong for him. Too strong to miss this opportunity.

You gave a playful roll of your eyes before you kissed the finger pressed to your lips, a sigh of “Fine.” slipping through the space around it.

Too excited to wait even a moment longer, he gives your ass a light spank, saying "Hurry along." The commanding tone sending a shiver down your spine and a skip in your step as you did as he told; scampering to the kitchen to turn the oven off. It took you no time and even less to get back to him.

"Good girl." He purred and then pulled you closer to him by the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, maneuvering your body until you were both facing the mirror. Charles towered over you, his torso brushing against your shoulder blades. He ran one hand across your collarbone and then down your clothed stomach. "This will be fun, I promise."

"I don't doubt that," you breathed, goosebumps starting to rise in the wake of his fingertips as your eyes closed, "it's just a bit awkward, watching myself."

"No.." Charles cooed, his fingers gliding back to where they came from, tracing along the swell of your breast, the feeling of it causing him to take a sharp inhale. "You're beautiful, please, look at you."

When they found their way to your nipples, which were already pert under his touch, your eyes finally fluttered open. A soft, almost indiscernible grunt leaving your already parted lips. "You're so excited already, and I've barely touched you." He said, a cocky grin slipping to his lips as he pinched at one of them absentmindedly. You let out a quiet yelp and your back can't help but arch into the touch, "More, please." coming from your lips.

Nearly every time he heard you say that, he would oblige. Right now was one of those times. Charles slid his hand down, slipping it under your shirt; fingertips gliding across your flesh, "So soft." He remarked, his voice becoming more thick the closer his hand got to cupping around your breast. Where he kneaded, his fingers melding to your skin deliciously. You gave off another soft grunt, your thighs wriggling in an attempt to rub them together. "Oh, feeling needy today?"

You were tempted to roll your eyes but decided against it, not wanting to thwart any chances of getting what you now desperately wanted. He took notice of your self restraint so he rewarded you by snaking his hand down and into the hem of your spandex shorts, the ones he loved so much. Charles was met immediately with the feel of your already slick folds. "No underwear, mon lapinou?" (my bunny).

All you could do was nod your head and look at his reflection with a pleading look as the pad of his middle finger circled in the slick you produced. "Use your words." His voice was a gentle coo urging you on.

"No underwear." You confirmed with a shaky voice "Please, Charles, you're driving me crazy."

"You drive me crazy all the time," he said "perhaps this is payback." The same smirk glued to his lips from before as he moved his finger up and down gently against your clit. "Fine," he huffed "I'll give you what you want though." It was partly for you, but also selfish reasons. He was eager to watch the show you were about to provide for no one but him; the thought of it intoxicating him relentlessly.

Without another word, he's tugging your shorts down and allowing you to step out of them before he dramatically, and honestly, a bit comically threw them to the side. Not giving a single care to where they went, tunnel visioned on nothing but making full use of the mirror.

Next, Charles started to pull the leather arm chair that was skewed beside the couch to sit in front of the mirror; patting his legs with a look to you. “Take off your shirt and come sit on my lap.”

Finally finding courage and clarity through swirling vestiges of lust, you purred a simple "Yes, papà."

Something you didn't call him often. Something you saved in your back pocket for when you really wanted to rile him up. A special treat, for a very special man.

One "Oh, Gesù Cristo." (Jesus Christ) and you knew it had worked. Perfect.

Charles' pupils blow wide and stuck to your hands that were now removing the last remaining piece of clothing. Your eyes, however, were settled on the wet patch that had formed on his shirt, almost the very instant that you had called him the name he loved so much. "Do you like what you see, papà?" You asked, metaphorically poking the sleeping bear.

"Love what I see," he said, beckoning you closer "but I'd love to see what you look like with my fingers inside you a little bit more, come here. Please." Near the end of the sentence, his voice was almost a whine. Giving away just how much he wanted to feel your body against his. You weren't cruel, and to be fair you wanted this just as bad as he did. So you were doing as you were told for the second time this evening. You clambered to settle in his lap and he was quick to adjust your legs. Spreading them impossibly wide with rough hands, your breath already beginning to bait at the implication alone.

Then Charles did something that left your cheeks burning; he spread apart your folds. His mouth fell open as he gazed at the sight in the mirror, admiring your beauty. “Look at that," he swooned, "so pretty. So fucking gorgeous.”

Feeling sheepish from being so exposed, you tried to turn your head and bury it inside the crook of his neck but there was absolutely no way he was going to let that happen. With his other hand he grabbed your chin, not hard enough to actually hurt you but hard enough to make you look; forcing your gaze to where his fingers held open his prize. "See? What did papà say?" He said, his tone scolding yet still warm "So pretty."

Your hips wriggled in his lap, a futile attempt to grind back against the now achingly hard length that was flush against his stomach. Trying to urge him on, to do anything else besides continue to wordlessly look at you like he was going to swallow you whole.

"I'm speaking to you, mon lapinou." Charles tsked, his index finger now circling around your entrance, "don't be rude."

Realizing you didn't have another option, you couldn’t be shy now that you had opened this can of worms with one simple name, you managed to parrot him “So pretty.” Followed by a choked and begging “Please, touch me.”

“Good girl.” He cooed, simple and sweet before he was plunging one finger into your depths; a soft, languid moan falling from your lips. If your vision had been any more clouded, you might have missed the way his eyes nearly rolled back at the sound alone.

Charles’ grip tightened on your chin, keeping your focus steady to where he was now slowly, but surely drawing his finger out, and then back in at an excruciatingly slow pace. Enough to give you what you want but not getting ahead of himself just yet. His eyes dipped closed for only a moment as he leaned forward to pepper gentle kisses to your shoulder. When his eyes open he had to still all of his movements for a moment, genuinely fearing he might cum in his pants at the very sight of you perched in his lap. Your lips parted, legs spread, arousal dripping down his wrist. It was enough to make him weak.

You let out needy whines, hips bucking against his hand, urging him silently. Charles chuckled and obliged, slowly pumping a second digit into your tight heat. “That’s it, ma belle. Let me make you feel good.” He purred, his accent becoming more evident the more he lost himself in the sight. He watched, ever intently, entranced by the way you fell apart under his touch — filthy, breathless moans tumbling from your lips like a leaky faucet.

Charles’ deft fingers continued their filthy dance, pumping in and out of your dripping core, his thumb coming to circle your throbbing clit. Your breaths come in short and labored gasps, chest heaving as you started to lean back against him, pleasure washing over your body. Your hips began to stutter and he made the executive decision to remove his other hand from your chin so he could use it to press them back down against him — spreading your thighs even further. “Oh fuck!” You gasped, a choked moan as he was able to pump his fingers even deeper. Your eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, head falling back to his shoulder. He tilted his own to capture your lips in a searing kiss, tongue immediately dipping into your warm mouth to taste your sweetness.

Charles fingers continued to work, curling them just right. He stroked against the sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars. A loud and wanton mewl is ripped through your throat, forcing you to pull away from the kiss so you could throw your head back against his shoulder. Obscene wet sounds filled the room as he began to finger-fuck you even harder, reveling in the way your smooth walls fluttered around him. Finally, you manage to pick your head up from his shoulder so you can look into the mirror. Blood rushes down between your thighs as the scene before you comes to view.

A third finger came to play and you were a goner. He reveled in the way your smooth, velvety walls pulsed around him. You became a whimpering mess, your mouth falling open as he met your gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark and you could see he was holding himself back from just shoving you onto the floor and fucking you into oblivion. It made your eyes roll back, a slow moan of “Charles!” accompanying it.

“You’re close, I can tell.” He says, his voice course but somehow also boastful; knowing he’s the one who knows how to make you come undone like this, writhing in his lap like a first rate whore. One of the ways he can tell is now, how your moans grow even louder, higher pitched. Your hips started to buck against his hand frantically as you babbled “Yes, yes, yes!” over and over in his ear.

“That’s it, amore.” Charles encouraged you, voice husky in your ear. He gritted his teeth, “Cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on, that’s it.”

It was enough for you, it was always enough for you. To hear him commanding you to cum. Like a sleeper agent only activated by a carefully constructed phrase. So with a loud and keening cry, your entire body seized. Thighs clamping around Charles’ wrist, a gush of liquid splashing against his hand and soaking his fingers. It dripped down the leather chair and onto the floor. His eyes widened in shock — you had never done that before. Charles could practically feel his chest swell with pride, satisfied smirk etched on his face. The puddle on the floor in front of you serving as a physical reminder to him of just how well he had done.

Somehow he managed to keep himself composed, grunting as he continued to pump his fingers, coaxing every wave of your orgasm. “Jesus, fuck! Baby!” He growled in appreciation, never ceasing his fingers movements until you were collapsing back, breathlessly, against his chest.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips. You could only watch, mesmerized, when he sucked them clean. A deep moan rose from his throat that reverberated around his fingers. “Delicious,” he said, pulling them from his mouth with a satisfied hum. Charles can barely even hold himself back now, his cock straining against fabric as he stared at the ethereally erotic display before him. You panted, legs shaking from the orgasm he had given you. "Enough of that, mon cherie. I need to be inside of you."

He doesn't give you any time to respond before he is standing, and in one swift motion bending you over the side of the chair. Your face is pressed into the cool leather, your gaze stuck on the reflection of the two of you in the mirror. You didn't mind it being stuck there now, the aftershocks of how good he had made you feel helped your guard come down. And now all you could do was stare at him in the mirror, Charles missed it because he was quick to push both his pants and boxers down, settling himself behind you. You arched your back further and wiggled your hips, a giggle escaping as you presented your glistening pussy for him. He let out a low groan, hands roaming over your ass and up your back. "Fuuuck, look at that." Charles said, taking a moment to admire the view, slowly stroking himself a few times.

Positioning himself behind you, finally, he rubs the tip of his cock across your slick folds, teasing at your entrance. And then without warning, he sheathes himself fully inside of you with one powerful thrust. A long and low moan escapes both of your lips, a sweet symphony of soprano and tenor. Your hands grip onto the leather arm of the chair, trying to ground yourself into reality.

But it's hard. Really hard. Especially when he starts to set a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Setting a primal pace that leaves the both of you gasping in pleasure. His pelvis slaps forward against your ass with each and every powerful thrust -- each one driving you forward just a little bit more. Your eyes are half-lidded now, heavy with lust. But you will them to stay open. You can see everything in the mirror. The ecstacy etched in your furrowed brows, the bounce of your ass with every jolt of his hips, and his muscles flexing subtly as he fucked into you at a relentless pace. Hands down the hottest thing you had ever been privy to witness.

Another thing you're keen to notice is the way he's so focused on not losing himself. For a man so ready to fuck you in front of a mirror, it sure seemed like he couldn't handle it anymore. Evident by the way his head was thrown back, curses of your name tumbling from his lips over and over. Your eyes begin to roll, overwhelmed by the pleasure and the knowledge that you were the one who made this usually so confident and domineering man feel like this.

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, his head comes back forward, his hands gripping tightly onto your ass now. "You like this, non?" It comes out with a quiet grunt "You like when I fuck you like this?"

When you're not answering as quickly as he'd like, he's suddenly bringing one hand down to slap against your ass harshly. You let out a yelp that turns into a pathetically pleasured whine, "Yes, Charles! Feels so good!"

Charles rubs his hand along where it had previously struck, soothing the angry flesh. "Good girl," he cooed through gritted teeth "milking this cock so good." One of his hands abandons its grip on your ass to reach and rub tight circles against your clit. It sends cascading shockwaves of bliss pulsing through your bones. Determined to make you cum again, he says "Come on, baby. Cum all over this cock," Charles can feel you tightening around him, your moans growing more insistent and drawn out "I want to feel you." He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

He leans forward and loops an arm under you to palm at one of your breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers as he pounds into you. The new angle allowing him to hit that spot inside of you. His thrusts grow even more erratic, teeth grazing the sensitive skin against your neck -- rapidly chasing his own release. The thought of him cumming, the look on his face, it was too much. You cried out his name and your walls rhythmically pulsed around his cock as you came for the second time this evening. It was his Achilles' heel. Charles' snapped his hips one final time, burying himself deep as he possibly could. There was a long and low grunt that bellowed from his throat as he emptied himself inside of you, both arms wrapping around your middle to hold you close to him.

There was a long moment where the both of you just stayed like that. Your heart rates coming back to normal, still joined together. "You are incredible. The sounds you make, how you take me..." Charles' praises you softly, his thumb running along your swollen lower lip "c'est magnifique. I love you." He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before he pulls out, slow and careful. Watching as his release trickles from you, a wolfish grin spreads across his lips, but you're momentarily displeased. A whimper bubbles from your lips, wishing he could just stay inside of you forever.

You unfurled your body from it's position across the chair, trying to keep your thighs clamped together as best as you could, "I love you, too."

Before you can even blink, Charles is by your side, giving you his arm so he could walk you to the bathroom. He was sweet like that. Always making sure that he took the best care of you after he had done sacrilegious things to your body.

Together, you made your way down the hallway. Albeit, you had to practically waddle to ensure you didn't spill on the floors you had just so meticulously cleaned hours before.

"Maybe we could just keep the mirror there?" He looked over at you to suggest, cheeky grin in tow. Amusing suggestion from someone who just said that it was taking up too much space.

You laughed and then grimaced, your hand flying between your legs "Please, don't make me laugh right now, Charles."

[da-extroverted-introvert]

Are we even friends? (tasm!Peter Parker x reader)

Fandom: The Amazing Spider-Man, Marvel

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 2.66k

Warnings: angst, death mention, grief

So I had a burst of inspiration and wrote this. I haven't seen the Andrew Garfield Spiderman movies in a hot minute so things may not be entirely accurate but please just roll with it. Working on a part 2 already, hope you enjoy. Please leave feedback!

Dividers by @lavendergalactic

You sit in the car and take a few deep breaths. You clutch the bouquet of flowers in your hand, trying to will yourself to step foot out of the car. Even after three months, this is hard to do. It’s like the first time all over again. The grief hits you just as hard as the day of the funeral.

Despite the gnawing feeling deep in your gut, you bring yourself to unbuckle your seat belt and walk out of the car.

You walk through the long, long aisle of headstones and grave markers. A bunch of people long gone who you’ll never know. It breaks your heart to know that to other people visiting loved ones, Gwen Stacy is just another headstone. Another person nobody will know again.

You finally make it up to Gwen’s grave. You kneel down and gently set down the bouquet. You stay kneeling there, just staring at your best friend’s name.

You take a deep breath before you start speaking.

“Hey. It’s me again.”

You pause for a moment, almost as if you’re expecting a response, even though there hasn’t been a single response throughout the many times you’ve been here.

“My grades are doing really good now. Applied for a few scholarships, and I actually think I might get into an Ivy League.”

You smile gently, knowing Gwen would be so proud of you. Whenever you doubted yourself, she would always encourage you. You remember the countless nights of her helping you with homework, telling you how much you’ve improved. She even said she was positive you’d get into the same school, becoming roommates and actually living together. Like sisters.

“Everyone in school misses you. They still talk about how amazing you were. How smart and how nice.”

Just yesterday you were walking down the hall past Gwen’s locker. There’s still plenty of pictures and decorations commemorating her. It gives you hope that Gwen will not be forgotten for a long time.

But you also think about the looks you get when you walk by. The sad, pitiful looks. You hate those looks. You also think some of those odd expressions are looks of confusion, as it was so weird to see you without Gwen Stacy right in front of you. You’ve always been Gwen Stacy’s best friend. People don’t know how to react seeing you without her.

“Uhmm…Peter misses you.”

You always choke up a bit at this part.

“We all do, of course, but especially Peter. I try to visit him every day. He doesn’t really talk to me though.”

Not that he talked to you too much before Gwen died, but you still felt like mentioning it.

“He just kind of sits in his room all the time. He hasn’t been in school much.”

The few times he has shown up in school, he just kind of ignores everyone. He must be getting tired of those pitiful looks in the hallways too.

“I’ve tried looking out for him. Like…like you would’ve wanted.”

God, you hate this. You really hate this.

“He just won’t let me in. I know he’s not going out as Spider-Man anymore, but he’s just not doing anything. He just sits in his room all the time. Not talking to anyone. Not even May.”

If he isn’t even talking to May, why would he talk to you?

You take a deep breath and finally stand up fully, your legs aching from kneeling on the hard ground for too long.

“I’m actually headed to his place now. I know he probably won’t talk to me, but I’ll still try. For you.”

You try to keep the tears back.

“Even if he doesn’t talk to me, May still lets me hang out. You know she makes the best food.”

You stare at her name again, not wanting to say goodbye again. But you know you have to.

“Anyway, that’s all. Thought I’d keep you updated. I’ll visit same time next week.”

You can almost hear her say goodbye to you. But you know it’s in your head. So you finally turn around and go back to your car, preparing for yet another uneventful visit to the Parker residence.

You knock on the door, preparing to put on a happy face in front of May. She’s such a sweet lady, you don’t want her to worry too much about you. She already has to worry about Peter, and you don’t want to put any extra stress on her shoulders.

Sure enough, May answers the front door with her signature sweet smile.

“Hey there, sweetie! Come on in, I just put on a pot of coffee, you must be freezing out here.”

She ushers you in and you revel in the warm atmosphere of the home.

“Thanks, May. I appreciate it.”

She dismisses your statement with a wave.

“Think nothing of it, hun.”

You sit down at the coffee table while May gets the coffee ready. While she does, you look around the home, which you’ve done countless times at this point.

Your favorite thing to look at is the picture on the wall of Peter. He must’ve been young, maybe sixth grade. In the picture, he’s at a science fair, holding up a nice red ribbon with “1st Place” written on it. May and Ben are standing proudly behind him as he smiles brightly at the camera. It makes you smile, seeing him so happy. But you also get sad, wishing he had some of that childlike joy back in his life.

May brings comes back in the room with two cups of coffee in her hand.

“Here you go, should warm you right up.”

You accept the cup with a smile, embracing the warm feeling on your hands. The warmth spreads when you take a sip. The coffee is nothing special, just as generic as any cup of coffee, but knowing that May made it for you and how happy she was to see you makes it taste better.

“Peter’s in his room if you want to say hi.”

She didn’t need to tell you where he was. You knew.

“Okay, I’ll go see him.”

You take a final sip of coffee and walk to Peter’s room.

You contemplate knocking on his door. You know if you knock that he probably won’t answer you, but if you just walk in, he still won’t talk to you. So, knowing the answer will be the same either way, you just walk in.

It looks like Peter hasn’t moved an inch since your last visit. He’s just laying on his bed, covered in blankets, head turned away from you. You know he’s awake though, you can tell by the way his body slightly tensed at the door opening.

“Hey, Pete.”

You speak gently, almost like you were afraid to scare him off. You close the door as softly as you can behind you.

“Missed you at school. I had the teachers give me your assignments so I can give them to you.”

No response. As usual.

You don’t know how to speak to him. You never really did. Neither of you really spoke to each other before he started dating Gwen, and when they did start dating, there was only small interactions between you. But still, you liked those small interactions. They were nice. Made you feel like you were sort of friends. But now that Gwen is gone, you don’t know where you stand.

Even so, you still try. You know that’s what Gwen would want. She wouldn’t want the love of her life wasting away like this.

“Have you eaten at all today?”

No answer.

“I know you’re, like, superhuman and all, but even so, you need to have some food in your body.”

You lick your lips and sigh, getting a little bit frustrated. It’s the same thing every day. You talk, he lays there, then you go home. You don’t feel like your presence is helping him that much, but if you don’t make an effort, you know you’ll feel guilty.

“How about some pizza? I can order one and it’ll be delivered in no time.”

As expected, no response. God, this boy is so infuriating sometimes.

“I know you hear me. Your spidey-senses kind of force you to.”

It’s still weird that Peter’s Spider-Man. You only found out about his secret by accident. You just walked into Gwen’s room, without knocking of course, as best friends do, and there you saw a surprised Gwen and Peter in his suit, mask in hand. That was a few weeks before the accident.

“Come on, Peter. You need to eat something. We can’t have you wasting away in here.”

“Why do you care?”

Even though his voice is raspy and not at all loud, you still flinch. That’s the most you’ve gotten out of him in three months.

“I, uh, what do you mean? Of course I care.”

“Why?”

His voice is a little louder this time.

“Because, we’re friends, Peter. I care about you.”

He sits up in his bed and faces you. You can finally get a good look at him. His once bright eyes, full of joy and mischief are dull and bloodshot.

“Since when? I mean, we barely talk.”

You don’t really know what to say, because it is true, you never talked with Peter as much as you would’ve liked to, but you still kind of thought those small interactions amounted to a friendship.

Just as you try to speak again, he talks some more.

“We both know the only reason we ever hung out was because of Gwen. And she’s not here now. So, please, just…”

He moves his arms around, trying to get his frustration across.

“Leave me alone.”

When he says this, he looks dead into your eyes, which are slowly but surely filling up with tears. You try not to let them fall.

You’ve been wishing for Peter to say something to you for months now, and now that it’s happened, you just want to curl into a ball on the ground.

Not wanting to be in the room with him any longer, you turn around and face the door. You put your hand on the doorknob but before you twist it, you turn your head towards Peter.

“I know you never really thought of me as a friend, Peter. A part of me always knew you just putting up with me for Gwen’s sake. But I always respected you, Pete. You were kind, funny, cool. Never mean.”

A couple of tears drops fall despite yourself.

“I remember when there was that Homecoming dance. You and Gwen were going together but I didn’t have a date. I was fine staying home, but you felt bad and invited me to come with you guys. You didn’t have to, nobody was forcing you, you just offered. Gwen didn’t even have to ask you to, you just did it.”

You wipe your cheek for a moment, still trying to keep eye contact with the boy in front of you.

“It was small things like that that made me like you. You’re such a good person Peter. I mean, you’re fucking Spider-Man, of course you’re a good person.”

You take one final big breath.

“So, you may not consider me a friend, Peter Parker, but you are mine. You are my friend. And I don’t have many of those, so, I’ve got to look after you.”

You finally twist the doorknob and open the door.

“It’s what Gwen would’ve wanted.”

With that final sentiment, you walk out of his room and speed past May, who is clearly worried about the tears on your face, eager to leave this house and go home to cry.

You spend the rest of your night watching movies in your room. You’re laying on your bed in your pajamas, bowl of popcorn in your lap. You glance at the opposite side of the bed. The side Gwen would sit as she laughed at the movies with you.

You try to focus on the movie, trying not to think about Gwen so much, and also trying not to think about your fight with Peter.

Was it even a fight? Neither of you yelled, but he did make you cry. He said some hurtful things. Things that were partially true. But you still didn’t want to see him. Seeing him hurt you a lot. All you can think about was the way he looked at you, with annoyance, frustration, anger. You felt bad for him, you know he’s grieving too, but he just made your blood boil and your eyes well up with tears.

Despite this, you know you’ll still visit him tomorrow. Because Gwen would want you to. Because that’s what friends do.

You hear a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in!”

Instead of your mom or dad like you expected, none other than Peter Parker walks through your door.

He’s actually dressed in New clothes, as opposed to the weeks old clothes you saw him wear earlier. His eyes look like they’re filled with guilt.

“Hey.”

You’re not used to seeing Peter Parker in your room. He only showed up a few times when he crashed yours and Gwen’s movie nights.

“Hey.”

Peter looks at the ground nervously, hand reaching to scratch the back of his head.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I have been an absolute jerk to you and you don’t deserve that.”

You nod slowly, processing his words.

“You’re grieving. I get it. It’s okay.”

He quickly shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s not okay. I know I’m grieving, but you are too. I’ve just been shutting you out when all you want to do is help. It’s not right.”

You have no words. You certainly weren’t expecting this, but maybe you should have. It is Peter, after all. He’s a superhero. Always trying to make things right.

“You have always been nice to me, and you never gave up on me, even when I completely shutting you out. I haven’t been a good friend to you, and I want that to change.”

Hearing him actual say that he wants to be your friend warms your heart more than it should.

You give him a slight smile.

“You can start being a good friend and have a movie night with me?”

At first, Peter looks shocked that you’re willing to just forgive him so quickly. But then the expression on his face soon turns jovial as you shoot over on the bed, allowing him to sit next to you.

You smile as you press play on the movie you were watching. You can feel Peter’s eyes on the side of your face, but you ignore it until you know he’s watching the movie. Both of you just sit and watch, hands leisurely grabbing popcorn from the bowl between you. It almost feels normal, natural.

It actually feels like you have a friend again. Not that he can ever replace Gwen. And you know you could never replace Gwen in Peter’s eyes either. But both of you are filling the space that Gwen’s death left. It makes things easier for the both of you. It’s nice knowing that you have each other during this difficult time.

After a while, when all is calm between you and Peter and the movie is almost over, you turn to look over at Peter.

“You know, I visited Gwen’s grave today. I visit every week. You could come with me if you want.”

Peter is still for a moment, eyes locked on the screen in front of you. You wish you didn’t bring it up, knowing that Peter is just now starting to talk about Gwen’s death, and now you may have pushed too far too fast.

But then he looks over at you, a sad but gentle smile on his face.

“Yeah. I think that’d be nice.”

[witcheshollow]

Finishing the golden raven knocked me the fuck out so my Coherent and Eloquent thoughts are gonna have to wait so enjoy this very spoilery mash up of whatever is coming to mind now before I do a proper deep dive

-I was really expecting more in terms of jerejean development, but Im not surprised that nora is waiting until the last book. I would assume there is also a bit to do with them having originally not been intended for one another... and on that front I dont remember nora ever confirming them officially just her deleting the ec and saying she isnt letting it define these three books. Which does point to jerejean endgame but ((and correct me NICELY if im wrong)) she never officially said the two of them are to get together.

-tagging off that point: something about the pacing of this book felt very similar to the pacing of tkm. There were quite a few scenes that felt very similar to tkm, the general flow was also very similar. Just instead of jerejeans relationship forming we got jean forming relationships in general

-again tagging onto that, the scene where he braided lailas hair was the scene that made me cry hardest.

-what we saw of the foxes made me so violently ill in the best way possible. The fear in jean at seeing neil laying on the court floor after a raven check AGAIN was so brutal, even through jeremys pov. I dont think we would have survived the raven/fox game through jeans eyes tbh. Jean had too much on the line. He would never admit it but he loves neil, Neil is essentially family to him. We see that in his blind and unending trust in him

-again, sue me, speaking of that. Why the fuck did neil not tell AT LEAST Andrew abt his doings in california??? Was it to avoid bringing up andrews trauma?? Bc anything else goes so violently against everything that andriel is i will not stand for it. If this fandom is good at one thing its saying to hell with canon and making up what we want to believe and I will blind myself into whatever fanon I need to if we get a reason for neils omission as anything other than misguided protection of Andrew. Bc yes, it would be misguided. Letting his bf know he put a fucking hit out on someone is smt he should have done despite the state and circumstances. Though I digress

-back to jean and the fox/raven game. He was so fucking worried abt neil and andrew that I all out refuse to believe we wont get more updates. I know that this series is jeans, and Im not saying give either of them a pov or anything, but it would be nice if we got to see the two of them have a conversation with Jean together in the next book. Maybe andrews arm slung across neils shoulders as they watch him graduate??

-im pretty sure what we are leading up to championship wise is a fox/trojan showdown. Despite what Jean said abt not knowing if the foxes can pull off a miracle two years in a row and the whole freshman fox situation, Im betting that is going to be where we end. And as far as who wins, I have no guesses. The foxes beat the ravens at full strength with nine players and a prayer. Despite how badly the last of the ravens fucked them up, I am willing to put good money that nora will plot armor their asses to championships.

-speaking of plot armor, how the fuck did andrew manage to take neils weight, even if it wasnt all of it, to help him off the field with a broken clavicle that required surgery???? Ik wymack and abby got there in a couple seconds but Andrew still managed to do it

-okay Ill, begrudgingly, put the foxes aside bc i have more thoughts

-I love jeremy, Jean, cat and lailas casual intimacy with one another. The four of them move as a singular unit half the time and it holds a special place in my heart

-I do kind of think that this next book is going to end with Jeremy forsaking his family. We are seeing the cracks in whatever resolve he had up and to this point. And to back that up, while their different in so many ways, the series is taking some hints from the structure of the original trilogy and with that I dont think its an unreasonable stretch to assume that there is going to be another "who is he going to choose" moment. And how beautiful would that be to have the choice be between soulmate and family yet again? This time tho I think we will get a clearer answer if this happens again bc it genuinely took me like two full rereads of the og trilogy to piece together that andrew actually chose neil and I know from friends that Im not alone in this.

-as far as jerejean, I do think that the progression of their relationship is going to be similar tho different from andriels. Also I use their ship names to refere to them bc im too exhausted to type out their names, sue me. Anyways, I think that as far as similarities, there is a good chance it is going to start out sexual. Jeremy doesnt have enough belief in himself to have an actual relationship and Jean still has a lot of internalized homophobia from the nest ((riko)) to sort through. If I had to make an educated guess I would say something abt Jean reclaiming his body and Jeremy slowly realizing that he is allowed to give this part of himself to someone who actually cares for him. Though as far as how I think their gonna be different from andriel... well I mean it doesnt take a genius to figure that their probably going to be a bit more openly affectionate/quite a bit less derranged. I do also assume that if we get a canonical endgame jerejean that Jeremy is going to have to cut ties with his family. They are violently homophobic and will probably not have any interest in entertaining the idea of jeremy being associated with them any further

-stepping away from their relationship bc i just remembered something. Jeremy calls his father sir, which i know is a thing a lot of military kids do but it is also obviously indicative that Jeremy has respect for this man regardless of his continued absence in his life. It might just be that he is the parent who wasnt there to be abusive towards him... or it might be that jeremys father, in some way, deserves the respect?? We know Jeremy has a complicated relationship with his family and how he sees them we see that in his "shes my mom cat" towards the end and ofc throughout the rest of the book. But Jeremy was the one who kept reaching out, and kept his fathers calls logged in a journal, and still refers to him with honorifics- i want more Jeremy lore

-back to jerejean, im willing to bet that we are going to get an "i cant pick him over my family" breakdown from Jeremy and Im guessing that it is going to be William who helps him make the decision. "If you cant tell whos side im on your not as smart as I thought" or whatever it was that he said. He wants Jeremy to be happy, he knows Jeremy is not happy in that damn house, and he has shown that he is willing to buck the rules to ensure that Jeremy can scrounge up whatever joy he can.

-I think jeans moment of panic is going to be more of an internal thing, like "am I even good enough to ask Jeremy to forsake his family for me" and despite all the logic I think it is going to be Neil who he calls. Bc Neil did that. As far as Jean knows Neil could have deadass looked at Andrew and went "me or Aaron" he wasnt there for it like we were. And I think Neil is going to be his usual criptic self but give enough reassurance that he gets an affectionate "your a vile wretch" from Jean or smt of the sort.

-wymack still considering Jean one of his kids even if he isnt a fox warms my heart. He called Jean. He let kevin send Jean to California. He was willing to do whatever Jean asked. Wymack my love

-speaking of coaches who kill me every chance they get: rhemann. Fucking hell i love that man. He had my heart before jeans breakdown but afterwards? He earned himself a nice shiny spot next to wymack. With the way Jean described the preceeding events Im assuming rhemann had to carry him out of the gold court or at the very least shoulder most of his weight to get him out bc Jean seemed fairly out of it, and rhemann definetly had to carry him into the house once they got there bc if jeans recollection is right Im pretty sure he was unconscious and if not then so heavily disassociated I dont think he would have been coherent enough.

-also small shout out to rhemann and adi, love them

-the end scene of the book has me conflicted. And this is probably going to be my last bullet point bc I am dead tired rn. While I do, obviously, understand that Jean wasnt sure what Jeremy was doing when he leaned over to kiss rex/jaberwackys head, I dont really understand what Jeans gut reaction there was. He doesnt explain in his internal monologue, he is far more worried abt making Jeremy less terrified and keeping the dog safe. But the reaction was instinctual, almost seemingly second nature. Which I dont 100% understand. Jeremy and Jean are often very close to one another, in each others orbit more than their not to quote Jean ((yes I know he said this abt andriel that isnt what I meant)) and Jean has stated repeatedly that he whole heartedly trusts Jeremy. Also the gut reaction in context doesnt necessarily make sense to me, it might be a me thing Im not discrediting that, and also traumatized people sometimes have instincts that only make sense to them if that bc their brain is in survival mode, so it might have been an attempt by nora to show that, but having it as the last scene in the book feels odd to me. The only thing I can assume is that Jean wasnt processing what was happening just saw jeremy coming at him quickly and reacted but also we see him not reacting to other similar situations often. You could argue that its bc Jean has feelings for Jeremy but we see Jean not reacting to Jeremy making fast movements, getting in his space and touching him throughout the series so far so I just dont get it. Now there could be a less meta reason for it, being that nora needed smt to trigger Jean thinking abt how the rules he has held to arent in place anymore but they are for him but maybe he could let them go but trauma. But he thinks pretty similar thoughts in other parts of the series too so I just dont understand. And it might be me, Im not saying it vouldnt be. Idk, I feel like the last scene in thebbook was an odd place to have such a vaugely explained and not previously seen trauma response from Jean towards Jeremy.

Okay thats all. Im gonna reread the series with tgr and give more well rounded and coherent thoughts some time in the next week. If you read all of this consider yourself a saint

[captainlunaxmen]

Meet cute

Sirius Black x Fem!reader

Context ⚠️

I got this idea completely out of nowhere.

I watched "we live in time" trailer and picture this. I changed Andrew Garfield's character in Remus to fit the fandom, but Florence Pugh's character's name is the same. Also, I still haven't watched the movie, so this is not a crossover except for her name.

That being said, I hope you'll like it, and please let me know what you think 🙏 ❤️

Summary: Remus is adamant about finding his best friend a love match. Thankfully, his girlfriend helps him out.

Warnings: none, I think.

"I'm not trying to set you up with anyone." Remus laughs as he leads, more like drags, his best friend to the building where a party's supposed to be.

"I know you, Remus." Y/n glares at him, even though he's not looking at her. "You do the same thing when you try to play cupid for me."

"Not true!" He defends.

"That's so true." She insists, "and let me tell you... not a great job, mate."

"Okay... okay... I admit, my friends weren't exactly the perfect match, that's why I stopped playing cupid" he agrees, but Y/n could sense something was off.

"C'mon, Remus, you promised not to set me up with one of your friends anymore." She complains as she's literally dragged by Remus, up to the roof of the building.

"I promise I'm not setting you up with one of my friends, cross my heart." He tells her, genuinely.

Y/n and Remus have been friends since... well, since always, they know each other like the back of their hands, so Y/n lets out a relieved sigh when he says that.

"That's a relief." She replies, not putting up a fight anymore and simply follows the guy upstairs.

"I promised you after all," he says opening the door for Y/n, and it's when he closes it that he adds, "he's actually Almut's friend."

"What?" Y/n exclaims, wanting to turn around and just leave, but Remus' hands on her shoulder prevent her from going any further.

"You made it!" Almut's cheerful voice makes Y/n glares at the man in front of her.

"Hi!" She turns, accepting Almut's hug.

"I'm so happy to see you!" Her best friend's girlfriend cheers.

"So am I... I hope." Y/n hesitantly smiles.

"Oh..." the blonde realises, then confirms after seeing the guilty expression on her boyfriend, "you figured it out, didn't you?"

"Have you met your boyfriend?" I joke, "not exactly subtle."

"I did fool you for a second." He once again defends himself.

"I told you I should've taken her here myself." Almut accuses and takes Y/n's arm to lead her more into the party, "I promise you, no pressure. Just meet him."

"Do I really have to?" Y/n asks, already given up her chance of going back home.

"Yap." She answers, "Sirius! Come here, will you?"

"I'm just gonna introduce myself and that's it." Y/n warn both Almut and Remus, "and. That's. It."

"Yes, fine, amazing." Almuta dismisses her focusing her attention on her friend talking over to them, "Sirius! Hey!"

"Hey! Good to see you!" Sirius cheerfully greet her with a side hug, "Remus, nice to see you too, mate, how are you?"

"I'm great, thanks, uh... this is Y/n, my best friend, Y/n this is Sirius."

"Nice to meet you." Sirius smiles brightly at her and holds out his hands for Y/n to shake, whish she does.

"Nice to meet you too." She replies with a smile, now taking in his appearance. She mentally curses Remus because he knows she always liked long haired men. She breaks eye contact, Remus notices her reluctance in having a conversation so he decides to take charge of the situation.

"So," he starts to rumble about some documentary he watched, everyone saying their opinions, interested in Remus' documentary. Surprisingly so.

Remus and Almut notice how their friends finally talk to each other, among them, but it's still victory in their mind.

The party goes on all afternoon, everyone having a great time, it's when the sun starts to go down that the roof slowly gets emptier and emptier. Only a few people left.

Almut and Remus by the ledge talking with each other, watching Y/n and Sirius as they talk in one of the sofas.

"I... I don't know how to say this," Sirius starts, nursing his almost empty glass, "but I think they're trying to set us up." He slightly nods to the couple not so far from them.

"You think?" Y/n laughs, "they're not that subtle."

"Well, I wasn't suspecting anything untill I saw how they're watching us." He admits.

"Really? Remus has been suspicious all morning." The girl chuckles, taking a sip of her drink.

"How?"

"First of all, you have to know that he's been trying forever to play Cupid. He introduced me to countless friends, so I learned to catch hints." She explains, Sirius listening closely to her, "when he wants to genuinely introduce me to a new friend, he goes like this.'They're amazing. You need to meet them.' But when he wants to introduce me, hoping to find love, he goes 'just wait till you meet them, you two are going to get along perfectly.' Emphasis on 'you two'." She laughs again, earning a smile from Sirius, "has Almut ever set you up with anyone?"

"Never, I'm unfortunately very picky, so she never tried," he says, but catches himself once her chuckle makes him realise what he said, "now I sound like an asshole, I promise it's not like that."

"It's okay," she laughs, "how is it then?"

"I'm just very protective of my heart." He simply answers, Y/n nods understanding.

"You don't want to be hurt again, the first time was more than enough, uh?"

"Exactly like that, "he softly nods, "are you the same?"

"I'm afraid so." She nods too, "I definitely wouldn't want experience that same pain again."

"May I ask?" Sirius tries, he doesn't want to pressure, he understands her pain, like she does his.

"Well," she chuckles, "this is usually a fifth date conversation."

"Fifth?" He asks and Y/n nods, "I'll look forward to it then."

Y/n looks at him, his sweet smile gretting her. She sees honesty in his eyes, she's a little taken aback, but feels comfort in them. She feels peace.

"Are... are you flirting with me?" She asks, confused, "I'm not good at noticing if someone does..."

"Do you want me to?" He smirks, but it's not a teasing smirks, it's playful.

"Uh..." Y/n chuckles and breaks eye contact, not being able to stop the smile on her face.

Y/n and Sirius clearly forgot about the two pairs of eyes watching them.

"Look! Look how she's smiling!" Remus nudges his girlfriend.

"And loom at how he looks at her!" Almut cheerfully points out.

"I think we did a great job." Remus says, "I really hope this time is the one. She deserves to be loved."

"So does he. He's been through so much, some happiness is what he needs." Almut agrees.

"This is the first time she looks like she's actually enjoying herself." The brunette sighs content, "I don't know how it never happened before."

"Because you tried to set her up on your own." She grins, "you didn't have me."

"That's right."He agrees hugging her, "we make a great team, don't we?"

"The best."

[demonslayedher]

Low-Key Married AU fluff

Kochou said that I was disliked, so I asked her if she disliked me too. For someone so quick to have a smiling response to everything, she struggled to reply. She was the one who proposed marriage and swayed me, so I had thought that meant she had feelings for me. There would be no other way to read it. However, with as unbothered as she is by my absence, I have to wonder.

It’s been ten days since I had last contact with her. I went home to the Butterfly Mansion, but she had just departed for a mission, so I didn’t stay long so as not to trouble the girls. It may still be a few days before I can return again, but it’s always likely she’ll be busy. She’s incredible in that way, taking on all the care of our injured Corp members in addition to her Pillar missions. It must be in her personality to keep adding to what keeps her busy, like taking me in as though I looked like I needed the care. Although the times we’ve spent together have been nice, I don’t require it. My duties call for me to always be ready for battle, and I’ve always kept my heart steady.

So has she. We are Pillars first, and no amount of affection can sway us—whether an abundance or a lack.

I’m not bothered by lacking something I didn’t deserve in the first place.

Last night again, I was too late to prevent a family from being slaughtered. There were no survivors this time, aside from the eldest child who was still ravenous with a recent transformation. Having to chase him down and keep him from harming anyone else kept me off the trail of the progenitor of demons, who had to have been close by. For centuries, he’s evaded us this way over and over, sacrificing entire families to throw us off his trail. If I were to chide myself over every failure, I would have lost the ability to do anything ages ago. Each time, the anger is something I carry with me, to push myself harder the next time, and the next. Any extent more that I can push myself may be the difference to someone’s survival, no one can afford to lose their life over any of my own lost confidence.

“CAW!! TOMIOKA GIYUUUU! NEWS FOR TOMIOKA GIYUUUU!”

Each time it's a crow I think I recognize, my stomach drops. My mind is already playing the words I dread to hear, as though trying to protect my mind once I someday hear them.

"Kochou Shinobu has died."

Even if I hear them, I'm a Pillar first. That was what we promised each other. I'll always do as I must.

The crow says nothing as it delivers a letter.

YES, YES, I KNOW, THIS FANDOM HAS TURNED ME INTO SHIPPER TRASH. For this pairing, it was more specifically my own joke AU which later bit me in the back and made me start really, really enjoying GiyuShino (which, for the record, I do not consider canon). Was throwing ideas back and forth with @reicchel again the other day and so here we are with ship content!

Part of the reason I love the Low-Key Married AU (in which it's mostly canon as usual, except that Shinobu and Giyuu have been married for over a year or so, and it's not a secret but they make such little deal about it that many people don't even know they're married) is that it's a frame through which to see every interaction and either make it really, really funny, or very, very, sad. Everything was supposed to be funny, but it keeps hurting, hahaha... aaahhhh.

For instance, in a regular romcom situation, it should be funny that Kanzaburo doesn't deliver all of Giyuu's letters. Knowing these two, who might had started this whole "well, we'll be a couple when we have time" thing by actively writing regular letters, this could had simply given the impression that the other person wasn't writing as much, so they both naturally decreased frequency to match. It's a little lonely, but neither one is going to push the other for more attention.

No!! I refuse to let this post end with angst! Time for omake!!!

[oomox-oclock]

✮ Dream Weaver ✮

(Julian Bashir x GN!reader)

—— MINORS DNI ——

Star Trek Masterlist

MY FIRST STAR TREK REQUEST AAAAAAAA (I know you said you didn’t want it too graphic so I tried my best to dial it down pookie, you know who you are)

Summary: Have you ever thought of fucking this twink?Better yet, him fucking you? Domestic style? Well I have and here is my contribution to the fandom. Soft sex with Julian.

Warnings: Smut!!! Porn with feelings. Not alot of plot. I don’t edit my works <\3 Soft top Julian🤞 this is also anything but great whoopsie

Everything is a lovely hazy feeling, the dim quarters, the faint smell of Julians shower products, and his warm body against yours under the blankets. You just had a lovely bath with him, his doctor hands massaged your shoulders and washed your hair, in return you washed him too. Soft loving kisses to your wet skin was left by him. After that you dried off and got into bed together, both relaxed but awake. Ever since the two of you got together and started sharing a bed and quarters, Julians stress has been decreasing and his sleeps more soundly. (Not to mention the fact that it’s probably because of the sex but I digress). He plants another soft kiss to your shoulders, his hand trailing under your sleep shirt and gently rubbing your sides. Tracing every dip and curve with revere. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He mutters more to himself, though that boyish smile coming in when he sees you reacting to it. That boy knows he’s getting some tonight, the cocky playful grin, his flirting tactics. Your heart melts and builds a fire in your core. He knows what he’s doing as his kisses move closer to your neck. “You need a sedative you humping bunny.” You giggle as his lips add more pressure to your skin and he gets a bit more worked up. “But you’re my sedative…” He hums into your neck, now giving generous licks and his long fingers becoming more exploratory. You give a small moan when he nips at you, your hand going into his fluffy hair. He could really get away with anything with those big brown eyes and pleasing lips, he could get anything he wanted, and he wants you. In his opinion it’s more a need for you. Always the charmer.

Things escalate at a nice slow pace, taking off each others clothes, touching each others bodies like it’s the first time again, marvelling in the way you fit so right together. Praising words come from him as you grind and feel each other up, and when it comes from you he gets more passionate and needy. Your lips meet in sloppy slow kiss, making out with your arms around his neck and him positioning on top of you. An elbow propping himself up as his other hand spreads your legs and goes under your thigh to hook it over his arm, spreading you out even more. His hardening cock rubbing against your inner thigh, you buck your hips up as your tongues slip against each other and his tip is prodding at your entrance. His precum giving it a little coat. “Julian…” you sigh against his lips. “Who’s needy now?” He smirks against your lips before diving his tongue back into your mouth. You give him a little nip on his bottom lip as a protest and he leans back. “Hey…” he gives you a playful glare as you giggle and he huffs out a laugh. Reaching for the lube on the night stand, a squirting out a generous amount onto his fingers.

“Now you’ll see how a surgeons fingers can really move…” He says with a husk in his voice and glaze in his eyes. “You say that line every-time.” You give a small sigh as you’re laid on your back looking up at him. “Well it works every-time doesn’t it?” He raises an eyebrow as his two fingertips press against your entrance. Your eyes flutter shut as his lubricated fingers push past into you, you swallow as your face burns hot. He curls and scissors his fingers, pumping ever so slightly to drag those delicious sounds out of you as he makes sweet contact with a specific spot inside you. You moan out and he kisses you, trying to breathe in your moans for him. A whine escapes you when he pulls his fingers out, filling his ego.

He lets you wrap your legs around his waist, your finger nails scrape gently down his back as his dick penetrates you. It’s absolutely delectable, you can feel him pulse inside you, and it gets even better when he begins to move. Back and forth, his hips rotating to get the best spots. Having your skin against his when he’s in by the hilt makes his cock inside you harden even more, he grunts and groans into your mouth and against your tongue as he fucks you slowly and deeply. Savouring this feeling of bliss and pleasure, having you in his bed, in his arms. A soothing balm to his soul. He continues to love on you the rest of the night through, making sure you’re both satisfied. Touching those sweet sensitive spots with his fingers while thrusts deep into you making your body bounce with the rhythm. He moans your name into the dim room and it wilts out to the stars when he finishes in you, but a few sloppy plunges into your swollen hole until he was satisfied and satiated. He pulls out, breathing more heavily and watching as his cum drips out of you. It’s hot and messy, just how he would describe you, and you him.

After cleaning you up and the whole point of the bath before bed being wasted, because both of you are slightly sweaty. But nonetheless, he cuddles into you, peppering sleepy kisses to your neck and cheek. “I love you, you know that…?” He murmurs softly, gently moving hair out of your face. You give him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you too.” With that he squeezes you tightly against him like would cuddle with Kukalaka. He shuts his eyes with a big smile on his face and nuzzles into you and goes to sleep. You chuckle softly in defeat as you can’t get out of his arms, but you certainly don’t mind.

A/N: my involuntary celibate I love you <3 (Julian)

[spivecream]

Why r we getting so heated over ppl having options on characters, take a deep breath pls

Do you want the short answer or the long answer?

The short answer is that I like Pearl and I also have opinions. When people are hateful about things I like I want to say something back.

To be honest, I wish we could all hold hands and sing Pumping Iron together but that’s not going to happen, is it? So until then I’ll keep sharing my opinions about Pearl and StEx, which I really don’t think is hurting anyone.

The long answer is that I think a lot of Pearl-hate is because of internalised misogyny and slut-shaming. It makes me angry that not even a fictional train is spared from it, nor given the grace that she deserves, that being that StEx isn’t written with a lot of care and neither is Pearl. A good character should drive the story forward, but in StEx the plot happens to Pearl, rather than the other way around.

As I said in one of my posts (and as someone in the replies said), character flaws are lost on certain people and people expect Pearl to be (or think she should’ve been) this perfect person who can do no wrong whatsoever. The only way that Pearl really impacts the course of the plot is by choosing Electra over Rusty. If she had been this perfect person, and apparently had some kind of foresight, she obviously would’ve chosen Rusty. Roll credits!

The Pearl hate that is particularly slut shame-y is hating her that she can’t choose who to go with, and that she “breaks up” Greaseball and Dinah. (And let me just say, not hating, just a fact- that was Greaseball’s fault). Why would you hate Pearl for that? As a young woman myself, I’ve been in a “make up my heart” situation, and truthfully, so have a lot of people I know. Pearl is really not that weird or wrong for how she reacts, but once again, because she struggles with something that may be alien to some people, she’s the worst person they’ve ever seen. I’ve also tunnel-visioned on something I want to the detriment of people around me, again, not that that crazy. Very normal situation. Not a nice one, but a widely experienced one.

I can only imagine that some of you skived English class because to me it seems pretty obvious that Pearl is supposed to be naive and focused on winning the race, to the detriment of herself and Rusty. That’s how she moves the plot forward, and if she was the perfect character, there would be no story.

I like Pearl a lot and I want to protect her. Notice I haven’t actually said anything hateful about the other characters though. It’s not my place and honestly it baffles me how people can be so hateful about anything on the internet. But if you will allow me a moment…

It’s a bit weird to love Greaseball and hate Pearl when Greaseball is objectively a bad person and horrible to Dinah and all Pearl wanted was to win a race OKAY THERE I SAID IT.

Phew we got through that didn’t we! And don’t get me wrong, I like Greaseball too, but I think as a fandom, let’s just sit down and evaluate these characters together, and if you want to keep hating them then feel free! Let’s just not blindly ignore one character’s flaws and then completely crucify another character for their shortcomings.

There you go Anon, I hope that answered your - slightly condescending - question! Thanks for the opportunity to yap more about my favourite character and share some of my opinions that haven’t made it into posts yet. I hope that was interesting and that you learned something. Have a nice day!

[nowritingonthewall]

Let me take your hand

Fandom: Star Wars

Character(s): modern!AU Poe, Shara Bey and Kes Dameron

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: Sometimes all you need to make the pain a little more bearable is someone to take your hand, hold you gently, kiss you softly and tell you that they love you.

Words: 6900

Warnings: Hurt/comfort with a lot of hurt (!) in the beginning, aftermath of losing a parent (please please please don’t read if you fear that you might not be able to bear reading this!), reader celebrates Christmas, kind of spoilery if you haven’t read “Free Fall”

A/N: This was supposed to be a cute little spin-off of another Christmas story that spiralled completely out of control. 2023 was the third Christmas with this story living rent free in my mind and I was really determined to finally write and finish it this time before becoming really sick for two months. Even though it’s nearly Easter I hope that maybe one or two of you might still like it <3

As always, I apologize for not being a native speaker.

Christmas used to be Poe’s favourite time of the year.

There were presents, bright sparkling lights all over the city, the smell of freshly baked cookies, joyful songs on the radio, people being so much kinder than usual, chocolate glazed koyo berries and most importantly: both of his parents would be at home. Because Christmas was sacred.

Sure, presents were nice and everything, but sneaking into his parents’ bedroom before dawn on Christmas Morning, cuddling up to them under their warm blankets, lying safe and snug between them in a huge loving hug sandwich, knowing that for once there was no rush to get up and nothing to worry about because the day belonged to no one but their family?

There was nothing in Poe’s whole world that would ever be able to beat that.

Christmas was his favourite thing in the entire universe.

Even his very first memory was created on Christmas Eve. Shara and Kes would dance together at every possible (and impossible) opportunity they got, but that very first dance in the light of their Christmas tree on Christmas Eve was special.

It was as special to them as the song that had to accompany their dance: 'Let Me Take Your Hand' by Hera and the Rebels.

It was the song that had played on an old record player when they had met in an airplane hangar for the very first time. It had played when they had shared their first kiss, when Kes had proposed to his beloved Shara, when they had their first dance at their wedding, and when Shara had told Kes with happy tears in her eyes that they were going to be parents.

Music like a tender hug wrapping its loving arms around you, caressing your soul and soothing your heart, leaving you feeling like nothing in the world could ever hurt you.

Would you let me take your hand

And hold you gently

And kiss you softly

If I said I loved you

That Christmas Eve, as his parents began to sway in tune with the first few bars of the old forty-five crackling over the loud speakers, little Poe had no idea that he had just become part of a very long and love-filled Dameron Christmas tradition.

He was simply the happiest little boy, cuddled against his Dad’s chest, who held him gently yet safely close to his heart. With his Mom taking his hands in hers and making funny faces at him while singing along to the music, his eyes sparkled even brighter than the lights of the Christmas decorations around him.

As soon as the song was over, he wiggled his tiny feet and clapped his little hands in excitement, squealing giddily, “‘gain pwease!”

And his parents didn’t mind at all. With the record playing over and over again, they took turns kissing each other and placing the softest of kisses on their son’s forehead, cooing how much they loved him.

Poe couldn’t get enough of it.

On his eighth Christmas Eve, as Poe clung to Shara’s leg during their dance, he decided that part of him couldn’t wait to grow up and find his special someone to dance to their song. He vividly imagined how he would look at them the same way as Kes was looking at Shara.

Of course, his parents would still be there and enjoy dancing right next to him. He would do a show of being embarrassed when his Mom would try to ruffle his hair, because for some weird reason, grown-ups were supposed to hate it, even though he wouldn’t actually mind at all. And his Mom and Dad would love you nearly as much as he would and his parents would be so happy for their son to carry on their Christmas tradition.

If only he had known. If only he had known that this would be the very last Christmas with his Mom. Maybe he would have clung to her a little tighter, maybe he wouldn’t have nicked quite so many Christmas cookies, maybe he would have told her how much he loved her just one more time.

But then again, if he had known, it probably wouldn’t have been the most wonderful Christmas ever or the last time that he could remember his Dad looking truly happy before everything changed forever.

Only a year later it was hard to believe that any of those beautiful memories had been real at all.

Despite his insurmountable grief, Kes had tried his best to make this Christmas as magical for his son as it used to be. It was just that he had never quite gotten the hang of how Shara had always managed to make the Christmas tree and their apartment look so beautiful and festive and welcoming. And no matter how many Christmas lights he would string or how many candles he would light, it seemed like all their warmth and brightness had left when Shara did.

It was the night before their first Christmas without his Mom when Poe woke up to the most desperate stifled sobs coming from the living room. Full of worry, he stumbled out of bed and through the flat, the sinking feeling in his tummy growing heavier with each step of his bare feet on the ice cold floor tiles.

When he reached the door to the living room, the picture unfolding in front of him nearly tore is heart apart: The hunched over figure of his Dad lying under the Christmas tree, face hidden behind his hands, crying so violently his whole body was shaking.

Before even being able to form a single coherent thought, Poe had already crouched down on the floor right next to his Dad, trying to pull him into a hug – just like he knew his Mom would have done to comfort him.

His arms didn’t quite reach all the way around the package that his Dad had folded himself into but Poe tried to make up for it by pouring all the softness and warmth and tenderness from his big little heart into his words when he said, “I love you, Daddy! It’s gonna be okay!”

His Dad didn’t react. So Poe tried again, squeezing him even tighter this time but all it drew from Kes was another heart-wrenching sob.

But Poe wasn’t going to give up that easily. After all, just because his Mom wasn’t here with them in person, it didn’t mean that she didn’t celebrate Christmas with them. And if she was looking down at them from her cloud in Heaven among all the most beautiful angels in the universe (because there was no doubt for Poe, that’s exactly where his Mom would be), it would surely break her heart to see her two boys crying on Christmas Eve. And he couldn’t let his Mom down, could he? Not at Christmas.

And there was one thing left to try.

Hurrying over to the record player, he found what he was looking for exactly where his Mom had stored it away neatly last year. Ever so carefully, as if handling the most precious item in the world, he let the record slide out of its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. Slowly and gently, just like his Mom had taught him, he lowered the tone arm before turning back to his Dad.   

With the first few soft sounds floating across the room, Kes finally raised his head, looking up to where his son stood, holding out his hand for his Dad. As he slowly got on his feet, Poe took a step towards him and tried his best to put on a brave smile, his eyes encouraging and full of hope.

Kes looked at his son. And he looked at the record player. Then he walked straight past his son and with a cry of agony that made Poe stumble backwards with a start, Kes tore the record off the turntable and threw it to the ground with enough force to break it into a thousand pieces. Yet they were nothing compared to the millions of pieces that little Poe’s heart shattered into at this very moment.

As his father stormed out of the room, Poe kept staring at the broken remnants of the last happy memory of his family. Trying to understand what on earth had just happened. What had he done wrong?

Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the confusion, but he didn’t even notice how he began to shiver as the cold crawled up from the floor over his bare feet and under his thin pyjamas. Until he could no longer tell whether the numbness creeping into his heart and soul came from the cold or the growing ache in his chest. He had never felt more lost or lonely in his entire life.

For the briefest of moments, he wondered whether it would be possible to glue the pieces back together again. But as he knelt down and began to pick them up slowly, one by one, that last flicker of hope was extinguished quickly.

As he pondered over what to do, he spotted the stack of Christmas napkins that his Mom had bought last year, after Poe had insisted that the teddy bear pictured on them looked just like his beloved plushie Mr. Beebs. He had spent hours sitting right next to her, learning how to fold them into the most intricate shapes, just like his Mom had done, until he had declared excitedly that his Mom would never have to worry about folding a set of napkins for their guests ever again because now she had Poe to take care of that. Taking one of the napkins from the stack now, he could vividly remember the fondness in her eyes as her smile had outshone his proud little grin.

After spreading the napkin out on the floor, he piled the pieces of the record up onto it, carefully and gently, until even the tiniest of pieces had been accounted for. Looking around the room for something to tie the napkin bundle up with, his gaze fell upon Mr. Beebs sitting on the couch with his tiny bow tie around his neck. It didn’t seem right to take it, but Poe apologized to his teddy and promised that he would only borrow it for a little while.

Having the napkin tied neatly together, he got up off the floor, taking one last look at the Christmas tree. A source of warmth and comfort for as long as he could remember, its lights and decorations almost seemed like they were mocking him now. As his eyes began to wander along its branches, his gaze came to rest on the star at the top of the tree.

“I am sorry, Mommy,” he whispered.  

As Poe held the napkin bundle gently against his heart, the tears began to fall. Unseen and in silence, yet hot and burning.

He was still clutching the little bundle to his chest when he found himself crying quietly in his bed a little later. He held it even tighter when he could hear the soft footsteps of his father approaching.

“Poe?” Kes’ voice was so gentle, it was barely audible to his son.

“Poey, sweetheart… I am sorry! I am… I am so so so sorry!”

Staring at the wall in front of him, Poe couldn’t see how his father’s tears over losing the love of his life had turned into tears over the fear of losing his son. He couldn’t see how his father reached out his hand towards him, only to hesitate at the very last moment, too afraid that he would just make things worse.

He couldn’t see how Kes longed for nothing more than to hug Poe close to his heart and never let him go again, desperate to find a way to comfort his son without subjecting him to his own soul crushing pain.

All he could see, over and over again, was that moment when his father walked right past him to smash their record to pieces.

His father didn’t want to take his hand.

Determined that he didn’t want Kes to see him cry, Poe pulled the covers over his head. And just like he had wrapped the napkin around the broken pieces of the record, Poe could feel something else wrapping itself around his heart. Not nearly as gentle and careful, but way harder and tighter and indefinitely more painful.

His father didn’t want to take his hand.

It was the last time that either of them acknowledged the song. It was the last time that music was played in the Dameron household.

And Poe never danced again.

Sometimes he would dream of it, though. Holding someone in his arms and swaying to the soft rhythm of a melody while waiting for Christmas cookies to bake in the oven or the first coffee of the day to finish brewing. But it never felt quite right. As soon as that longing ache would make itself known, he would shove it back to where it came from. Burying it a little deeper every time. After all, life was not a flipping Disney Christmas movie.

Yet there was a part of him that never stopped trying to find the song again. Even more so during that time of the year. Whether it was at the Christmas markets or at the shops, as soon as the softest sound of music could be heard anywhere, Poe would strain his ears hoping against hope to hear that comforting familiar tune just one more time.

Now and then he would hum the melody to himself, especially in those moments when he missed his Mom even worse than usual.

More than once he found himself sliding into a panic when he seemed to stumble over parts of the melody or he needed a little longer to remember some of the words. Every time that happened, he feared another piece of the memory of his Mom might slip away.

One night, after waking up in cold sweat again, he frantically scribbled down the lyrics onto the next best sheet of paper he could find as if they might be lost forever if he didn’t write them down this instant. After taking a few moments to catch his breath, he carefully folded the sheet and placed it into the little wooden box in his nightstand, which held the napkin bundle and the record sleeve.

Over the years, there were a few people that he tried to confide in but his attempts always ended up with him being made fun of. So he gave up those attempts too, burying his feelings deep under the growing pile of pain and ache and longing. They were obviously too silly to share them with anyone.

Not to you, though.

When Poe and you were about to spend your first Christmas together, it had been several years since he had bothered to put up any proper Christmas decorations at all. So when you asked him excitedly whether you could put them up together, he really did it more for you than for him.

Though he couldn’t deny that your enthusiasm was more than a little contagious. You turned the whole thing into a proper little event with Christmassy snacks and hot cocoa and festive music. After a while he found your joy so infectious that it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Feelings that he hadn’t associated with Christmas for a long, long time.

He even sent both of you into a fit of giggles and laughter after somehow managing to completely wrap himself in tinsel rather than the Christmas tree.

And then you threw him completely off balance with one seemingly innocent little question: “So what’s your favourite Christmas tradition?”

Before he could tumble off the chair he was standing on, however, his instincts kicked in, making him fall back onto his standard go to answer: Chocolate glazed koyo berries. “My father had this really amazing way of turning them into the most delicious…” he began.

But it just felt wrong. Of course he loved his father’s chocolate koyo berries, he actually used to love them a lot. But there was something else. As he looked into your warm and loving eyes, something long forgotten tried to force its way up from the deepest pits of his heart. And try as he might, it refused to be pushed back down again this time.

Determined to keep it together, he turned away from you, biting his lips until they hurt. He was not going to cry. He was not going to ruin everything again.

“Poe? Hey… sweetie, your hands are shaking…”

Squeezing his eyes shut with enough force to give him a headache, he could hear the confusion in your voice turning into worry.

“Oh Poe, I am sorry, I should have known that this might bring back painful memories, I really shouldn’t have asked, I am so sorry…”

Trying to stifle the wave of sobs demanding to be let out, he shook his head vigorously, still refusing to look at you.

“No no no, you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just… it’s silly!” he choked up.

You paused for a moment before saying gently, “It doesn’t look like it’s silly to you?”

He didn’t resist when you took his trembling hands in yours and helped him to climb down from the chair. Not letting go, you carefully held them steady in your hands, drawing soothing circles on them with your thumbs, as Poe kept staring at the floor.

“You don’t have to tell me now, if it’s too much,” you tried to reassure him.

“No, I want to, I just…” Grunting in frustration, he broke away and began to rub at his eyes with the palms of his hands with increasing force as if the motion would somehow be able to rub those pesky and unwelcome feelings away.

Carefully taking his hands into yours once more, you slowly led them away from his eyes. As you cupped his face with your hands, tenderly caressing over his temples with your thumbs, he finally looked at you, revealing his sore eyes glistening with tears and all the pain and grief that lay beneath.

It broke your heart.

You hesitated, as you had to fight your own tears welling up inside of you now before asking softly, “Is this about your Mom?”

Poe nodded ever so slightly.

Your voice turned even softer. “Does it have anything to do with the little box you keep in your night stand?”

Of course you had seen the way that he looked at that box. You had seen how he would rest his hand on that box, how his expression would turn from soft to pained and to soft again. Now and then he had even seemed to be humming a soft little melody while gently caressing over the lid of the box. Yet despite all of your questions, it had never felt right to ask him about it before he was ready to open up to you.

Closing his eyes again, Poe took a few shaky breaths. Letting his fingers wander up your arms, until they came to rest on your hands still holding his face, he tried to ground himself, focussing his attention on you. Your kindness, your gentleness, your warmth.

“Do you really want to know?” he finally managed to ask before his voice broke again.

“I do,” you said gingerly. “Of course I do. But… I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’d have to tell me anything that you aren’t ready to share yet.”

Nodding slowly, he furrowed his brow, deepening the pained expression on his face. An even more overwhelming wave of sadness radiated from his eyes, spreading over his already grief-stricken features. He tried to open and shut his mouth a few times before giving up and taking you by the hand to lead you into the bedroom.

You knelt down on the floor right next to him while he opened the drawer of his nightstand to remove the little wooden box and carefully opened the lid, revealing its contents to you. You saw the record sleeve and the lyric sheet and the napkin bundle tied together with the bowtie borrowed from Poe’s old childhood teddy Mr. Beebs.

Taking a deep breath, Poe took the bundle out of the box and placed it on the floor in front of you, unwrapping it ever so carefully.

He hadn’t opened it in decades. The moment that the napkin came undone around the broken pieces of the record, the tight layer of repressed feelings and ignored pain and buried grief wrapped around his heart fell away with it. Until there was nothing left to hold back the swelling flood of tears.

As soon as the first desperate sob ripped through his body so violently that it threatened to take his breath away, you were there. Catching him, holding him, comforting him, sheltering him.

And Poe cried like he had never cried before.

“It’s not fair! It’s not flipping fair, it’s not… she should be here… she should still be here… here with us…”

Everything seemed to bubble up to the surface at once. Pain and anger and confusion and helplessness.

“I wanted to hug him, I… I just really needed to hug him and… and I wanted to, but… but… but I was too small and… and… how could he just smash it?”

You were barely able to make any sense of all his memory fragments and turbulent emotions that were demanding attention all at once, but that wasn’t important right now.

“He came to apologize that night but I couldn’t… I couldn’t… I didn’t want him to see me cry and I… I… I should have…”

As you held him gently in your arms, he clung desperately to you, sobbing helplessly against your shoulder.

“I just… I… I failed them. Both…”

“Oh, Poe,” you whispered as you buried your face in his curls. And even though you knew that he wouldn’t be ready to believe you yet, you added gently but firmly, “You didn’t fail anybody!”

Smoothing some damp curls from his forehead, you pressed a tender kiss to the top of his head, when a new wave of tears began to stream down his face. Hot and desperate tears that had never been given a chance to dry, burning in his heart during all those years.

And now you were kissing them away. Softly. Every single one of them, even tough they were replaced by fresh ones immediately. Until sheer exhaustion made him collapse into your embrace.

As you cradled the back of his head, steadying him against your chest, rocking him gently back and forth, you knew that it wasn’t just your boyfriend crying in your arms. You held the wounded little boy, who couldn’t understand. Who blamed himself without even knowing what he had done wrong. Who hurt so deeply and yet would rather take care of everybody else around him before tending to his own wounds.

“I am here for you, Poe,” you cooed gently, hugging him tight. “I love you!”

And for the first time in decades, it felt like a few of the million shattered pieces of his heart were beginning to heal.

Unbeknownst to Poe, you made it your year’s goal to find the song for him.

The fact that Poe hadn’t been able to find it in all those years despite all his efforts, not even in the endless vastness of the internet, didn’t deter you in the slightest. Or so you thought. At least for the first eleven months of the year.

By the time December came around again, you were so close to admitting defeat that Poe began to worry about what brought you so low, even fearing that he might have been the one dampening your mood with his lack of Christmas spirit.

So, in an attempt to make up for that, he suggested taking you to the annual charity Christmas bazaar at your local school, hoping that a little Christmassy shopping spree for charity and the sparkly atmosphere of the Christmas lights might cheer you up again.

You tried not to get your hopes up, you really did. But the moment that Poe popped off to the restrooms and you found yourself stranded in front of a stall with several boxes of old forty-fives, you had to start browsing, of course.

Sorting swiftly through the records, you had gone through at least fifty of them, when your brain gave you a little jolt. You stopped. Going backwards very slowly, you looked at each of them again until you got back to the forty-second one. You carefully removed the record from the box. You read the title on the sleeve. You stared at it in disbelief. And you read it again. You shook your head. You read the title a third time. And despite your best attempts to stay calm, you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a little scream that made the elderly gentleman behind the display ask in concern whether you were all right. It took every ounce of self restraint you could muster to keep yourself from throwing your arms around him and hug him until he turned blue. In the end, you hugged him anyway.

After handing the stall owner enough money to prompt him to ask you again whether you were all right, you hid the record in your bag and quickly hurried past the next few stalls, hoping not to give anything away.

You still weren’t able to keep the shine out of your eyes, though. Which Poe noticed immediately the minute that he caught up with you.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked raising a confused eyebrow.

Letting out a happy sigh that you weren’t able to contain, you smiled, “I’m just really looking forward to Christmas!”

His gaze softened as he pulled you towards you, placing a tender kiss on top of your head. Gently rubbing your noses together, his smile grew wider until it painted crinkles around his eyes.

As he rested his forehead against yours, he whispered, “Me too!” And for the first time since what felt like forever, he actually meant it.

You spent the better part of the remainder of the run-up to Christmas trying to come up with the best possible plan to present the record to him. Should you simply hide it in a pile of other gifts in his stocking, should you make him close his eyes while you put the record on, should you wake him up with the music on Christmas Morning or maybe something completely different? In the end you decided that you would leave it up to Poe because the last thing you wanted was to overwhelm him in any way or even cause him more hurt.

When you found yourself cuddling with him on the couch on Christmas Eve, however, it became increasingly harder for you to remain patient until Christmas Morning.

Lying half atop on you, Poe had completely melted into your embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck, while you played with his hair. The ease and trust with which he relaxed in your arms melted your heart. You were just about to turn your head and place a gentle kiss to his temple, when he lifted his head.

“Are you okay, bups?” He asked, raising a worried eyebrow at you.

“Hmmm?” you mumbled a little absentmindedly. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re as tense as a loaded spring about to go off. And I mean that in a very non-euphemistic, sfw way. Although…” he wriggled his eyebrows, looking way too cute with his tousled hair curling itself into every possible direction, “I wouldn’t mind adding some ‘n’ into the mix a little later…”

You couldn’t help breaking into giggles, which made Poe grin in return. “That’s better,” he smiled, placing a sweet little kiss to your forehead before furrowing his brow again. “Wanna tell me why you are so nervous?”

You really hadn’t intended to spoil this peaceful moment but you also knew that Poe wouldn’t stop worrying until he knew what was up. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly tried to wriggle yourself free from underneath Poe to sit up, drawing some grunts of protest and a pout from him.

“I have a little surprise for you.”

Humming in a slightly more relaxed tone, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you towards him again.

“And can we stay on the couch for that or do we have to transfer to the bedroom?”

You snorted, “I’ve clearly given you the wrong idea now.”

With another smile, you brushed a few stray curls from his forehead and left a soft kiss in their place.

“You can stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Getting up to fetch your little present from the hiding place in the bedroom, you swiftly returned and set down next to Poe before giving it to him.

It took a few moments for Poe to realize what he was holding in his hands. As they began to tremble, he couldn’t help but keep staring at the record.

“How… where did you…” he whispered.

You gently laid your hands on his before explaining softly, “Actually… you kind of led me to it yourself when you took me to the Christmas bazaar three weeks ago.”

He let out a small shaky laugh that turned into a soft sob.

You immediately began to rub his back in soothing circles, leaving tender kisses all over the side of his face until he began to lean into you.

“Would you like me to play it?” you asked him gently.

He slowly peeled his gaze away from the record to look at you. As his big brown puppy dog eyes began to sparkle, he slowly nodded as if in a daze. He had gotten so used to hearing the song only in his memory, had both dreaded and hoped for this moment over and over again. As you put the record on and the song began to float across the room, it felt too surreal for him to grasp.

The music sounded even softer than you had imagined it. And so much more comforting than Poe remembered.

It sounded like the warmth of his Mom’s hand caressing his face and his parents’ laughter and tickle fights and the smell of his Mom’s baking and Kes scooping him up to carry him on his shoulders and morning cuddles and running towards his parents’ embrace. Both of them holding out their hands for him.

Just like you did now.

“Dance with me?” you asked him softly. Warm and open and welcoming while still giving him all the room that he might need.

Poe’s tears fell more slowly this time. As you laid your arms around him, pulling him towards you, swaying both of you to the soft rhythm of the music, he didn’t fight the soft and shaky sobs that turned another layer of destructive pain and grief into hopeful feelings of comfort and familiarity and home.

His head found his place leaning on your shoulder as your cheek came to rest against his. You held him gently and at the same time so close that there seemed to be no room left for anything that might hurt him. And yet your embrace was so soft that he knew he could trust you with his wounded bare heart in your hands.

As he wept in your arms, you kept caressing over his curls, leaving a trail of soft kisses along his hairline until his tears began to mix with your own. The moment Poe noticed the wet streaks running down your face, his eyes widened in alarm and he quickly reached up to wipe your tears away. But you gently laid your hands on his and shook your head with a sparkly-eyed smile.

“Don’t worry about those, Poe. Not all tears are bad.”

And Poe’s eyes that had been sparkling with tears of pain and sorrow slowly began to sparkle with something else.

It might not have been quite what he had imagined the first time to be like. Dancing to his parents’ song in the light of the Christmas tree with his own special someone.

Yet as his sobs subsided to the gentle rhythm of your soft kisses to his face and your hands tenderly smoothing over his hair, right now in this moment, he felt like the luckiest person in the universe.

Except for one thing.

When he let out an involuntary sigh, you pressed one more kiss to the top of his head before asking, “Why don’t you call him? Ask him to come over for Christmas?”

“Who?” Poe raised his head in mild confusion.

“Your father?” you smiled.

“How did…” Trailing off and letting out another sigh, Poe began to shake his head. “Me and my father stopped doing Christmas years ago. I don’t even have his number.”

“Well, funny thing…”

As Poe began to raise his eyebrows, you allowed yourself to break into a mischievous little grin, making him smile through his tears.

“I spoke to Auntie Leia the other day, and…” you began.

“…she had his number and gave it to you?” Poe finished your sentence in only mild disbelief.

“Of course she did,” you nodded and smiled again. “I don’t know how but it’s like she knew.”

Poe shook his head, unable to suppress a soft giggle. “She always does.”

You hesitated a little before you asked him, “Did you know that your father keeps asking after you whenever he meets her?”

Sobering up immediately, Poe lowered his gaze to the ground, furrowing his brow. “No, I… I didn’t…”

“Hey…” Cupping his face and gently guiding him to look at you again, you asked, “I can call him for you if you don’t feel up to it?” Your eyes softened before you added, “And no, Poe… I don’t think that would be ‘silly’.”

Poe let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Could you do that for me…?”

So you did. And less than an hour later, Kes was standing at your door. His knock was so soft and cautious that you would have missed it, had you not been on your way to the kitchen at exactly that moment.

He was shivering from the cold as it looked like he hadn’t even bothered to take the time and find appropriate clothes for the freezing temperatures outside. Yet when you had introduced yourself and motioned quickly for him to come in and step into the warmth, he hesitated.

“Are you really sure that Poe wants to see me?” he asked full of doubt.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “Yes he does. Of course he does! We just didn’t expect you to be here so early.”

“Oh… if you want me to come back later…”

“No, no, please… come in! You must be freezing.”

As Kes stepped into the light of your flat, you could see the clear remnants of tears on his face that had been hastily wiped away. And your heart broke for him just as it had for his son.

Poe had spent the last half hour bent over your record player, carefully removing remnants of dust from the needle and the grooves of the record. Deeply focused on his work, he gave a little start when you entered the living room, announcing brightly, “Look who is here, sweetie.”

“Hello, Poe!”

Turning around, Poe let out a soft, “Hey…” before clearing his throat and saying more firmly, “I am glad that you came.”

“Really?!”

His father’s reaction threw him off for a few moments. Was he really so utterly convinced that Poe wouldn’t want to see him?

Kes had to swallow a few times as he began to fumble nervously with the handle of the bag he had brought with him.

“Oh… these are for you!” he finally said, producing a huge bag of chocolate koyo berries.

Poe gasped in surprise. “But… these take days to make, how did you…?”

The smile that spread across Kes’ face somehow made him look even sadder. “I still make them every year, just in case you might... Never mind, you probably don’t even like them anymore, I just thought…”

Taking a step towards Kes, Poe reassured him, “No, no, of course I still love them, that’s really thoughtful of you… Dad!”

For a brief moment, Poe’s gaze flickered over to you and you started the record player. It took only a few notes for Kes to recognize the melody and his eyes widened, displaying a myriad of emotions.

“I… I’ve been searching everywhere,” he whispered. “I thought that maybe if I could find it, if I could just… you might…” Kes’ voice broke and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gain his composure.

When he opened them again, his son was standing right in front of him, offering his hand to his Dad. The look in his eyes was neither angry nor reproachful, but open and warm and encouraging with maybe a slightly pleading undertone. And it hit him full force just how much Poe reminded him of Shara in that moment.

Clasping a hand over his mouth, Kes let out a half-stifled shaky sob as his eyes began to glisten with tears. Taking a careful step towards his son, he took Poe’s hand into both of his. Placing the softest of kisses on his son’s hand, he gently held it against his chest right above his heart.

“Oh, Poey,” he whispered. “I am so... I am so…”

The moment his voice faltered again, Poe pulled his Dad into a hug. This drew a surprised little gasp from Kes before he threw his arms around his son, holding him closer than he had ever held him before. Like he was never going to let him go again. He knew that he might not be able to make up for lost time. But he could show Poe how much he meant to him right here and right now. Between violent sobs and desperate kisses to his temple and his cheek, Kes pulled his son close over and over again.

“Me, too!” Poe whispered through his own tears. “It’s okay, Dad… I love you!”

Maybe okay wasn’t exactly the right word. Maybe it was never really gonna be okay again. But as they both clung to each other, it certainly felt more okay than it had in a very long time. Maybe this could be the beginning of creating their new okay.

As his Dad’s desperate kisses slowly turned softer, he pulled back just enough to be able to gently cup his son’s face in his hands. “I love you, too, Poe. So so so damn much!”

You were just about to sneak out of the door to give them some room when Poe softly called out to you, “Hey… c’mere!”

They both invited you to join them with open arms. There may have been some feet casualties before the three of you found your rhythm but those were easily laughed away.

Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Day and Poe was still dancing. Safe and snug in a hug sandwich between the two people that he loved more than anything else in this world and who loved him just as much in return.

As Poe’s face once again found his familiar place in the crook of your neck, he mumbled, “I wish my Mom could have met you. I really wish that she could have been here with us just one more time.”

“I think she is, Poe!”

Instead of an answer, he let out a little sob against your shoulder, hugging both you and his Dad a little tighter, as Kes gently ruffled his hair.

And when Poe looked up again and his gaze came to rest on the star at the top of the Christmas tree, he could have sworn that it shone brighter than he could ever remember.

Sometimes life may cause you wounds that seem to hurt so deeply that all the time in the universe wouldn’t be able to heal them.

And sometimes… sometimes all you need to make the pain a little more bearable is someone to take your hand, hold you gently, kiss you softly and tell you that they love you.

Thank you for reading 💜

[darl-ingfics]

I absolutely love all your fics, especially your Sicktember series!!! 💖💖💖 You write everything so well, especially the fluff. I was wondering if you’d be able to write a miserable San with what he thinks is a head/chest cold that actually turns out to be the flu with ot8 caretakers? I understand that you’re still figuring San out though, so if you’re not comfortable writing for him yet I’m happy with the sickie being Seokmin instead with ot13 caretakers. Only write this if you want to! I love all your writing, so whatever you write I’ll enjoy 😊

First of all, thank you for being SO kind and SO patient! I received your second message today, and that really inspired me to push through and get this done. And I'm so happy I did, cause writing again has felt really stress-relieving, so thank you! I tried my best to do San justice, and honestly, still don't think I've fully got it, but that hardly matters when you make the character so delirious they're really just along for the ride 😅 Hope you enjoy!!!

Friends Like These

Fandom: ATEEZ

Sickie: San (flu)

Caregiver(s): OT8

Word Count: 1,440

Yeosang had been, admittedly, spacing out when San’s head collapsed against his shoulder on the car ride home. Despite jumping slightly at the sudden weight against him, Yeosang relaxed instantly, arm wrapping instinctively around San’s shoulders.

“What’s up, Sannie?” Yeosang whispered, fingers curling absent mindedly in the hair at the nape of San’s neck. 

“Don’ feel gooood,” San whined, sniffling rather pathetically as his body shifted to try to someone get closer to Yeosang despite the constraints of the car. Yeosang frowned sympathetically, even though San couldn’t see. San had been fighting a cold for the past three days, and had rather blatantly lost that battle during practice that day, taking a very clear turn for the worse after lunch. No one was sure how it had happened; San had diligently been taking extra vitamins, drinking ridiculous amounts of water, sleeping as much as possible, trying any and every health hack TikTok supplied… But his efforts had been fruitless, leaving them with a sad, shivery, sniffly San. Which was more than enough to break even the stoniest of hearts. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Yeosang said gently. “We’re almost home, yeah? Then you can take a nice hot shower, and Wooyoung will make you dinner, and then you can sleep. Maybe Yunho or Mingi will even cuddle with you.”

San’s neck twisted so their eyes could meet. The look on his face, the pout and puppy dog eyes, almost made Yeosang laugh out loud from the pathetic-ness of it. “Why won’t you cuddle with me?”

Yeosang shrugged. “I thought you said Yunho was the best cuddler…”

“It’s because he’s tall,” Wooyoung interjected, leaning over from Yeosang’s other side. “That makes him best by default.”

“What rumors are you spreading about me?” Yunho’s head appeared between the headrests from the backseat. 

“All good things,” Wooyoung defended. 

Yunho pointed a warning finger at him. “It better be.” 

Yeosang chuckled softly at his members’ antics, noting how San did not react at all. That was troubling. Yeosang continued playing with his hair, trying to ignore the heat emanating from his friend’s neck until they got home and could do something about it. No need to worry anyone now…

*

Later that evening, on his way up for a shower, Mingi rounded the steps and nearly had a heart attack, not expecting someone to be sitting in the middle of the stairs. Hand clutched to his chest, Mingi turned back to said person: San, sat on the middle step, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes closed and breathing hard. San had been given the privilege of first shower, usually reserved for any member under the weather, and was currently sporting slightly damp hair and pajamas plus a hoodie; but was still obviously shivering. Mingi instantly scrambled up the steps towards him. “Sannie? What’s wrong?”

“I was…” He swallowed hard, wincing in pain. “Comin’ for dinner but… so far…” He coughed roughly, collapsing in on himself. Mingi’s brow knit in worry; San hadn’t sounded like that earlier. “Couldn’t breathe…”

“Sannie, I don’t think this is just a cold.” Mingi frowned, hand to San’s forehead. “You’re really warm. And you shouldn’t be too tired to make it down the steps.” San simply fell forward, collapsing against Mingi’s chest. The taller man wrapped his arms protectively around his friend, worry exploding in his brain. 

“Help?!” Mingi exclaimed, praying someone could hear him. 

Jongho appeared at the top of the stairs, towel around his neck. “What’s wrong?” His eyes widened when he saw what was happening. 

“Perfect,” Mingi sighed to himself. “Sannie’s really not feeling well. Can you help me move him?”

Jongho nodded, instantly attentive. “Back to bed?” San whined at the suggestion, squirming against Mingi’s chest. “What about the couch, hyung?” San nodded. Mingi pouted his lips at Jongho, heart breaking for their friend. 

San did not remember Mingi and Jongho maneuvering him from the steps to the couch. Did not remember having to stop at the bottom of the stairs from lack of energy, coughing again, nearly gagging from the mucus gathering in his throat. Did not remember his members gathering in the doorway, responding to Mingi’s earlier call for help and his hacking. Did not remember Seonghwa holding a paper towel to his mouth, forcing him to cough out a disgusting clump of yellow phlegm that would’ve have embarrassed him into the next century. Did not remember Mingi and Jongho practically dragging him to the couch, his body crumpling like a sack of potatoes and curling in on itself like a shriveled leaf. 

No, the next thing San remembered was…

“Sannie~”

He peeled his eyes open at Wooyoung’s sweet voice. Wooyoung was kneeling next to the couch, smiling softly. “I made you soup.” He gestured to a bowl on the coffee table behind him. San just blinked at him. “Think you can eat for me? If not, we can just put the soup in the fridge. I made enough so you could get a few meals out of it anyway.” 

“But he does need to get some of it to take his medicine.” Seonghwa appeared behind Wooyoung. His arms were crossed over his chest, his lips drawn into a tight line, but, even in his delirious state, San recognized his posture as worry rather than annoyance or anger. 

Wooyoung nodded. “Right. You still need to eat enough for medicine.” San blinked again, then sighed. Even that slight shift of air irritated his throat, made him cough. He felt hands rubbing his back, hoisting him up, supporting him. As soon as his breath returned, he felt a glass (cool, not cold) thrust against his lips, and let whoever it was pour the lukewarm water down his throat, not trusting his own hands to hold the glass. 

“Look, you’re already sitting up,” Wooyoung chirped. San opened his eyes (when had he closed them?). Seonghwa was taking the glass back to the kitchen, and Wooyoung was now holding the bowl of soup. “Let me give you a few bites, yeah?” San nodded, complied. When his body began to sag backwards, craving sleep, Yunho slipped in behind him, holding him up until Wooyoung could feed him enough for Seonhwa and Hongjoong’s approval. San was peripherally aware that all of his members were hovering close by (except for Mingi, who had run to shower as quickly as possible). Hongjoong kept checking his phone, murmuring to Seonghwa, who would murmur back. San didn’t appreciate them murmuring about him, but was in no position to comment on it. 

Once the captain had given the ‘okay, that should be enough’ cue, Wooyoung disappeared with the soup bowl and Hongjoong knelt on the floor in front of the couch, measuring out a dose of medicine. San was glad they were giving him liquid instead of pills.

“Yeah, we knew you couldn’t handle pills right now, buddy,” Yunho said, giving San a gentle squeeze. San blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. 

“You’ve been giving a running commentary for quite a while,” Hongjoong replied to that, offering San the medicine cup. “For the record, Seonghwa and I murmur about all of you. It’s just your turn today.” San frowned at his members so rudely eavesdropping on his inner thoughts, but accepted the medicine cup and tipped it back slowly. He choked a bit at the bitter flavor, and thankfully Yunho thrust a water bottle in his hands before he could start coughing again. After finishing half of the water, he gave the bottle back and instantly closed his eyes, leaning back in Yunho’s embrace. 

“See? I told you he was the best cuddler,” Yeosang insisted from somewhere. The rest of the members responded to him, but San’s brain was already shuttling him back to sleep to the comforting lull of their voices.

And even though he was also technically asleep at the time, San had an unconscious memory of Yunho petting his hair and kissing his forehead before slipping out from underneath him. Of Yeosang curling up on the other side of the couch, San’s legs resting in his lap. Of Mingi covering him with their coziest blanket. Of Wooyoung setting extra water and tissues on the table for him. Of Jongho singing softly close by, protecting him from bad dreams. Of Hongjoong kneeling next to him with their thermometer gun, taking his temperature. Of Seonghwa sitting in the armchair across from the couch, watching over him under the guise of reading a book.

Even asleep, San could feel his members’ love. And not even the following day’s flu diagnosis could make him feel all that bad with friends like these in his corner. 

Final Note: Again, I cannot reiterate how THANKFUL I am for your kindness, Anon. Your messages we so incredibly sweet, and even your question of when to expect the fic was so respectful and I am so lucky to have a community that supports and encourages this type of creative production in a way that acknowledges and supports the natural ups and downs of life. Thank you again for inspiring me to finish this without pushing; it's people like you who make this enjoyable.

Final Note: Again, I cannot reiterate how THANKFUL I am for your kindness, Anon. Your messages were so incredibly sweet, and even your question of when to expect the fic was so respectful and I am so lucky to have a community that supports and encourages this type of creative production in a way that acknowledges and supports the natural ups and downs of life. Thank you again for inspiring me to finish this without pushing; it's people like you who make this enjoyable. 😘

[ajramseyart]

I played Dragon Age Veilguard...twice

First! Fuck Solas!! For real though, great character.

Second Davrin and Emmrich won my heart this round.

I'm going to ramble about this game for a min. I have played all the games since the very beginning way back 15 years ago. Was part of the fandom and made sooooo much fanart. So much. So deal with it for a min.

Spoilers below

I wish I romanced Emmrich second though because the whole lich thing was something I didnt want. I went through the whole rest of his quest thinking bioware was going to make me romance a skeleton and I didnt want that...also the age gap thing took me out as well after making an older Rook. It made me feel like my character was 20 years old, especially with the option to tell this 50+ year old man that my Rook is a virgin.............Anyway I really loved his character and story, he is my very close second fav to Davrin.

Davrin was sweet and really loved his quest. It really fit in well with the grey warden story and overall story. He ended up being my fav companion this time around.

Grey Wardens impressed me. I went into this game wanting nothing to do with the Wardens. Been there, done that. Probably boring like they were in inquisition and DA2. Boy was I wrong. I really enjoyed the Wardens. I played a warden my second play through and having characters say its nice to have a warden around much better with two wardens...and it just hit me in the feels. It made me yearn for origins again. Loved the whole dark age Romanesque-ish aesthetic. It just felt really really good. It felt like home.

Main quest was really good this time around. Gameplay was good. Loved playing reaper. That third act was something I have been waiting for in an rpg.

I wish Rook wasn't so agreeable and nice. Its okay for "friends" and "found family" to have to conflict and drama and not also agree on everything. It really made me miss Vivienne and Wynne.

In my second play through I picked all the stern and aggressive options just to add some grit to Rooks personality.

I felt like the only Inquisitor that mattered was an inquisitor that romanced Solas. The only question that mattered was if you romanced Solas...which really sucked. I purposely did default inquisitor on my second play through just so I could trick solas into the fade without her in front of her.

I was really hoping that my inquisitor would show up at the end and kill him. It was on my bingo card but no...

I really wish they didnt add the inquisitor. But thats just one girls opinion. Key word here, opinion.

I called the Varric thing early on after getting Lucanis. So happy I didnt romance that guy. Once I saw he was possessed, I said no. Fool me once bioware.

Any way the Varric thing was really sad, I cried. It hit hard even though I knew the entire game he was dead..its a common trope.

It was a fun game, pretty game. Not the best dragon age game. The most memorable thing about this game for me will be the main quest and normally its the characters and I just feel like the characters got the shaft. I really wish I could have interacted with them more. They had a lot of quests which is great but having the option to click on them just to say hi would have done wonders.

I will not be making fan art this time around. I just have no urge or inspiration to make any.

[matan4il]

911 ep 707 first watch reactions

Oh man, I'm actually not sure I have that much to say about this ep.

The entire plot with Mara and her brother Tyson was very sweet, very nice, and way too convenient. One day, shows are going to stop using the phrase, "There must be something you can do!" like it's some secret magic phrase, that makes this sentiment into a reality, AND turns the person addressed into someone willing to risk everything, in order to do that one thing they can do, which is usually something they're very much not supposed to... That said, Denny was sweet, Mara was lovely, her with Tyson was very endearing, and Henren continued to rule.

The storyline with Maddie was nicely handled, both her trauma, and the way Chim helped her use it to figure out the case and help save everyone from the stalker. My little Madney heart absolutely loved it. And Maddie's distress over a baby involved felt very real and understandable, when she's a mom herself now.

But then in a sense, it was clear this has no long term repercussions, other than bringing Brad into contact with Bobby. With his burn scars, and what we know about the fire that Bobby caused in the past, we can guess where this is headed. I trust that 911 will delve into this coming clash with the same humaneness with which it tackles most storylines.

But I'll be honest, I don't really like where Eddie's headed. I know Shannon scarred him deeply, but he was able to let go of her, and allow her to walk away from him twice while she was alive. It's weird if it's now being implied that the reason why he was never able to move on to another serious r/s is that he was stuck on her. The way she died was traumatic and painful, and it made sense that, even accepting that they as a couple were over, he had a hard time dealing with her death, but Eddie seemingly moved on in s4 at the latest. It feels a bit like they don't really know what to do with him, and how to move him on, so they keep going in circles with his character. Kinda like they were with Buck in s6. None of what we saw in that season helped Buck get to some major breakthroughs that we've seen in this one, so this current storyline with Eddie might end in the same way.

I'm not saying it doesn't have the potential to move him forward, and I'm sure it will be presented as if it has whether it actually does or doesn't (kinda like how 618 presented Buck and Natalia as a move forward, even though it very obviously was not), but right now, I'm not enjoying it. I also... even with this idea of having Eddie run into a Shannon look-a-like, I feel they could have gone in a lot of different ways, and the one where he goes on a date with her while having a serious gf he's essentially cheating on, it just doesn't feel great, or true to Eddie's values. Which can be the point, right? That sometimes we're so shaken up, we do stuff that's uncharacteristic. If that's where they'll take it, then it's working, 'coz right now, everything about this feels a little off. Let's hope they do something actually constructive with this, and give Eddie real progress (rather than just give Tim an opportunity to re-use an actress he already said he really likes).

Small mandatory Buddifer moment was really lovely, even if far from what my shipper heart would want. Then again, I honestly feel it's so funny that Buck is dating Tommy, while being married to Eddie, his actual baby daddy. If there aren't a lot of fics shipping all three men already, then IDK fandom.

Thank you for reading! If you’re looking for more, you can find my s7 reactions tag here, and more of my Buddie meta and content in my pinned post. xoxox

[lostgirlinthewoods]

We bearly got him back at he's leaving. It's been 10 months of waiting. 10 MONTHS AND NOW HE'S GONE AGAIN 😭 AND FOR GOOD. I'm actually tearing up and it hurts sm. I'll definitely miss Seunghan so much and I hope whatever he has in future goes well for him. 🧡🧡

Ooo, I just needed to let this out. Also FUCK SM AND OT6 STANS

That's all. Have a nice day/night 🙂 thanks for having the inbox open for this because jeez😭✋🏽

sending hugs to you, sweetie 🥺

here's my thought about all of this (quite long because im still mad af):

10-11 months of nonstop supports from ot7 briize. the airship project, various banners and led ads billboard. hongjjangus were willing to give their full support financially for an ot7 comeback, promising they're gonna give it their all once seunghan is back

the news about him coming back was so heart warming. the header literally said "too briize who loved riize" and it was him coming home.

the sudden rise in streaming numbers, social media followings, non-fans tuning in, fans coming back to the fandom, and the boycotters who promised they're gonna catch up with streams are really doing so. the support seunghan had, and riize in general, for coming back literally outweights the protest trucks, funeral wreaths and all those crazy fans camping outside sm. like his return was BIG big!! everybody was waiting for it! everyone was willing to support, especially the intl side!

the members fighting for him were highlighted during the announcement, seunghan himself saying the members wanted him back, wonbin standing up for him even though he knew he'll get lashings from it.

all of those went down the drain just because sm is spineless. this decision is so dangerous as they literally just told these fans they can do whatever they want and the company will agree regardless whether the members themselves are against it or not. most of the intl support is leaving right now, it's like mass exodus on my x account. some were literally wishing riize to disband or to flop. the fandom is more divided than ever. and some fansites who can't fucking read the room are posting airport previews of the members who clearly looks like they're having a hard time. all of these happened because that incompetent company cannot fucking lift a finger to protect their own artist/s.

however, if this is really seunghan's decisions (and is not influenced by sm which i highly doubt), i have no choice but to respect and support that!! i hope nothing but happiness to him because god knows he needs it. i hope he's only surrounded by the people who truly love him and cared for him from now on.

hoping seunghan and the other 6 nembers have the support system they need and that they're going to heal from all of this

seunghan's journey in riize may have ended but i believe this is not the end for us. we can still show him our support in our own ways

[x-bee-x]

What's this? A fic from me in the DSMP category because there was canon lore? In 2024?

I was watching or getting ready to watch someone else, I had my follower list open at least, and saw Jack was live and there was something about logging onto the server later in his title and wait what. I knew as soon as I updated some friends about said happenings, I muted the Discord channel I sent it in in case people wanted to talk more about it and maybe sent spoilers later, and I was on here very little because I knew even though I'm not 100% in the fandom anymore and certainly not a fan of all the members, I would like to see it for myself. So I watched the vod the next morning and oh my god.

I did not expect to get literal chills the moment he logged on and the first thing we saw was the bench. And I almost cried when we saw Las Nevadas. And I did cry a bit when we saw Tech's house. Regardless of how much I care about the streamers who were part of that as of late, I did at one point, very much so. This was something I did not expect, it was so nostalgic and emotional and actually warmed my heart a bit seeing so many fans come together during and after it happened. This was a really unexpected and lovely way to tie things up, I thought they kind of were already in all areas for me at least, but I think that this was a good way to finally properly say goodbye.

Epilogue

No warnings

1,438 words

Tommy was. Somewhere.

He wakes up he thinks, he opened his eyes at least, running a hand through his blonde curls.

And.

He didn't think he was alone this time. Or well, he wasn't always, Tubbo was there sometimes, but this was a different sort of person feeling.

"H-hello?"

He typed into his communicator for the heck of it.

"Hey."

Jack?

"Wh-where have you fucking been?"

"Casino.

Been here for years mate.

Made loads."

He was.

He was in Las Nevadas?

This whole time. This whole time?

Tommy stood at the top of the hill at the entrance of the faux desert and sure enough.

Someone with one blue and one red eye, a head of buzzed hair with a headset on top, a blue short sleeved hoodie, and camouflage pants stood at the bottom.

"Let me bless you, my boy, it's been too long."

He threw a couple of diamonds at the feet of younger, who probably looked just as puzzled as he felt.

"Jack. Seriously.

What happened?"

"What do you mean? I've just been here. Playing roulette."

This whole time? This whole time.

"Wanna know where I've been?

Come with me."

"Hold on, can't leave on a loss, gotta get that big win."

Jack came out eventually, and they walked out of Las Nevadas and along the Prime Path together, he has somewhere to show him.

"It's good to see you."

"You too, man."

"I've been here."

"Here? Under the bridge?"

"Out in the distance. That way.

I've got a house. It's nice."

"I haven't seen anyone for a loooooong time.

Well, maybe Tubbo, every now and again."

Tommy and Jack walked, or well, Tommy walked, and all the sudden Jack's voice became quieter and quieter somewhere behind rather than beside him.

"Me either, casino's been empty.

Honestly, I just steal money from the safe's to gamble with. I could take it all if I wanted, but the thrill keeps me in there.

Gambler's addiction, they call it. One day I'll win big. 99% of people quit before then.

But not me. I'll make it. It's been years, but, it's coming."

He turned his head to the boy with heterochromia behind him, blonde waves bouncing lightly.

"You're not very good at catching up, are you?"

"Just telling my story, man."

Jack said while he jogged to be once again beside him.

"Never thought I'd be around these parts again. I moved far from here to get away from it.

It brings back too much. Joy, fun, sadness, pain. Too much of all of it.

But it's nice to see a familiar face."

The path they took to get to their destination was familiar, and this time he knew it was safe as well as convenient, no one with a mask he had to worry about being on the other side, or worse yet, chase him.

A bridge of cobblestone among the dark red brick and close to unbearable heat, from one swirling purple transparent gateway surrounded by obsidian to another, and they were spot out onto a soft cold white blanket.

"I don't live around here."

"Oh. I thought that's where we were going?"

"No, god no. Do you know how long it took for me to get back here?

I come here a lot though"

A house, a cabin to be exact, sat the same as them in the nearby distance.

It was cream colored with chestnut colored accents, a matching wooden roof and front door, and a chimney that stood tall and sat bare, no plumes of smoke emitted which once came from it.

"Cool. It's quaint. I like it.

Maybe I'll bye it when I win big!"

Tommy looked to the older boy with two colored eyes beside him, opened his mouth but decided against saying anything, then opened it again to say something after all.

"This is Technoblade's house."

"Oh. Maybe I won't do that then."

"How long do you usually sit here like this?"

"As long as I need to.

Sometimes minutes. Sometimes hours."

There were areas of fences close by on the surrounding property, the occasional bray or bah or grunt echoed through the air, and sat in the otherwise quiet.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Hit me."

Tommy fidgeted with the fingers on one hand in his lap as he found the right words and considered them being actually spoken.

"Do you ever.

Like, despite all the war, and the fighting, and all the- well, all the mess- how much it sent me a fucking mess.

Do you ever miss it? Those days? The people? Or, well, the way they were. The way it all was."

Jack looked at him, something like softness in his features.

"Sure. It was all a bit much at times, and I'm not sure I'd wanna do it all again.

But I miss it sometimes. It was fun, really."

"Yeah, I don't think I'd do it all again either. But. I don't know, I've tried to move on. My little cottage far away, my humble paradise. But that trails a lot into my mind."

"I think it trails onto all of our minds sometimes, wherever we all are.

But we all have to move on, find our own destiny sometime."

"Okay. Phew. I'm glad it's not just me."

"Chasing the win keeps me happy.

I like who I am now, probably more than I was. But that doesn't mean he was bad."

"You like being a gambler? Over an incompetent fight loser?"

Jack laughed, soft and genuine, and Tommy fidgeted a bit harder.

"I guess they're not great options are they."

"Sorry, that was a bit harsh, I don't see many people."

"One of them means I might win someday, I was never gonna win back then."

His face held that expression again, soft, almost sad maybe.

"I've still got my one life. One canon life.

And I intend to use it the best way I can."

"What do you mean? How do you wanna use it?."

"You know. I've not got a clue.

But I'll figure that out later.

For now, I've got my cottage, and my new pet! Oh she's adorable. Mareep, she's a little sheep I caught.

But you know, things are okay for me.

Tubbo and his fucking bees I see also every now and then. He's doing pretty well for himself. Selling fucking honey."

"Oh, that's good. I thought he exploded when I blew up everything.

I can't actually die I don't think, so I never know whether these things are bad for everyone else or not."

"I guess being the president of L'Manberg teaches you a few logistical things, aye?

Not that either of us would know anything about that."

"Well."

"Well."

"I haven't seen anyone else besides Tubbo."

"Yeah, you two are hard to separate."

"Tell me about it."

"I think I like it that way for now though.

The quiet life."

"Quiet is nice. This is nice."

"It's good to see an old face though. I know I said it before, but it really is."

Tommy pushed himself up and off the snow beneath them, a couple joints popped, Jack did the same, they stayed standing with the cabin behind them.

"Well, I can't stay for long, I've gotta do things like feed Mareep."

"Yeah, I got some places to see, now that I'm out.

Haven't left there in a while, probably should go check on some things."

"Is there anything else you wanna ask me? I have no questions for you."

Jack looked like he might have something to say, but was going through the roster of words in his mind, carefully considering them.

"Are you happy?

I guess that's really all I'd care to know."

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, closed it, gave a whisper of a smile, ran one of his hands along his pant leg in a partial fidget and a partial way to rid himself of the cold, then opened it again.

"Getting there."

They both nodded gently.

"I'm glad."

"It's good to see you, Jack."

"It's good to see you too, Tommy."

"I hope you get that big win someday.

Oh, and hey. Don't let anyone bye this house."

"I won't."

"I might not see you again. But I hope to lhear about it if you win big."

That's okay. You will. I can deal with just knowing that you're happy."

Tommy held out a hand.

"So long J Money."

Jack shook it.

"Bye Big T."

They both looked to the cabin once more, gave a two finger salute, and went their separate ways along the snowy path.