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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[ghosts-bandwagon]

can we have a headcannon of y/n (female) thats throwing dark humour around everytime and have 141 + Rudy, Alejandro nd konig react to her lmao 🤣

Can we have that? 💜 Thank you

Girl. Literally me. (I give my coworkers whiplash but they dish it pretty good too lmao)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Might actually get a decent laugh out of him, we’ve all heard his horrendous hilarious jokes, so we all know he can dish it, but can he take it? Depends on the type of humor

If it’s self-depreciating, probably not. Doesn’t really get it? Like he does but he sees you too positively for the humor to click.

Unalive jokes? Definitely not. Hates hearing it from you even if you’re laughing about it, so if you want to make them, you better be cheeky about it (“Head down, sergeant you’ll get spotted.” “Aw sweet, you think so?” You don’t have to be near him or even see him to feel his glare)

Jokes about your traumas? Not super keen on it but if you’re at a point in your life that you feel ok enough to laugh about it, he’s not one to take wind out of your sails (“Damn, this drink hits harder than my dad.” “Sweetheart. Please.”

But if your jokes are similar to his, then your chances of getting a laugh out of him went up exponentially (he thinks he’s so god damn funny and he’s right. king.)

“How do you turn a salad into a Cesar salad?”

“How?”

“Stab it 23 times.” Soap audibly groaned,

“That’s my girl.”

All in all, you’ll get a deep sigh with pinching the bridge of his nose for every joke you make, and maybe you’ll get a pretty laugh from him (god I bet his laugh is so nice 😭)

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

(laughs nervously) what the fuck?

He’s heard Ghost’s jokes firsthand, so the dark humor isn’t new to him. He might even laugh with you and crack a few of his own

Honestly, as long you’re having a laugh he’s not really that worried (still a little worried tho)

He trusts that if you’re feeling particularly bad about something, you’d talk to him about it and he’s here for that

He kind of enjoys the theatre of it, the dramatic reactions to something so seemingly mundane,

“So when are you gonna take me out?”

“To dinner? We just ate, bonnie.”

“… not what I meant but I love where your heads at.”

“Not in a million years.” He laughs kissing your temple and squeezing you against him

“So you’re saying there’s a chance? It’s just a matter of when, got it. Thanks babe, I owe you”

John Price:

He’s not thrilled about it but he’s worked with Ghost so he’s somewhat built a tolerance

He knows you sometimes use dark humor as a coping mechanism but he’ll tease you saying you should come with a warning label

He’s definitely choked at hearing some of the things come out of your mouth, at least the jokes relating to your own traumas, those always give him whiplash

He finds your situational dark humor much funnier than anything you might say that involves you being harmed, even if it is a joke that’s kind a nightmare scenario for him

Those will definitely get a chuckle out of him, just please stop making jokes about yourself, he loves you a little too much to stomach them

“What does my dad have in common with Nemo?” He refuses to answer, he knows, he fucking knows

“They both can’t be found.”

God damn it, sweetheart

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’ll join you for sure lmao

He’ll see you sparring on the mats with Soap and he sees you land a particularly rough kick that he managed to block

“Damn babe, that was clean. Now do it right here.” He’s pointing at his temple, you laugh and throw your sweaty towel at him

You’re out on recon and you’re making your way towards the targeted area,

“I’d be terrible if I was discovered, sure hope there aren’t any snipers to take me out. That’d be awful.”

Price groaned even as Kyle stifled a chuckle,

“Come on, love, we’re a bit too good to let that happen to you.”

“That’s the real tragedy, honestly.”

“Enough, you two.”

König:

He thinks you’re funny but low key a little worried at how easily the jokes come to you

But if you’re laughing and having a good time, then so is he!

Sometimes you really do say some crazy things and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to hug you

He likes the jokes that have nothing to do with you much better, you’d be sitting at a briefing in the far corner when you lean in and whisper quietly,

“Köni, what’s red and bad for your teeth?”

“Hm?”

“A brick.”

He stifles a laugh and shakes his head, you can see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he tries to hide the smile.

Alejandro Vargas:

Honestly, he kind of gives me the vibe of “telling a joke becomes receiving a lecture”

Like you’ll make a joke and look at him and he’s deadpanned,

“Mi amor, that’s no laughing matter.” And then he goes into a full lecture about why what you said was out of pocket and a little hurtful

It’s not that he doesn’t understand the humor he’s just concerned

But, he prefers the goofier jokes I feel like,

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away, or at least it does if you throw it hard enough.”

��Mensa.” He pushes your shoulder playfully with a laugh.

Dumb jokes like that get a good laugh out of him, just don’t make them about you please he loves you so much and he will lecture you

Rodolfo Parra:

Mortified in Spanish

“Mi vida, please don’t make those jokes.”

They break his poor little heart :( he loves you so much it makes him sad to hear make such harsh jokes about yourself or even see such awful things

He sighs every time he hears one of your jokes and gives this look 🥺

He doesn’t like that you joke about yourself or the things that have happened to you like that

He understands that humor is sometimes a coping mechanism, but he’d much rather talk through the things you’re joking about

He just cares about you so god damn MUCH

But if they’re nonsensical, then he’ll chuckle quietly,

“You don’t need a parachute to go skydiving.”

“What? Amor you definitely-”

“You need a parachute to go skydiving twice.”

“Dios mío, amor.” He chuckles.

[homiesexuallaj]

Hey could you please write something where Eric Draven(2024) is best friends with the reader and gets hurt while trying to confront the people who killed Shelley. His healing stops so he goes to his best friend for help and starts crying about everything...

A hurt/comfort basically. Please keep it PLATONIC. Thank you 💜

Pairing: Eric Draven x reader

Genre/Warnings: reader is best friends with Eric, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, blood, injury, stab/knife wounds, bullet holes, needles, stitching of wounds, pain mention, Eric whimpers, Eric gets a little sad and guilty about Shelly, kinda proofread

--- --- ---

It's about half past 3am when a heavy, slightly frantic knocking was heard from the front door of your apartment. You got up, feeling lethargic and off-balance. You yanked an oversized t-shirt from your laundry pile and shucked it over your sleep tank top as you made your way to the doorway. As you approached your front door you had an urge to check out the peephole but decided to open the door without caution.

"Oh thank god," A voice wheezed out.

Heavy boots fell forward and knocked into you, smearing something wet against your arm as they grabbed it.

The first emotion that popped up was disgust and then horror as you backed away and looked at the figure that had stumbled their way into your apartment.

It was Eric Draven. A long-time friend of yours. He was hunched over and bloody. A long, black trenchcoat hung from Eric's shoulders and he lacked a shirt, showing stab wounds and bullet holes, those of which you didn't know whether or not lack bullets. Wounds tore through his tattoos and you couldn't help what Eric was up to since he'd been in rehab, as your two's connection had faltered slightly over the years.

"Eric!" You gasped. "What the hell?!"

In a flurry of movements, you slammed your front door closed and locked both your doorlock and the deadbolt. You moved under Eric's arm and practically dragged his heavy body to your bathroom, leaving bloody footprints behind. It was hard, due to Eric's taller stature and the fact he was barely holding himself up. Soon enough, you plopped the tall man on your toilet seat and leaned down to dig through your lower sink cabinet for your first aid kit. Upon standing back up and facing your friend you could see that he had shed his trenchcoat and was clenching at his side, blood pouring from between his fingers.

From the cabinet behind you and diagonally across from Eric, you grabbed a wash cloth. You wet it and got to work wiping down the injured man, he tensed and whimpered as the rough cloth touched the edges of wounds.

"Eric, what the hell?" You scolded out of mostly concern. "You go to rehab to get better and then you show up at my door all bloody and shit. Like, what happened?!"

" 'm sorry," Eric gave a small cry as you wiped blood away from a particularly large stab wound. "I just. I met a girl and we got out."

"And then what? Decided to go and get yourself killed??" You asked, looking up at Eric.

He avoided eye contact.

"I loved her," Eric mumbled somberly. "And she's dead now."

You raised your eyebrows, urging him to further explain.

"She's dead. It's my fault. I couldn't protect her," Eric seemed to be avoiding giving you details. "I went after the people that killed her and now.."

Eric trailed off and you sighed.

You couldn't believe Eric escaped from rehab and blamed himself for the death of a girl he barely knew. Obviously, the girl was apart of something if someone came after her after they found out she escaped from rehab. You couldn't believe Eric got himself into the middle of that. You were disappointed in him, but happy that he found someone to passionately love, even if that love ended in turmoil.

You threw the cloth into your sink and fished out another from your cabinet. You soaked the new washrag in rubbing alcohol. You dug through your first aid kit for a stitching needle. Once found, you got your stitching thread through the eye and situated. You wiped down the needle with the alcohol-soaked rag.

You looked up at Eric again, "Do you know if you still have bullets in the holes?"

Eric shook his head, "No. They fell out."

"Fell out?" You asked, bewildered.

Eric nodded, wincing at the movement.

You couldn't wrap your head around the possibility of bullets just falling out of wounds. You shook your head, willing away confused and distracted thoughts.

"I have to stitch you up now," You warned your friend.

Eric nodded and gripped onto his pant leg to prepare for the pain.

With slow, precise movements, you dug the surgical needle into Eric's skin. Eric whimpered as you sewed up the knife wound at his side. You decided to start with the worst first and slowly made your way around Eric's abdomen. The bathroom was silent beside Eric's pained whimpers and cries. You felt sorry for him but stitching up your friend was necessary or else he'd bleed out on the tile floor.

Before long you were done. Eric looked pained, pale, and sweaty. He heaved out a breath, releasing his iron grip on his black jeans.

You cleaned up silently. You wrapped up the needle you used and filling the bathroom sink with steaming hot water to soak the ruined washrags in. You stood and fiddled your fingers in front of Eric, thinking of things to say.

"I can..," You trailed off before speaking again. "I can soak your jacket in the tub, if you'd like."

Eric hesitated.

"I'll have it clean by late morning tomorrow," You promised.

"Okay," Eric accepted.

You turned your tub's water, testing it until it matched your body temperature. You plugged the drain and watched the tub fill. You waited until the water was about halfway up the side before submerging the bloody trenchcoat into the water. You let the water fill up a bit more before cutting the water off. You pressed the jacket down more, making sure every part was under the water.

"Thank you," Eric said, watching you as you walked around him and dried your hands on a hand rag, leaving behind a light red stain.

"You're welcome," You replied. "Now, let's get you to bed."

You helped Eric up, urging him to be slow. You helped him hobble to your bed. You helped him lay down, propping up a pillow behind his head and covering him with your blankets. You turned to leave but a hand grabbed your own.

"Are you going to stay with me?" Eric asked, his eyes watery.

"Yes," You nodded. "I'll stay with you. But I'll be right back. I'm getting you something to drink."

Eric nodded and let your hand go.

After a few heartbeats, you came back into your bedroom with a blue raspberry pedialyte with a bendy straw in it. You held it up to Eric's mouth urging him to drink before putting it down on the nightstand. You turned off the lamp on the nightstand, the only light in the room. You crawled up the bed to occupy the other side against your bedroom wall.

Just as you got comfortable, you felt a hand grab your own. It was cold.

"Thank you," Eric mumbled, already sounding half asleep.

"Goodnight Eric," You replied, urging him to sleep.

Eric was silent for a moment, "Goodnight."

--- --- ---

A/N: Requests for Mr. Draven are still open! If you have any ideas that you'd like for me to write then go ahead and drop them in my askboz!!

[writer-in-theory]

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened. 

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him. 

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape. 

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy. 

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though. 

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it. 

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore. 

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior. 

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’ 

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months. 

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first. 

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past. 

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same. 

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony. 

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know. 

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home. 

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too. 

[violettduchess]

A/N: Better late than never! Not a request, just my imagining what these lovely suitors would be like with an infant that wakes up crying 💜

CW: babies, breastfeeding

Suitors x female reader

WC: 2045

A cry rings out through a peaceful summer night at the palace.

It is small, but powerful.

And very, very insistent. 

Leon

A light sleeper by nature, he gets up, murmuring for you to try and keep sleeping when he notices you stirring too. "I'll see what I can do for the little peanut." He crosses the room to the white bassinet with its pale pink ruffles, a gift from Uncle Yves. Inside his infant daughter is fussing. Tiny fists are clenching and unclenching as her small head turns fitfully left and right.

“Ah, c’mere sweetheart,” he says, voice still rough with sleep as he lifts her gently, laying her against his bare shoulder. One large hand rubs her back as he walks the length of the room, her tiny cheek warm as a spot of sunshine against his shoulder.

“I can take her–” you start to say as you push yourself upright in the bed, but he shakes his head, holding up a finger.

“I think we’ve got this handled, love. Take a look.” He walks over to your side of the bed, his hand still gently stroking the baby’s back. Her tiny head with its halo of black hair rests against him and is still. Not able to see her face, he turns sideways, giving you the sweetest view of your handsome, bare-chested husband holding your daughter close, her small face now relaxed again in sleep. Her father’s warmth was enough to solve whatever problem had woken her and she's drifted back off to the soft, hazy world of baby dreams.

You smile, feeling the way your heart expands, a paradox: never has it been so full of love and yet so very, very light.

Clavis

He wakes up immediately at his son’s first cry and is out of bed before the sound can even penetrate your deep sleep. He knows how often you get up, how often you are the only one who can satisfy your son’s voracious demands for food but Clavis has told himself that the little tyrant's demands that don't require milk, he will take care of himself. You, his dearest of dears, need as much sleep as you can get.

He bends down over the baby’s cradle, brushing back the boy’s angel-soft hair, the same twilight shade as his. “So noisy at such a late hour. My my. This won’t do.” Carefully he scoops up his son, adjusting his pajamas and then his hand freezes. 

“Oh dear. I think I see why you’re so upset, little Lelouch.” The baby continues to whimper, little cries that, although Clavis knows they are harmless, still feel like they are stabbing right into the center of his tender heart. He never wants to hear his child in distress.

Reaching up, he turns the small knob on the lamp above the dresser where you have all of the baby’s changing things neatly laid out. His son squeaks out little sounds of agitation. “I’ve got you, don't worry. Papa's got you, always and--my goodness, how does such a tiny body produce this much liquid?” He talks, his words soft and almost sing-song as he changes his son’s pajamas and diaper with practiced hands. The baby, now removed of his damp clothing, stops whimpering, instead blinking up at his father with wide golden eyes.

“There has got to be a better solution to this than soaking all those linen diapers,” he mutters as he carefully slides chubby legs into fresh little stockings. “I bet I could invent something that might absorb all your perfectly healthy but still oh so stinky messes much better.” The baby kicks his legs and waves his arms, as if cheering in agreement and Clavis laughs softly, lifting his son back into his arms. “You agree with Papa? You think I can do that? Of course you do.” 

He walks back to the cradle, turning his head to place a gentle kiss to the apple of his son’s plump cheek. He could hold him in his arms forever, never tiring of that infant smell, that the feel of his warm little body so trusting and sweet against him. 

He pauses in front of the cradle. “Hmm….I know. Let’s go on a little nocturnal journey down the hall while talking through some chemicals and their rates of absorption. I bet you’ll be a perfectly delightful assistant.”

Jin

Both you and Jin yawn, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as your daughter’s cries fill the bedroom. One glance at the time and he sighs, reaching over to tenderly touch your cheek with the back of his hand. “She’s on time, our little one,” he murmurs in his deep voice even as you are pushing yourself up with one hand and already unbuttoning your nightgown with the other.

He gets up, walking over to the crib where the infant is crying, her shock of brownish hair standing up in every direction. “Mommy’s already getting ready for you, princess,” he says as he reaches down and lifts her. She’s so small in his large hands. He walks back to bed, murmuring soft little shushing noises, and then carefully hands her over to you. You help her find the right position and then sigh when she begins to nurse, her cries immediately quieted. Glancing up, you find Jin sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you both with a curiously thoughtful expression.

“What is it?” 

He watches you a moment, then shakes his head, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “It’s just….I’ve always liked that particular body part.” You snort, running your fingers over your baby’s fine chestnut hair. “That’s an understatement.” He chuckles, shrugging before continuing his thought. “Yeah well…it’s just…I think….now that I see ‘em being used to feed our little girl….I think….I think I actually like them MORE now.”

You can’t help it. You start giggling, a burst of yellow happiness that colors the gray exhaustion of new parenthood. “God, I love you.” You crook a finger at him and he matches your smile as he climbs back into bed and leans close to you. You place a kiss on his chiseled cheekbone, warm and affectionate. A sigh born of tender happiness is his answer, along with the words, “I love you too.”

Silvio

“Stay in bed. I’ll go.” He’s up, striding across the bedroom to the bassinet before you can even finish rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Aye, piccolino, sono qui.” He reaches down, running a hand over the restless infant's back. But no soothing words or pets seem to be enough. He lifts the baby carefully, still in that new stage of fatherhood where a baby feels like the most fragile thing in the world.

You watch your two pale-haired men, frowning slightly as the littlest one continues to fuss. "He can't be hungry again, can he?" You have just finished feeding him until he fell into a milk-drunk state of blissful sleep, his body heavy and warm, not thirty minutes ago. He had been sleeping so soundly that hope for more than an hour of sleep at one time had risen in your heart.

Silvio lays the baby against his shoulder. His hands are bare, with only his simple gold wedding band left on his elegant fingers. Every other piece of jewelry has been removed for the sake of his child. Necklaces would get in the way of his son sleeping on his bare chest. Earrings might hinder his ability to press his cheek against his fine, moonlight-spun hair. 

"Ain't no baby in the world that could eat again after all that milk." He inclines his head towards his son. "Listen to you, cucciolo. All that growling." He rubs his small back in soothing circles. And then the most extraordinary thing happens: the tiny prince lets out the most raucous of burps. The kind that sends a quake through his little body.

"Dio mio," his father mutters, blue eyes wide as he looks down at his son. You grin through your sleepiness. "Here I thought only his grumbling was like his father." 

Gilbert

His daughter's cry shatters the night's peace in an instant. Both you and Gilbert wake up immediately, but he's quicker than you, throwing back the covers and crossing the room to the cradle carved from darkest walnut. 

He spots the problem immediately. At some point during the night she had kicked her blanket to the end of her cradle where it lies bunched up and useless. Her socks are nowhere to be seen, a display of her magician-like talent for making them disappear. He reaches down and sure enough, her tiny feet are like ice blocks.

"Always the same thing with you, oder Mäuschen? What have socks ever done to you?” He lifts her from her cradle, tucking her securely into the crook of his arm as he makes his way over to the dresser that has been designated hers. You reach across the bed, turning on the lamp that sits on his nightstand and he glances at you over his shoulder, eyes bright with appreciation. “Thank you, Häschen.” Now he can see better, his fingers trailing over the tiny rolled up socks and tights. When the baby makes a small cooing sound, he stops. “These?” He pulls out a pair of soft black tights embroidered with mini red roses. “Ahh a good choice.”

He hums as he walks over to the changing table, the sound soft and soothing, the gentle rush of a river through the night. As he carefully changes her diaper and then works her plump little legs into the tights, humming gives way to him singing. "Der Mond ist aufgegangen…"

She is curious, all thoughts of crying gone, watchful crimson eyes blinking as she keeps her gaze on the source of the calming sound. “Fertig,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the soles of her now covered feet. "All done." Then he lifts her, carrying her not to her cradle but back to the bed. He slides in, leaning back against the support of the many bed pillows, settling in. Her eyes are already closing as she snuggles in close against his chest.

You watch them both with a smile as tender as the moon’s joy in the stars.

Chevalier

The man who took an army to wake up is on his feet in an instant. He is silent as he crosses the room, leaning down to check on his crying daughter, her pale head of blond hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. He carefully lifts her from the bassinet, marveling in the back of his mind at how very small she is.

He glances back to the bed where you are still deeply asleep. “Your mother is exhausted from all your demands.” He wouldn’t usually condone speaking to a baby as they are incapable of understanding but he’s found that she calms down when she hears his voice. Even now her whimpering stops, her tiny cheek resting on the soft linen of his shirt. She’s gone very still, as if truly listening to his words. “You’ve eaten twenty minutes ago. We can eliminate hunger. Your bottom is….” He pats it gently, checking. “...perfectly dry. The room is neither too hot nor too cold.” He wraps his hands around her feet. She’s still wearing her white socks trimmed with yellow lace. “Your feet are adequately covered.” He tips his head back to look down at her. Her perfect, tiny fingers are curled into his shirt and her body feels heavy, drowsy with sleep. 

She attempts to turn her head, burying her face in his shoulder and he reaches up, helping her, running his strong fingers over her downy hair when she has found a position that is comfortable. Chevalier walks over to the white wooden rocking chair you have positioned by the window and lowers himself into it.

“You simply wanted to be held, didn’t you?” A heavy, stuttering sigh leaves her small body, almost as if in answer to her father’s line of questioning. He cups her head with his hand, tilting his face down to place a soft kiss on her hair. “I’ll comply, little one.” He settles into the chair and begins rocking gently back and forth, father and daughter, bathed in loving, silvery moonlight.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

[absolutebl]

Hi ABL! I was wondering if you have recs for bl couples where a younger seme/top aggressively pursues an older, initially-unwilling uke/bottom?

I realized this trope was my absolute JAM when I fell hard and fast for Wei Zhiyuan x Wei Qian, Sun Boxiang x Lu Zhigang, and Yongjie x Xingsi. Bonus points for age gap, stepbrothers trope or the older uke being endlessly indulgent?

I mainly watch China and Taiwan bls, so I’ll love anything from there. I’ll take recs from other countries too, they might become my first foray into non-mandarin bls

I know this is a somewhat specific request so thank you sm if you manage to come up with anything! I really appreciate all the work you put into this blog ☺️💜

Oooo MY FAVORITE!!!

Hyung Romances! (wrap-up post)

I call these hyung romances because that's like noona romances but gay.

Specifically you said:

younger seme aggressively pursues an older initially-unwilling uke

I am utter TRASH for this! YES PLEASE!

Minato’s Laundromat

Japan 2022 GaGa 

AKA Minato Coin Laundry AKA Wash My Heart! AKA Minato Shouji Koin Randorii AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry

Younger seme older uke, very clearly yaoi derived dynamic, 10 year age gap. I love this show so much. This is by far the best long running example that really dwells on this trope, Shin is very much the aggressor also very much still a high school kid. Minato is very much NOT. 

Old Fashion Cupcake 

Japan 2022 Viki & GaGa 

Also from Japan, another 10 year gap, and a flipping genius version. This time both parties are older, so there’s less of a stigma around the age gap, but there is stigma about the one being the other’s boss. 

This show had me from the moment they broke the egg yolk with the chopsticks in the opening credits for episode one. It’s about a younger man with a long cherished crush on his boss (ten years older and going through a mid life crisis) who decides to save and seduce said man with pancakes. It’s wholesome, comforting, sexy, and a very necessary narrative about still having hope, interests, and openness to affection at any age. It’s coming of age/queerness packaged in a subtle critique of expectations around masculinity and love and loneliness... and it’s beautiful. Full review. 

Lovely Writer

Thailand 2021 YouTube 

Sib is quite a bit younger than Gene and defines aggressive pursuer. Gene is out of university and established in his career, Sib is still in college.

Thailand criticizes itself and the BL industry while simultaneously giving us classic seme/uke with great chemistry in a one-two punch of “we love it, but are we supposed to? and must we think this hard, yet enjoy it SO MUCH?” This show won’t appeal or make sense to those who don’t already have at least some Thai BL watching experience. What Lovely Writer does, at heart, is reexamine Thai BL has done to queerness, but in a very gentle way that has more to do with Thai BL growing up than any actual queer authenticity. It’s not parody or pastiche, but it is self reflective and trying to correct for some chronic mistakes. Whether it is ultimately successful in this matter is going to depend on the watcher’s relationship to BL and queer identity. But that’s what makes this show beautiful, interesting, and thought provoking. And I, for one, applaud the effort even if I didn’t personally connect to the characters.

Oxygen

Thailand 2020 YouTube 

Thailand’s first real stab at this dynamic as a main couple and it so worked for me. There are many who find this BL too slow and wooden, but I loved it. 

I think of this as a paragon of Thailand’s softer BL style, since Oxygen uses every BL trope in the playbook for one of the gentlest lowest angst BLs ever made. This one showcases how far Thailand is moving BL from its yaoi roots, and is a prime example of the sweet “new BL” model for which Thailand is the main advocate (Korea is liking it a lot these days too, tho). My first watch along. 

SOTUS

Thailand 2016 YouTube 

Guess who started this trope in Thailand? Yeah, sometimes I forget too. But they are not just classic sunshine/tsunder but classic younger/older. Just not by much.

This is the BL that launched a hundred BLs. No literally, it was SOTUS’s international success that pretty much built the Thai BL industry into the juggernaut it is today. People have baggage around SOTUS, I have nostalgia. Trigger warning on bully hazing. Review here. 

En of Love: Tossera 

Thailand 2020 YouTube 

Younger boy wants to court older boy and does and… that’s it. No really that’s the WHOLE STORY. There is actually no angst, drama, or, indeed plot. But are they the softest bois ever to BL as a main couple? Yes they are.

*pulp warning*

Private Lessons

Korea 2020 GaGa 

A BL short from Strongberry that I love, it's age gap and teacher/student (catnip por moi). The chemistry is slightly off though, but stil I do love this one for the dynamic. Certainly worth watching especially if this is your trope since it's like 8 minutes long and very stylish.

MingKit MarkKit

2 Moons (VERY side dish) YouTube 2 Moons 2 YouTube (major side dish) Gen Y (leads) Gen Y 2 (sides again in LTR) 

Thailand’s premier version of this dynamic I just lumped them all into one category. Only in 2 Moons 2 are they played by different actors, otherwise it is all KimCop, and who can complain about that? If you want to watch specifically for this dynamic than go for Gen Y. Trash watch here. 

SIDE DISH CORNER

Not Me (DanYok)

DanYok is an age gap, but it isn’t really the point or the plot of their romantic arc

Don’t Say No (LeonPob) 

Leon and Pob qualify. That’s all I have to say about that. 

HIStory 3: the BL that shall not be named (BoXiang & ZhiGang)

Also appear in HIStory 4: Close to You

The side characters in H3:MODC (and cameos in H4) BoXiang & ZhiGang have a huge age gap, 12 years, and it is a big deal for their relationship. When they start out BoXiang is a desperate himbo high school kid and ZhiGang is a small business owner. BoXiang’s friends tease him more for his lust over such a much older man than for being gay. 

Bonus on this one, there is some very high (and it's Taiwan so) very well done heat. That said, the main couple will, in fact, wreck your psyche for life. Proceed with caution.

THE THAI PULPS

You’re My Sky (SanAei)

Side could (and only good part of this show) SanAei are a classic uni age gap pairing. San is a bit of a spoiled rich kid jock who identifies the older nerd character as HIS and is just like, MINE. That’s MY elder gay. 

Brothers (KhunKaow) 

This is not a good show, but side couple Khun & Kaow are great in it. Khun is in university and Kaow has a small baking business.

Top Secret Together and Love By Chance both have sub plots of high school boys pursuing college ones, but the one didn’t go anywhere and the other went very very bad, so yeah… no. Although I would personally LOVE to see this done well. 

BONUS POINTS ROUND

Stepbrothers trope

HIStory 4: Close to You (sides)

YongJie is quite a bit younger than XingSi, not sure on the specifics but he’s in middle school when XingSi is in high school and still in college when XingSi has his own business.

Addicted has the stepbrothers trope but not the age gap.

Older uke being endlessly indulgent

Future

Thailand 2023 YouTube 

Based on a y-novel by Faddest (En of Love) about an engineering student and a dentist (shocker). This is just a soft sweet cotton candy fluff piece about a younger boy who pursues an older boy and then manufactures silly gay drama. Nothing wrong with that. But I don’t think this style of BL really appeals to a very large market share. Will I rewatch it? Sure. Will anyone else? Nope.

If you want your endlessly indulgent older gay, this is the you crack, they made if for you.

*pulp warning*

Manner of Death

Thailand 2021 WeTV

It’s not really relevant to the story, but Tan is younger. Not only that, he’s Bun’s friends younger brother. Bun is very indulgent, but in a grown up way.

I like MoD a lot but I’m conflicted over it being actual BL. It’s a great gay romantic suspense, although the mystery element is its weakness. MaxTul, the Kings of chemistry, are, of course, perfect and perfectly cast, but their romance thread is more a distraction than an addition. Still, I could watch them make-out the phonebook. Watch along here. 

Seven Days

Japan 2015 grey 

AKA Seven Days: Monday-Thursday AND Seven Days: Friday-Sunday Japan

Seryou kinda counts as the pursuer, but the dynamic is very very weak in this one. Still the way he asks to use Yuzuru’s first name (so CHEEKY) and the way he says “senpai” in SUCH a cute way makes me so happy. And Yuzuru is NOTHING is not indulgent, it kinda defines his character. I mean he just LETS him call him by his FIRST name... right away.

Never doubt my ability to recommend this show. One of the best live action yaois ever made, with perfectly structured angst, fantastic characters and acting, and no problematic tropes (rare in Japanese BL). The leads have excellent chemistry although it’s low heat there’s still some really cute mutual kisses. 

Just Taiwan

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line

2018 Viki 

Seme uke is VERY weak with this one but the younger character is certainly the pursuer. It’s SO GOOD. 

Lin Pei Yu directs this is a sports romance (volleyball) with a good boy/bad boy pairing, and mu favorite of the HIStory franchise. There is no clear seme/uke. Ostensibly it's high school set but Taiwan doesn't care about age appropriate actors. It's a very soft sweet romance with some ridiculously easily overcome conflict. There's great kisses but it's medium heat. The side dishes are the stepbrother trope but they’re very tame, and there’s no other triggers. It's not just my favorite of the franchise, it’s one of my favorite BLs with a perfect happy ending.

Kiseki: Dear to Me

2023 Gaga

The mains are a major age gap, but I always forget because they def don't look it. Also, Taiwan, so very weak seme/uke. Still there is age gap, he's in high school and our gangster is out of college and in the workplace.

The plot is totally ridiculous and slightly unhinged, but that’s normal for Taiwan. It involves all the tropes under a very casual framework of gay mafia gangs + food = love. Absolutely every character is queer. There’s a gum-ball machine of cameos, elder gay rep, great chemistry from all pairs, and a KILLER side couple. As a result Kiseki is a poster child for Taiwanese BL, and I happen to love Taiwanese BL. Bonus? They also managed to END IT WELL, which we cannot expect from Taiwan.

(Triggers for knife play, child abuse, lingering trauma.)

Unknown

2024 YouTube

Unknown is a wonderful BL with a pitch perfect portrayal of long term pining, age gap, and the stepbrothers trope. The acting and chemistry are ON POINT (especially from the leads) which made the resulting characters very believable. When it dwells in intimate family drama, it's stunning. It's slightly less successful when it leaves the home and goes gritty. Still, those are mere quibbles. This is an excellent show, one of Taiwan' s best.

As you see above I mostly had to take you to Japan and Thailand for this one. Considering your preferences try Japan first, it's closer in DNA to Taiwanese stuff, but it won't go as high heat. If you want the heat, you'll need to try the Thai stuff (or the ones from Taiwan you haven't seen). I would start with Lovely Writer.

Okay I think I have given you enough and, unless I miss my guess, I may have tempted you to try some Japanese BL.

Comes to the weirder (and weird hair) side. We have pancakes.

Yeah I think you should watch Old Fashion Cupcake.

EVERYONE SHOULD WATCH OLD FASHION CUPCAKE!!!

(source)

This post dated May 2024, not responsible for hyungs that sling after that date.

[serenaoffaerun]

Tenacity - Chapter 3 of the "Consequences" series

It's finally here!! Thank you all for your patience. Because of the physical letter writing I drew for Tav and Gale's back-and-forth, this took much longer than I anticipated. Plus, the story just kind of...ran away with itself... This chapter comes in at a word count over 8,000 and I don't know how that happened LOL.

Big thanks again to @alpydk who started off this series with what was supposed to be a one-off angst story, and allowed me to write my own sequel chapters to finish the story my own way. (Alphydk's chapter 2 can be found here.) As my first long-form writing in over a decade, it's been a fun challenge to take two characters I love so much and get them out of a position I wouldn't have put them in in the first place. 💜

Without making you all endure any more of my "propensity towards verbosity," I present chapter 3: Tenacity (complete with hand-written letters!)

Summary: After agreeing to try to re-establish their friendship/relationship by writing letters back and forth, Tav and Gale set out on their journey of communicating, listening, and healing. You better believe they're both going to hold on for dear life.

Word Count: 8,289 (I'm not sorry.)

CW: References to depression, alcoholism

Tags: GalexTav, angst/fluff, pre-established (albeit rocky) relationship, future smut? (no spoilers...), brief mention of infertility (in a positive way??), depresso espresso, communication, healing, Tara's getting ALL the tuna.

[I'm sure I left some out, I'll come back and add to it once I get this on AO3 - coming soon!!]

Screenshot: Taken from my own gameplay. Please do not re-post as your own.

NOTE: For those who don't want to read Tav's mediocre (but improving) handwriting or Gale's flowy cursive, the text version is printed below each letter (including doodle descriptions!)

9/2 4:45PM Pacific - EDIT FOR MORE NOTES:

My underlines went away when I copy/pasta'd from GoogleDocs, and now I realize that you can't underline because of links, so they're bolded and italicized instead.

REGARDING BHAALSPAWN INFERTILITY - this is NOT canon to BG3/DnD/Forgotten Realms. I totally made this up to fit my literary needs. 😉

Alpydk's chapter 1: Consequences

Chapter 2: Acquiescence

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav assessed herself before she even opened her eyes. Between the wine and the crying, she was probably the most dehydrated person in all of Faerûn. The pounding headache she was used to. She'd made blackout curtains for a reason, after all. But the soul-wrenching nausea, that was new.

Being blissfully infertile, she knew there was no risk of pregnancy. One of her permanent "gifts" as Bhaal's former Chosen was the ability to be as promiscuous as she pleased without fear of pregnancy in order to weasel her way into the hearts, minds, and pants of any of her previous victims. Not that she'd needed that ability since the Nautiloid, or especially her subsequent severing from said god. But this was no ordinary nausea anyway. It was coming from somewhere much more complex.

Among the growing list of sensations Tav noticed from her downward-facing zombie position on the couch, she found two long-lost friends: the physical feeling of being simultaneously sated but also achingly empty in her core, and...hope. Surprisingly enough, she realized it was the latter that brought on the nausea.

Crippling anxiety, overwhelming depression, stabbing guilt, these are feelings she was familiar with and knew how to handle: with denial and alcohol. Just ball it up and shove it in the "future ulcer" pocket by the stomach and cover it up with a bottle of wine or two.

Hope, on the other hand, is a fickle bitch. It introduces the possibility of a better future. The idea that things could get better. Then comes the uncertainty.

‘Desirable things in life are never guaranteed,’ she told herself. ‘You can always lose them. Don't get TOO comfortable! You might still have to live the rest of your life without the man you truly believe is your soulmate.’

Tav had NEVER believed in the idea of a ‘soulmate’ before. That was even more laughable than ‘love at first sight.’ But she’d come to believe it now.

‘And you fucked it up, didn't you? You let yourself have the worst lapse in judgment, then you doubled down on it by screaming and being a hurtful wretch. You did this. You did this and you don’t deserve forgiveness, you don’t deserve mercy. No one else will ever fill the hole in your heart, so you’re going to die alone and unloved. That’s what you deserve.’  

The words from the voice in her head kept playing on a loop for the last six months and they wouldn’t shut up. Drowning them out with wine and sleep had become her modus operandi. There’d been nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for. It was the way things were going to be, she’d accepted it. Especially in the last few months after Waterdeep. She couldn’t have her heart broken again if she didn’t expect anything.

But now, new words were taking up space in her brain. His words.

‘…there was a time that we’d also brought out the best in each other, once. I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again.’

‘Fuck.’ Those words had stolen her breath. Given her reason to think that there was a chance. That maybe he would give her the mercy she knew she didn’t deserve. Gale was just that kind of man.

If that were truly the case, though, why did he shut her out so quickly in the first place without getting to even talk about things. Why did he go straight to the biting comments and yelling instead of showing any kind of signs of forgiveness being a possibility.

‘Because you ripped out his heart that was already broken and threw it on the ground with all the remains of any self-confidence he had left after Mystra, you inconsiderate, unfaithful monster. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.’

These were the new conversations Tav now had running back and forth in her head and that’s where the source of the nausea was seated. In the unknown future where happiness still existed. Along the path that could go to life-long depression and loneliness or a blissful existence with the man who completed her, and she wouldn’t know which way she’d end up traveling until she got there. It was terrifying.

‘I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again.’

Face still mashed in the couch pillow, she balled up her fist and slammed it down into the cushion. Depression wasn’t going to win today. Or any other day, for that matter, at least not like it had been. She would not allow herself to be swept up in the waves of self-loathing and doubt to the point of being non-functional. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath and sat up, eyes still closed. There was a warmth on her face that she knew would be the late-morning sun coming in through the living room window. As she cracked her eyes open, she winced as the light seared into her brain and fired off pain signals. Slowly, she stood up, walked across the room, and felt around for the blackout curtains.

Medicine. Shower. Food. In that order.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Looking around the room later that day, Tav felt pretty proud of herself. Once she got herself cleaned, fed, and a bit more clear-headed, she opened the curtains again and opened all the windows. Her little depression hole needed a good airing out.

Starting with all the trash, she got rid of the wine bottles, the old food, even the bin filled with dirt and burned clothing. After washing off surfaces and sweeping floors, she put all the books back on the shelf, keeping a box full of scrolls and a quill pulled out on her desk. One sandwich and two sinks full of dishes later, it was nearing night time, but she had one more task ahead of her: the letter.

She’d been chewing over words in her head all day, but she still had no idea where to start. How do you even begin a letter like this? ‘Hi, Gale’? ‘Dear Gale,’? ‘Esteemed Professor Dekarios,’? If the greeting was this difficult, how would she even move on to the rest of the letter? She knew for damn sure that she wasn’t quite ready to be fully emotionally vulnerable, especially with him (even though he’s the only one she should ideally be emotionally vulnerable with…).

‘Welp, might as well just start,’ she said to herself as she sighed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hi Gale,  [in the top right hand corner was a little swirly doodle with some flowers and leaves. Next to it was written ‘I don’t have fancy paper, so I tried to do something cute?]

I’m having trouble starting this letter, so I figured maybe just admitting that is as good of a place as any. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what you want to hear, I don’t know what will help or what will just hurt… Here’s what I do know:

-          I’m sorry. [there are tear stains on the paper here]

-          There’s no excuse for what I did.

-          I don’t even know if I know the reason for what I did.

-          I don’t feel like I deserve your patience, your forgiveness, your mercy, anything, really. Your anger is totally justifiable.

-          I don’t know who I was that night or in the months following.

Except, I do. I’d reverted back to the person abomination I walked away from. The hateful, murderous, evil, wretched thing I said I’d never be again. Yet, I can’t claim that I wasn’t in my right mind at the time either. I never lost consciousness. I was aware of the decisions I was making. I just don’t understand why I made them in the first place, other than I’d lost hope. I’d stopped trusting you. I’d assumed you were going to leave me and go back to Mystra or pursue godhood where you’d no longer be…you. [Next to this is a small sketch of a broken heart.]

Here's what else I know:

-          You didn’t deserve that.

-          I don’t deserve you.

[Below this was another item that was heavily crossed out, but you can make out the words ‘I still’.]

(this letter is a mess, I’m sorry. I’m just…flustered)

[On the right side of the paper, there was a list of four items outlined in a rectangle, above which was written ‘Good things’ – a question mark had followed this, but it was crossed out with an X. The four items are:]

-          I took a shower today.

-          I cleaned my house for the first time in weeks today.

-          I’m going to stop drinking for a while.

-          I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed.

It’s not ‘the letter of a lifetime,’ but it’s a start. I hope you’re well and that your students aren’t giving you too much of a hassle. Can’t be as bad as slaying a whole camp of goblins, right? [Here there was a small doodle of a goblin head, X’s for eyes and tongue sticking out, laying in a pool of blood next to a sword.]

I look forward to hearing from you. Take care of yourself, please.

-Tav

P.S. I’m working on my handwriting. I’m sorry if any of this is illegible. Not really a subject that was covered in “Bhaalspawn University.”

[At the bottom of the letter was drawn a curvy vine with leaves, flowers, and flower buds.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gale swallowed thickly as he held the letter in his trembling hands.

‘She did it. She actually wrote, and it wasn’t full of anger and insults. It was a real, honest-to-the-gods attempt at talking.’

His eyes shimmered as he re-read two lines over and over again:

-          You didn’t deserve that.

-          I don’t deserve you.

His heart ached as he pondered the fact that she thought so little of herself. It made him remember his inner monologue after the debacle with Mystra and the orb. All Gale told himself for a year was that he’d made mistakes so huge that no one should have to ever bear the burden of his presence again. Anyone who showed any affection towards him, platonic or otherwise, was a fool who was wasting their time. They’d just end up being let down by this depressed shadow of a former Archmage. Knowing that Tav was the one now who truly felt she wasn’t deserving of forgiveness or mercy brought tears to his eyes.

He felt a bit lighter, however, at the implication that she even cared whether or not she was worthy of him. Not only cared, but was taking bolder steps forward. She’d apologized, she’d wished him well, she’s taking care of herself… Then it dawned on him that she’d gotten so low that a task as mundane as taking a shower was to be celebrated on a list of positive things.

Oh, did he remember that pit of despair well. He’d spent a year down at the bottom of it. Cut off from all outside contact, forgetting (or refusing) to eat, going days, even a week or more without bathing because he didn’t have anyone to see anyway. No point in expending the energy.

Now, however, Gale was at least teaching. That had kept him going. Even if he didn’t interact with many people outside of Blackstaff Academy, he was still getting dressed, going to a place with other people, and teaching Faerûn’s youth to harness and control the Weave.

But what of Tav? How often was she seeing others? It seems she had relocated after all. The return address is listed in Daggerford, a town not far south of Waterdeep full of retired adventurers, artisans, craftsmen, and farmers. A relatively quiet place compared to Baldur’s Gate, but still a city with plenty of opportunities. (And only a three-, maybe four-day travel from Gale. That would explain how easily she ended up in Waterdeep in the marketplace on that cold, rainy day…).

He remembered her telling everyone how much of a hero she’d been at the reunion party. What happened to her adventuring? Would she even be home enough for their letter-writing to be consistent? She’d made no mention of her activities, that was something he’d want to follow up on. As much as it would have previously brought him satisfaction to see her put in her place for everything she’d said, cut off from others and alone, now it just caused an ache in his chest.

The threads of his bitterness and rage had already begun unraveling. He’d been letting the truth sink in since the reunion: Tav had acted reckless and lashed out because she was scared. Scared of losing him. The thought of him abandoning her for Mystra or for godhood drove her to seek pleasure in someone else. Yet he hadn’t bothered to get to the root of the problem at the time. All he knew was that he had his heart broken. He had been betrayed. He had been ‘abandoned.’

He sighed heavily as the pangs of grief and remorse started to take hold. What a fool he’d been. A self-centered, arrogant, quick-tempered fool. But he shook those thoughts out of his head. This wasn’t the time to keep dwelling on what he had or hadn’t done in the past. Where the ball of anger had resided in his chest, just as roiling and hungry as the Netherese orb had been, he felt the tension had begun to break apart. There was still much healing to do, but now there was a little room for the patience and understanding he’d wished he’d displayed before.

He re-read the letter again, chuckling lightly at her doodles and scratches. Her handwriting had much improved, she gave herself too little credit. It was good to see she still had her silly sense of humor as well. She hadn’t been completely robbed of her beautiful qualities.

Draining the last sip of wine in his cup, he arose from his spot on the balcony and walked inside to sit at his desk. One thing nagged at him before he could start writing his response, though. Underneath the bottom list where she said she didn’t deserve him, she’d written something and then furiously scratched it out. He thought he might know what it said, but didn’t want to get carried away if he was wrong. Holding the letter carefully in front of the lit candle on his desk, he stared at the scratches, trying to piece together the words underneath. His breath caught when his eyes brought them together:

‘I still’

I still… Still what? I still hear the voice of the Dark Urge? I still won’t forgive you?

No. Given the context of what was said and the direction they were going, it had to mean only one thing. He would only allow himself to think it was one thing.

‘I still love you.’

Hoping with everything he had that it was true, he took another deep breath and pulled out a scroll from his desk drawer. It was his turn now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Tav, [In small writing to the right of the greeting, it says (my ‘fancy paper’ is at the academy) with a winking face doodle.]

Sometimes I think I’d prefer a good goblin massacre to a room full of hormonal teenage wizards learning to control a firebolt spell, but each day is a new adventure, after all! [After this sentence, Gale had doodled a flame, his head/hair with wisps of smoke, and in small writing with an arrow pointing to the drawings, (I tried).]

Thank you for your thoughts, and especially for your apology. I can’t in good conscience say that everything is forgotten, but I fully believe we are on the right path forward.

I would also like to apologize, because you deserve it. You are so much more deserving than you think you are of kindness, understanding and, yes, when I am able, forgiveness. I understand, likely better than anyone else you might know, how strongly self-loathing can take hold.

Which is why I want to tell you that I’m proud of you. I don’t know what you’ve been up to in recent months. I heard you telling the others about some adventuring opportunities, but I gather from your letter that self-care had gone by the wayside. I’m proud and happy to hear that you’re starting to focus on yourself. Yes, I agree with you: showering, cleaning, limiting alcohol intake, and even being tired enough to go to bed are all good things. I hope you continue being kind to yourself.

Admittedly, I’d fallen into a similar rut. While I get plenty of social interaction at the academy, my extra-curricular life has been…non-existent. I come home to my tower, I usually remember to eat, I grade papers, stay up entirely too late researching, and then attempt to get enough sleep to repeat that schedule ad nauseum. The cleanliness of my home, and myself, had been sorely neglected. But as you are focusing on self-improvement, I shall endeavor to do likewise.

Speaking of self-improvement, that’s where the letter-writing idea came from. Rather, through Tara’s efforts to help me during my year of isolation. She’d suggested I do some journalling to write out my thoughts and emotions regarding Mystra. Not only to get them to stop rolling around in my head, but to be able to articulate them. It did help, quite immeasurably, in fact. That’s why I’m so thankful you’ve agreed to this in the first place. I feel like it will serve us well. [A filled-in purple heart was drawn here.]

Actually, I can’t tell you how many letters I started writing to you in the last six months. I really did try. It just always felt…wrong, somehow. Like it wasn’t the right time, or my words weren’t sincere, or they’d fall on deaf ears. But I’m so glad we’re ‘talking’ now. I’ve missed you, Tav… [A filled-in but broken purple heart was drawn here.]

Tell me what you’ve been up to! Tell me your thoughts. Tell me any and everything you want to. I’ll be waiting to take it all in.

Yours,

Gale

[To the left on the bottom, Gale had drawn an open book with an ink pot and a quill. In the middle on the bottom, Tara had been drawn, wings outstretched, lying down, eyes closed, with a small note: (Tara’s sleeping on my desk and she’s adorable!). On the right under his signature, Gale drew a wand with sparkling stars and a curved line of weave making a flourish.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Gale – [Here, she had drawn a wand with stars similar to the one he’d put by his name in his letter]

Thank you for saying that you’ve wanted to talk this whole time. That makes me feel so much better. I never put quill to parchment, but I started countless letters in my head. Like you said, it just never felt right. [After this, Tav drew a scroll, an ink pot, and a quill.]

This does feel like the right path at the right time, but to be honest, Gale…I’m scared. I’m scared to put everything on the table again. With how much I got we got hurt last time we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable with each other, I can’t go through that again. Nor do I want you to go through it again. [Tav had drawn two filled in broken hearts after this paragraph.]

It humbles me to think you feel I’m deserving of good things. Truly. I don’t feel like I am, so I suppose it’s good that someone in this world does. Your encouragement in taking care of myself is unexpected, but ultimately not surprising. That’s just who you are. I’m thankful to hear that you’re taking it upon yourself to improve as well. [Here, Tav had drawn some grapes and cheese on a plate, and to the right of it, a broom and dust pan.]

I fully understand, however, that you can’t forgive me, at least not yet. (I wouldn’t forgive me either.) Hopefully I can begin to earn it over time. I’m not going to sit here and defend my actions with trying to find solace in Mizora’s…experience. It wasn’t even fulfilling, if it makes you feel any better. (It won’t, I know you). It was just tricks of the mind and a devil’s words of promises for things I didn’t even desire. (Perhaps the ‘old me’ would have.) I regretted it immediately, yet it has marked me forever.

But I know that how it left me afterwards is not the point. The point is why I let myself go along with it in the first place. I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last months, especially since the reunion. Let me preface this by saying that I am not shifting the blame. I still made the decision to give in. However, after days and weeks of your near-obsession with the Crown of Karsus, I could see that look in your eyes. You couldn’t stop thinking about the power it could offer. Power that we know all too well would only corrupt you and change you. Then, your meeting with Mystra, introducing her back into your life with her deal to get rid of the orb for the crown… I could feel you slipping away from me.

[On the left side by the words Crown of Karsus, Tav had drawn the crown with a big ‘X’ through it. Near where Mystra is mentioned, she drew a scared ‘Mystra,’ identified as ‘witch bitch,’ being threatened by Tav with a dagger.’]

What I should have done was keep talking to you, seeking reassurance. I should have spat in Mizora’s face and told her to get the fuck out. [In this area, Tav drew herself spitting in Mizora’s face.] I should have sought solace in your embrace, in your words, in your love… But one thing I need you to understand: I was brought up my whole life to be let down. Every success came with a defeat. Every win came with a loss. Every gift came with a sacrifice. You were the most important gift I will ever have in this world or the next. I was positive I was going to lose it, so…I don’t know. I think maybe I wanted to push it from myself first before it was taken outside of my control? Mizora approaching me with her “offer”… She knew exactly what she was doing: giving me an “out” that she knew I would take because I was at my most vulnerable.

For all my accolades being a “Hero of Baldur’s Gate” and savior to many, I clearly didn’t have the strength to stand up to her temptations. I let her use the fact that I have major trust issues to weasel her way into my deepest fears and exploit them. I didn’t have a chance. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but I hope it at least explains them.

I’m running out of parchment. You asked what I’ve been up to. If it’s of any comfort, things are going well enough. I’m eating mostly regularly, I’m keeping up with the chores, and I’m even starting to finally organize some garden space in the yard. I’m trying to spend some time outside every day, and I’ve replaced the wine with various teas. They’re small steps, but they’re steps.

I don’t know if I’ve gotten us closer to any kind of resolution, but hopefully my words can fill in some of the gaps. I look forward to hearing your response.

Thank you, by the way, for giving me something to look forward to again.

I’ve missed you too. Very much so.

Humbly yours,

Tav

[At the bottom left of the page, she drew a cup of tea]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dearest Tav, [to the right of the greeting, it says in smaller writing (I apologize for the condition of this letter. It was rather difficult to write.) The letter is littered with smudges where tears had fallen and letter had been re-written over them.]

As I wrote my last letter and have been pondering your response, it weighs on me just how grave a mistake I also made. The blame for our downfall does not fully rest with you. (Let me finish…)

Feeling like you’re not worthy, like you made too big of a mistake to recover from; you know how familiar I am with those thoughts. Looking back, this means I should have been the one who was there for you the most. Yet I wasn’t. I was the furthest one away.

I agree with you that my anger was justified. I’d felt like I’d been told I wasn’t enough for you, which is exactly what I feared from the beginning. In my mind, you had openly told the entire world that Gale Dekarios, fallen Archmage of Waterdeep, scorned by Mystra herself, could not, in fact, make you or anyone else happy. You had to go find your pleasure elsewhere.

Where my mistake lies is in never stopping to think how much you had to have been hurting in order to find solace in Mizora in the first place. I don’t think I even gave you the chance to confirm you hadn’t been possessed, quite frankly. It’s no wonder your defenses went up immediately. My reaction, while potentially understandable, was absolutely awful.

I am so sorry that I never gave you a chance to talk things through before letting my hurt and rage take over. What I should have done was walk away and screamed into the void instead of at you before hearing any kind of explanation. I suppose I figured there would never be one good enough. Never did I think until recently that I could have possibly had something to do with you feeling pushed in that direction. I should have been more reassuring. I should have given you no reason to doubt my love for you and my dedication to you.

The possibilities that came with the crown had taken over my waking thoughts, and even infiltrated my dreams. Providing an eternal life without conflicts for both you and I sounded like the perfect solution, and I became hyper-focused. You had tried telling me that you were scared, that you didn’t want me to lose my humanity. I just still thought I was smarter and had this whole grand plan all figured out and you would realize it eventually.

[Before the next paragraph is drawn an infinity symbol, a heart nestled into the loops on either side.]

But I didn’t do enough to put your mind at ease. I didn’t help you understand that I wouldn’t have actually left had it come down to choosing between you and the crown. I never, never would have left you, Tav. As I shouted rather rudely before, I only ever truly wanted you. I assumed you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, so I didn’t spend any time reinforcing it. I let my focus drift too far. Then, I left you scared and alone afterwards with no chance to explain. I, the ex-Chosen and ex-lover of a goddess, from whom he should have learned humility after his hubris, the man to whom you showed so much kindness and understanding and support when anyone else would have run in the other direction, I couldn’t even show a fraction of that back to you.

Taviela, my heart, I am so, so incredibly sorry that I wasn’t there for you. When you pulled me from that portal and later heard my harrowing tale of foolishness and desperation, you stood by me. You took care of me and encouraged me, and I threw that back in your face at the first opportunity. It will be a long time before I can forgive myself for that. But I humbly, honestly, and hopefully ask if you could ever forgive me. I understand if you cannot, but know that I will spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.

Please keep telling me your thoughts, Tav. I want to hear them. I need to hear them.

Repentantly yours,

Gale

P.S. I’m far too emotional at the moment to do many little doodles, but yours warm my heart. Please keep doing them. [A filled in heart was drawn here. He had also drawn a simple version of the wand and stars under his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My Dearest Gale, [Across the top of the page was a wand, a wavy line of weave, and small stars.]

I’ve been staring at this parchment for at least an hour, but I haven’t been able to write anything until now. I’m sobbing at your words. Your insight about everything I put you through, the weight of what happened after all your hurts and insecurities from Mystra and the orb, the fear of being inadequate to me… That weight is almost too much to bear. I’ve berated myself for months now for hurting you, but the full impact never hit me until I read it in your words. I want to fall on my knees and cry at your feet and beg for mercy. But how could you possibly ever forgive me? I’m sorrier than you will ever know for allowing you causing you to feel that way again.

Also, to think that you are taking any of this upon yourself so strongly, I really don’t know what to say about that either. I still feel like this is all due to my deficiencies. My weaknesses. My fuck-ups. But I can understand where you’re coming from, wanting to take some responsibility. All I’ll say is that there is nothing to forgive anymore. I hold no more ill will towards you. We both acted like children throwing tantrums, but we were each already pushed to our limits and didn’t stop to think about, well, anything, really.  [Tav had drawn 5 filled in hearts here, along with writing (I don’t know what else to doodle here because I’m also emotional).]

It feels cheap to keep coming back to my upbringing, but it’s an unfortunate reality where I’m concerned. Everything was always a bitter fight of either words or daggers. There was no real “communication” to speak of. There were no “feelings” shared. It was all cruel lessons with harsh punishments. ‘Be a bitch, or get walked over’ was something I told myself a lot. I never truly learned to stop and step back and give things time to breathe. Putting myself in another person’s shoes is something I’ve forced myself to learn, especially during our adventures.

I have a confession to make. When I (literally) ran into you in Waterdeep a few months ago, it wasn’t just happenstance. I’d come there with a purpose. The downward spiral had begun weeks prior and I was nearing rock bottom. I came to look for you. To see if you were possibly even half as miserable as I was without you. I was certain you would be, and that it would give me a reason to approach you. We would be on common ground and might actually be able to talk. [On the right side of the page, Tav had drawn an open book sitting in a puddle of water in the rain. On the pages of the book it said ‘I’m sorry about the books.’]

But then I saw you. You were in the marketplace, smiling, making small talk with the merchants, even laughing with them. You looked full of life. You looked like you were doing just fine – without me. My heart dropped into my shoes and I’d considered just walking away, never letting you see I was even there. But something in me snapped. I apparently just had to get in a couple more digs before I walked away forever. That was childish and unacceptable and I’m sorry I put you in that position. (I don’t blame you one bit for the Hold Person spell, for the record. I deserved it.) [Tav had drawn the symbol for the Hold Person spell here, along with Tav approves.]

Please forgive me, but I’m emotionally spent. I think I’ll wrap this up to send in the morning, go sit on the back porch with a cup of tea, and just think for a while.

Still yours,

Tav

[Along the left side of the bottom of the page, Tav drew a small flower garden. On the right side, a cup of tea.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My Darling Taviela, [On the right side of the top of the page was carefully drawn an eternity symbol. Inside each side was a heart – a G written in the one on the left, a T written in the one on the right. Next to it, Gale wrote:] (I’ve been doodling this a lot lately.)

My heart aches for you, for us both. You’re right. There’s nothing to forgive anymore. We were both stretched so far beyond our limits, no wonder we broke down. We both have acted out of turn, we both have put ourselves through the wringer, and we both built impossibly high walls around ourselves. I’m happy to say that I believe we can push those walls down now. I want to move forward in whatever way we can, even if that ends up being as friends (though judging by your comments, it doesn’t sound like that will be the case, but please correct me if I’m reading the situation incorrectly).

I have a confession for you, in light of your revelations regarding our “run-in” in the marketplace. It was all an act to save face out in public. The laughter, the ‘life’ you say you saw in me, the light-hearted interactions – they were all a façade. I was miserable without you, however angry I was. After that interaction, it got even worse. I felt awful immediately, leaving you standing there shivering in the rain. [Gale had drawn a hand getting smacked by a ruler with words in a bubble outlined in sharp angles: BAD WIZARD!] I couldn’t believe that, even though there was some provocation, that I’d still reverted to such a childish response. I sank further into my depressive state. I almost didn’t come to the reunion with our companions either, actually. It felt like more of an effort to get myself put together than I was capable of. Fortunately, Tara snapped me out of it.

Speaking of Tara, I’ve been working on getting her to be more understanding. I’m sure you have noticed that her protectiveness of me overrides any kind of empathetic nature towards anyone who has caused me even a lick of hurt. But she’s come a long way in understanding both sides of our…predicament. I’ll keep at it, for both of our sakes. [A trail of small paw prints was drawn after this.]

I’m pleased to say that I’ve been keeping up with the cleaning, [on the right side of the page, Gale doodled a robed hand holding a sparking wand next to two balls of dust that look like rabbits. Underneath was written, (dust bunnies).] I feel like I finally have a handle on my students and my lesson-planning, and I’ve found joy in cooking meals again. Too much time is being spent grading sub-par assignments in the evenings, I’ll admit, but it comes with the territory. My heart has been all the lighter in the last couple of weeks, and it’s all thanks to you: your words, your patience, and willingness to work on…well, us.

What have you been up to lately? Any more adventuring opportunities coming your way? Are you doing any traveling? I wonder if there’s any chance our paths might cross in the near future.

I’ll admit, my mind has been wandering to thoughts of seeing you again. I miss the warmth of your embrace, the sparkle in your smile, the feeling of home when I look into your eyes – I feel like a part of me has been missing since our falling out.

I was actually thinking… What would you say to coming back to Waterdeep for a proper visit?

Take care of yourself, my darling [a filled-in heart was drawn here]

Gale (no fancy drawing in my name this time. Just me, missing you.) [above this, Gale had drawn a side profile of himself from the chest up, looking down, eyes closed, a tear falling from his eye.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The letters had been going back and forth at a regular, weekly pace. It was about six weeks after the reunion, which already seemed like forever ago. They had come so far, and his words made her realize that she missed him more than she knew was possible.

However, when Tav saw the last question in Gale’s letter, she froze. Her chest tightened and her breath quickened. She got dizzy, her hands shook, and her mind raced, tears threatening to overflow onto her cheeks. She was having a panic attack.

She threw the letter in her top desk drawer, slammed it shut, ran down the hall, and pulled the lever for her shower without bothering to warm the water first. Fully clothed, she stood underneath the cold deluge until her breathing slowed and she could process her thoughts.

The nausea was back. She sat on the floor on a towel and just let the water drip off her. Tucking her knees up to her chin, she stared at the wall and focused on her breathing. She wanted nothing more than for Gale to walk in the room right now, pick her up, and hold her in his lap, caressing her hair and whispering comforting words to her until she felt better. But as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her, to smell his scent, to run her fingers through his hair and more, she was absolutely terrified.

All she could think of as she started rocking back and forth was that she was going to end up hurting him again. She cried and cried until she resigned herself to lying down on the floor and crying herself to sleep, shivering in her damp clothes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A week went by and there was no response from Tav. Gale tried to brush it off, attempting to convince himself that perhaps she had gotten a chance to do some traveling, and was running behind sending her letter.

Nine days went by and his resolve started to falter. He replayed every word in his head that he’d written in his last letter. Was he moving ahead too fast? Did he assume too much? Did he push her too far? He ached to see her, to hear her voice, and to comfort her. But he could NOT let himself fuck things up again…

On the tenth day, he sent just a short message in hurried writing, requested for the utmost urgent delivery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav,

I’m truly, deeply sorry if I’m pushing you too far. You don’t have to answer the last question. We can continue just writing if that’s what makes you comfortable. I’ll do whatever you need, but I cannot, I will not lose you again.

Please, talk to me, my love.

Gale [A filled in heart was drawn after his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sleep never found him that night. He let his brain run through every worst-case scenario it could come up with. Tears were still crawling down his face every so often as he saw the faintest colors of the dawn coming to greet the eleventh day. Thank the gods he had the next couple of days off for Midsummer…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the afternoon of the twelfth day, Tav’s response arrived. Gale didn’t even go back inside or shut the door. He ripped open the envelope and tried to steady his breathing as his shaky hands held her letter. He let himself take a deep breath and fall back against his door frame as he read:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My precious Gale,

I am so very sorry for the delayed response and for making you worry. I don’t know what came over me, but when I saw you asking to see each other again…I panicked. I had a full-on panic attack, after which, I slept for days. I lost all track of what day it was or how much time had gone by. I kept picking up my quill and the words just wouldn’t come. I’m so sorry. Your words in the message I received today snapped me back out of it. Thank you for checking on me. [A filled-in heart was drawn here.]

Gale, I can’t bear the thought of hurting you again. I’m not saying that I don’t want to see you. Believe me, nothing would make me happier. My dreams of getting to be near you, to hold you again, to be held by you, they are my greatest source of comfort. But we haven’t spent any time together in person since the reunion, and we spent months before that acting like completely different people.

What if we can’t change, Gale? What if seeing each other brings out all the anger and spite again? I can’t forgive myself, even if you have. I don’t know what to say – I can’t lose you again either, I won’t survive it. And I fear that I will become upset by something and fall back into my old ways of dealing with arguments: with juvenile pettiness and venomous words. I’m so scared…

In fact, I’m going to deflect now so I don’t dissolve into another panic attack.

To answer your other questions – honestly, adventuring hasn’t happened in a while. I was being truthful at the reunion when I said I’d been adventuring and helping people. But coming back from Waterdeep is when I started to shut everyone out. My house descended into chaotic messes that I didn’t have the energy to clean, I stopped eating regularly, I was drinking at least a bottle of wine a day, and I slept all the time. I have enough money set aside that I can get away with not working for quite a while, but that won’t last forever.

The gardening is going well now though! I haven’t killed so much as a tomato plant! I’m growing flowers and selling bundles here and there. I’m also growing my own vegetables and some fruits, though I haven’t begun selling those yet. I’m getting the itch to start baking, however… I’ve found a great deal of fulfillment in creating (growing) some kind of life now instead of dwelling on the memories of taking it. [Along the left side of the page, she drew a tomato plant crawling up the side. Along the right, she drew a plate of danishes and a cup of tea.]

I’m so sorry again for worrying you. I just froze because I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll get this sent to you as quickly as I can, but please tell me your thoughts. I’m hoping your insight can be of some comfort.

With all my heart,

Your Tav

[At the bottom of the letter, Tav drew the same symbol Gale had been doodling on everything he could: the eternity symbol with the hearts in the middle, one with a G, one with a T. Next to it, she wrote:] (I tried… Yours looks much nicer.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My sweet Taviela, [Their infinity symbol with hearts and their initials was on the top right.]

Thank you for explaining the reason for the delay. I completely understand, and I’m sorry to have caused you to panic. If I may offer some encouragement, however, perhaps I can help quiet your heart.

Neither of us are under anywhere near the amount of pressure and stress that we were at the time back in Baldur’s Gate. We are taking care of ourselves now as individuals, fully independent of others, and neither is a crutch for the other. This bodes well for quelling any fears of being too dependent on each other for our own good.

We’ve seen what damage can be done by careless words and actions, and we’ve walked back from that ledge – together. Now we’ll be more aware of the warning signs should we become frustrated with each other again. We’ve talked about what we can do to avoid arguments in the future, like walking away for a breather, should we need to. Lest you have any unrealistic expectations, please remember that we will become frustrated with each other and we will likely have some arguments. That’s only natural for any two beings that have a close relationship. But we have some experience now and wisdom gained. I truly believe that we can be better for each other. We can change. Together. [A filled in heart is drawn here along the left side of the page.]

If you are comfortable thinking about the possibility of visiting, I have a proposition for you. Some simple guidelines that will help keep us in check as we try spending time together again, under completely different circumstances.

-          I will get you set up in a lovely room at The Yawning Portal for one week. The bartender owes me a favor for clearing out some riffraff a few weeks ago. Then you can have a place you feel comfortable retreating to without feeling trapped in my tower, should you wish to get some space.

-          So as to not put too much pressure on either of us too quickly, we can have a date each day, but we don’t spend the entire day together (at least not every day). It may be midsummer, but I still have regular responsibilities with the academy that I need to see to. Besides, that will give us time to individually reflect on our time together and how we’re feeling.

-          At the end of the week, we can talk about how things have gone and what direction we should go at that point. We won’t pressure each other, and we’ll agree that we won’t be disappointed if one person needs more time than the other. Above all, we need to make sure our friendship stays in tact.

So, what do you say? Look! I even got Tara’s stamp of approval! [On the side of the page is an ink pawprint.] (Do you have any idea how much convincing it took to get her to put her paw in ink? I owe her tuna for weeks…)

I won’t pressure you, but if you’re amenable to this plan, we can do this as soon as you’d like – even next week. Having said all that, if you still want to take things slower and keep writing letters for now, I will fully support that decision and be delighted to keep doing so.

If you will allow me, however, I would like to make one last plea: I want to see you, Taviela. I need to see you. My heart aches for you and my arms feel so painfully empty without you in them. I long to curl my fingers into your hair, to hear your contended sighs, to be lit up inside by your laughter, and, when you’re ready, to make love to you and cover you in affectionate, healing kisses until every hurtful word we’ve ever exchanged is erased from memory itself.

I know you’re scared, my darling. But I believe in us. I believe things will be different this time around. I hope and pray to every god and goddess who will listen that you can find it in your heart to take the risk.

Come here to me, my love, and we can keep walking our way forward - together. [A filled in heart is drawn here.]

I eagerly await your reply, whatever it may be.

Yours always,

Gale [A doodle of a wand surrounded by stars is by his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav’s hands trembled. Gods, she missed him so much it physically hurt. Especially now that she knew how much he was missing her as well. Sitting at her desk, she re-read his last full paragraph with tears flooding her vision and heart filling her chest, not to mention a familiar heat between her thighs. She knew at that moment that her desire and her renewed trust in Gale Dekarios FINALLY outweighed her fears. She didn’t even need to think about her response. It was short and sweet:   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gale, my love, [Their eternity/hearts/initials symbol was drawn on the top right.]

I’ll set out tomorrow by horse from Daggerford and will arrive at the Yawning Portal on Sunday evening around dinner time. I sincerely hope your arms will be waiting for me, because I’ll be rushing into them the moment I see you. [A filled-in heart was drawn in.]

Just don’t be holding a stack of books this time… [ Tav had drawn a doodle of a winking face here.]

Yours always,

Tav

P.S. I doubt we’ll be waiting long for those healing kisses… I know we’re going to space out our time together, but stay with me the first night? Help me “settle in” to Waterdeep? [Tav sketched a set of lip prints in the bottom right.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tears fell from Gale’s eyes, but happy ones this time. He could tell his cheeks were flushed too from her “P.S.”… He laughed at her jab about the books, then folded up the letter and brought it to his lips, kissing the edge she would have folded with her soft hands.

He had planning to do. 

[hughiecampbelle]

Fucking Married (Lukas Matsson x Roy!Sibling )

Character/s: Lukas, Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Roy, Logan

Word Count: 1,908

Inspired By: Fucking Married by Harriette

A/N: I love writing for Baby Roy so much omg. This song is the main inspiration, it's so good!!! I hope you guys like this as much as I do because I'm screaming!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Something bight and peachy hit your bloodline, warming you from the inside out. You could feel your cheeks heat up against his chest, swaying side to side. You pulled yourself closer, feeling unsteady on your feet. He laughs a little, kissing the top of your head, squeezing you harder. There isn’t a second of his life that goes by where he isn’t grateful for you. All of you. Music plays from the speaker of his phone in his pocket, an old one you’d heard thousands of times. About love and life and loss. One of his favorites. Of course he would pick this, you smiled. His hand on your back, the other in your hand, swaying softly. He even hums along to the chorus, not saying anything. Not patronizing you, or lecturing you, or reminding you how expensive this whole day was. He’s just grateful to have you to himself for a few moments, getting the dance you promised him regardless of the circumstances. Behind you, they gather by the bar, ordering for themselves. No one had told the staff it was all over. It wasn’t going to happen. The worked quickly, quietly, eagerly. The rest walked gingerly, serving appetizers on silver platters. It made their eyes light up, each grabbing greedily, knowing they hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. He spins you sweetly, making you laugh, feeling childish. At the sound of this, they perked up, their faces breaking out in grins. He always known how to get you to smile, even when you weren’t really feeling it. Even when you’d been crying minutes ago. 

Everyone else has gone, even the groom. Especially the groom. None thought to look here the way they had. Surrounded by colorful, oddly shaped glasses with toothpicks of fruit stabbed down the middle. Peach, mango, pineapple, apple, grapefruit. Mixed drinks of little rainbows, one spilled down the front of your white corset. No amount of rubbing will get that out. You shrug, grabbing for another. Thats how they found you. Drinking yourself drunk, chewing up the bits of fruit, hiding from everyone like you’d been doing since you were little. You were sure you stunk of some sixteen year olds favorite mixer, the sweetness of all this leaving you feeling bitter. Wronged. You were under the tables at the reception, crying softly, feeling yourself ease up a little. The whole morning had been nerve wracking. So much so you forgot how to breathe. Greeting everyone, thanking everyone, your own mother late, your father not showing up at all. You played the part, good enough to convince everyone else but yourself, and a few watchful eyes. Those that knew you, who saw you through it all, could see these pre-wedding jitters were more than that. You were petrified. Are you mad at me? You asked so much like a child, tucking your knees to your chest, trying to hide the skirt of your dress from their view. It was too big to hide under the tablecloth. Mad at you? Are you kidding? Come on kid, come and talk to us. You sniffled, chewing a cherry. When you didn’t even consider moving, you heard the groan of a man more than twice your age, watching him get to his knees. The rest protest, but he doesn’t listen. You wipe your cheeks, knowing you must look mad, your makeup ruined. He pokes his head through, wearing that familiar smile. The kind that promises everything will be okay, that you did the right thing, that he could never, ever be angry with you. It only makes you cry harder. I made a mistake. You repeat this over and over again, unable to catch your breath. He urges you out, unable to crawl under with you. Come on kiddo, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. No one’s mad at you. Eventually, you follow him out. 

Kendall taps Connors shoulder, wanting to cut in. His eyes meet yours, asking if this is okay. You nod, taking Kens hand. You rest your chin on his shoulder. He’s changed the song to something more his speed, not the kind of song to slow dance to of course. It looks and sounds ridiculous and yet, you can’t help but grin. It’s so him. You did the right thing. It comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t stop moving, though you hesitate for a second. You hadn’t thought about right and wrong, only that you were overcome with an overwhelming sense of dread. Not just today, though it was definitely amplified. Ever since he popped the question, ever since you were expected to say yes. What other choice did you have? Did I? The question comes out before you can stop it, your voice a lot shakier than you expected. Do you feel better? There’s not a second of hesitation. Of course you do. That sinking feeling was totally eradicated. You nod. Then you did the right thing. He made it sound so simple. It couldn’t be, could it? His hands on your waist, in your hand, always wrapped around you, like he was afraid you’d run. Maybe he knew all along. The look on his face said another story. Those knowing, self-assured eyes were wide pools of blue, calling after you, but you were too far to understand what exactly he was saying. He was hurt and angry. You hurt him. But you knew, if you went through with it, you’d hurt for the rest of your life. You were young, too young. You had so much more time, so many more mistakes to make. Not the kind like this. You’d only looked back once, to see his face. Kendall immediately stood up, holding him off from running after you. Were they speaking? You couldn’t see, only that your brother stopped him in his tracks. Connor stood in the middle of the aisle like a deer in the headlights. He was walking you down, not Logan. He hadn’t thought his appearance was necessary. How angry he’d be, you could picture it now, calling after you. He would have killed you. 

She turns off Kendalls awful music, putting on something that’s more your taste. Shiv holds her arms around your neck, and yours around hers. She looks beautiful, as always. What do you think Dad’s gonna say? Like a child, you fear the man in charge. If not him, then it would have been your husband. There is always an angry man in every scenario. She shrugs, searching your face, searching for the right words. He won’t be happy, she starts slowly, but it’s not like he can drag you down the aisle, right? She tilts her head to the side, a trait she’s carried with her all her life. I guess you’re right. Though it isn’t anymore comforting. She sees this, senses it, and tries to reassure you. Hey, hey he’ll understand. Maybe not now, but he will. You’ll always be his baby, no matter what. You think we haven’t colossally fucked up before? You try to hide your smile. Your smart sister, taking care of everyone. Where would you be without her? When you’d asked her to be your maid of honor, she was wary. You didn’t sound so sure. Not that you doubted her role for a second, rather that she’d take the brunt of the blame if you decided to take off, as if it were some great master plan between you and her. She would have taken that fall, though. She would have found a way to spin the narrative. Save both of you. She was always doing that: saving sinking ships. Is that what your marriage was, could have been? Probably. You weren’t a good match, you and him. You didn’t want your world to be business dinners and investors. You wanted to explore, see the world, make a name for yourself outside of the Roy/Matsson conglomerate. He was perfectly happy rotting away in meetings. You didn’t have the same interests, the same hobbies, nothing. He spoke Swedish in front of you, probably about you, constantly leaving you out of the conversation. What kind of life would you have lead? A bad one. A miserable one, no doubt. 

You know you can never come back to Sweden after this. You’re like banned, permanently, for life. You slap Roman on the chest, trying not to laugh. I’m serious! He will get every Swede on his side and they’ll all gang up on you. They’ll never forget the day you left him at the altar. That strikes something in you, a deep fear. Did you make a mistake? Was this the best you’d ever do and you ruined your chances? Quickly, Roman tries to undo what he’s done, of course with a joke. Kid, come on. Matsson as my brother? Barf. This is a good thing. You did a good thing, for everyone involved. Besides, you didn’t want to have sleep with that guy every day for the rest of your life, right? He’d get tired of looking at himself in the mirror every night. Roman pretended to snore, “dozing off” as you swayed, until your smile came back. You hadn’t even been involved in planning the wedding. His assistants took care of most of it. Not even the date or the place had been cleared by you. You were just expected to show up, get married, call it a day. Everything you’d heard about weddings were magical, the kind of thing that brought couples closer. He was in Sweden not long after you said yes, you in New York. you maybe talked twice a week, if you were lucky. It was almost laughable how silly it all was. Of course you ran. Of course you bailed. He was, essentially, a stranger. A handsome one maybe, if you were in the right mood, the right lighting, but still. Had your mother really bought this? Had everyone? Were they fucking stupid? Do you think he’s upset? Who, Matsson? Fuck no, he probably forgot all about it. He’s got, what, a thirty second memory? He always knew the best thing to say. They all did. Where’s the ring? Hm? The ring, what did you do with it? Oh. You’d thrown it over the deck of the reception dance floor, feeling too claustrophobic to leave it on. It fell down somewhere in the foggy wilderness. After that, you grabbed your tray of drinks and climbed under the table. Are you kidding? That’s hilarious. Roman laughed a hearty laugh, peering over the glass bannister. That things fuckin’ gone. Forever!  Lukas could spend the rest of his life, or his assistants life, searching. There was no way you’d go back to him, take back what you did. You could be wrong, but your whole family? It wasn’t often you and your siblings came to the same conclusion. When it came to this, though, you were all in agreement: he could go fuck himself. Everyone at the wedding could for not seeing this sooner. Let him cry like a little baby. Let him keep his money, his houses, his everything. All of sweden, too. You had your brothers and sister. They’d have your back no matter what, regardless of the situation. They’d look after you, look after your best interest at heart. Look on the brightside, Roman said, you’re saving a hell of a lot on the divorce. I gave it five years, tops.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

~*~

1. ITMF a fic where the Lans or the neis or the cultivation world in general find out about the abuse wwx takes at jiang sect and the other sects trying to help him @zerokogane

Warming up (to him) by barisan (T, 9k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, Hypothermia, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Temporary Character Death, Medical Inaccuracies, YZY Abuses WWX, JFM Bashing, pre-wangxian, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort) I have recommendations for the 1st one where Lan Qiren steps in!

Rediscovery, Reconstruction by ExtraPenguin (M, 27k, JFM/WWX, LQR & WWX, WWX/OC(s), rape/non-con, underage, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Rape Recovery, bildungsroman, Self-Discovery) tw for csa and rape, this one makes the abuse even worse but it's a wonderful fic about Lan Qiren stepping in to save Wei Wuxian (also has wwx/original character)

Blooming Bruises on my Soul and Body by xxxMiaHikarixxx (T, 13k, WangXian, Living on Streets, psychological abuse, WWX being a protective brother, JC being a protective brother, Good brother JC, Good brother LXC, Happy Ending, Angst With Some Comfort, Physical Abuse, Neglect, LXC is a Wangxian supporter, LWJ is whipped, Hate Crimes, multiple POVs)

🔒💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY,  Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

~*~

2. Hi! Now that I finished my exams 😭, I'm ready to read a lot of new Wangxian fics! ❤️

So, for the next ITMF, I was thinking in fics about:

A) The Lans (LQ, LXC, LWJ or any Lan) looking for WWX in the burial mounds after he saved the Wens, bc they need his help. And then the Lans decided to help WWX after watching the truth.

B) Or the Lans visiting WWX bc LWJ said WWX didn't have any army and when they understand the truth, they decided to help WWX and the Wens.

Plus if there is a Wangxian weeding 😍. Please happy ending in both cases. 🙏

Thank you so much!! Love this blog 🤗💜

@wangxiansgirl

2A)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole)

2B)

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst)

🔒 the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 91k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

~*~

3. hii! i hope you guys are doing well <3! I've been in a nhs mood, and I was wondering if you have any recs with nhs and wwx friendship, fix it, canon, anything works! i read the one in your last itmf i think, and I'm just craving more of those two! thank you in advance! @flexible-racoon

~*~

4. ITMF a dead dove focusing on CQL nieyao's age gap @crypticidentity

~*~

5. Itmf canon-compliant ish fics (not modern setting) where the first thing Wei Wuxian does after coming back from the dead is run straight to Lan Zhan? Thank you!

~*~

6. HIII is there any good arranged married Wwx and Lwj? Or maybe they're married fr and they have A-yuan as their son? @naoenowa

True Gold Fears No Fire by defractum (nyargles) (M, 69k, WIP, WangXian,  Royalty AU, Ancient China, Wuxia, Historical Inaccuracy, Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn, Mutual Pining, Emperor!LWJ, empress!wwx, Eventual Happy Ending, Misunderstandings)

Into the Oubliette by Ruixx (M, 124k, WIP, WangXian, Growing Up, Fix-It of Sorts, Arranged Marriage, Time Travel, Sibling Bonding, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Canon Divergence, Light BDSM, Breathplay, Wwx protection squad, Sunshot Campaign, War Politics, Hostage JYL, Visions, LXC Redemption, general lwj, Internal Sect, Politics, Good Uncle LQR, Lan OC’s, No Golden Core Transfer, Empire Building)

�� hypothetically, of course by johnnyfucksup (G, 22k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Character Study, Kinda, Inter-sect politics, a little bit, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Strangers to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Falling In Love, The Mortifying Ordeal of Falling In Love With Your Betrothed, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, very awkward ones at that, Slow Burn Speedrun)

A Wonderful (business) Arrangement by Orchidaisy_55 (E, 58k, wangxian, JC/NHS, LXC/JGY, JYL/JZX, Arranged Marriage, Modern, A/B/O, True Love, First Love, Mpreg, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Domestic Fluff, WWX is LSZ's Parent, mentions of miscarrage, Anal Sex, secondary sex characteristics, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy)

The Ties That Bind by silverclaw (G, 43k, wangxian, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Modern, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, past toxic relationship, Slow Burn, husbandiest of husband material WWX, mention of mpreg in relation to side-character, hurt LWJ, WWX falls first AND harder, No Smut)

After I Met You by Amandyalmonds (M, 78k, wangxian, Dragon LWJ, Fox Spirit WWX, Canon Divergence, Royalty AU, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, Protective WQ, Protective LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Unreliable Narrator WWX, Arranged Marriage, Miscommunication, Autistic LWJ, WIP)

Cultivator Lan's Wedding by squishh (Not Rated, 14k, wangxian, LXC/QS, Arranged Marriage, hidden identity, Nobleman Ryu's Wedding AU, slightly more based in historical reality, still xianxia tho, Wife swap, Slow Burn, Bisexual WWX, Demisexual LWJ, No War AU, No Yīn Iron, WWX's canonical backstory - mostly, YZY is slightly less abusive, still abusive tho, JYL not engaged to JZX, Canon-Typical Violence, No homophobia as a form of self-care to the author, Happy Ending, JC and WWX have a much better relationship here, POV Alternating, POV LWJ, POV WWX, Crossdressing, Historical Fantasy, WIP)

🔒 it's just a little white lie by MohnDoe (T, 1k, wangxian, Inspired by a Reddit Post, Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, WIP)

Not Lost, Just Undiscovered by anancites (E, 107k, wangxian, Modern, Arranged Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Idiots in Love, Mildly Dubious Consent)

~*~

7. Fics which go with the lyrics: " These days, I'm way too lonely

I'm missing out, I know

These days, I'm way too alone And I'm known for giving love away, but

I want someone who love me

I need someone who needs me

'Cause it don't feel right when it's late at night

And it's just me in my dreams So I want someone to love, that's what I fucking want "

Song: that's what I want, by Lil nas x

All the ways that you remain by Spodumene (G, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canada, Romance, First Meetings, Cottagecore, There Was Only One Bed, Mention of Parent Death, Getting Together)

~*~

8. itmf fics where wwx hurts lwj (emotionally or physically)

Over the Rotted Bridge by vailkagami (T, 314k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ dies, Wei Wuxian doesn’t die, neither do (most of) the wens, JYL also lives, Original Character(s), outside pov, YLLZ WWX, Canon Divergence, CQL Verse, Illustrated, Grief/Mourning, Non-Consensual Resurrection, mute LWJ, Hurt LWJ, Slow Burn, canonical death of a child (mentioned), Survivor Guilt, PTSD)

~*~

9. ITMF heavy angst BUT I don't want it to be whump

Twin Demons of Mò by XiaoFeiFei (ArfBarkWoof) (M, 358k, MXY & WWX, wangxian, JL & MXY, XY & MXY, JGY & MXY, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Abuse, Death, Twin Demons of Mo AU, MXY Lives, Major Character Injury, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Minor Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Canon Divergence, Self-Harm, Found Family, Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, POV Alternating)

~*~

10. ITMF a fic where wwx died in the past and then lwj waits for him to reincarnate and lives into the modern world where they meet again but wwx doesn't remember until later (or its fine if he remembers too )

based on a photo on Pinterest whose link ill paste cos I can't attach photos for some reason in the ask

Thanks again! Ly guys! @maurader--here

All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 51k, WangXian, XuanLi, ChengQing, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators)

the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by beesinspades (T, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Post-Canon, Jack of All Trades Artist WWX, Immortal! LWJ, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Reunions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Asexual Character, good vibes, [Podfic] the recluse at the end of the moonlit path by b_ofdale by Beria1021)

🧡 We Were Never Strangers by NeverEnoughWangxian (M, 36k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Modern AU, POV WWX, (mostly), College Student WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Immortal LWJ, Immortal LSZ, Dreams, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content)

~*~

11. Hello! Any fics where LWJ is shown to bond with animals?

No specific animal, just that it treats LWJ a bit specially or listens to him etc.

Thank you for your work!

in the arms of the angel by ScarlettStorm (E, 37k, WangXian, Modern AU with Magic, Fox WWX, animal rescuer LWJ, Comedy, Smut, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Adhd WWX, the mortifying ordeal of getting your head stuck in a peanut butter jar) it sort of fits bc lwj is in animal rescue & has some powers to make the animals feel calm & safe!

Lan Zhan's University Days (JAFFY) by sami (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Kinda, cultivated to immortality, University, outsider pov, Wei Wuxian is a chaos gremlin, ridiculous future bullshit wwx vs Local Culture) Sami's Lan Zhan's University Days from ridiculous future bull series. The cows in the farm and in later rfb glimpses with various baby animals

~*~

12. IMTF: I recently finished the WIP “Horseshoes and Hand Grenades” by Phantomhill which was amazing and hilarious. I’m now itmf any fics with the same premise of bringing the original Yiling Patriarch forward into the modern era, preferably without relying on reincarnation for the other characters. Any ships acceptable except self-insert. Thanks! @jensownzoo

结局难更改 (the ending is hard to change) Series by PorcupineGirl (G, 50k, WangXian, Time Travel, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivators AU, Canon Divergence, Time Traveler WWX, discussion of canonical character deaths, conveniently localized fires, Discussion of Canonical Suicide Attempt, mostly happy but slightly bittersweet ending, Reincarnation, LWJ POV, Established Relationship, Aromantic JC) might fit as it involves WWX ending up in the future instead of falling to his death

~*~

13. Hello all, sorry if this ask is too explicit 😳

I’m looking for fics where Wei Wuxian has a small penis and Lan Wangji has a big one 🍆

Love me some size difference

Thanx in advance

The Damage You Do by stiricide (E, 104k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Dom/Sub, Dark LWJ, Mobster LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Sex Worker WWX, Sugar Baby WWX, WWX adopts LSZ, Dubious Consent, each chapter has sex tag notes on it, BDSM, Sounding, Panic Attacks, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

14. Do you have Yunmeng bros reconciliation fics that have reverse golden core reveals (wwx finding out about jc getting captured in his place). Angst is fine :)

Thank you!!!! &lt;;3 @twlaei

~*~

15. For the next ITMF can i get fics where LZ plays their song before an audience while wy watches speechless? It could be a recital, it could be a party, it could be a wedding...it just has to have lz playing his heart out for WY while an audience is present.

LZ could be singing or playing any instruments like violin, guqin, piano etc.

For example, drag my teeth across your chest (by ana_cp) - violin. // last part in a FF post ~Mod L @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

Talisman by Witch_Nova221 (M, 192k, WangXian, Modern AU, Eventual Romance, Theatre, Rock Band, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Spousal Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Stalking, Minor Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Orphans, Mutual Pining)

~*~

16. ITMF for...

Fics when either WangXian or any other pairing (bonus if it's a rarepair or the Juniors are involved) are discovered by someone walking in on them? Even more bonus if WangXian are together and it's them walking in on someone! Thank you! @fomalhaut48

I spy by Anonymous (E, 9k, wangxian, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Rough Sex, of the wangxian kind, Pseudo-Incest, is it uuuuh incest if one spies on their adoptive parents, the juniors get more than they bargained for, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking)

Countless Roads by SunBlueSun (E, 5k, wangxian, Accidental Voyeurism, Switching, Versatile | Switch Wangxian, Porn with Feelings, Minor Original Character(s), Love, hanguang jun has flowers in his hair, POV Outsider)

Friends with Great Benefits by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 15k, wangxian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, First Time, virgins, Voyeurism, Accidental Voyeurism, Semi-accidental voyeurism, WWX's canonical heteronormative assumptions, cutsleeve awakenings, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, (it depends on who you ask))

a new light by museaway (T, 2k, wangxian, Accidental Voyeurism, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, POV Outsider, Canon Compliant)

~*~

17. Itmf wwx is in a slump, depressed, burnt out, breaking down, etc and lwj swoops in with tender loving care to pull him from his slump.

12 Hours In Hell and Paradise (Or: Lan Zhan’s Distinguished Guide to Seasonal Depression) by demonicsalad (T, 4k, wangxian, Modern, Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Neurodiversity, Love Confessions, POV LWJ) Not quite what OP on 17 asked for, it's from LWJ's pov and primarily his struggles, but it is cute fic about both sides of WX battling seasonal depression and comforting each other

总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie (E, 76k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pianist, Getting Together, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Hospitals, Overdosing, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

Guard Dog Whumpee - Whump Lists

A sub list of whump lists I've made where the whumpee is a guard dog to their families, romantic partners, friends, etc. Think "Touch her and you die."

Guard Dog = mostly in a physical sense, like he fights or kills for his loved ones

There will be overlap between the two. It will still count those with superpowers. Generally I mean this in a way that he acts like a bodyguard. It’s a specific vibe I can’t fully describe.

💜: This is one of my all time favorite tropes that isn’t immediately whump related like shot/stabbed/bleeding out

DRAMAS

🇰🇷KOREA

Healer >>> {x}

The K2 >>> {x}

Bulgasal: Immortal Souls >>> {x}

Descendants of the Sun >>> {x}

Snowdrop >>> {x}

Big Mouth >>> {x}

Vigilante >>> {x}

My Demon >>> {x}

Love Song for Illusion >>> {x}

Escape of the Seven: Resurrection >>> {x}

🇨🇳CHINA

The Untamed >> {x}

🇯🇵JAPAN

Fuujinshi >>> {x}

MOVIES

🇰🇷KOREA

---

🇨🇳CHINA

---

🇯🇵JAPAN

Rurouni Kenshin: The Beginning >>> {x}

Golden Kamuy >>> {x}

[p-taryn-dactyl]

way down we go (i)

a/n: this was not requested but I couldn't for the life of me get the idea out of my head. this can be considered a dark!fic bc of the events and plot points so please read the warnings before reading! I hope y'all enjoy! also, I already have part 2 written so this is one series you don't have to wait weeks for an update, only a day 💜

word count: 1.4k

warning(s): graphic depictions of crime scene/dead body - murder - blood and gore - this isn't really a happy fic - I'm not the fondest of writing things that show serial killers in a romanticized way so this...isn't going to end well - people die in this guys - if you do not like blood or anything to do with death do not read this - even though I absolutely love forensics I am in no way an expert and all my info comes from my singular forensic class and all the forensic files I watch - this is fiction plz don't come for my inaccuracies - (reader also does profiles bc why not)

pairing(s): forensic scientist!reader x serial killer!Agatha

prompt: your relationship was picture perfect. you're happy and in love but one crime scene brings your love crashing down around you. (I'm not good at descriptions)

You knew you would never escape this feeling.

The chills that ran down your spine as you walked through the scene, the only sounds being camera shutters and shuffling footsteps of your team, the way the air was suspended around you, imitating the way you held your breath. You forced your emotions into a box and shoved it to the back of your mind, your eyes turning from sympathetic to analytical, necessary for your job. The only one who noticed the change was your Crime Scene Photographer, Darcy. She pursed her lips at you, tilting her head towards the bedroom, acknowledging your shift into your role of head CSI.

This scene was different than the others, you immediately noticed as you crossed the bedroom threshold. Blood took over the wallpaper, staining the costly vintage pattern. The body lay face down on the bed, stab marks on the back, mostly shallow and jagged, indicating a struggle had occurred. Your thoughts were proven as your eyes scanned over the blood spatter. This victim fought back, causing a fight your killer hadn't anticipated.

She was the tenth one this month, the bodies being found more and more frequently, the killer getting more confident.

"Y/N."

Your name sounded behind you, making you turn around. Lead Detective Jimmy Woo stood with a grimace on his face, eyes expectant. You nodded as you brought him over to the side of the bed, where you could see the wounds better.

"This one is different, Jim. The scene is a mess, the body mutilated and uncharacteristically stabbed, not to mention the lack of sophistication."

You turned from the bed and walked over to a pile of cleaning supplies, crouching down and cocking your head to the side. Your eyes widened when you noticed what had caught your eye. Pulling out your tweezers from your toolkit hanging by your side, you called out to Jimmy, asking for an evidence bag. As he handed it to you, he asked an important question.

"Then how can we be sure it's the same killer."

Without hesitating you answered.

"The victim fits the profile. A woman in her early to mid 50s, lives alone, estranged from family," you nodded your head to the dusty photographs on the dresser, now decorated by dried drops of blood, "and the cleaning supplies, the same ones we know for a fact were used at the other scenes."

As you bagged the strand of hair, your mind thought back to the other crime scenes. The bodies of the victims lying in bed, dead for days or weeks at the longest, the rooms cleaned meticulously, the only mess being the crusty blood stains from the single slit mark on the women's neck. You thought that those scenes were the worst, but now as you looked around, you knew you hadn't seen the worst of humanity yet.

Handing Jimmy the evidence bag, which he passed on to the officers on the scene, you stood up.

"Forensics is done here, all pictures taken, swabs done, and now all evidence is bagged. Help me roll the body over."

Your plastic gloves were already soaked with blood as you and Jimmy rolled the victim onto her back. Jimmy choked on what he saw. You merely sighed. The slit on the victims neck was jagged but shallow. The scene played out in your head. The killer did the normal business of coming from behind with the knife, but this one struggled, making the cut not deep enough to kill. The killer pushed the woman onto the bed, trying to suffocate her with the pillow but she kept struggling. Finally, the killer resorted to stabbing the woman until the act was finished, even some post-mortem. Then, instead of having time to clean the scene and position the body, something unexpected happened. Someone visited the victim, the young next door neighbor who felt sorry for the elderly woman who never saw her family. The killer had to rush out the back, leaving countless pieces of evidence behind and ruining weeks of planning.

"Let's get her in a bag, make sure to contact the family and ask for her will and wishes upon her death."

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

On the drive back to the station and your team's lab, you allowed yourself a moment to text your wife.

You: Hey hon, I don't think I'll make it for dinner. I might stay the night.

You let yourself slip information, a breach of protocol but you trusted Agatha.

We finally have enough to catch this bastard.

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

The sounds of reporters never stopped as the hours passed, your team logging and entering every piece of evidence from this scene and past. You ran every single strand of DNA evidence you had through every database you had legal access to. Monica Rambeau, your secret weapon when it came to, well, weapons, made multiple 3D replicas of the suspects height and body weight, using the angles of the blood spatter and the stab wounds. You and your team had discovered a separate blood profile in the mix, a break that had you desperate for a culprit. Now you sat in front of the equipment in your lab, the rest of your team resting while evidence was being processed and while the detective went over profiles and case reports, looking for details they might've missed.

You kept yourself from drifting into sleep by scrolling on your phone. When you opened your messages, your brow scrunched together. Agatha hadn't responded to your text, leaving it delivered. Frowning, you started typing but realizing the time, you thought she would be sleeping. Maybe you missing dinner tonight had struck a nerve with your wife. Sighing, you slumped in your chair, practicing your apology in your head. You knew it wasn't common of you to miss dinner, so maybe she had something special planned for tonight, even if it was nowhere near one of your birthdays or an anniversary. But that didn't mean anything, maybe it was a surprise date night. You were so lost in your worry, you almost didn't hear the ping from your computer indicating a match. You read the results, a hint of surprise at the determined sex of the killer. You started to type some notes in an email for Jimmy when your computer indicated it had found an 94% DNA match in a database. You paused, your hands still hovering over your keyboard as the killer's picture came up on your screen.

Time suspended around you, suffocating you as your vision tunneled. The buzzing of your phone broke you out of your stupor and with shaking hands you opened the message from your wife.

aggie❤️: no worries about dinner love, how's the case going?

Your eyes flickered from the text to the picture on your screen, your wife's cold blue eyes staring into your soul. You hesitated before you answered.

You: not well. everything came up a dead end, ig it's back to square one.

You put your phone face down on your desk, quickly exiting out of the page, your wife's picture replaced with your background. Which did nothing to sooth your rapidly panicking state, as it was your wedding photo. You slammed the power button, relief flooding your body at the black screen. With shaky hands, you cradled your head.

This can not be happening. You thought, pinching your arms, desperate to wake up from this vivid nightmare.

This

Can

Not

Be

Happening.

Your phone buzzed with your wife's reply and you read it through blurry vision.

aggie❤️: im sorry to hear that hon. text me when you're on your way home <3

Normally, the heart as the end of the text would send butterflies ablaze in your stomach but now all it did was sending waves of nausea coursing through you. Were there signs you missed? Something you overlooked through the haze of being in love?

Were all these women dead because you were too blind to see what was in front of you the whole time?

You stood up suddenly, your chair crashing behind you. Darcy rushed in, concern lacing her actions.

"Y/N, are you-"

"I have a migraine. Staring at a screen for too long and all that." You cut her off, even giving a slight chuckle at the end to play it off. Darcy still looked concerned but let you gather your things and walk out of the lab.

"If anything comes up, I'll call you!" she called out, not knowing her words caused your stomach to hardened.

As you went to walk out of the station, you noticed Jimmy had recklessly left his gun and holster on his desk.

You walked out of the station, pulling your jacket tight against your body as you got into your car.

No one had noticed Jimmy's gun was no longer on his desk.

a/n: ok I really hope y'all enjoyed this bc ive been waiting to write it for forever!! part 2 will 100% be out tomorrow bc ive already written it lol. I like writing true crime/mystery fics or fics with the same vibe so hopefully I did it well!! thank you for reading and I love all of y'all so much <3 sorry I haven't been writing that much

[hajihiko]

Hey. So, I saw your Chiaki & Fuyuhiko comic that I like to call "Look on the Bright Side" (since it didn't have an official name in the post itself), and I loved it. I loved seeing Nanami & Kuzuryu interact with each other with the former comforting the latter on Peko and complimenting on how brave he was to save his friend, the scene between Fuyuhiko & Peko during the latter's execution, and then the scene of you making a throwback to your DR3 rewrite from your Talky Talky Tuesday content where the DR2 cast witness Human Chiaki's death and chose not to help her because of how awful Junko's influence on them was. It was heartwarming, bittersweet, and terrifying all at the same time, and as @/self-in-dulled-gent put it in their reblog of the comic, the 4th & 5th panels depicting your DR3 rewrite is a cool and visceral indication of how far the DR2 cast had fallen into despair. Heck, both the comic & the rewrite even serve as inspiration towards my au/rewrite/reimagine of DR3's Despair Arc & how Junko corrupts the DR2 cast into despair. So, thank you so much for the inspiration. I really appreciate it.

With all that in mind, I have some questions I wanna ask you regarding both the comic & DR3 rewrite, if you don't mind.

May I have your permission to do a review on your DR3 Rewrite post for my Advian Reads & Reviews content (which in case you're curious about, AR&R is reading review series where I read something, like fanfiction for example, while also doing a review on it at the same time, giving my thoughts on whatever I'm reviewing as well as potentially even sharing my own stories)?

Will you ever showcase the bonus panel of the rest of the class witnessing Chiaki's death that you mentioned in the comic's tags?

Who is the 5th person on the right between Kazuichi & Hiyoko in the 4th panel (I'm assuming it's Sonia based on the hairstyle, but I thought I'd ask for some confirmation)?

Will we ever get to see the dialogue of Chiaki not resenting Hajime/Izuru for not helping her you also mentioned in the comic's tags?

Follow up on that previous question, do you think it's possible that we might also get to see if Chiaki resents her classmates for not helping her, or if she would also get it with them like she did with Hajime/Izuru?

How exactly does Junko kill Chiaki in front of her classmates? Does she still have her go through her execution like in canon, or does she kill her in a different way, and if so, then how? I ask because I saw Nanami had blood coming from her eyes & mouth (making it look like Junko literally pulled her eyes out), there's blood on her hoodie & left thigh, and she appears to have been stabbed on her right side.

And those are my questions. In regards to gaining your permission to review your DR3 rewrite, if you do grant permission, great! I'll be sure to credit you and give you a shoutout too if you do. And if you don't, then I'm content with that and will understand and respect the reason behind your refusal, whatever that reason may be. Feel free to respond back to me whenever you get the chance. Thank you and have a wonderful day/afternoon/night. 🤗💕❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💖💕🤗

that's one heck of an ask so I'm using a readmore:

Thank you! I remember that comment hehe I'm really glad people like it

1: sure! Just know that I'm like, you know, just a fan and a hobbyist and not even really a writer so I'm not saying my rewrite is more right than anything else!

2: the bonus panel was actually everyone else's deaths (in SDR2) since they all sort of died alone, too. But it didn't feel relevant enough, I prrrrrrrrobably don't have the sketch anymore

3: yep that's Sonia

4: I'll be totally real i don't remember what I was thinking there at all. Sssssorryyyyyy

5: I think Chiaki, if she got to see the events of SDR2 as the AI, wouldn't resent her classmates so much as feel sorry for them and be disappointed. At the same time though I think she might be shocked at what they're capable of. Maybe she can't help but be a bit bitter, who knows. Hajime/Izuru is a different deal since that guy literally got his brains scrambled, can't really blame him. (sort of like deleting all the save data, maybe?)

6: the blood and amounts of it was more about the drama lol. But I thought the obstacle was like, a little too fantastical, not serious enough, so in my rewrite she straight up beats Chiaki to death with some kind of instrument. I think the image of Junko doing something so realistic (and slow) while everyone watches passively is even worse.

Thanks for asking beforehand! 💙

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

Hey, can you write something for Tommy Miller? The reader is tommy's wife and he finds her after serval years after he thought she was dead (she using all his tricks, she learned from him) he being a proud husband. Thank you 💜

Sorry if I took a while to reply to this, my absolute dumbass was reading it at 10 at night and thought the gender was switched (I basically thought Tommy was the one who was supposed to be dead lmfao). This gave me strong 'Huntsman: Winters War' vibes, so if it goes off a little, blame Chris Hemsworth <3 Thanks for the request, and I hope y'all enjoy :>

Not proofread

Gender: Female (She / Her)

Word count: 1125 words, 6054 characters

Warning: Mentions of death, Mentions of violence, Strong language

You knew death was coming to you. It was an inevitable end, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Death seemed like a foreign concept to you; you were always out of reach, but this time, it dug its claws into you and made up for those times you’d cheated it.

With everything you’d experienced in your life, death was more of a welcome than a burden. Your body finally gave in, your mind being able to finally rest from the endless trauma. You’d lived your life, and death opened its arms to you.

Where you were ready to let go, however, Tommy was not. You’d never seen him fight for something so hard before. With half-lidded eyes, you watched your beloved husband as he battled your dance with death to keep you awake. These hands, that had slaughtered more men than you were ever aware of, were so gentle with your broken form as he applied a pressure on the stab wound to your abdomen. The ruthless hands of a killer, handling you with the utmost care.

He tried everything he could think of to stop you from giving in to the temptation of death, but you eventually shut your eyes and let yourself rest.

“Tommy, if you’d just listen to me-” Joel’s gruff voice started, but the older brother wasn’t able to finish his sentence before Tommy interrupted him, for the umpteenth time. He refused to believe what he was hearing.

“Stop fuckin’ lying to me,” Tommy spat, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he turned his back to Joel to pace around the bar. “She isn’t alive.”

No, the dead are supposed to stay dead. Tommy watched you die. In a futile attempt to keep your heart beating, he knew you were long gone. He felt your pulse slip away, the only indicator of your life fading into oblivion like it had never existed at all.

“You aren’t hearing me!” Joel boomed. With Tommy already talking with a loud voice, Joel was now full-blown yelling. He couldn’t get his brother to listen to him; Tommy was convinced that you were dead. Everyone was convinced you were dead. They knew you were.

So how the hell were you alive?

“Because I watched her die!” Tommy snapped back, his voice threateningly low as he whirled around. This was clearly something Joel and Tommy didn’t agree on.

Before the boys could finish this argument, Tommy grabbed his pack and swung it over his shoulder. He didn’t hear any more of what Joel had to say, and stalked out of the Tipsy Bison.

Tommy and Joel’s horses, Justified and Old Beardy, stood tied up outside of the bar, and Tommy was fast to walk down the front steps of the Tipsy Bison and unknotting Justified’s reins. He hopped onto the horse’s back with his pack around his shoulders, spinning the animal in a tight circle and galloping off toward the woods.

As Tommy fled into the woods, he thought about what Joel had told him. It seemed impossible that’d you be alive: you died in his arms. He was first-hand witness to the whole situation, so he knew that there was nothing that could bring you back.

Joel said otherwise. How were you still active, after all of this time? You’d been killed years ago, and Tommy knew what he saw. He saw the woman he loved and valued most, lose the light in her eyes as she gave up the battle of staying conscious to the world.

Tommy huffed as Justified slowed down, the horse trotting his way through the woods with Tommy upon his back. The man needed some time to think about the information that his older brother had just tried to give him. Riding through the woods always gave Tommy some peace of mind.

That is, until he heard a loud gunshot ring through the trees.

The force of the noise was enough to startle Tommy and his horse, the animal immediately taking himself in a circle to run away from the direction that the noise came from. It came from deeper within the forest, the brunt of the shot bouncing around the wooded area.

A normal person’s first instinct would be to run in the opposite direction of a gunshot, but Tommy was drawn to it. Was someone else out here? How close were they? Should he sus out the situation and follow the noise?

The middle-aged man chose the latter, and gave his horse a firm boot with his heels to send him galloping into the woods. The horse wasn’t happy to oblige, but gave in due to the sheer force that was Tommy Miller.

As they raced deeper into the woods, Tommy hoped another shot would ensue so he could try and find the source. He hadn’t seen any people outside of Jackson that he didn’t know, so the situation was refreshing to him.

Tommy pulled Justified to a halt, the horse’s hooves pacing against the foliate ground as the man on his back perked up. Tommy had spotted something – something large, lying on the ground.

Swinging his legs over the saddle and landing with a silent groan, Tommy led his horse toward the thing he’d spotted. As he got closer, he noticed that his observation began to take the shape of some kind of large animal. Upon closer inspection, the animal was a deer. He wasn’t sure what kind of deer, but it was dead.

The deer had a bullet wound at the side of its head, which would’ve killed it instantly. It was a strategically placed shot for a person, so whoever had killed it must have been a good marksman.

Tommy knelt beside the animal and inspected it, one hand holding his horse’s reins, and the other trailing over the wound that the deer had in the side of its face. He wondered who’d shot and killed it. The deer only had the single wound there, so whoever shot it did it effortlessly.

A twig cracked.

Tommy’s head snapped over his shoulder, and his pupils contracted when he was met with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his face.

On the other end of the gun, a woman, no older than Tommy himself, clutched the weapon with both hands. She adjusted her fingers against the firearm as she kept the front end of the gun in line with Tommy’s eyes.

As Tommy’s eyes crept up the length of the gun and the extended arms of the person, his gaze eventually reached their face. He swallowed back a lump forming in his throat as he took in the bloody-faced woman standing before him.

You, his wife. You were alive.

As promised, a tag for @musings-of-a-rose

Another part? Let me know in the comments or reblogs :) Thanks for reading, and remember my asks are open so bombard me <3

[littlelovelyspiderling]

H.....bsbsvvsvssvI don't know I I ever did send an ask before.but Uhshshsh I'm still a bit shy to sending asks and stuff — But when I was a teen -----

I loved YOUR tickle stories with Peter!!!! All of the sories makes me so happy!! And giggly— Dialed to Eleven and Stab Deterrent, Doc Oc, tickle monsters, interrogation - OKAY LITERALLY every Spidey tikkie fic is my favourite 🌷💗🌸 I feel like I can say every story off by heart 😭🌸❤️ /positive emotions☁️🤍

I also read your other tkl stories with Zuko and I LOVE THEM TOO

I COUNTED it ✨canon✨ To Peters story cos your writing is the best. Like the best. Of the best. And totally didn't give me lee mood buzzies for days jsgdhdh

You was also my teenhood??? ONE OF my main big Inspiration to even write tkl stories!! WJHEHSHSHS

I saw you post a series now and I was like:

“WHAAAALIYFUTKDUTKDYRKDYRDJYRDRDYYRJSDYRJYRDJYRDJYRDJ“ AAAA. New content to see!! I'm still a biiiiit behind— OvO

Please please please don't let anyone stop your love for. What you do!!! I love your writing so much ❤️

— Lola / Anu ☁️✨⚡💜

WRITER LOVE TO YOUUUUUUUU

Slightly embarrassed...that I ranted that long -

heehee never be embarrassed for long ranting to me, I LIVE FOR THIS SHIT TRULY 😤

awww you’re too kind omggg 😭🩵 i’m amazed you remember all the names of those stories cuz i don’t think even i could at this point lol 😅 im very happy you enjoyed my old peter + zuko fluff content and hope you like the newer longer series i’m currently writing for spideytorch!! it’s more focused on plot & character than my previous ones (plus gay romance heehee) but has lots of cute ticklish!peter moments in it cuz you know i can’t abandon my roots completely 😌

wow so grateful i could be a writing inspiration to you!! ALL THE WRITER LOVE BACK TO YOU BEAUTIFUL FRIEND ✏️♥️✏️♥️

[freelafan4life545]

Yay, I wrote another fic!

Based on this comment:

Thanks @shamandigi-blog for the inspiration.

Also based on the episode Insane in the Mainframe

Insane man, peaceful love

The Apartment was quiet, save for the faint sounds of New New York nightlife outside. Fry sat on the worn couch, absentmindedly staring at the TV. A late-night infomercial about pocket-sized doomsday devices blared, but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind was elsewhere—trapped in the labyrinth of the memories he had been trying to forget.

Leela walked in, holding two steaming cups of chamomile tea. She placed one on the table in front of Fry and sat next to him.

“You’re up late again,” she said gently, studying his face.

Fry shrugged. “Can’t sleep,” he muttered.

Leela knew better than to press him immediately. She sipped her tea and gave him space to speak when he was ready. Fry stared at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

“I’ve been having those nightmares again,” he finally admitted, his voice small.

Leela’s eye softened with concern. “The ones about the robot asylum?”

Fry nodded. “It’s like... I’m back there. Roberto’s trying to stab me with that knife, shouting that he’s gonna ‘carve me like a turkey bot.’ I was in that tight room when he was doing that. And then I...” He trailed off, his voice cracking. “I start thinking maybe I am a robot. Like maybe they were right all along.”

Leela set her cup down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Fry, you know you’re not a robot. What they did to you in that asylum wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t your fault.”

Fry leaned back, covering his face with his hands. “But what if something’s wrong with me? I mean, normal people don’t just end up there. What if... what if I belong there?”

Leela’s heart ached at his words. She scooted closer and gently pulled his hands away from his face. “Fry, look at me.”

He hesitated but met her gaze.

“You don’t belong in a place like that,” she said firmly. “You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know. Sure, you can be impulsive and a little... reckless,” she added with a small smile, “but you’re also kind, loyal, and human. One hundred percent human. And I don’t ever want you to forget that.”

Fry swallowed hard, her words beginning to pierce through the fog of doubt in his mind. “But the dreams... they feel so real, Leela. Like I’m trapped there all over again.”

Leela thought for a moment before taking his hand in hers. “When I was a kid at the orphanarium, I used to have nightmares all the time. About the other kids bullying me, or about never finding my parents. The only thing that helped was finding something in the real world to anchor me. Something that reminded me I was safe.”

Fry tilted his head. “Like what?”

She smiled softly. “Well when I was a kid, it was my stuffed unicorn, but now... I think it’s someone like you.”

Fry felt his cheeks flush. “You mean... me?”

Leela nodded. “You’ve been there for me when I’ve needed it, Fry. Let me be there for you now.”

Fry’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a shaky breath. “Thanks, Leela. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” she said with a small, reassuring smile.

She pulled him into a hug, and Fry sank into it, feeling the warmth of her presence chase away the lingering chill of his nightmares. For the first time in days, the memories of the robot asylum didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

“I think I can sleep now,” Fry murmured after a while.

“Good,” Leela said, guiding him toward the couch to lie down. She pulled a blanket over him and stayed close, her hand resting lightly on his.

As Fry’s breathing slowed and deepened, Leela stayed awake a little longer, keeping watch. She didn’t mind. Seeing Fry at peace was more than enough.

And if the nightmares returned, she’d be there to fight them off—just like he’d done for her so many times before.

💜🧡