#twelfth night or what you most definitely won't

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 10.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, mentions of forceful behaviour towards women, bad family dynamics

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Sorry, folks! No smut yet, I need some more time to build up the right moment!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Series Masterlist

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

It's silly to cry about this, isn't it? No, yeah, it's definitely not silly.

Y/n rubs her eyes. She's standing lost in the abandoned tent in the middle of the pieces of Katsuki's tantrum. Slowly, she starts picking up the things Katsuki has thrown across the room.

It will be alright. You can trust Katsuki. Whatever happened today, it's not your fault and Katsuki knows that. He might get irritated easily but he's not unreasonable.

When y/n is done picking up the pieces of the destroyed chair, she's unsure what to do next. She decides to scrub off the paint in the stone hut. There's only cold water this time but y/n grinds her teeth and scrubs it all off. Afterward, she feels a little bit like herself again.

Back in the tent, she loses the clothes as well. She looks for her dress but she can't find it. This upsets her more than it should. After all, it's just a piece of fabric, she tells herself. Then again, it was her mother's dress. The last thing that connected her with her people.

My bag!, she thinks and looks for it where she dropped it the night before. She finds it next to the bed. She dumps the contents on the bed and looks at the things she's brought along. She takes the small knife and strokes over the carvings in the wooden handle. Her father made it for her for her twelfth birthday. He wanted to paint it one day, but he passed before he ever got the chance.

She remembers her father. He was a kind but firm man. He believed in the way of their people. Y/n remembers how he used to take her and her brother to a meadow in the middle of a summer night. He showed the kids how the fireflies light up when you run through the grass. He dared them to catch one and when they did, he explained to them how every creature was created by the great being of things and therefore should be treated with respect. He made y/n let go of the fireflight she caught and they watched as it disappeared into the night sky.

Y/n clutches the knife. She didn't notice how tears slipped down her cheeks. Quickly, she brushes them away. She shakes her head. Thinking about this, won't change the present. Carefully, she places the things back into her bag and hides it beneath the bed, so that they won't be taken away again like her dress.

She slips out of the skimpy clothes she was put into this morning and puts on the clothes Katsuki gave her yesterday. Also, she wraps a blanket around her since she's planning to go outside. I'm going to look for Katsuki, she determines.

~*~*~*~*~

It's strange walking around the village without Katsuki by her side. Y/n feels a lot more vulnerable without him. Again, there are only men outside the tents and they give her strange looks. She's sure they are talking about her, too.

She tries to shake the thought off when she slips in between two tents to get out of sight. Suddenly, a cold hand grabs her arm.

„A-are you new? When did they bring you in?“, a scared female voice says next to her.

Y/n feels instant relief. Finally, someone who understands her! And a woman too! She turns around to the voice and is instantly stunned.

There's a woman standing at the entrance of a tent. She's about y/n's height. The woman is pale as if she barely sees the sunlight. She looks sickish in a haggard way. Her state is nothing but alarming to y/n.

„Yes, I am. I just arrived yesterday. Are-“, y/n tells her and before y/n can ask her if she's alright, the woman's grip on her arm tightens.

„Did he do it already? The man that took you? Is he near? Is he looking for you?“, the woman asks frantically. There is fear in her eyes.

„Uhm, what do you mean?“, y/n replies uncertainly.

„You need to get away!“, the woman tells her, now grabbing both of y/n's arms. „If he hasn't taken you, you might still have a chance!“

The woman's eyes are ripped open widely and y/n can see how bloodshot they are. She mustn't have slept for days. Y/n tries to wiggle out of the woman's hold.

„I-i'm fine. Thanks for your concern, but-“, y/n tries to shake her off.

„Nadia!“, a voice barks from the side y/n came from. A big, bulky man walks their way. His face looks angry. He continues to speak loudly in his language. The woman winces and lets go of y/n. She quickly retreats back into the tent, leaving y/n alone outside.

The man gives y/n a glance before disappearing into the tent. His loud voice can be heard in the inside. By the tone of his voice, he must be scolding the woman. Y/n isn't sure if that's her cue to disappear like the woman said.

Eventually, the man comes back outside. He doesn't look as angry as before anymore. He says something to y/n that she doesn't understand.

„U-uhm, I'm a friend of Katsuki, I guess. Do you know where he is?“, she asks him and the man looks annoyed. He throws his arms into the air in frustration and rambles something to himself.

Y/n straightens her posture a bit at tells him in a determined voice: „Katsuki“.

The man gives her an uncertain look. Then he grabs her shoulder and makes a gesture to follow him. Y/n does so. The man drags her through half of the village, stopping here and there to talk to people. Y/n can hear the word „Katsuki“ quite often, so she guesses he is asking around where Katsuki is. Eventually, the man makes her walk quite a while outside of the settlement and y/n starts doubting her decision to follow him. What if the woman was right? What if that guy really has something bad on his mind?

The man leads her into a small gorge. Y/n can see how smoke rises from the inside, so she guesses humans must be there as well.

Turns out her guess was kind of wrong. The deeper they get into the gorge, the more clearly it becomes what lives her: dragons. When the first comes into sight, y/n walks a bit closer to the man in front of her. More and more dragons come into sight. Golden ones, blue ones, green ones. Y/n thinks the deep black ones look the scariest. She tries to avoid eye contact with all of them. Also, she wonders if Katsuki's great red one is here. Actually, she'd be really relieved to see the great red one again right now. At least one familiar face, or snout, around here.

The man leads her all the way in, where a small fire is lit. More men sit around it drinking and laughing.

The men cheer and gesture for the man to join him but he declines with a wave of his hand. He says something to them and y/n hears Katsuki's name again. She peeks behind the man and sees Katsuki sitting among the men around the fire. When Katsuki spots her, he immediately gets up.

Katsuki exchanges a few words with the man before said man turns around to leave. Katsuki grabs her shoulder and gives her an angry look. Seems as if he's not too happy that I'm here, y/n thinks.

The men laugh and say something to Katsuki to which he gives them a snarky reply. Katsuki leads her to the fire and motions for her to sit down. Y/n does so and wraps the blanket around her a little bit more tight. The man called Kirishima asks Katsuki something and points at y/n. Katsuki shrugs indifferently.

Kirishima fills a mug with something that's been brewing over the fire and hands the mug to y/n. Y/n takes a sniff. It's definitely alcohool. She takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised.

„Mead!“ she exclaims. The men cheer and raise their cups to her. Y/n does so too and takes another sip. The mead is sweet and rich in her mouth.

Kirishima laughs and says something to her. Y/n smiles. Somehow, this feels comfortable. Like when her people sat around the fire at night drinking some hot mead to keep warm. It's the time when stories and memories are shared. Y/n decides there's no harm in sharing a memory of her own, even if these strange men won't understand her.

„You know“, she tells Kirishima, „My aunt used to make mead together with my father“. Kirishima takes another sip from his cup while listening.

„Of course, you need honey for that.“, y/n continues, „So my aunt and my dad went to the woods to find wild honey for their mead. Unfortunately for them, there also was a bear looking for honey too. When my aunt saw the bear, she screamed so loudly that even the bear was frightened, and in his shock, the bear knocked down the bee nest. Of course, the bee attacked my aunt and my dad and they ran home to our camp, screaming the entire way. I've never heard my father scream like that. Like a little girl.“

Y/n is giggling at the end of the story and has to wipe the side of her eye. When she's done, she notices that the rest of the men fell silent and were watching her intently. Suddenly, she's a bit embarrassed for rambling out a story like that.

„Anyways“, she says and raises her cup, „Cheers!“. Quickly she takes another sip and the men start laughing. Y/n feels incredibly embarrassed. A few of the men clap Katsuki's back who also looks embarrassed. Y/n lowers her head. She didn't want to embarrass Katsuki with her stupid story.

Suddenly, she feels Katsuki slide closer to her. He puts an arm around her tucking her safely into his side. Y/n peers up at him. He keeps his eyes fixed on his peers and y/n snuggles a bit deeper into his side. At least he doesn't seem mad now anymore. She keeps slurping her mead until it's empty. Also, she surely feels the buzz. This mead is a lot stronger than the one her aunt and father brewed.

She watches Katsuki for a while who also seems to be done with his cup. Eventually, she pulls at one of his necklaces trying to get his attention. Katsuki lets go of her and looks down at her. He mumbles something which y/n guess is something like a „what?“. She should write that word down later.

„Where's your dragon?“, she asks him. When Katsuki's brows only furrow, she points at a dragon and says „Dragon?“ and then points at him. It seems as if a light goes up in Katsuki's head. He says something to his men and then gets up taking y/n's hand. They leave the fire together and Katsuki leads her to a cave entrance. He gestures for her to stay behind him and y/n does as she's told. The last thing she wants is to wake up an angry dragon. She peeks behind Katsuki and sees the enormous form of the great red right in front of them. Katsuki gestures for her to step beside him.

„Drami“, Katsuki tells her and y/n looks at him uncertainly. Is that the word for dragon in his language?

„Drami.“, y/n repeats and the great red raises its head. Y/n watches with wide eyes how the dragon moves its big head and nudges Katsuki.

„Oi!“, Katsuki exclaims and tries to push the dragon away. Y/n has to giggle at the sight. Is this how she looks when she tries to push Katsuki away but he doesn't move at all?

The great red notices her as well and moves towards her. Fear strikes her even though she knows that the beast probably won't hurt her. The dragon nudges her as well but in contrast to Katsuki, y/n wasn't prepared for the force of the nudge. She stumbles and falls over. There's a grumbling sound in the dragon's throat and she's sure the beast is laughing at her.

„Hey!“, she complaints and sits up.

Suddenly, there are whistling sounds in the air. Then, y/n gets attacked by all sides. Little dragons nudges her from all sides. Pulling on her blanket and hair. It's not painful and when the first shock wears off, y/n has to laugh and she tries to push the little dragon off of her. When she looks up, her eyes meet Katsuki's who have a mischievous gleam in it. He laughs at her and y/n sticks out her tongue to him while fending off the lizards around her.

There's a deeper grumble in the air and the dragons let go off y/n. They rush back to the great red. The small ones have the same color as the great red and when they climb onto it, they become invisible. No wonder y/n didn't spot them before. Katsuki chuckles and helps her up.

„That was rude.“, y/n tells him and tries to rearrange her messy hair. Katsuki picks up the blanket and puts it around y/n's shoulders again. He ruffles her hair and says something to the great red. He gestures for y/n to follow him.

„Bye, Drami!“, y/n tells the great red and quickly follows Katsuki outside.

~*~*~*~*~

After Katsuki says goodbye to his men, he walks back to the village with y/n. She looks ridiculous, he thinks. She lost the nice clothes picked out for her and instead carries this ratched blanket around with her. Is she really that cold? Katsuki and his men walk around shirtless half of the time and even the women in his tribe wear more revealing clothes than the women from the kingdom. It makes him wonder if his mother might be right about y/n.

They walk back in silence and Katsuki notices how uncomfortable y/n feels. He can't blame her. She probably hasn't got a clue about what happened earlier today. He wants to feel sorry for her but can't find it in him to do so. She should man up a bit, he thinks to himself. Otherwise, she will never be accepted around here.

Doubt gnaws at the inside of his mind. He's been replaying the conversation with his mother again and again. The truth is that Mitsuki's right. Y/n isn't strong enough for his people. Physically and probably also mentally. She doesn't fit in. Hell, she doesn't even speak their language. Fine, that's something that can be tackled. Actually, Katsuki already decided that he'll send for Deku. That damn scholar can make himself useful and teach y/n their language.

And yet, Katsuki knows that he needs a strong mate by his side. One that stands strongly and proudly next to him as the leader of his people. Having a weak mate and weak offspring does not help his position. In contrast, it might give people a reason to doubt him. And who knows what the future holds.

So far the king Todoroki turned a blind eye to the dragonblood tribe's raid on his grounds. It's easier to let them take a few women than to fight his men. But how long will that go well? Katsuki already got the news that the king is stocking up his army. His tribe can handle a few strikes of retaliation. However, if it escalates to a full-blown war things look differently. The plague already decimated their numbers and with almost no women in the tribe to even out the number, the future looks grim.

His men did little to cheer him up. While they tried to support his choice, they also gave insight into their own homes. Comparing y/n to the few women they've brought home and mated. Denki's mate passed only after a few months. She lost weight rapidly after arriving in the village and one nasty cold later, the woman completely withered away. Not enough time to give him an heir. Kirishima's position is not rosy either. While his mate is still alive, the woman is terrified of him and that even though Kirishima is probably the softest of the bunch. The other men urge him to just take her since the tribe needs children and that's what the women are brought in for but Kirishima is too kind of a man to touch her against her will.

Kirishima doesn't speak it out loud but Katsuki knows how disgusted the man felt about himself after he mated her for the first time. Other men are not as docile as Kirishima. They take their new mates as they see fit. They think that if their new mate doesn't find it in themselves to accommodate the situation, at least they can submit to them and fulfill their duty as a mate.

Katsuki is so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice how they arrived back at his tent. Only when y/n stops walking, he looks up. One of his mother's ladies-in-waiting is standing in front of his tent.

„Your mother wishes to speak to you. She's inside.“, the woman informs him. Katsuki gives her a nod and puts a hand on y/n's lower back pushing her inside.

„What do you want?“, Katsuki asks his mother upon entering the tent. His mother sits on the remaining chair with her arms and legs crossed.

„Did you mate her yet?“, she poses a counterquestion.

„Obviously not.“, Katsuki tells her. He gives y/n a side-eye and he notices how tense the smaller woman got. Clearly, she must fear his mother by now.

His mother rubs her temple.

„Katsuki, I didn't mean to upset you earlier.“, his mother states. Katsuki lets go of y/n and sits down on one of the trunks.

„I know that.“, he mumbles.

Mitsuki watches as her son uses a knife to scratch off dirt from the underside of his shoe. Meanwhile, y/n stands at the entrance of the room feeling absolutely lost. She feels like she shouldn't be here for this conversation. She tries to make eye contact with Katsuki who keeps his focus on his shoes. Mitsuki sighs loudly making y/n flinch.

„Katsuki, I'm glad you want to take on a mate. I've been afraid you'd refuse one completely. I'm just worried about your future, our future.“, Mitsuki points out. Her voice isn't exactly soft but probably as soft as the former chief can be.

Katsuki stabs the trunk with his knife.

„Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'm worried, too?“, he barks at her.

Mitsuki gives her son a pointed look.

„I know you are. Which is more the reason why I don't understand... this.“, Mitsuki says and vaguely gestures towards y/n as if she's a piece of furniture rather than a real person standing in the room.

Looking back at it, y/n doesn't know why that was the reason to get her angry but it does. Y/n decides then and there that she doesn't like the woman who clearly is related to Katsuki. Why does she always pretend like I'm not there, y/n thinks. It makes her angry. It's rude. Also, y/n is pretty sure that his woman has nothing nice to say about her.

Katsuki looks at his mother annoyedly.

„What do you want me to say? I've chosen her. Don't you trust my reasons?“, he tells her.

„Do you trust your reasons? Because if you had, wouldn't you have mated her by now?“, Mitsuki strikes back.

Katsuki feels more and more irritated by each passing second.

„That's none of your business. Or do you also plan to check how often I fuck my mate?“, he bites back.

Mitsuki gives him a piqued look and shakes her head in disgust.

„Seriously, Katsuki. What the hell are you thinking?“, Mitsuki asks him.

Katsuki pushes himself off the trunk and ruffles his own hair roughly.

„I don't know, okay? I met her and we connected. I want her.“, he tells his mother.

„Aha, you want her. If you want her, then take her and pass her on, or let her go.“, Mitsuki replies.

Katsuki gives her an angry look.

„She's different from the other women we brought here.“, he tries to argue.

„In how far?“

Katsuki throws his arms up in the air.

„For one, she's not afraid of us or our dragons. Actually, I think Drami might like her. She's a fighter. I saw her fight a bandit with her bare hands. She can hunt, or at least read tracks to a certain degree. She can treat wounds and she picks up on things quite quickly. I'm sure that if that damn Deku teaches her, she will be speaking...“, Katsuki starts to ramble.

„Stop.“, Mitsuki says coldly and holds up a hand.

„I don't need to hear you sing praise to this woman. Nothing you said proves to me that she will be a good mate to you. You describe basic skills that everyone should have. If you think that...“, his mother continues.

„Can I say something about this?“, y/n enters the conversation. She's sick that she's forced to observe from the sidelines, especially considering that this is a conversation that's clearly about her. Y/n doesn't care that neither Katsuki nor this woman understands her. It's time to give both of them a piece of her mind.

Y/n stems her arm into her hips and points at Mitsuki.

„First of all, who do hell do you think that you are? I don't give a shit if you're their queen or something. My people believe that all humans are equals to one another. Therefore I can't stand how you talk about me pretending I'm not there. Secondly, I might not understand what you say but I'm sure you say very mean things about me. Did nobody teach you basic manners? Like seriously, at least have the decency to talk shit about me behind my back. But making me understand what you think of me without speaking my language? Wow, you must really be determined on making me feel like crap.“, y/n tells Mitsuki while holding eye contact with the woman. Mitsuki looks unpleasantly surprised by y/n's outburst.

„And now to you, mister!“, y/n says turning to Katsuki.

„You drag me all the way to your people, make me do stupid ceremonies that I don't understand and then you let his woman humiliate me in front of all of these people? And after all this, you take me back here just to throw a temper tantrum. What are you? Five? I honestly don't give a fuck about what that woman's issue is. What I do care about is how you handle it. And you're not handling it very successfully, dare I say. You're handling it like a manchild. Drinking your problems away with your buddies only to have another argument with her all over again? Seriously, I start to doubt if I made the right choice in trusting you!“, y/n gives Katsuki an earful.

Katsuki stares at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Y/n takes a deep breath. She straightens her posture.

„That being said, I exclude myself from this conversation.“, she tells Katsuki proudly with her head held high.

Then, she turns around and stomps outside the tent. Mitsuki stares after her just as perplexed as her son does.

Outside, y/n is fuming. This whole situation frustrates her. Because people talk and decide things over her head. Because she has no way to take any form of action. This time, she doesn't cry.

It's time to find that Nadia woman and get some more information out of her, y/n thinks.

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

Tag list: @graviewaviee @cosmicbreathe @tsukikoxo @nnubee @witchbishsblog @elajede @bsallergy @frxcless @berryvioo @eyesforbkg @shamelesjaroflaffytaffy @pastelbaby1111 @iamlizardgod @plvt0fvtvre @hello-peanutdoodle-blog @guccirosegold @kookiemyfeelsposts @sweetblueworm @54fangirl @sakurarr1122 @rv19 @leeliyah @king-dynamight @confused-smol-fan @xmaudx @waterstarz @pinkwhiskerglitter @adeline96 @zoom1374 @fingui @giuli-in-earth @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @futuristicallykawaiiturtle @tragedyofabrokensoul @dynakats @rebel-loves-anime @cloudxluv @itsssyagurll @sunshineandwitchery @cloudxluv @hollykanuki @atouchofmidnight @nutellaenjoyer @musicbecky @miacitocco @cassouandco @penguinlovestowrite @sleepykittycx @bakugouswh0r3 @xxjesshuxx @helenamaximoff @ssssssws-world @k1tk4tkatsuki @gh0stgirl333 @anon-mouse223 @bexxs @i-am-ms-rebel-heart @wannabeisekai @spragaraga @faemagic88 @kolakoke @faetoraa @cax-per @willy-the-witch @stardream14 @jiyuu-da @mintytalesblog @sparklyoperaroadpie @musicbecky @maria-patricia @mistermemister @katsukismrs @l0kisbitch @bakukiriswife @rebel-loves-anime @drink-water-456

@gold24fish @notsaelty

[I think I can't tag anymore people, sorry! Unless anybody knows what I'm doing wrong...]

[wrongcaitlyn]

Okay so recently I’ve just begun to associate basically every song I’ve listened to to an imaginary karaoke night in tgol. Why this has happened I don’t even know, 💀. But it made me think about whether or not you had any game night/karaoke hcs for the characters. Like imagine Percy and Annabeth actually did sing Shallow, and I feel like Kayla would definitely be the person who’s either clearly beating everyone in monopoly or the person to flip the board in annoyance.

KSJDFS NO BC I LITERALLY DO THAT TOO if i can't find a way to make the lyrics fit one of the characters, then they're singing it at karaoke. i absolutely loveee the idea of karaoke/game nights and definitely want to eventually write one with the whole family + friend group bc it'd be so much fun😭

this gives me the opportunity to share this scenario i thought of like a while ago of a barbie-themed karaoke night. as in, everyone is singing songs from the barbie soundtrack. leo and jason perform i'm just ken (leo definitely dragged jason into it and it's a complete mess because jason can't stop laughing and leo keeps making him laugh), kayla and will have an entirely choreographed routine for dance the night (they memorized the movie dance and also at some point kayla def pulls out some gymnastics) and then piper and nico make everyone cry with what was i made for. shel films all of this and does the fandom a service by posting clips of it on tiktokLKSDF

but percy and annabeth are 100% singing duets, i also think they'd loveee to sing disney duets. like, i see the light, a whole new world, and you KNOW that percy's singing under the sea. horrendous fake accent and all.

nico, despite being the only actual singer of them all (aside from apollo, who's technically retired, and will jump to karaoke as soon as he hears the first note) is the most reluctant to sing, and instead usually films the rest of them as they embarrass themselves for blackmail material. (ofc, this only actually works on jason, seeing as everyone else is either a really good singer or sings horribly on purpose and won't be ashamed of it)

as for game night, it gets INTENSE. we already know that nico's the king of uno (a hc that runs through, like, every fic i write), and he's also extremely good at video games. leo has no idea how he beats him at mario kart, seeing as nico doesn't even have his drivers license at nineteen (though tbf that has nothing to do with mario kart). will, being the person who drives them the most, is chronically in eleventh place. apollo is twelfth, of course.

kayla and nico get scarily competitive, and it's up to austin and will to try and diffuse the tension while leo just pushes it on. and they're both actually really good at board games, so one of them is absolutely flipping the board while the other has bragging rights for weeks. monopoly is banned in the apollo household after nico accidentally made eight year old kayla cry (she was faking it, nico insists, and kayla winks at the imaginary camera because she absolutely was.)

i probably have more but i'm gonna leave it at that, all i know is that karaoke/game nights will always be incredibly chaotic and i love them for it. i'm literally the hugest fan of board/card games no matter how old i get, my family's always been huge at having them on holidays and whatnot, and i'm crazy competitive, so i just love the idea of all of them getting together to do that on birthdays and holidays and on random weekends as well :))

thank you for the ask!

[unboundtravels]

Hey gang, back from the dead for a bit to share some recent headcanons I've been thinking up regarding the three new Doctors I've been working on. I'm waiting for commission art to get back before I officially add them, but for the newbies— Bumble, Purple, and Sleepy are the new Doctors who are arriving on their way. My ninth, tenth, and eleventh Doctors. I do have a twelfth Doctor, but he'll probably stay private for a pretty long time until I feel confident enough to bring him over. For now, my last three have been on my mind a lot.

Under the cut is a TON of headcanons regarding their characterization, as well as the commission details I have AT THE MOMENT. Final designs are on their way.

Bumble

Rascal incarnate. Comes directly after Pink, and I think some of those colors bled into her mind. Living life in the most cunty way possible. Disrespectful, punkish in nature, and absolutely bonkers. Out of these three, she's medium-sized. I like to imagine she's retreading One in some ways, maybe wearing a waistcoat & tie with a dress shirt, but then there are some jeans and chains here and there— fingerless gloves and boots. She's like a college professor and a punk-rock biker girl all in one. Wears those round sunglasses with bright red lenses when it's sunny out. I also think she's a pansexual nightmare. She wants to do crime and kiss pretty people, as well as spend most of her life driving with the top down. I think she realizes she might be approaching the end of her regeneration cycle, and is kind of going through it. 

The Darkest Incarnation? Maybe. I think she's definitely up there. She's a little bit unhinged. Pink as an incarnation was very much pragmatic in his approach to violence. If he had to kill someone in order to defend himself or to protect his friends, he would. He's a Doctor fit for a harsh universe, but wasn't absent of that kindness that made The Doctor has as their core personality component. Bumble, following that mindset, and adding in that twinge of extra charisma— is someone who (when faced with the trolley problem) could absolutely justify trading one person for a hundred. She's more of a game player, I think. She plays mental chess with her enemies, lulling them into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under them. That doesn't mean she won't give them the option of surrender— she just doesn't offer it as much as any other incarnation would. She's a "no second chances" kind of Doctor, but doesn't actively preach toward someone about considering mercy if she knows they won't take it. "Two truths one lie I'll start— I have killed, I'll kill again, and It burns when I pee." energy.

Tired of being nice: Bumble is probably the most chaotic incarnation in my about. I think even Looney would struggle to keep up with the amount of energy she has and how generally unpredictable she is. She seems to lack a certain noteable amount of sympathy that other incarnations would have. The energy levels of Looney mixed with the general cold/bitterness of Goth. While Goth on his own was mourning his people, and had a heart of gold underneath all that rage— Bumble seems to be generally disinterested in being polite, nice and seems to lack a certain social awareness that other Doctors have on at least a basic level. I think she has a very party-girl lifestyle. She still helps out where she can, but she really does it from an "Oh, you're interrupting my good time" mindset. She would rather go to a club and get involved in someone's night then patrol the universe as a do-gooder. She really is a very morally grey incarnation. 

Purple

The Comeback King: If Bumble following Pink was a challenging adjustment for the universe (and others) then Purple following Bumble is perceived at least as a bit of fresh air. I have no idea what kind of arc Bumble would go through throughout her life that would help her remember the fundementals of being The Doctor and doing what's right because you want too as opposed to doing good things because you have too. However, I think Purple does a sort of comeback tour. He definitely cares more about people then Bumble does, and definitely has an overall greater compassion for things and life in general. 

Disorganized Twink: That being said, I think he's high strung. I think his TARDIS is littered with maps and charts and things. Mostly like books and stuff that help him figure out where he'd like to go. I definitely think that he gets involved in situations where The TARDIS doesn't land exactly where he wants it too (probably BECAUSE of his piloting, which is probably more jank and disorganized) and he gets involved in a situation, solves that situation, and then quickly gets on the move to try and see if he can get to where he was going— rinse and repeat. He has a TON of White Rabbit from Wonderland energy in the sense that he's checking his wrist watch a lot because he's late for something on another planet even though he has a time machine. He's also the tallest out of these three and has the most snatched waist. 

Worse then your aunt but better then yer mum: Just like any Doctor— Purple is a lot to deal with. He's highly energetic and asks a lot of personal questions (just because he wants to help, though.) He lacks certain social graces, blurting out things before he speaks. He's easily distracted, can't keep his head on straight, and definitely is wound too tightly. That being said, he really just wants to be a good person, have a good time, and genuinely is just a good guy to be around. He's based on Matt Smith's Doctor, so there's a lot of those elements reflected here in Purple. He's serious and deadly when the moment calls for it, but chooses to maintain a sort of disorganized lifestyle because he feels like it works well for what he has going on. Life moves fast, and so does this Doctor. He has stay-at-home mom energy, sometimes. "Oh no they love orange juice but they been bad" tiktok energy, if you know what I mean. 

Sleepy.

You're a devious man, Columbo: I'm NOT even gonna hide it. Sleepy is 100% based on Columbo. He is the SMALLEST Doctor on my roster, based heavily on the smaller columbo twitter account. While I haven't decided exactly WHAT his height is, part of me is thinking about making him a four foot short king. That being said, he does share a few elements with Columbo, but isn't like. A direct copy / paste. I think he's very laid back. He's got a sharp tongue and a quick wit, but most of what makes The Sleepy Doctor unique is his approach to his day-to-day adventures. He really is not the running about doing crazy things Doctor. He's very much a handles things very quickly and casually. He CAN be challenged, but I feel like he's the most difficult Doctor to combat— because he's so focused at absolutely all times that he probably has everything mapped out in his head. He's hyper observant and hyper vigilant, but he DOESN'T present that way.

Just a sleepy little guy: Which BRINGS ME to this point. The Sleepy Doctor is EXACTLY that. Sleepy. He's just this really sort of. Low energy incarnation. I think he realizes that his next incarnation is the last body. That means that no matter how Sleepy acts, or what he does— at the end of the day, it's up to the LAST GUY to figure out exactly what they need to do in order to either get the rest The Doctor deserves, or continue persevering. So The Sleepy Doctor is sort of committed to a low energy low activity lifestyle. This doesn't mean he actively ignores the danger in the universe and doesn't help out— he's very capable of that and often still does adventure. It's more of just the fact that the universe is in a state (thanks mostly to the combined efforts of the post time war Doctor's including Goth, Looney, Pink, and Bumble IG, and Purple as well) that he can sort of just RELAX. So he DOES. He's like a big ole sleepy cat— He's also just GENERALLY really friendly. He's laid back, and is probably the most domestic-fueled Doctor. He wants a life, wants to retire. He'll live in that era before the next guy has to start setting up things for finality. "I'm rechargin', so the next guy has a big ole battery."

GOJO ON MAIN? That being said, I don't think you wanna fuck with Sleepy. I think he's potientially the most dangerous Doctor. Super experienced, has a massive collection of artifacts he can use to trap his enemies or disable them entirely— and has a very, very powerful memory. Sleepy's Memory is EXTREMELY percise, to the point of basically being an incarnation-exclusive trait. He remembers exactly everything he needs to about an enemy, but plays it off like he doesn't. Nobody takes him seriously, but I cite Gojo Satoru as an example of Sleepy's characterization in ONLY the most basic sense in which: Visually, his eyes are closed almost ALL the time. However, when they're open, that means you've fucked with him to such a degree that you're being banished to the shadow realm, basically. 

[supershylockfandom-blog]

The Whirligig of Gender Will Have Its Revenges

Over the course of our trip, I was very vocal (perhaps too vocal) about two things in particular: 

1) Twelfth Night is my favorite Shakespearean play (save for the possible exception of Hamlet, but lately the odds have tipped from his favor to Viola’s).

2) I absolutely loathed the Globe production that we attended. 

By the end of the play, I was deeply incensed (not to mention a few drinks in)-- so much so that I couldn’t stand to stay for the triumphant finale jig and left early. After that, I called home and ranted to my younger sister until I felt calm again and went back to my flat. To be clear, I have never been so emotional about disliking a theatrical (or cinematic) production of anything to this day. I’ve even seen Twelfth Nights I’ve liked less than the one we saw as a class without being half as disturbed or upset by them. “Why then, did this particular version have such an effect on you?” You are not asking yourself this question, because my opinion is neither here nor there to anyone but myself; I wondered this while half-drunk, actually, and later, once sober again, came upon the answer:

As a preface, I would like to point out that, in the 21st Century, there is no wrong way to interpret Shakespeare, so long as you have a particular vision in mind and follow through on your plans. There are, of course, inadequate methods of performing and staging (for the record, I thought that the blacking and acting we saw was effective and skilled), and some Shakespeareans-- particularly those at The Globe-- are especially staunch about leaning into “original practices,” but theater has evolved so much in the last 400 years that even productions that call themselves traditional Elizabethan stagings are not that (consider the Tim Carroll Twelfth Night: where are the prepubescent boys meant to be playing the Viola, Olivia, and Maria? Why is the blocking so modern?) All that is left is the text and its sparse stage directions. I am aware that my disdain for the Emma Rice production is based mainly upon personal preference. However, I like to believe that my opinions hold enough water to be worth the attention and respect of others.

(Under the cut for length.)

My two favorite things about Twelfth Night are, in order, its inherent queerness and bitterness. Make no mistake, being an Elizabethan comedy, it can just as easily be light, frothy, and straight (as evidenced by what we witnessed last week) and even the darkest versions thereof must make room for fun potty humor and slapstick and heterosexual, cisgendered couplings (as those too, are in the text). Those things, as much as any present queerness or anger, are part of the fun of Twelfth Night, and the former is where most of the comedy comes from. But the genderqueer, non-straight, and angry undercurrents that can be detected in this play (whether placed there by its author knowingly or not) go oft ignored. I am disappointed by this, naturally, but never before have I had it thrown in my face this way by a company so prestigious as the Globe. 

I think my central problem with the Rice staging was her Feste.

Yes, I did notice that Feste was portrayed by a very talented and engaging drag queen. No, that did not help. But did it make my experience worse? Absolutely, 100%, yes. Feste is perhaps the pettiest, most resentful character in the text. He cares not for the emotions of others, particularly not that of his Lady Olivia, who’s grief he mocks and belittles (granted, this is his job, and at his kindest, he has been portrayed as genuinely fond of her, but more often than not, he is a punch-clock entertainer, who cares only for the emotions of others as long as they will pay him for what he elicits) in his first appearance, after being absent from her court for an extended period of time. 

Feste. Good madonna, why mournest thou? Olivia. Good fool, for my brother's death. Feste. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. Olivia. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Feste. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen (5.1. 357-362).

His only real interests throughout the play appeared to be song, logical wordplay (”simple syllogism[s]”), crude jokes (”many a good hanging prevented a bad marriage”), weaseling pocket change away from the rich, and enacting petty revenge. At his best, he’s a puckish partygoer and delightful busker, at his worst, he is apart from all other social groups in the play and cruel to at least the same degree as the bear-baiting merrymakers. 

“Earlier, Malvolio had mocked Feste for his dependence on others... But [Feste] also mirrors Malvolio specifically as a dependent in a court and as one the play most clearly shows as a solitary character. He is the one who echoes Malvolio’s words about dependency on approval in shortened form, ‘An you smile not, he’s gagged’ (5.1.363-4), back to him at the end. And after he exults ‘Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges’ (364), Malvolio in turn mirrors him, promising his own revenge” (66 Novy). 

Feste is at his most useful when existing as a mirror for other characters-- he contextualizes his lady’s grief with cruel mockery, challenges Viola’s wits and disguise, and most importantly, shows Malvolio the cruelty that he callously doles out. When his dialogue is chopped up into saintly wisdom from a loving goddess in the Heavens, his status as a dynamic character and device is stripped from him. When Feste is robbed of his archetypal trickster-status, it weakens the core themes of the play which are written into the very title (as Twelfth Night and the Feast of Fools were, of course, traditionally a day of opposites, much as Feste the wise fool is a natural mirror and walking contradiction). When he is robbed of his anger towards his social betters (Olivia and Malvolio), this is further weakened. 

My qualms with making Feste a benevolent Goddess are based entirely upon the text; my problems with casting said benevolent goddess as a drag queen are two fold. My first is in the broader scope of media representation of drag queens, trans women, and feminine genderqueer persons. Most often, the cinematic and theatrical tradition is to demonize such individuals as lascivious perverts, which is obviously dehumanizing. As well-intended backlash, many younger content creators have thus spun around done the patent opposite by deifying them (this is also, notably, a dichotomy experienced by black women/femmes, be they cisgender, trans, or otherwise gender nonconforming). Deification is in its own way a subtler form of dehumanization. Much like the treatment of so-called virtuous women in the Victorian era, the representation of any group as somehow morally superior or “above” the rest of the rest is restricting. An anti-Semite might do well to wonder: “Hath a Jew not eyes?... If you prick us, do we not bleed?” but any white, cisgendered woman who routinely refers to black women and femme queers as “black goddesses” (which is absolutely a thing, as those of you who frequent tumblr, twitter, pintrest, or instagram most likely know) should be reminded that, just like all people, black queer femmes fart and defecate regularly, and they, like all other members of the human race, run on a sliding scale of morality, wisdom, and grace, depending on the individual. The archetypal example of this “heavenly body” trope is Angel of Rent, being a Latina trans-woman (or gender-fluid person, or drag queen, depending on the interpretation) who is always given the moral high ground, dies a tragically noble death, always has resources to bestow upon the less fortunate, and is literally called “Angel.” Much like Feste, she is the only gender non-conforming femme poc in her cannon, and that, paired with the erasure and demonization of this particular group that has been so common in Western art and media, leaves them as the sole representation of said group to be found in fiction. Each time a character of a group so mishandled as that is brought into play, that character becomes a mouthpiece for the entire population of such individuals that exist in reality. The trope of the black, femme goddess is much kinder than the demonization and willful ignorance of old, but in 2017, we should be beyond this refusal to portray those who exist outside of the white, straight, cis hegemony as anything other than individuals as complex as everyone else in their canon. Anyone who is tempted to bring up the “Sister Topas” scene as a counter-argument is welcome to it, but this derives from a halfhearted attempt to recast Feste as a personification of fate after four acts of being nothing but sage and understanding. It is not deeper characterization, as it is not played as either vengeance or cruelty-- at best, it is a twist of fate personified, at worst, it is whoever doctored the script backing themselves into a character-writing corner by striping Feste of his humanity.

My second challenge to the choice of La Gateau Chocolat as Feste is that her place in the cast is by its very nature misleading. Twelfth Night is well known among Shakespeare fans as one of the (if not the) queerest Shakespearean plays. It is well-known for featuring one of several Shakespearean Antonios, all of whom are noted for their non-explicit homosexual passion (Twelfth Night’s Antonio’s love for Sebastian is second only to the Antonio of Merchant of Venice and his suicidal devotion to Bessanio, and the villainous Antonio of The Tempest finds his match and constant companion in an equally rotten Sebastian.) Also present is the wooing that takes place between two women, and the Duke Orsino’s apparent attraction to one who is “both man and maid,” whom he never ceases to refer to as “boy” or “Cesario,” even after learning “his” true name and gender. Moreover, of all of Shakespeare’s cross-dressing Paige Boys, Viola spends the most time as her male counterpart, who’s name, as we discussed in class, translates roughly to “rebirth” by way of “cesarean section.” I bring these up because each of these characters have been stripped of their queerness systematically. Cesario/Viola is often played as not just a cross-dresser for strategy’s sake but a genderqueer individual in earnest; Olivia’s realization that Sebastian is not his sister has been played as a horrible, sinking realization; Antonio is often left on stage alone to highlight his loss of Sebastian to heterosexual tradition. I am by no means saying that stagings must be this way or that they must reflect this queer undercurrent, and I have liked versions of the play that exemplify few or none of these choices. My problem with Rice’s Twelfth Night is that, not only does it ignore the inherent discomfort that Feste and each of these queer characters experiences when played as such, but she has dressed her staging up as a celebration of queerness and diversity when that diversity only runs skin-deep (at least, in terms of the aforementioned and belabored queerness.)

 I have already explained my problems with Rice’s Feste, so I will now move on to two new subjects: Malvolio and Sir Andrew. These characters are blatantly coded as queer in that Malvolio is played by a cross-dressing woman and Andrew is played as camp gay. However, that is as deep as the queer vein in this staging runs. Malvolio is not traditionally a queer character (although he is often the subject of “genderbending” to varying degrees of success), nor is he played as queer on stage. He is only branded as such due to being played by a woman, despite being played as a man. Andrew’s status is particularly egregious, as-- in being both comically stupid and violently mean-- he is the most difficult to sympathize with of any character; he has no compelling emotional core written into the text, nor is any planted into Marc Antolin’s portrayal of him. He is also a wooer of Olivia’s and, as far as the text and blocking is concerned, more “metrosexual” than homosexual in earnest. What this does is play all stereotypically gay mannerisms (those that he possesses which Antonio, Sebastian, and even the preening Duke evade whether they are played as queer men or not) for laughs and nothing else. “It’s funny,” the audience says, “because he’s in a pink sweater and he’s got a funny lisp.” Meanwhile, Olivia never notices her very real attraction towards another woman, the Duke Orsino’s sexual identity crisis is just barely hinted at, and most questionable of all, Antonio is played as a father figure to Sebastian. Lawman’s Antonio’s body language is neutral and distant, not half as wracked with passions as his lines:“If you will not murder me for my love//Let me be your servant” (1.2.642-3) and “ I could not stay behind you: my desire//More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth” (3.3.1492-3). 

In conclusion: Rice’s staging of Twelfth Night may be good for a laugh, but it robs the text of its philosophical weight, its bitterness, and its genuine queer discomfort, thus replacing these things with a light gloss of queer acceptance by playing “We Are Family” at the beginning and giving Sir Andrew a pencil mustache. I am not upset that Rice’s staging was not queer or angry enough for my liking; I am upset because her staging insisted (whether she wanted it to or not) that a wave of sequins and a disco chorus should be queer enough for me, and I ought to stop being so angry all the time and accept what I’ve been given. 

SOURCES:

Novy, Marianne. “Outsiders and the Festive Community in Twelfth Night.” Shakespeare & Outsiders. Oxford University Press, 2013. 

Shakespeare, William. "Twelfth Night, or What You Will." Open Source Shakespeare. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 June 2017.

[fuckyeahdwarffortress]

Can you tell me how to get started with dorf fortress? Like, how to get into it. I am thinking to try it but. I am bad at video games and i am worried it may be overwhelming given its complexity.

This ask came in on August the 8th, 2022, and I would first and foremost like to humbly and deeply apologise for my tardiness in getting around to answering you.

I've been asked this question a lot over the years. I had been going back and forward and umm-ing and ahh-ing at a few details - generating a brand new world, taking screenshots, being as to-the-point as I could. What you see above is about the tenth iteration of the work, and this will probably be the twelfth or so.

Here is the general setup for a successful Fortress:

Create a Small to Medium World.

Select Very Short to Short History.

High Civilizations are a must.

High to Very High Sites to keep things interesting.

Medium Number of Beasts so you won't starve.

Low to Very Low Natural Savagery so you don't get killed by Elephants.

Frequent to Everywhere Mineral Occurrence so you're never short on metals.

Settle in a Mountain tile.

In the preview, make sure you're next to a river.

Make sure when you examine the area, there's no Aquifier.

Check the Temperature, and make sure it's either "Warm" or "Hot".

[e]mbark!

Make sure you [d]esignate some Dwarfs to cu[t] down some trees.

[b]uild [w]orkshop fis[h]ery, two of them, next to your river.

[d]esignate a Dwarf to [d]ig up the stone to lay your foundations.

Every step I just listed is the quintessential "How to play Dwarf Fortress". In fact, if anybody wants to play Dwarf Fortress, this is all you need to follow - this, and the Wiki. You can reach it by going to the official Dwarf Fortress wiki, or use the In-Game Help menu by pressing [?] at any time during your gameplay to figure out the basics.

After writing all of this, I asked the community - mostly because I felt it was far too dry. This was pretty rough content, not at all interesting, and while helpful to most, it can be difficult to go into DF by rote instruction. Amongst them was my original suggestion: Watching Vargskelethor's Dwarf Fortress playthrough.

Some other suggestions from the wonderful community:

Use a "Lazy Newb" pack, such as PeridexisErrant's DF Starter Pack. These packs are tailor-made for newcomers into Dwarf Fortress, allowing for quick setup, texture packs, and a great deal of utilities.

Use the Dwarf Fortress Wiki's "Quickstart Guide". In fact, just use the Dwarf Fortress wiki in general! The whole wiki is tied to the game itself, so you can find it via the [?] Help! menu.

Use DFHack. DFHack, or Dwarf Fortress Hack, provides you with a console that runs detached from Dwarf Fotress, one that allows you to input commands to modify the game. It automates quite a fair few features for you, making the gameplay far easier.

Watch Let's Play's, Let's Learn's, or read some Dwarf Fortress stories. They're all excellent ways to learn the game - as mentioned previously, I personally figured it out watching Vargskelethor's Dwarf Fortress playthrough.

This covers basically everything you need to know. Everything relevant ends roughly here. This is the definitive, mechanical guide of starting Dwarf Fortress.

If you would not mind, however, I ask you to not leave yet. I have a story to tell you.

This is how to play Dwarf Fortress.

If you've made it to the end, this work was heavily inspired by what initially caused me to be interested in Dwarf Fortress: the Quantum Artefact known as Planepacked.

I came across this whilst looking for video game glitches to laugh at during a moment of deep depression in 2012. Shortly after reading about this ludicrous artefact, and all it's unique, inter-locking, self-referential stacks of history, I found the story of Boatmurdered, which made me laugh myself deep into the school nights.

This year marks my 10th year of playing Dwarf Fortress, and it also coincides with the premium release of Dwarf Fortress on Steam. I joined this little page after my endeavours with speedrunning Dwarf Fortress in 2016 came to a crashing halt after my ambitions got the better of me, and I wrongfully stepped out of line with another member in the speedrunning community.

I only contributed little commentary, but have been continually impressed and proud of the tumblr Dwarf Fortress community - from its incredible artworks I've always wanted to join in on, to the sheer volume of incredible Fortress Stories, to trying to help with complex and complicated problems I felt only I could solve.

This answer has taken a colossally long time to complete as I could not answer it with good faith until I felt all grounds had been absolutely covered, and all possibilities explored - not because Dwarf Fortress is a hard game to play, but it is very, very hard to get into, and get people into.

Thank you, if you've made it this far, for reading over my story, and checking out my guide.

Love, always,

Mod %

[lousimusician]

I Want You Back (Part 1)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter was too blind to realize you were slipping from his fingers.

Word Count: 1,145

Warning: Angst (This series is gonna have lots of angst, just so you know)

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around

Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd 

~~~~~~~

You were young and inexperienced when it came to dating but you did know one thing.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard.

You shouldn't have to feel like you were constantly fighting for any kind of attention. And if that made you sound clingy, so be it. It still wasn't right. 

Peter Parker. The love of your life.

Or at least, you thought.

The boy who tried so hard to ask you out, coming up with plan after plan to get you alone and finally tell you how he felt, had been ignoring you and you had no idea as to why.

You knew he was Spider-Man. You knew he had responsibilities. You knew that and most of all you understood it. You'd let him leave dates or cancel them if he had to. Especially after the blip, things were a mess and the people needed a hero more than ever.

But you're patience was really being tried when he decided not to show up without telling you, letting you wait for hours just to hear half-assed apologies after.

And with every unread text, unanswered phone call, to even the times you had to compete for his attention in school, you felt your heart break a little more.

And especially right now, laying on Peter's bed for about two hours, your phone held loosely to your ear as you listened to Peter's voice mail for the twelfth time that night. You felt your heart break that much more.

You didn't leave a voice mail. You don't anymore. He never checked them anyway. With a sniffle, you hung up the phone, and fought back the tears you knew would fall regardless.

It shouldn't be this hard.

You sat up on his bed, and glanced out the window, seeing the night sky. And with a sigh, you decided you finally had enough and stood up, wiping at your eyes.

With slow movements you grabbed your bag off the ground and walked out of his bedroom.

"May?" You called out. 

"In here sweetie!" She yelled from the kitchen.

"Hey." You greeted, seeing how she was in the middle of making dinner. "So, I think I'm just gonna head out now."

May frowned, "Still nothing from him?"

You looked down at your feet, as you felt fresh tears building up, and shook your head. You hated crying in front of May, especially when her nephew was the cause of it.

"Oh honey." She said sadly and you knew she could tell you were trying not to cry. "Come here." She walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, I really don't know what's gotten into him lately."

You wrapped your arms around her, as the tears started to fall. "I just-  I miss h-him." You sobbed, as May ran a comforting hand up and down your back.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm gonna talk to him-"

You shook your head. "No, please don't. It's fine I swear." You muttered as you pulled away from her.

May's frown deepened as she looked at you, wiping frantically at your tears. She sighed. "...Alright. But I hate seeing you so upset."

You nodded. "I'm...yeah, I'm just gonna go now. Thanks May." You said as you started heading towards the front door.

"Walk home safe!" She called after you, and you hummed in response.

You shut the door behind you as you pulled out your phone and quickly dialled MJ'S number. It rang three times before she picked up.

"Hell-"

"You were right." You sniffled into the phone, cutting her off.

"Are you crying?"

"...Just a little. But you were r-right. He didn't show a-again. And I called him like twenty times a-and I've left even more texts b-but he won't respond, he keeps doing this to me and I don't know what t-to do anymore." You rambled, getting into the elevator.

MJ sighed. "You're not gonna like what I have to say."

"I usually don't." You lightly laughed, trying to feel any other emotion than the intense heart break you did feel at the moment.

"I think you either need to sit down and talk about it with him or just break up. He's been doing this to you for months now and you're miserable."

"Yeah." You sniffled, "I didn't like what you had to say... b-but I'll think about it." You mumbled, before saying your goodbye's and hanging up.

~

Peter sat perched on top of a roof on one of the many buildings in Queens, just waiting for someone to save or a criminal to stop.

Peter didn't know what time it was, he usually didn't when he was out on patrol, all he knew was that it must've been late and he knew he was forgetting something but he couldn't figure out what.

He had his phone in hand, quickly typing out an essay he had left to the last minute again.

"Karen, give me a synonym for impulsive."

"Impetuous, rash, hasty-" Karen's voice was suddenly cut off by a ringing. "(Y/N) is calling again, should I decline it?"

Peter groaned, "Again? Yeah you can decline it, and can you put her on mute."

"Yes."

"Thanks." Peter mumbled, finishing the sentence he had been stuck on for the last seven minutes.

"Peter?" He hummed in response. "Are you still dating (Y/N)?"

 "What? Of course I am." Peter mumbled.

"Really? Then why do you keep declining her phone calls and ignoring her text messages?" Karen asked.

Peter shrugged, "I dunno. She's been a little clingy since the blip. Which I get, but Queens still needs saving. Don't worry I'll make it up to her somehow." He said, furiously typing away on his keyboard.

"But there are no threats right now." Karen said skeptically.

"Might be... I just don't want to not be here when a threat does come along. But me and (Y/N) are fine, she understands my responsibilities. Hey, what were the major themes of Hamlet again?"

"Madness, Revenge, Religion, would you like me to list more?"

"No that's fine." The sun had been setting, and the roof was getting more and more uncomfortable. Peter sighed, "That should be good for now, I'll finish this later." He said, putting his phone away and getting up.

He stretched, before swinging away on a web to see if he could find anything to do.

Peter would eventually look back on this moment, wondering if he had just been a little smarter and answered the call, maybe just maybe he could've saved your relationship from crumbling in the weeks that followed.

~~~~~~~

Oh darlin' I was blind to let you go

_________________

A/N: I'm not too happy with how this came out, but it is just mostly set up for the parts to come which will definitely be even more angsty and interesting

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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[softspaceboibrian]

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x reader

Summary: Reader is a new student at Harvard University and, on her first day, she does something she might regret. Or maybe not.

Warnings: mention of a stroke

Wc: 2212

A/N: guys, this chapter is very descriptive. hopefully you won't think it's boring or stuff. don't worry! in the next chapters more is going to happen!!

Previous chapters: 1 - 2 - 4 - 5

Taglist: @tegan-eva (ask if you want to be added)

On the other hand, you were pretty different, thing that Gwilym grew to love more than he expected himself to. At first, he didn’t notice the peculiar shade of your eyes, or the constant rosy colour of your cheeks. Gosh, he could look at those eyes the entire day if he could; you had intelligent eyes, and whenever you laid them on him, he knew you were thinking about something, you were studying him, noticing the smallest detail that even him had never noticed before; like that time when you walked up to him after the lesson finished and started off with a “Did you know you look a lot like Brian May? You know, the guitarist from Queen”. That made him laugh, at first, but when that night he found himself in front of a mirror, he started staring at his traits and noticed that you were right, as always. You had a beautiful mind that was always working on some new, fresh idea, that would surprise everyone. If you remained silent for a little too long, he would always ask you what you were thinking about and you would probably start answering by saying “What if…” or “Have you ever considered…”. And those amazing ideas usually came with a big dream. “I want to travel to Rome, visit Keats’ house and see his headstone, then do an essay on the impact that his poetry, his works and Romanticism in general is having on modern day culture.” You said one day, out of nowhere, while you were re-reading one of his articles; you were alone in his office, as every other afternoon, he was drinking black coffee, no sugar, just a little bit of cream, while you had your usual mug filled with tea. You changed the tea every couple of weeks: at first, you started with black tea, then, when autumn came, you moved to chai tea. But now the office was filled everyday with the soft smell of mint and honey, fresh and warm at the same time. Just like you, he thought. He also found out he loved to make you laugh: you had a loud laughter, the type that fills the room with joy, that contagious laugh that you cannot hear and stay serious. Your voice, on the contrary, well, your voice was soft, warm, so pleasing to listen to that he would often make you read his essays and articles aloud just to hear it. You loved scented candles, that’s for sure. You even bought an orange chocolate scented one for his studio, just because you thought he might like it. But in general, there’s no doubt you are a poet. You were quiet, your steps were gentle, just like a fairy’s ones. You were quiet because you were always thinking, analysing things and finding in them the smallest, most peculiar details that no one else would notice, taking time to organize your thoughts and ideas, but still struggling to find the right words. That’s probably the main reason why he has often walked in on you reading the entire dictionary for the umpteenth time. You had so many beautiful ideas, and you would always talk about them as if they were your children. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to express what I’m thinking, to put it into words on paper, and I don’t won’t to ruin it.” You said to him many times; in fact, it had happened more than once that you could not be productive for days, weeks even, and then suddenly write six poems in an hour. But then, there’s this one thing that he read in one of your poems, one thing that stuck with him. «I wish to be enough, someday.» How could someone like you think that you weren’t enough. You were far more than enough. At least to him.

It was the beginning of December, and the first flakes of snow where starting to shyly cover the gardens and sidewalks, there were no longer leaves on the branches of the trees, it was finally that time of the year when he was able to turn on the fire in his little chimney in the evening. And, in fact, you loved spending the evenings over at his place, sometimes crushing on his couch just to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Or maybe you just enjoyed his company over anyone else’s.

The weeks went by and you got to know each other pretty well during your ‘meetings’ or your coffee breaks. Apparently, he was in fact of Welsh heritage, even though he was born in Bristol. He studied English Literature at Cardiff University and then moved to the USA. But, most importantly, he was the most genuine person you had ever known. You liked to look at him when he was busy working. His hair was long, but not too long, and sometimes little stands of hair would fall in front of his face, distracting him for even just a moment. When he was thinking, he would start doodling on the side of the page or on a spare paper. He collected playbills from theatre shows and museum’s pencils. He always had kind words for everyone. His earbuds were always tangled, and it would take him a good minute to untangle them. He always took artsy picture of everything, his dog, the school library, the first fallen leaves from the tree in front of his office’s window. He loved history, learning intriguing facts about historical figures. He liked to always have an open window, unless it was too cold outside. When he smiled, his eyes would brighten up, the corners of his lips go up, little crinkles show up around his eyes. He was also exactly how one would expect a writer to be: his notebooks a mess, full of notes and doodles, and his desk exactly the same, little reminders scattered all over the wooden surface, an empty pen holder, pens and pencils used as bookmarks. And his head too: he always had so many ideas, he was always thinking of a new article, a new story he could try to write, but that he never actually managed to finish; and you noticed that, sometimes, he would scribble stuff that he needed to remember on his hands and arms. He was definitely a night owl: it had happened many times that she would wake up to a text from him that had been sent at three in the morning. He was so passionate about everything that he liked, like that time, during class, when he was explaining Queen Elizabeth I’s Tilbury Speech, he was basically praising not only Queen Elizabeth herself, but her tutor, Roger Ascham, too. You found it adorable. He knew pretty much everything, except for his own limits. He was the kind of person that would try to make flowers bloom, even during heavy storms. But the things that stuck with you the most was the fact that he always found the good in everything.

“Love” That’s how he had been calling you lately, even around school, not really caring about what people would say. “They are doing Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night in a theatre just outside town and they want me to review it” He explained, showing you the email on his phone.

“Well, that’s amazing! When are you going?”

“We are going tonight. The play starts at 7:30, but we have to be there at least half an hour before the beginning of the play, because I have to meet the woman who has to give me the tickets at the reception.”

“Wait…” You stopped him, visibly puzzled “We are going?” You had talked about that many times before, Shakespeare was by far your favourite dramaturg and one of Gwilym’s favourite authors in general. You had often found yourselves debating whether it was Hamlet or Macbeth Shakespeare’s best play, discussing about every detail that made one’s favourite the best one and not the other’s.

“I got two tickets for free and I thought that you might have wanted to come with me. I mean, it’s Twelfth Night. You love it, it’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

You were speechless. You didn’t expect that to happen, not at all. Maybe that was the reason you immediately put your arms around him and reached for his cheek to leave a soft kiss, realising only afterwards that you weren’t at home or somewhere else. You were at University and there he was a professor and you were a student. You couldn’t act like that. So you instantly pulled away, your cheeks turning crimson, but he didn’t really seem to mind it.

“It’s a 45 minutes long drive, so I’ll pick you up at 6:00, so we have a few more minutes in case traffic is a mess. We can have dinner afterwards.” He smiled, his eyes on you, finding that look on your face extremely adorable. “Oh and wear a pretty dress.” He laughed while walking away.

Once you were left alone, you could feel the eyes of numerous girls on you, probably whispering to each other, already making assumption about the two of you. All you did at that point was walk out of the building, almost running towards the bus stop, to escape those curious looks rather than to actually get home early.

It was 5:45 and you were already sitting on the couch, a book in your hands, waiting for the man to send you the text saying that he was waiting for you outside. Wear a pretty dress, he said; and that was what you did. One could rarely see you wearing a dress, or anything a little more daring that a simple jeans and a nice blouse. But that time you decided that you could actually wear something different, maybe one of those dresses that your mother had bought for you years before. It was nothing too special, a simple bodycon dress with blue, burnt orange, mustard and white horizontal stripes. Obviously, not wanting to look too formal, you just paired it with a simple blue cardigan and white converse. Furthermore, you had no one to impress, it was only Gwilym, you professor, and in a way, your boss too. Yes, well, he was still really handsome, charming, and you too often found yourself daydreaming about those ocean blue eyes, that made you feel like you didn’t have to worry about your ponytail being perfect or your laugh being too loud. Whenever you were with him, you felt good, you felt as if that was the place where you were meant to be. And that was not good. You could not feel that way about him.

[from James] Hey love, I’m outside. Whenever you’re ready.

You didn’t even reply. You just put your jacket on and sprinted out, forgetting to say goodbye to Rose, who looked at you wondering whether you were acting like that because you were excited to go see one of your favourite plays or because you were basically going on a date with the man you had been talking about non-stop for the last few months.

You and Rose met the first day you came to Cambridge. She knew a new girl was going to live in the room next the hers, but she didn’t expect you to be, well, like you were. At first, you were reserved, she could barely see you outside of your room, but she could easily understand whether you were home or not, because you would always be playing those old records. One day she even caught you singing a little tune, but as soon as you realised she was watching you, you immediately turned red and shut the door. It took her a while before she could actually get to know you, even just a little bit. At first, it was small talks at dinner, random facts that popped up during movie nights. Then you spent a whole day around town, just the two of you, in which she showed you all the nice cafés and libraries where you could go and study without any problem, the restaurants where you could eat without spending too much, the shopping district, even the pretty places you could go to take pictures or take someone on a date. That day Rose found out some of the most important things about you. You were sitting on a bench in JFK Park and the brunette started talking about all times she had taken her parents there whenever they visited her, the things she used to do with them when they still lived together and how proud they were of her. But your response left her speechless. “My mother died two years ago. Stroke.” Your voice was cold, distant, your eyes on the water in front of you. “And my father is so proud of me that he is paying my tuition so that he doesn’t have to see me around the house anymore.” Rose didn’t know what to say, how to act, so she just stood up and offered you to go and eat ice cream. “I know a place that makes the best mint chocolate chip ice cream in town. It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”