#unfortunately- I’ve finally accepted that he’s grown on me…

[robo-milky]

[Opposite]

At the same time— I just think it’d be funny to see Cloche manhandled (“human” or cat). Also, somewhat unrealistic cause I don’t think Rollo would be that strong with a single hand (I don’t think he lifts-)

[affableramen]

Declaration of love. Pantalone x afab! Reader

angst, hurt/comfort

word count: 1,1K

autumn vibes 🍂 🌧️

“Ah, you returned the debt. Congratulations.” His voice seems bitter. For a moment you think he is somewhat upset. He passes you your documents back, his gloved fingers almost unnoticeably trembling.

“You returned everything. Everything, till the last coin. Now, are you happy with the results?”

“Are we at the exam or something?” you finally ask him, indifferently though.

Pantalone chuckles under his breath.

“What I mean is… Are you happy to finally get rid of something as overwhelming as my presence?”

You do not respond to that, looking into his eyes intensely as if trying to read this shady prick’s mind.

“What? Surely you’re not going to miss me. That would simply be a lie.” He snickers. The chuckle that leaves his mouth seems more bitter than mocking.

You snatch the important papers from his hand, with a corner of your eye noticing how his fingers immediately tense into a fist.

“Well then, if that’s a goodbye…” once again he smirks. “Though, I’m not entirely sure I want to let go of you.”

“Do you hear yourself? You said that out loud.”

“Yes, I did.” The tall dark figure of the banker towers over you. “Surely you have not grown fond of me during these twelve months?”

“…fond of you?” You chuckle nervously. “I am… was your debtor.”

Pantalone adjusts his glasses.

“So?”

The both of you are standing in front of each other, just staring at this point. You can feel the electricity right in the air. It’s heavy.

Without any warning Pantalone just starts approaching you, cutting the air in your lungs with his assertive presence.

You instinctively press both hands against his shoulders as he leaves no space between your bodies.

“Stop, you’re pushing me.”

Pantalone looks into your eyes and then at your hands. Seeing you obviously not accept his attention, and your eyes speak confusion, he pulls away and speaks nonchalantly:

“You may leave.”

Dumbfounded, you feel stuck with your back against the wall as if glued.

“What are you waiting for? You’re free”, he waves his hand dismissively. You do not move an inch, however. Your inner self is left debating over his words. It’s so strange, you were not expecting him to change his mind so quickly. For a moment, you feared he’d never let you go, like a typical yandere so often spoken of in fiction.

“I said, leave”, you hear him repeat.

He raised his voice, you realised it was quite the stretch for him. Without thinking twice, you obediently bow your head, taking documents as you hurry leaving.

As you escape the Northland Bank, cold shivers run down your spine. You feel insulted, no, humiliated at the thought of him teasing and seducing you only to just drop the act in the end. For a moment you truly believed that Pantalone, the ninth Harbinger, was going to kiss you. How absurd! Why would he even—

You sense wetness on your hair and the loud sound of droplets hitting the trees.

“It’s raining.”

You pull your phone out and dial a taxi number. You wish to get home as sooner as possible, not wanting to contemplate over a strange encounter with your former boss, who will eventually become a nobody to you.

Unfortunately, as dumb as it can ever be, the taxi-driver mistakes the address and you realise you have to cross the street over. You feel yourself already soaked, but you need that damned car to get you to your home. As you start crossing the road a sleek black car stops right in front of you, cutting your way.

“I have a proposition for you.”

It is obviously Pantalone who gets out of the luxurious car. No one but him would ever show off with such privilege.

“What do you want? I returned the debt, our deal is finished. I’ve got nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing at all?”

His hair slowly gets soaked too.

“I’m well aware of the gossips and the kind of man I give off. However, you must believe me for once.”

You look at the taxi waiting for you and then back at Pantalone.

“Fine. But make it quick.”

Pantalone takes a small step closer to you.

“Would you ever say ‘yes’ to me? Not the forced ‘yes’ as if demanded by the contract, but genuine agreement? What if I ask you to stay?”

“Stay where?”

He takes one single step closer.

“Stay… as if in my life.”

“Stay with you?”

Your jaw practically drops. The taxi driver is still there, waiting.

“I want you. I love you. You got under my skin ever since you entered my damn bank.” For the first time in life you see vulnerability in Pantalone’s eyes. You question if it is real, though.

“Those twelve months were the best in my life. So don’t go now, don’t leave me alone. Stay close.”

“You truly want it?”

He gently takes your hands in his, seeing no discomfort or pushing back.

“I want to have you around. I need your company. Be mine.”

You release from his hands, instead reaching your hand to gently graze his face.

“Is that yes enough for you?” You kiss him. It’s the gentlest kiss Pantalone’s ever known. Pantalone tenses up when you accept his affections but eventually gives into your hug, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer. You can feel his gloved fingers gently tangle your hair.

“I don’t want to say goodbye. Not to you, my dear debtor.”

“Ex-debtor.”

“Yes. My dear ex-debtor. Stay with me, I wish nothing more.”

As he keeps you in the tight, possessive embrace that makes you realise you are his, you feel the heavenly feeling of mutual attraction, which you so long suppressed in you, fearing to be rejected or mistreated by such a powerful man.

But right now, he is not intimidating or dominant. He feels soft, goofy even.

“Pantalone… We’ll catch a cold like this.”

“You’re right. As much as I don’t want to stop, you seem to be soaked already.”

“You are too. It’s bad for you asthma.”

Pantalone pulls away, speechless for a moment.

“I certainly did not expect you to remember such an insignificant thing about me”, the banker turns to the taxi driver that has been waiting for you and signals him to go. Not releasing your arm, he gently guides you to his car.

“Let’s keep ourselves warm and dry.”

[moonlightspencie]

… Angels Roll Their Eyes

Description: A new recruit to the BAU catches Reid’s eye. Unfortunately for the both of them, she has a past with someone very close to him. Are they willing to keep secrets just to keep one another? (TWO-PART MINISERIES)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader gets a minor injury, sexual references/content (i’ll accept 16+ because its definitely not more than pg-13 material but writing anything sexy makes me feel weird if i know teenagers are reading it)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: READER’S POV!! this is where the bridge kicks in teehee. (also savannah is more of a minor character at this point, nobody really knows she and derek are together)

Devils Roll the Dice… (click for part 1)

I walked up to the figure illuminated by vending machine lights. His head was down as he looked through the options, not really intending on buying anything at all. I slowed my steps on the approach, just barely catching his attention before I was right next to him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, giving me a soft smile.

I grinned in full, not bothering to hide my feelings. Nobody was around, anyways.

“Hey. You come here often?”

He laughed. “Only this once. Waiting around for this girl who said she’d meet me here.”

“Sounds like she’s into you.”

He nodded. “I think so.”

I grabbed his hand, attempting to pull him closer. He took the advantage to bring me in instead, my back against the hard plastic of the machine’s display. Rather than kissing me then and there, he leaned in, lips unbearably close to my ear.

“I feel like we’re sneaking around past our parents,” he said quietly.

“You never got that ‘teenage dream’ experience. Maybe this is your second chance.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

His lips pressed to mine, silencing our whispered words for good.

We were far from teenagers at this point, but he was still a dream. I found myself feeling giddy at every turn, completely ignoring the impending doom that loomed over our relationship.

We both knew we weren’t trying hard enough to hide it. Neither of us knew what would happen when it finally came to light.

Until that happened, we’d pretend it wasn’t in the cards at all. Summer love was still sweet, even being far removed from the romanticism of anything resembling the movie-loves I’d grown accustomed to religiously watching. This was somehow better. Maybe because it was more realistic. Probably because it was always more thrilling to live it out.

I smiled into our kiss, feeling his wandering hands trying to get themselves under my legs to lift me up. Sadly, we never got the chance.

We heard footsteps coming down the hall quickly, breaking apart and trying to look as nonchalant as possible as we mindlessly gazed at the snacks inside the machine.

“I’m thinking M&Ms,” I noted, almost laughing.

Spencer hid a smile. He clicked the right buttons right as our visitor reached us. The little package dropped, our secret still somehow concealed from a slightly-confused Aaron Hotchner as he stood behind us waiting for his turn.

“Night,” I said, giving a slight nod.

“Goodnight.”

Spencer followed behind me, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that he didn’t have some cheap snack of his own in hand as we walked past. I rationalized that he looked too tired to notice, anyways.

We wound up back in my room, giggling with each other like kids at a sleepover. I made him do a face-mask with me while he made me listen to a lecture on how the hyaluronic acid in the formula provided moisture for our skin. I gladly listened with a smile on my face, and he happily accepted a hundred kisses as I wiped his face clean afterwards.

We laid on my bed, mindlessly talking about whatever came to mind. He took my hand in his, running his thumb across the back of my hand in repeated motions as we talked.

“What do you say we stop hiding us?” I asked at last, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve established myself on the team at this point, I think.”

He was quiet for a moment, still running his thumb over my hand.

“I don’t know. I think it’s better that we keep it quiet.”

I paused, taking in his response. I’d hoped that after a while we wouldn’t be hiding anymore. As much fun as it was to sneak around, it could be utterly exhausting. But, if he still wanted to, I’d agree.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he questioned, turning his head to look at me.

I looked back at him, giving him a small smile and a nod.

“Yeah. If that’s what you want, it’s fine by me.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I sprung up a moment after, standing at the foot of the bed. I grabbed my phone, clicking around on the screen as he propped himself up to look at me. I held out a hand to him.

“Dance with me, pretty boy,” I sang out, hitting shuffle on one of my playlists.

He quickly obliged, not wasting a second in worrying about whether or not he could actually dance. He knew I’d be there to guide whatever movements he didn’t know how to do yet.

Whispers of ‘are you sure?’

I smiled at him, admiring the way he payed way too much attention to how he moved. I made it a goal to loosen him up. After a minute, he was letting me guide, leaving his body to its own devices. He was really better off for it.

I can see us lost in the memory

We swayed along to the song, silently praying it wasn’t some kind of sick foreshadowing of how our summer would end. I pretended not to care much about the lyrics. He pretended not to listen to most of them.

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

Cause you were never mine

“Do you think that’ll happen to us?” I asked, still smiling past the gravity of the question.

“Of course not,” he answered with finality.

Wanting was enough

For me it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

I took his hands, the both of us spinning around in circles with smiles on our faces that were real and genuine despite a nagging feeling that something might be wrong.

I knew mine had a lot to do with very real feelings I was scared to talk about. I was too afraid to think about what may have filled his head. It was really none of my business, anyways, so I cleared my head of it all. Wanting was enough. I didn’t have to doubt that. It had been enough for two months so far. That had to count for something.

Weeks later and it was August. That lingering question of “will it last” was ever-present in my head. I just kept pushing it down. Fuck compartmentalization. That question was locked in a dungeon, chained to a wall, and I intended on keeping it there until we were either burning to the ground or eloping in Vegas.

Those seemed like the most viable options, anyway. An extremely-attached, yet no-strings kind of situationship could really only go one of two ways.

I almost wanted him to hate me at that point. It would certainly be a thrilling end if he revealed that he never cared about me and was only doing all of this to screw with my head. Almost like he was a spy, trying to uncover whatever boring substance made up my psyche.

I knew that was… Slightly less realistic, though.

I probably shouldn’t have been thinking about it so thoroughly, especially since it was merely theoretical. It would have caused a lot less mental work. It also might have prevented me from being off my game.

I had a habit of being a bit clumsy when we weren’t in life-threatening situations, but messing up while we were on a case? Unbearably embarrassing.

I looked up as my arm hit the wall to stop me from falling over my own two feet, disgusting to find that an exposed nail head had given me quite the scratch. It looked pretty gnarly, and frankly I was thanking my lucky stars I’d already gotten a tetanus booster after my last injury. However, I probably couldn’t go much further with my arm bleeding. Especially if they didn’t necessarily need me. It was one man they were going after, and we didn’t even know if he was in this house.

I voiced to Hotch what had happened, and he told me to leave if I was safe enough to do so. JJ and three officers occupied the house anyways, so I booked it out of there.

I cleaned myself up as well as I could with the first aid kit in the car, planning on doing a better job when I got back to the precinct. The house we were in turned out to be a bust anyways. Our unsub was still in the wind. He clearly hadn’t even been in the house in weeks. It was wildly frustrating.

Until Miss Penelope Garcia called in to save the day as she always did. She let JJ and I know that the others were currently heading across town to an apartment that she was certain housed the unsub and our most recent victim.

“Finally,” I sighed, leaning my head back in the seat.

JJ was quiet, and I looked away from my driving to see her. She smiled at me when I turned my head.

“What?” I questioned with a laugh.

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired, sitting up a little more straight. “It’s a little personal.”

I quirked a brow. “You can ask, but I reserve my right to remain silent.”

She laughed. “Alright. Fair enough. Uh, I’m just wondering about you and a certain team member.”

I swallowed. Uh oh.

“Okay?”

“I’ve just— I’ve heard rumors, and I wanted to ask you directly about them rather than letting the rumor-mill run.”

I nodded slowly. “What have you heard?”

“Word on the street is that you and Morgan used to be an item.”

Oh.

“Ah,” I replied with a chuckle. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we were a thing. But that was a while ago, and I’m pretty certain we’ve moved past it.”

“Right, yeah,” she nodded. “You know, he has a secret girlfriend now.”

I smiled, glancing at her. “Really?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. He’s been trying to hide it, but Garcia loves to talk.”

I laughed, thinking of the bubbly, well-meaning woman. She had a hard time with secrets, though she tried her hardest.

“That’s good. He deserves to be happy, he was always a great guy,” I said.

“Just gotta look past all of the mindless flirting and the jock-persona,” JJ noted jokingly.

I hummed in agreement, turning down the road that would lead us to the precinct at last. It was a good thing, too, since my arm was really starting to irritate me now. My discomfort must have been obvious, as JJ looked at me once again.

“You okay?” she questioned. “That cut on your arm looks pretty painful.”

I looked at it, noticing there was some bleed-through on the bandage. I sighed, not looking forward to cleaning it up.

“I’ll live. It just itches pretty bad right now, and it’s fairly sore.”

“I can help you when we’re back at the station. You shouldn’t have to do that alone.”

“Thanks Jayje,” I said, resting a hand on her arm briefly.

She covered my hand with her own, giving me another smile. It felt like she could see through me on occasion. She had quickly become one of my closest friends on the team, which took me a little by surprise. She seemed a little too unironic-girlboss when I first met her, but the second Penelope helped me see her true colors… We were fast friends.

I almost found myself telling her about Spencer and I on multiple occasions, but always ended up thinking better of the idea. That moment was one of the times I almost said something.

Of course, I thought twice about it, but she gave me that look like she knew what I was thinking.

I found an out when we pulled into the precinct, and took up her offer to help me with properly fixing up my arm. We made light conversation as I tried like hell not to focus on the stinging pain that occurred every time she probed at the cut.

We did whatever we could to help after she was finished. At least until the rest of the team showed up. But, to my delight, we rounded out our night by heading home and going straight to the bar.

I didn’t often let myself get well and truly drunk. Especially not when I was around Spencer. I knew I had been staring at him once I downed my sixth shot, but by the third mixed drink he was pulling me out of the bar. He threw out some kind of excuse that he was tired and I needed a ride home.

“What’s up with you?” he asked after bidding a goodnight to everyone else. “You’ve been acting weird, and now you’re getting wasted.”

I was annoyed by the comment, but there was concern in his voice over everything else. I leaned into him as we walked towards my car.

“I just wanted to have some fun, Spencie.”

He sighed, continuing to help me walk until we reached my vehicle.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, helping me into the backseat of the car.

I slumped over into the seat as he did, just barely letting him put the seatbelt around me and click it into place. He was fairly quiet as he did so, which really only furthered my concern. Even drunk I knew well enough to see that something was off with him. He shut the door, and I let myself drop against the seat, listening as he opened and closed the driver’s side door.

I glanced up, seeing him adjust the mirror to keep an eye on me in the seat rather than the road. It was dangerous and stupid. And so sweet it made my stomach flip.

I let my mind wander as he turned on the radio, thought he kept it low, and started driving. I thought of him and the summer we’d shared thus far. Three months is nothing in the grand scheme of life, but it felt like everything when I was with him. He felt like everything in that time. I hated keeping him a secret so much.

Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much.

I let out the tears I was holding back, sniffling as the snot starting trying to weasel its way out of my system. If I was going to cry like a baby, I wasn’t going let myself get all gross and grimy. That’s where I drew the line. I’d make sure at least some of my dignity was preserved.

He looked at me in the rear view mirror, brows furrowing.

“Y/N?”

I sniffled.

“Yeah?” I managed, knowing I sounded absolutely pathetic.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft. “Why are you crying?”

I met his eyes as he continually glanced at me in the mirror. I had to have looked ridiculous, laying on the backseat with tears streaming down my face for seemingly no reason.

“I’m fine.”

He deadpanned. “You’re sobbing in the backseat of your own car.”

“I’m fine,” I said again through tears, voice coming out much more whiny than I’d intended.

He said my name as a warning, seeing through my… untruth. I felt more happy calling it that than anything else. I looked at him, admiring his pretty face through the mirror as he looked on at the road ahead. Maybe it was a good idea for him to practically drag me out of the bar. I could be a messy drunk, and I definitely would’ve outed us by wanting to be messy with him in front of the team if I’d drank any more.

Keeping secrets sucked. It was stupid and annoying. Especially when he was so hot.

I whined out loud at the though, squeezing my eyes shut.

“What?” he whined back, a laugh on his lips.

“I’m sick of this.”

“Sick of what, baby?”

I sighed, wiping away tears that kept on rolling.

“Keeping secrets. I don’t want to have to keep hiding this just to keep you.”

He sighed to match mine. “I know.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Honey, we don’t have much of a choice.”

“But I’m going to explode if I can’t kiss you in public anymore.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, looking at me again.

I pouted. “I will.”

“You’re drunk, baby. We’ll get you into bed and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Will you come to bed with me?”

He smiled softly. “Of course.”

I felt the car starting to slow, and though my vision was a little blurry, I saw the green light ahead turn to yellow. I looked at him again, a small smile coming to my tear-soaked face.

“Spencie?”

He hummed in question, not yet looking at me.

“Can I tell you something really stupid?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

I paused for a moment, letting my inebriated state wipe away any inhibitions I may have had otherwise. The car stopped at the light at last. I smiled softly.

“For what it’s worth, I love you,” I mumbled. “And it’s the worst fucking thing you could hear right now.”

I hoped he’d say it back, though part of me expected him to pretend he hadn’t heard me at all.

I definitely didn’t expect him to look at me through the mirror with a devilish smirk.

“I know you do,” he stated. “And it’s not the worst thing I‘ve heard by a long shot.”

I bit my lip to hold back a smile as he pulled away from the light. We ended up back at my apartment, Spencer still helping me stumble the whole way there. I pushed him back against the door as soon as we were inside, but he held my wrists to stop me from feeling him up. I pouted.

“Ow,” I said, pulling my injured arm from him.

“You okay, princess?”

I nodded, quiet. He simply looked at me, certainly not believing me.

“Why are you doing that?” I questioned.

His eyes widened. “W-why am I stopping you?”

I nodded silently, still pouting.

“Baby— You’re drunk. I’m not doing anything with you while you’re drunk.”

I dropped my hands, whining as I leaned my full body into his. He wrapped his arms around me, walking— more so waddling— with me until we reached my couch.

“I just wanna kiss you,” I grumbled into his chest, letting him drop me onto the cushions.

I stared up at him, trying to look alluring. I probably just looked a little out of my mind.

“I love kissing you, but not while you’re so drunk you can’t even stand up by yourself without almost tipping over,” he said, smiling softly as he crouched between my legs.

He leaned up, softly kissing my forehead. He kept my face in his hands, looking at me. He let one hand drop, running it across my arm. I pulled back again, feeling the discomfort in my arm from my earlier injury.

He furrowed his brow, looking down at my arm as it was covered by my sleeve.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You pulled away twice when I touched your arm.”

“It’s okay.”

He sighed, grabbing my arm and gently moving my sleeve up over the bandage. He let out a sharp breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked, trying not to be annoyed with my concealment. “When did you get hurt?”

I deflated. “Today.”

“How?”

“I got cut. Fell into a nail in the wall.”

He ran a hand over his face. “You should’ve told me.”

“Why?”

He glanced up, furrowing his brow. He was clearly annoyed with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel terribly about it.

“Because I want to know when you’re hurt.”

I swallowed. Okay, that made me feel a little guilty.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. That’s a pretty big bandage.”

I was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He quirked a brow. “Why not?”

“We aren’t even like… A real couple,” I said, closing my eyes. “All we do is sneak around and you don’t ever want to tell anyone and I just don’t think that we can keep acting like it’s gonna last forever if we can’t even tell friends about—”

“It’s not my fault you dated Derek first,” he said, cutting me off.

I scoffed. “He doesn’t even care. That was forever ago and he has his secret girlfriend now anyways.”

“You wanted to keep this secret in the first place.”

“Well I’m sick of it,” I yelled. “I’m sick of keeping secrets and I’m sick of you not caring that I’m in love with you.”

“Not caring?” he asked, voice raising as he leaned back on his knees.

“You didn’t even say it back when I said it.”

“Because you’re drunk! How am I supposed to know if you even mean it?”

“Because I do!”

I groaned, my head dropping back against the cushions. My buzz was starting to wane, and I wished it would hold on a little longer.

“You were crying in the backseat. We said we’d talk about this tomorrow when you were sobered up. Why don’t we stick to that plan?” he said after a moment.

“Why can’t you just tell me how you actually feel about me?”

“I don’t want to say something and have you not remember it.”

“You’re so annoying,” I grumbled.

He rolled his eyes, standing abruptly. I readied myself for him to leave. I knew I was being childish, but I was tired of keeping everything bottled up. I wouldn’t blame him for dropping me then and there.

But, he reached out a hand.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

I looked up at him curiously, not yet taking his hand.

“You’re staying?”

He nodded. “Of course. I don’t want to leave you like this.”

I reached out, letting him help me up. We walked to my room, quietly undressing. I climbed into bed, watching him as he finally tugged off his pants, leaving him in just his undershirt and boxers. He shut my door, turned off the lights, and got under the covers with me.

He reached out for me under the sheets, tugging me against him. I sighed, resting my hand over his arm.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I woke up to a horrible headache, and a nauseous feeling that I was convinced would probably never ever go away. I was 100% certain I would never drink again ever in my life. It was a set rule that I made very quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked.

My next rule was that nobody was ever allowed to speak to me again.

I broke it immediately.

“Like crap.”

“Here,” he said, a stupid smile in his voice from the one word.

I opened my eyes to see him offering me a couple of little pills and a glass of water. I took them, grateful, even though I wanted to tell him to leave me alone in the dark for the next few months. Thankfully, he let me lay in his arms until the medication kicked in and took the edge off of my stupid hangover. I was at least thankful we didn’t have work that day.

My head was buried in his chest when I felt his lips against the top of my head. He rubbed my back, coaxing me back to the real world. Unfortunately I’d been a mess in the real world the night prior and did not want to deal with the aftermath.

“Baby,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, leaning back a little. Just enough to see him. “Medicine helped.”

“Good,” he smiled. “I was a little worried. You drank a lot more than you usually do last night.”

“I know. I was a mess.”

He smirked. “A little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, brushing hair out of his face. “I’m sorry we argued.”

He was quiet for a second, then perked up a little when his phone dinged.

“You hungry?”

“I really don’t want to go out, love.”

He laughed softly. “I know. I ordered in while you were laying down.”

“You’re a dream, Spencer Reid.”

We tumbled out of bed, Spencer insisting on preparing everything after he thanked the delivery person at the door. He made me sit at the table and wait for him, not allowing me to do anything at all until all of the food was laid out. He delighted in it.

“There,” he said, setting down our drink at last as he sat next to me. “And you tried saying I didn’t love you.”

My eyes widened, not expecting him to say anything, but especially not like that. He looked at me.

“What?” he questioned.

“That’s how you’re going to tell me?” I asked with a laugh.

“I thought you knew anyways,” he shrugged. “I do love you, you know?”

I felt heat in my cheeks at that, a smile on my face that I couldn’t control. He smiled right back at me, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

“Do you really think we’ll last past summer?” I asked, hoping he was feeling honest.

He sighed, the smallest grin on his face.

“It’d be a cruel end if we didn’t.”

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 21: Welcome Back

2 years later

Kimber wasn’t the only one who suffered from the battle. Campbell took a shot. Left his leg useless. Witnesses said a blonde woman did it. But that’s all behind us now. Small Heath has grown into my heart as a new home. Unfortunately the calling to my old home wasn’t weak enough to stop me from tying up loose ends. A few months after the whole Kimber dual I decided to take a quick trip back home to Brooklyn. The Shelbys were disappointed to see me leave, especially Finn. But I assured them I would be back in a few weeks’ time. 

Sadly time did not agree to my plan. The instant I arrived back home I discovered my stay was going to exceed far beyond what I’d hoped. Mother contracted tuberculosis and since my brothers were called away on ‘private business’ I was obligated to stay and nurse her back to health. For the next half a year I received multiple letters from the Shelbys asking about my return. After a while I simply replied that only God can answer for me.

And God must have heard my prayers because lo and behold after what seemed like a whole century mother finally recovered. I thank the angels a million times and counting for her good health. My parents are reluctant towards my decision to return to Birmingham but the mention of an official job persuaded them. No words were said about what type of business I’m working for. One packed trunk and one boat ticket later I’m right back to where I’d been lost two years ago.

Nothing seems to have changed. Small Heath is still the same gloomy and dusty crime heap as it was when I arrived last time. The sight of the familiar Shelby household makes my heart soar. But my excitement is crushed the minute I enter the home. No lights are on. A dreary atmosphere has draped over the house and is dead silent. Where is everyone? According to Thomas’ letters their business has been thriving. Where else would they be?

“Hello?” I poke my head into the kitchen. 

Still no one. I set my suitcase down and move to the back door. Where on Earth-?

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice asks sharply. I know that voice.

“Is that any way to treat a visitor?” I accuse lightly and open the door. “Thomas Shelby. It’s good to once again be of service.”

Same handsome smile. Same piercing blue eyes. As usual he’s dressed to the nines in a fine black suit. But this seems slightly fancier than usual.

“Hello, love.” He offers a hand and we shake. “‘S good to see your smile light up this place.”

I get straight to the point. “What happened? Why the dress-up?”

Thomas hangs his head and pulls out a cigarette. “Freddie’s dead. Pestilence.”

Dear Lord. Another death. Poor Ada, she was so happy with him.

I give a heavy sigh. “Why is it whenever I’m around the shadow of death follows me? I am so sorry. How’s Ada been?”

He takes a puff and a halo of smoke clouds his face. “She’s taking it fine, actually. Says she’s free now.”

“Acceptance is a vital stage of grief.”

He gives a small hum and passes me to walk into the kitchen. “How’s things in America?”

I guess that discussion is closed. “Much better now that my mother’s well. Though I wish I could say the same for my in-laws in Germany. They had to move back to the Netherlands since the economy’s been so run down.”

Thomas, as usual, reaches for a whiskey bottle I’ve brought. “I heard Prohibition is in full swing.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me. Father’s been taking a hit and we finally convinced him to open a speakeasy.”

He takes a drink and hums in approval. “‘S good to have you back.”

It’s sad to see Thomas hasn’t lost his gruff personality. If anything he’s just as cold as before. I suppose all hope of having a relationship higher than being his employee has withered in these long two years. But at least his heart has been given time to mend.

I haven’t seen Grace around in America… Though maybe that’s because as soon as I got home I had my brothers send out a warning to our contacts to keep her away from Brooklyn. In America we stand by loyalty and never forget.

“We’re expanding to London,” Thomas continues and I follow him towards the Bull Ring.

“Yes, your last letter hinted at that. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations can wait. The Garrison’s just been attacked.”

Seems that the Shelby’s lives are still violent as ever.

“Another mystery for Thomas Shelby to solve. Mind if I help?”

Thomas opens the door to let me through, then takes a drag from his cigarette and smirks. “It’d be a waste of a trip if you didn’t. Although some of us are still surprised you’ve held on this long.”

Shelby Company Limited is now officially on the door. There’s also new hired help. A few new bookkeepers and secretaries. But no familiar faces. 

“You can go catch up with the others while I go see to a lead,” Thomas says and gestures to the back office.

“Where are the others? Where’s Polly?”

“She and John are in the back. Better let her know you’re here or she’ll have my head. Finn too. They’ve missed you.” He pauses and seems to think over his next words. “We’ve all missed you.”

A warm smile creeps onto my face. “‘S good to feel wanted. I’m glad to be back.” I point to the new sign. “You’ve got your name on the door now.”

He nods. “‘S my office.” 

I raise a brow and tilt my head respectfully. “Impressive. It suits you.”

He opens the door and I stride in, literally walking into a conversation between Polly and John. Both of them haven’t noticed me yet. What I do see is that Finn has hidden himself under the table, trying to be part of the conversation. Sneaky lad.

“Six. Six questions since you’ve walked through that door,” the Romanian woman says. “Soon you’ll have to start being the man with the answers.”

“Why?” John asks.

Polly frowns. “Seven. Because when London happens you’ll have to hold up your end. Or we’ll find someone else who can.”

“He can do it,” I say, determined.

Both their heads whip around to spot me in the doorway. Beneath the table Finn’s eyes go wide and Polly breaks into a wide grin.

“Verena, love! Good to see you!” Polly rushes over and pulls me into a hug. “You made it over ok?”

“Yes yes, it was a dull trip.” I catch my breath from her death-like grip and smile at the young Shelby. “My goodness! Look at you! Finn, you grew like a weed! Might I say a fine young gentleman!”

Finn, wearing a sheepish smile, stands up from under the table. He holds out a hand and we both shake. “You talked with Thomas?”

“Briefly. He still as stubborn as before?”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me. Since you’re back now, does that mean…?”

I cannot stop smiling today! “Yes, Finn. I can set aside time for some more lessons. I thought you’d be sick of them  by now.”

He gawks at my words. “No way! I’ve missed them.”

Oh. I didn’t think they meant this much. But I suppose since his brothers have been so busy with the London expansion then Finn might get looked over now and then.

“Patience, Finn. I’m sure Verena’s tired from her travels.” Polly ushers him away and gestures for me to follow her out. “You have no idea what it’s been like to be the mother hen around here. Thanks so much for coming back. How’s your mum?”

“She’s recovered and hasn’t let it slow her down,” I answer. “And now my brother Abel-”

But a John pulls Polly over and I’m left alone. Um, good to be back? I guess I can wait in the kitchen until someone gives me further instructions. Patience, Verena. It’s been two long years. These people don’t need me busting in with catch-up chit chat. 

“Ugh.”

There’s no mistaking that grunt. Thomas must be back from his lead. I poke my head out and see my guess is correct. The gangster seems angered by something.

“You’re upset,” I observe, wanting an explanation.

Thomas grunts again and puffs on a cigarette. “Best for you to stay out of it.”

Oh. So much for clear communication. “Thank you for taking your anger somewhere else. Can I help with anything?”

“Apparently I’m the chosen one. Some Irish scum tried to shake me up.”

Irish. Possibly IRA. Uncle Colon would have told me if he was sending any contacts.

“You gonna call a family meeting?” A bit of my Brooklyn slang slips.

Thomas cracks a small smile at my accent. “Bingo. Would you mind making biscuits to go along with it? You have no idea how hard it’s been without them.”

I mock-curtesy and Thomas goes on to enter his office. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Shelby. When should I tell them to expect you?”

He gets to his desk and turns around. “Don’t bother with that. I’ll show up when I show up.”

Same old Thomas. God has graced his family with prosperity. Still I suppose time hasn’t been too kind on his heart for him to act so brash. So where do I come in?

Good to know the kitchen hasn't changed. How appropriate. My place remains doing what women do best: keeping house. Soon enough I mix up some dough for biscuits and bake the first batch just as Finn walks through for the family meeting.

“John and Arthur are on their way. You can join too.”

Word must travel fast. I quickly throw the hot cookies onto a plate and follow Finn into the back office. Finn begins pacing beside where Polly is standing. There are a few more standing in the back but I can’t put my finger on their names. Esme waits on the staircase, while the rest of the Shelby brothers are in front.

“Sit down, Finn,” Arthur instructs.

Finn obeys but is still antsy.

 “Where the bloody Hell is Tommy?” John asks impatiently.

“He’s on his way,” Polly answers sternly.

Arthur thinks for a moment and then stands up to fetch a wooden crate. “Well while we’re waiting so patiently.” He sets the crate on the table. “Whiskey.”

Now I step closer into the room to make my presence known, holding one of father’s bottles.

“If you’re looking for whiskey, might I suggest the Steenstra brand?” Both brothers look up and I give them a wave. “John, Arthur. You’re looking well.”

Behind their stern frowns their eyes lighten up and they each offer a quick hug.

“Good to have you back, Steenstra.” Arthur gladly takes the bottle and offers me a glass. “You still don’t drink, eh?”

“Only for special occasions.”

“And being reunited with the Peaky Blinders isn’t one?” Arthur replies. “Come on, Steenstra. Have a drink!”

I can’t help but give into his hospitality. “Very well.”

John passes over the glass with a small frown. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“She’s forgiven, John. She made biscuits!”

John’s attitude immediately changes and he pulls over the plate I’ve brought. Finn joins in on drinking as well but I keep my mouth shut. I settle down next to him just as John gets up to address us.

“Before Tommy gets here I think there’s a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us.”

Polly scoffs. “You think?”

John nods. “Yeah. I want to know… when did we all take a vote on this expansion south?”

This doesn’t sound right. “You mean the move to London wasn’t a group decision?”

Esme speaks up. “Should she be here?” 

She gives John a look and he mulls over the idea. “Um, maybe-”

“Shut it,” Finn interrupts sharply. “Verena’s the one who taught me to think, not you. She stays.”

John looks at the floor and nods. “Right then. Now, I see all the books. Shelby Company Limited has been making 150 pounds a day. Sometimes more. Why are we changing things?”

Finn considers this with a serious expression. I’m glad to see my teachings about economics haven’t gone wasted. John and Polly bicker some more and Esme tries to butt in. If only someone would tell me about what the Hell is going on then maybe I could do something besides make biscuits.

Just then Thomas walks in and the arguing stops.

“Everyone’s allowed to speak. On your feet, Esme. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

She stands up from her place on the stairs but John begins before she can speak.

“I speak for our household. So-”

Thomas won’t have it. “John, this is a modern enterprise that believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme.”

My, Thomas has changed. He’s allowing more outside opinions. Women’s ones, at that. In some places back home it’s like pulling teeth to even win a conversation against a man about what shoe polish is better. But I know better. Grace left a bigger mark on him that he’ll care to admit.

Esme takes a breath and sets her jaw straight. “‘M not a bloody member of this family, but perhaps that can allow me to see things in a different light. I have kin in Shepherd's Bush and Portobello. It’s more like wars between armies down there. I want to raise my child somewhere with no violence.” She glares defiantly at Thomas. “London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas. That’s all I have to say.”

“That was a lot of words.”

Arthur offers a glass. “Wash ‘em down with a drink.”

Thomas nods in response. “Thank you, Esme. Firstly, the bang in the pub had nothing to do with London. Understood? That is something I’m dealing with on my own. Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion so long as we stick together.” He gestures to where I’m sitting. “Our dear ally and friend Verena is joining us for this, so we will have strength in numbers. After the first few weeks, nine-tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”

His brother nods. “That’s right.”

“Some of you in this room have discussed your reservations,” Thomas addresses. “Fair enough. If any of you don’t want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door. Right now. For those of you with ambition, expansion begins tomorrow.”

John’s itching to say something but remains silent. Polly still looks torn about the matter but Arthur seems fine with it and celebrates with another drink. Finn rubs his head and soon both he and Thomas are looking at me expectantly. The answer is obvious.

“I just traveled thousands of miles to get back to work. I’m not backing out now.”

Finn lets out a sigh of relief and his older brother slowly claps. Family or not, I’ve just dug myself deeper into this crazy world.

“Welcome back, Ms. Steenstra.”

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him)

cw: aint-shit brooklyn hipster ex-boyfriend. millennial real estate angst. Ohio.

Chapter 1

I never thought in a million years I would end up in Ohio of all places. I’ve always fancied myself a real City Girl type. I grew up in the Houston metro area where I was more likely to be perusing the Galleria or eating sushi than I was engaging in any of the more agrarian behaviors outsiders assume Texans are wont to do but largely don’t. And then as soon as I graduated, I made my way to New York to officially start my life in the city I would never leave, as far as I was concerned.

But after 14 years of scraping by, 14 years of overpriced rent and skipping meals in order to afford the bills, I’ve had enough. I sold my furniture, wrapped up my loose ends, and made a break to escape the rat race. 

Okay, maybe I’m not some maverick refusing to buy into the capitalist hustle. My grand escape from New York is a little less Snake Plimson and more desperate-slash-dumped. I was supposed to move in with my boyfriend Mark, the gorgeous and brilliant photographer I had been seeing for three whole years. My lease with my last roommate was coming to an end, so Mark and I decided to do what grown ups supposedly do and finally get a place together to embark on the whole domestic bliss thing. I was absolutely looking forward to having someone to split expenses with, but even more so it felt like I was finally becoming a real adult. Moving in with your boyfriend in New York is, as far as lifestyle accomplishments go, the equivalent of getting married and having kids for people in the burbs. And I was ready to start this next chapter of my life knowing I was on track with the milestones expected of me. 

Unfortunately, Mark was not ready. At the big age of 36, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t know himself well enough to get tied down to a life of commitment– or even the eighteen months our lease would occupy. “There’s so much I still want to do,” he said. “It would be unfair to you if I was here physically, when my heart and soul are somewhere else,” he said. I wanted to deck him.  

Honestly, I can get over the rejection from a man who was self-admittedly only half present, but his dumping me put me in a position far more precarious than heartbreak: sitting there with just six weeks to find an affordable place to live in New York City. Not impossible, mind you, but a significant burden where I will absolutely be forced to make concessions regarding what I want. I was looking down the barrel of a too much for too little housing situation that I’d be stuck in for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that I would end up in a street level roach motel with a toilet in the kitchen for no less than $4000/month. 

But after a few hours online searching for options, the algorithm gods smiled down upon me. I was scrolling through my feed having just double tapped on a high school friend’s baby announcement when I saw it: a targeted ad that read: GET PAID $30,000 TO LIVE AND WORK IN OHIO. 

$30k is not going to make me a wealthy woman, by any means, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I stood to lose trying to find acceptable lodging in the city. And while I had a decent social circle I didn’t want to abandon, my desire to go out and spend my free time (as well as my not-so-free-money) had dwindled as of late. I found myself avoiding the parties and bars where I more often than not spent the evening straining my voice just to have a simple conversation with someone I can barely even hear in favor of staying in to read with a glass of wine while brainstorming fan theories with other members of one of the several fandom Discord channels I belong to. And my job has essentially become 100% remote as of late. Any essential meetings I may need to attend could be covered as a business trip, but considering most of my job involves research and grunt work versus client-facing duties, it likely wouldn’t come up at all. I was free to leave New York. 

That is to say, my curiosity was piqued. So I clicked. And I applied. Then in what felt like a whirlwind courting, I was put into contact with a state worker who walked me through the grant application with the kind of midwestern charm I found refreshing after over a decade of city cynicism. I was then presented with a selection of eligible properties, mortgage options, and even connections to discounted moving services. Seemingly quicker than one could say “buckeye state,” I had a home lined up for me. 

A month later, here I am: driving west to Loveland, Ohio. I would never admit it out loud to my friends in New York, but when I saw the option for the little single story bungalow in a town called Loveland, I was instantly drawn to the romanticism of the name. I’ve never considered myself a romantic. After all, my last relationship was built more upon a desire to live a D.I.N.K. lifestyle than some sort of deep, burning passion between two souls made of the same. But finding this opportunity to start anew in an actual hand-to-god house that I could feasibly own felt more like a whirlwind case of woo than dating men ever did. After all, having a place of one’s own to which she can safely escape has been an unattainable dream for women throughout the recorded centuries. 

I am not so jaded as to deny the appeal of true romantic love; the security of a trusted partner and the comfort of consistent, pleasurable sex is not something I would turn away if it presented itself. But I also accept the fact that those ideals are born from a rather modern mindset born from the emergence of the bored middle class who desired a genteel way to express their own horniness disguised under the veil of “art.” 

Well, I mostly know that. Maybe it’s all I’m allowing myself to believe in order to keep myself from being disappointed when I inevitably never experience the kind of love that makes one write poems and paint portraits. I mean, there’s ample evidence in this world that some people truly do fall in love  I recently read that the English poet and surrealist patron Edward James was so in love with his dancer wife Tilly Losch, he had the impressions of her footsteps woven into the stair’s carpet in their home together, creating a tribute to their shared intimacy and the love he held not just for her physicality, but her contribution towards turning their house into his home. 

Of course, Edward and Tilly ended up divorced. To his credit, James didn’t destroy the carpet upon the dissolution of his marriage and her subsequent campaign to pin it on his bisexuality rather than her infidelity. Instead he ended up donating it to an arts’ college and replaced the one in his home with a new commission– this time, featuring the pawprints of his beloved dog. C’est l’amour! One day you’re in love with your gorgeous dancer wife and her elegant footsteps, the next, she’s outing you in divorce court and you’re making lobster telephones with Salvador Dalí. 

So with all that in mind, I find myself here in the Cincinnati suburbs, heading directly to my new life in a land of love smack dab in the middle of The Heart of It All. But despite how it sounds, I’m not holding out for a hero. I will happily settle for falling in love with my new life and my new house. 

I may not be in love, but I am definitely crushing on my new place. As I pull into the driveway, I feel my heartbeat quicken in excitement. It’s so BIG! I mean, I’m from Houston– I know how big houses can be and this isn’t a mansion by any means. In fact, the listing called it a “modern cottage” style, insinuating that it’s on the smaller side of homes. But I’ve been apartment dwelling in New York for so long, I feel unsure about what to do with so much space to myself. I don’t have even close to enough furnishings to fill this place. There shall be much shopping in my foreseeable future. And there isn’t just a yard– there’s two! I might take up gardening. Maybe I’ll get a dog. My head is swimming with the possibilities. 

I grab my bags from the car and saunter up to the front door. It’s not my first time across the threshold– I flew out here before closing to oversee the inspection and get to know the area. But none of that diminishes my excitement. After all, this is my first home! I get to have a little bit of romanticization within the experience. As a treat.

The first thing to notice when walking into the house is the spacious open-plan kitchen and living area. The kitchen is what really excited me about this house. As an editor for cookbooks, I spend a lot of time there developing and testing. And now with all this room, I can fill it with every specialized tool and rare ingredients my little heart desires. The kitchen island fills the space and features a dozen or so drawers and cabinets of all different shapes and sizes to accommodate all my storage needs. And the appliances are perfect. The refrigerator is a pistachio green color with a design that looks like it came straight out of the 1950s, but it’s actually brand new and energy efficient. The stove features a gas range as well as a griddle top– the kind my Nana used to make us pancakes whenever we’d stay with her over Christmas. There’s also plenty of room for me to set up a desk for when the actual writing needs to occur. I’m going to get so much done!

The rest of the house is perfect for me. The master bedroom faces the east, so the sun pours in as soon as it rises. The connecting bathroom has a huge clawfoot tub AND a corner shower with rain-style fixtures. The second-largest room features floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases that basically called to me when I first saw them in the listing. I was planning on converting it into a dual-use library-slash-guest room, but now that I’m here, I wonder if I’ll be willing to share it with any guests. Is it considered gauche for a grown woman to commit an entire room to house her hardcover romantasy collection? Well, they might just have to call me fucking gauche because I am seriously considering it.

Besides, the smallest third bedroom could serve as a perfectly adequate guest room. It can barely fit more than a bed and a dresser, but it would work. Between the future library and future guest room is the second bathroom. It’s not as nice as the master bath, but all the fixtures are new and the tiling is a really cute black and white subway style that will go well with the modernist decor I have in mind. 

But decorating, working, filling up bookshelves– those are all to-do items for the near future. At the moment, I should really focus on the tasks at hand. First, I need to unload the rest of my things still in the car. The storage pod I have the majority of my possessions in is scheduled to be in my driveway in a couple days, but I brought the bare necessities along with me. After that, I will need to get some food in me. I make a mental grocery list while I unload the car. 

I got the entire $30k from the grant, but I only needed $20k for the down payment, leaving me with a nice chunk of change to invest in a new-to-me hybrid sedan. I haven’t owned a car since I sold the one I drove in high school after graduation. But considering I grew up in a city that is mostly a collection of zig-zagging freeways and pavement, I am pretty comfortable behind the wheel even after all these years of living by the graces of public transportation. The autonomy granted with a personal vehicle is not lost on me. No more showing up late due to MTA delays or having to avert my eyes from strange male passengers whose hands are conspicuously not in plain sight, though still in visible motion. Instead, I now get to enjoy the comfort of a working air conditioner and the freedom to belt out Beyoncé songs at the top of my lungs. Which is exactly what I do on my drive to the supermarket.

[afteriwake]

What Stork Brings (5/?)

So I finally updated after threatening to do it since December! Unfortunately, this update comes with some sad news: while My and Pi were based on real cats, the introduction of them was written to mourn Pi's passing. It is with a heavy heart that I announce that My has passed today, so this chapter is dedicated to @greenskyoverme and My's memory. But I do hope you enjoy some more domestic fluff between Spock and Jim.

What Stork Brings - After Spock and Kirk begin a relationship that gets to the cohabitation stage, they decide to adopt, which is an adventure all on its own. But with the help of their very own Stork, they find the perfect children for their family.

Part 1 | Part 5

As soon as Stork had left, they had contacted the crew and told them the news. Everyone seemed excited as well as happy for the fortunate turn of events, and that pleased Spock. He had not realized how much he wanted his friends to approve of his choice, and while he knew they would accept any child he and Jim chose to adopt, the fact there were twins and they were older had been something he thought maybe Chekov or even Sulu would balk at. But they all seemed to think if it worked out, T’Pol and Sorick would be a good match with them.

The other had come over for dinner and conversation, and they had talked late into the night, to the point Jim was yawning as he was trying to carry on a conversation. Eventually, the others had taken that as their cue to leave, and Spock and Jim got ready for bed, the cats running underneath their feet. My seemed to particularly want attention, and while Jim got settled into bed Spock fed her some treats out of her hand, a special treat for her. She stood on her hind legs and ate the treats with just her mouth; she never put her paws on Spock’s hand or arm, but she seemed to prefer getting her treats this way.

“You know, we’re going to have to childproof the apartment,” Jim said as Spock finished feeding My her treats and got settled into bed next to him. “Did your parents childproof the place when you were a toddler?”

“I don’t remember,” Spock said, frowning. I would ask, but my father is busy and…”

“And your mom is gone,” Jim said quietly. He reached over for Spock’s clean hand and brushed his fingers against his palm. “I like to think she’s here with us. She led Stork to us, and Stork knew about the twins.”

“Illogical.”

“You can just let me feel this way,” Jim said with a slight pout. Spock softened Indeed, the human side of him liked to think his mother would be pleased with the serendipity of it all: a Vulcan named Stork at an adoption agency, half-human/half-Vulcan twins, a happy son. She had loved Uhura and he sometimes wished she’d grown to love Jim as much as he did.

“I suppose.” Spock clasped their hands together, threading his fingers in between Jim. “Toddlers are an ingenious lot if Sulu’s stories of Demora are any indication.”

“Well, we already My and Pi proofed the apartment. I swear, I’ve never seen a cat jump as high as My does before. It shouldn’t be that much harder to toddler-proof it. We can ask Sulu for help and do it before the zoo visit.”

“We don’t need to rush, but I suppose asking for advice would not be remiss.”

“I just want to show we’re ready and that we really want them. I just hope they like us. They don’t have the quirks that most Vulcans have, but…”

“But what, Jim?”

Jim moved his thumb and parted their hands slightly, rubbing his thumb on Spock’s palm. “Will they be okay with a human father? I mean, you’re going to outlive me, even if I get into my 100s. They’re going to outlive me.”

“If we adopt them I am sure they will love you as much as I do, t'hy'la.” Spock shut his eyes, letting the slow, steady movements of Jim’s thumb calm him in the way all Jim’s little touches did. “We will miss you when you pass, but there will be fond memories That will be enough.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Spock leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple. Jim grinned, shutting his eyes and yawning at the same time. “Go to sleep, Jim. Tomorrow we can work on making this place appropriate for a pair of toddlers.”

“Alright,” Jim said, not opening his eyes as he settled more against Spock. “Night.”

“Good night,” Spock said, softly, letting go of Jim’s hand as the thumb movements stopped completely and reaching over to turn off the light. He settled in next to the man he loved and shut his eyes. Yes, this was a good move, but if Jim had doubts about their differing life spans, he needed to rectify those fears as best he could. And he would, again and again, for as long as Jim drew breath. He would assure Jim that he was the love of his life and every moment was special and that when he passed there would be no one else. He would live with his lifetime of memories and be content.

[shelikesorchids-archive]

my dear mandy, you are not only one of my favourite writers but also one of my favourite people 🥰 congrats on 50 love 🥳

could i please make a request for our baby mikey kinsella from the fake dating prompt list? i'll leave the exact prompt up to you, but please, you know what i'm going to ask for - as much amanda slander as possible 😂

- @mindidjarin ❤️

MINDI my love!

So, this one kind of got away from me, but I wanted to deliver on the Amanda slander, so here ya go babe!

I chose the prompt "my ex doesn’t understand it’s over, so I tell them I’ve already got someone new"

LOVE YA BOO, ENJOY!

Michael had grown tired of the song and dance with Amanda. He really wanted to find someone else after Molly, but she just would not stop with her advances. Their relationship was wrong, and Amanda didn't really care, but Michael definitely did. Her advances were getting less and less subtle, and he had to figure out a way to get the message across that he wasn't doing this with her anymore. Unfortunately, after what happened with Molly, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to put himself out there again. 

Molly had transferred to another pharmacy, so at least Michael didn’t have to risk any awkward encounters with her when he was getting his medicine. He first saw you last time he picked up his medication, and he noticed you had a very sweet smile and kind eyes. Maybe the job hadn’t quite gotten to you yet, but he got a very warm and welcoming vibe from you. He definitely thought you were cute, but did he want to go down the road of asking out the cute chemist again? 

Jimmy had invited Michael over to his house for a get-together, and he jokingly encouraged him to bring a date. Michael really didn’t know who he could ask, but he definitely wanted to bring someone along so Amanda would get off his back. It was time to pick up a refill of his medication, and he decided on the walk over that he would ask you to be his date if you were there. He was sort of hoping maybe today was your day off, so he could save himself the embarrassment, but lo and behold you were behind the counter with a smile on your face. 

You felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw Michael walk in. Despite knowing who he was and what he had done, you couldn’t help the silly schoolgirl crush you had developed on him. He didn’t even have to tell you his name, you remembered him from his last visit and went to fetch his medication for him as he approached the counter. 

“Michael Kinsella, right?” you asked in a chipper tone. 

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” he replied with an awkward wave. 

“Grand! Can you just confirm your date of birth for me?” 

He gave you his date of birth, and you continued ringing up his prescription, but Michael was absolutely mesmerized by your smile and your voice. He finally snapped back to reality when you asked him if he had any questions, and he had to shake his head for a moment to get back in the moment. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Kinsella?” you asked with obvious concern in your voice. You were well versed in CPR and first aid, but you really didn’t want a handsome hitman having a seizure in the middle of the pharmacy.

“Yeah, I’m grand. Sorry.” 

“Oh, it’s alright, Mr. Kinsella.” 

“Please, call me Michael.” 

“Okay, Michael. Do you have any questions for me?” 

Michael could hear his blood rushing through his ears, and he felt like his heart was about to hammer out of his chest.

“Yeah, actually I do. Uh, what are ya doin tomorrow night?” 

Woah. Was he actually asking you out?! Your little schoolgirl daydream was coming true, there was no way this was actually happening. 

“I don’t have any plans, actually. Did you have something in mind?” 

“Yeah, my brother invited me over for dinner, and he said I could bring a plus one, so would ya like to come with me?” 

Accepting an invitation for dinner at the home of a crime family was probably not a smart decision, but, you only live once, right? You figured ‘what the hell’ and decided to accept his invitation. 

“Sure, that sounds lovely. I’m not working tomorrow, but I can meet you here, and I can drive us there.” 

“Wonderful. See ya here tomorrow at seven?” 

“Sure, I’ll see you then, Michael.” 

You said your goodbyes to each other, and you were suddenly feeling giddy at the fact that a handsome customer had asked you out. Michael was happy that he actually had a date to take to Jimmy’s, but now he had to figure out how to break it to you that he wanted you to pretend you had been seeing each other for a while.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Michael showed up at seven o'clock on the dot to escort you to his brother’s house. You had dressed a little nicer than you normally did for work knowing you had a date tonight, and Michael definitely noticed. 

“Wow, ya look nice,” Michael said shyly. 

You felt heat creeping up your cheeks from the compliment, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Thanks, I do aim to impress,” you replied. 

“Shall we?” Michael said as he gestured across the street. 

“Ya sure, I’m just right over here,” you said as  you led him to your car. 

The ride to Jimmy and Amanda’s was filled with small talk, the two of you asking about each others’ days and such. When you finally pulled up to their house, Michael finally got the nerve to tell you what his motive really was. 

“So, I may have told me family that I’ve been seein’ someone for a while now, and they’re gonna think it’s you.” 

Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly forgot how to form words. “Oh, o-okay. What would give them that impression?” 

“I mighta told them I’d been seein’ the cute chemist and that I was bringin’ ya over t’night.” 

“Wow, well, okay then. So, I guess I gotta keep up the ruse, then.” 

“M’sorry. Truly. If ya wanna just drop me off and leave, I don’t blame ya one bit. But, I’d like ya to stay.” 

You mulled it over for a moment, and against your better judgment, you decided to go to the party with him. It could be a funny story to tell your kids one day, you thought. 

“Ah, what the hell, let’s do it!” 

Michael smiled and kissed your cheek, then the two of you headed into the party hand in hand. He really did like you, but making Amanda jealous was going to be a fantastic bonus.

[girl4music]

A character study analysis -

Why Tara Maclay matters

"Now I’ve never been much of a shipper. I think the first ship I ever telegraphed was Harry Potter and Cho Chang, and while I was a little sad they didn’t work things out, I never hated Harry/Ginny. And I accept it as the natural progression of their story. But when I was a kid watching ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ for the first time about 10 years after it first aired there was one ship I fell in love with and was willing to die on a hill for. ... This isn’t going where you think.

I) My Unnecessarily Long Backstory

Very quickly Willow became my favourite character. I’d loved and adored Sarah Michelle Gellar in just about everything I saw her in beforehand but when I finally got around to watching the show that made her famous, I strangely preferred her more as these gals. I’m more receptive to Buffy as a character these days and can appreciate her performance but younger me was all about Willow. Alyson Hannigan’s work continues to impress me with how she transformed a shy bumbling nerd into a powerful confident witch across seven seasons without once making me feel like the characterisation was betrayed. It’s still a marvel to me how Alyson can effortlessly be adorably hilarious in one scene and heartbreakingly emotional in the next. One of the reasons I kinda, sorta love the magic-is-a-drug storyline in Season 6 and the subsequent Dark Willow thing is the strength of this gal’s performance. So now I’ve hopefully established my love and devotion to this character and can convey that if they were going to put her into a relationship with anyone other than me and have me accept it… said partner had better be the perfect match for her. 

Enter Oz. Oz represents a good example of how to create a love interest that exists to put someone in a relationship without feeling like you’re actually doing that. He complimented Willow and his very presence helped her become a better person. Unfortunately by Season 4 Seth Green had grown creatively dissatisfied and scheduled conflicts with another film meant he had to be written out only six episodes into the season. As heart-wrenching as Oz and Willow’s break-up was, it proved beneficial in the long run.

Amber Benson was introduced the same season as a character called Tara Maclay. She was not intended to be a love interest for Willow outright since although Joss Whedon had envisioned one of the main cast turning out to be gay, he was actually leaning more towards Xander being the candidate. The main reason for Tara’s introduction was because Willow had become significantly more powerful over the four seasons and thus was no longer able to convincingly be put in danger the way she used to. So they needed a new character that could serve as their resident distressed damsel. Amber Benson almost wasn’t cast because, well, Joss Whedon has his body preferences. Marti Noxon, however, could see that the vulnerability she brought to the character was what they ultimately needed. Through a combination of convenient timing and the surprising chemistry between the two actresses, their friendship was eventually written to have them become a couple. In what became a shocking move for the series the episode ‘New Moon Rising’, in which Oz returns, ended with him and Willow parting on good terms and Willow choosing to stay with Tara. To say this was met with an uproar would be an understatement. Willow and Oz have been a popular pairing and in the far less enlightened early 2000’s the idea that Willow would not only turn down Oz but do so in favour of another woman… To cut a long story short, Amber Benson was met with so many nasty comments that she nearly left the show. But, of course, she didn’t. And I want to highlight just how impressive it was that this character was despised for no reason other than the fact that Willow chose her over Oz. And then at the end of Season 6 when she was written out, there was even more backlash. While I love Oz it’s impossible for me to ignore that his successor became just as, if not more popular, and her successor was the most despised character in the entire franchise. Seriously, there are Xander fans, Wesley fans, even the odd Riley fan. I will be very surprised if this video reveals the rare thing known as a Kennedy fan. Tara was that tough an act to follow. 

II) The Triumph of Representation

The Willow and Tara relationship was not the first time a queer romance had been depicted on TV and nor was Buffy the first series to have an established character suddenly come out after been assumed straight beforehand. But compare the sitcom Ellen in which the title character came out alongside her actress and was met with a lot of criticism for the tone shifts that followed with people such as Elton John telling Ellen to “shut up about being gay and start being funny again”, Buffy was notable for not having a big coming out moment or a very special episode about homophobia. It also stood out for avoiding the other end of the spectrum. The Willow and Tara relationship was treated with the same grace and seriousness as any other on the show. Incidental and un-stereotypical. It was positive representation without beating you over the head with it. Queer viewers could see themselves in either character and find comfort and relatability. Straight viewers could see another perspective and learn to normalise the idea. The relationship had an uphill struggle behind-the-scenes with restrictions on what the characters could or couldn’t be shown doing. Forcing the writers to use magic as a metaphor for exploring their sexuality. They didn’t share their first on-screen kiss until Season 5’s ’The Body’ after eighteen episodes as a couple. But despite those restrictions they still stood out as being a same-sex couple on a major show, in which they were accepted as a vital part of the main cast. Both powerful and fallible in their own ways and existing as independent characters in their own right rather than tokens there to meet a quota. And while there was obviously a bigger focus on Willow at first, since she’d been on the show since it started, the writers quickly began to explore Tara’s character in interesting ways. 

III) A Different Kind of Empowerment

The 90’s were the era of aggressive, in-your-face girl power in which women declared they could do exactly what the men did and asserted their strength in a multitude of ways. Buffy expressed her strength through physical prowess and razor sharp wit. Willow expressed hers through intelligence and, later, unrivalled magic powers. Cordelia and Anya likewise stood out for their unfiltered, independent attitudes towards life that were then refined through character development to being unafraid to do the right thing. Tara stood out by being defined through her kindness and empathy. She’s introduced as the only Wiccan at a college meeting who listens to Willow and validates her interest in pursuing more advanced spell casting. She then acts as Willow’s guide and mentor to help her improve her powers, remaining an understanding and empathetic teacher the whole time. Even when meeting Oz, she’s understanding of the idea that he and Willow might get back together despite how much pain this would cause her. Throughout the series kindness and compassion would be her defining characteristics. And showing that she is far more than just ‘the nice character’, her first episode establishes that she is also a powerful witch in her own right, providing Willow with enough assistance to fight off The Gentlemen. This helped set her apart from, say, Dawn, who ended up in distress so much the show itself had to lampshade it. Tara was given just enough competency that her ending up in trouble was never annoying, and she justified her presence in the main cast. This made her an easy character to root for and accept. 

IV) Tara as Her Own Person

Once she was established as Willow’s girlfriend the show set about developing her into her own person so as not to remain a satellite character. The Season 5 episode ‘Family’ properly delves into her backstory revealing that she comes from a history of abuse and has been brought up to think that she’ll turn into a demon when she reaches adulthood. This story serves to put the audience on Tara’s side where we see that she fears Willow and the others will reject her if they discover this. We’re shown what she’s had to put up with from her family, explaining her shyness and vulnerability, and thus endearing her to us all. So in the end, when the demon thing is revealed to be just a lie to keep the women in the family in line, the episode celebrates that Tara can remain within the main cast. Also her relatives disapproval of her interest in magic and witchcraft is an effective parallel to her sexuality, making the ‘family of choice’ theme very relatable. The episode ends with an affirmation that Tara is an essential part of the group and the show.

But I’d argue that the most significant turning point in her character development isn’t actually from an episode that centers around her. Season 5’s ’The Body’ is considered one of the best episodes of the entire series and it is important for Tara not just because it features her and Willow’s first on-screen kiss. This right here gives Tara a role that only she can fill in the show. Someone who has experienced the loss of her mother at a young age and can relate to what Buffy, and indeed Dawn, are feeling. And as someone who didn’t know Joyce as well as the others, she is able to be the one who can hold it together and be a rock for everyone. We’re normally used to seeing Willow reassuring Tara or being the stronger partner, but this allows Tara to fill that role too. Putting them on an equal footing. In the next episode ‘Forever’ Tara establishes her identity as someone with a different perspective from Willow in what would be a recurring source of conflict for them. Willow - the witch who came to the craft late - always wants to bend the rules and push the limits of what she can accomplish while Tara - the natural witch - knows and respects these limits and doesn’t like meddling with the natural order. Conflict between them is further explored in the episode ‘Tough Love’, highlighting another part of Tara that distinguishes her as her own person. The inner-belief that Willow sees her as just an experiment and will go back to boys as soon as she loses interest in her. And while this isn’t great for Willow to hear, it serves to reaffirm that Tara is her own person with her own thoughts and fears and not just an extension of her girlfriend. She is then the one who is targeted by Glory and has her mind… well I don’t know what the technical term is but because of that Tara then reveals the season’s big secret to the villain. That scene may be a little clunky but the act itself further puts Tara on an equal footing with the main cast. Things now only happen because of her that can only be done by her. A conflict set up by her disharmony with another character that then leads the turning point towards the finale and now she becomes the secondary part of the main tension. It’s not just ‘will they protect Dawn and stop Glory?’ But now ‘will they save Tara too?’. And once it happens in the big battle Tara contributes in a way that reminds the audience that she is also a powerful witch just like Willow.

That’ll continue into the next season. So Season 5 ends with Tara no longer being ‘just Willow but less powerful’, but an important character who serves the narrative. 

V) Character Development

The two-part episodes that opens Buffy’s first season on the UPN network is the best season premiere across the entire series. Beginning what is my second favourite Buffy season after three. Tara is one of four characters preparing a dark spell to resurrect Buffy from the dead after she sacrificed herself at the end of Season 5. Initially on-board with the idea we see that aforementioned conflict come into play when it’s clarified how Willow has been hiding some of the darker parts of the spell because Tara is the one who would question her. And one of the things I love about this episode is how it shows Tara rising to the occasion. In a crisis where Willow was too drained to be their heavy hitter, Tara steps it up and demonstrates how she’s a force to be reckoned with too. And I don’t want to gloss over this badass moment either. Like in ’The Body’ we’re shown that when Buffy is M.I.A it is Tara who the group really needs. She keeps everyone together and ensures they stay on track. And what is the next significant development in her story this season?

Tara is the first one to become aware of Willow’s increasing problems with magic use and what happens next becomes a fascinatingly ironic twist in the tale where Willow erases Tara’s memory of their arguments just in time for the musical episode in which Tara gets an entire song to herself titled ‘Under Your Spell’. While a double-meaning to the memory erasing Willow did, it’s mainly about how their relationship has helped her come out of her shell and shine to her full potential. Besides designating her as important enough to have her own solo the song serves as an important next step in something very hard she has to do. In the episode ’Tabula Rasa’, when Willow’s problems become impossible to ignore and it’s clear she can’t be reasoned with, Tara breaks up with her. Despite how much it hurts her to leave and the cold reaction she gets from Dawn in response, she walks out because she now knows her own self-worth and understands her right to be treated with respect. At a point in the series where Buffy and Willow falls so low they resort to using the ones they care about, Xander and Dawn just hurt people, and Giles abandons someone who needs his guidance, Tara has reached her peak in knowing when to stand up for herself and not tolerate mistreatment. And she doesn’t punish the other characters who cared about her for Willow’s actions. She still makes an effort to be involved in Dawn’s life after the break-up. Even staying over at the house after Buffy and Willow are out all night. Even though Dawn is on paper just the little sister of her girlfriend’s best friend and Tara has no obligation to keep in contact with her, she still looks out for her and tries to provide some stability. But Tara’s friendship with Buffy is something that just made me love her even more. And like in the previous season, this creates a role for Tara that only she could fulfil. Buffy could never talk to Xander or Willow about her relationship problems. Giles is out of the picture. And, well, Anya isn’t the sort of person you kiss and tell to. Tara meanwhle is outside of the group at this point so Buffy feels safer going to her about problems. And Tara again shares this understanding with Buffy that allows her to open up. Having feelings that you’re ashamed of and worrying you’re biologically wrong for things outside your control. The script for this scene in ‘Dead Things’ originally had a line where Tara drew parallels between her being a lesbian who’s had to hide her relationships to Buffy being ashamed of hers with Spike. And it’s not drawn attention to but Tara herself was recently in a relationship with someone who could be very virtuous but also had a dark side and was doing bad things that was getting impossible to ignore and justify. Tara is able to provide that support to Buffy and be there for her and making sure Spike stays in line. And even with regards to Willow she’s supportive of her attempts to get clean in a healthy enough way. Take this scene in ‘Older And Far Away’ where Anya is trying to pressure Willow to cast a spell that will allow them to leave the house they’ve been magically trapped in. While the metaphor doesn’t really land (how many life or death situations require alcohol or drugs to get out of?) the sentiment does. Tara stands up for Willow, recognising that she is trying to be better, and again, serving as that grounding presence who prevents the others from falling apart.

By her final episode, this shy wallflower who put up with mistreatment for so long has transformed into a confident, passionate woman who stands up for what she believes in, will lay down boundaries that she will not tolerate the disrespect of,… but also balances that with being 100% there for her loved ones and not hesitating to help someone in need. I hate to constantly reference ‘Games Of Thrones’ but the development of Sansa makes for a good contrast. Both she and Tara start out in perpetual victim mode and their powerlessness is frequently emphasised. Sansa’s character development into ‘empowered woman’ involves shedding her femininity and the attributes that defined her virtues in opposition to her flaws. Most notably her compassion and ability to be smarter than she’s given credit for. Someone who took pity on a drunk knight, became friends with an inexperienced handmaiden, comforted several scared women in a war zone, and stood up for her husband when his family tried to publicly humiliate him develops into someone who smirks after feeding a man to his own hounds, nearly has her own sister assassinated, trash talks a woman who’s literally fighting on the front lines for her, and her reaction to being indirectly responsible for an entire city of innocents being destroyed is…

Tara’s character development allowed her to become stronger and more confident while still retaining the virtues that were built into her characterisation from the beginning. She doesn’t become perfect and I’d argue that restarting her relationship with Willow at the end of ‘Entropy’ probably wasn’t the wisest move that she herself admits - but hey, she’s human. And then what happens?

VI) A Meaningful Death

The real twist of Buffy Season 6 is that The Trio of Warren, Jonathan and Andrew aren’t the true Big Bads. Their actions just unleash the real one. Enraged and distressed at Tara’s accidental death, Willow goes off the deep end and first just tries to kill the three boys in revenge but then escalates into trying to destroy the world to alleviate her pain. It’s probably my favourite arc in the series - or close enough. And even though Tara isn’t technically involved in this arc - what with her dying to start it off - it still speaks to the strength of her character. Tara had previously shown herself as the anchor who kept the group grounded in the aftermaths of deaths or absences, and it was her leaving Willow and being less involved with the group that led to them falling apart. So her death is indeed what allows for things to escalate this way. Remove the group’s anchor from the equation permanently and the conflict increases for maximum drama and therefore excitement. And because Tara was such a beloved character it just adds to the emotional investment. We don’t just want Buffy to stop Willow because the world ending would be a downer in general. We want Willow to be stopped before she crosses lines in a way that Tara herself wouldn’t want, and that she would permanently stop being the character we know and love. Tara’s death also forces things like Xander and Anya to actually talk about their issues rather than what they’ve actually been doing in the fallout of the wedding. Or Buffy to stop seeing Dawn as just someone to protect and closer to an equal member of the team. The resolution to this storyline is not an elaborate spell, fight routine or comically large weapon… but having compassion for the monster and stopping the apocalypse with an act of love - which, arguably, is a very Tara solution to things. 

VII) Conclusion

Despite Tara dying at the end of Season 6 there were plans to bring her back in various capacities before the series ended. Given that the Big Bad of Season 7 could impersonate anyone on the show who’s died, she was a prime candidate for that. The episode ‘Conversations With Dead People’ was, in fact, supposed to have her in this scene instead of Cassie but Amber Benson turned it down. Her reasoning being that the Willow/Tara relationship had meant so much and been a lifeline to many viewers who related to it, and seeing Tara as an evil being telling Willow to die “would just destroy people”. You can read the script for that scene in the link below. And yeah, it’s good, but what we got with Cassie is just as effective. There was also a proposed episode where Buffy would get one wish from The Powers That Be and consider using it to, say, restore Angel’s humanity, defeat The First for good, or bring her mother back to life. And it would end with her showing off a new pair of shoes to Willow - letting her believe she used the wish for that - before stepping aside to reveal Tara. The reason for this not happening was initially just that Amber Benson had a directing opportunity in the UK but she later confessed the following: 

“I had had some issues with somebody on the show and it had kind of come to a head just as I was getting ready to leave… Leaving the show was sad, because there were some of the crew and the writers and some of the cast that I just adore… But I had made my peace with that person and the show, and I was done… I’m leaving everything in a good place… I don’t need to come back…” 

Would the series have been served well by having Tara come back from the dead? On the one hand - that part of Season 7 showing Willow dealing with mourning her and learning to balance magic on her own is pretty strong. On the other - Kennedy, am I right? Part of me feels that Buffy was never the sort of show to have the wish fufillment element. On something like ‘Charmed’ - yeah, no bother. But Buffy always had this gloomy 90’s ‘life sucks - do what you can with it’ vibe. Mainly from Joss Whedon’s mantra that happy people make for boring television. Bringing Tara back may have been little more than fan service. And it’s actually another actor on the show commenting on their character that helps me come down on the side of letting Tara stay dead. Emma Caulfield spoke about how Anya was killed off in the finale, and unfortunately I can’t remember the exact quote or where to find it, but she used the fact that people were upset at the death and that it affected them as a sign that she was successful as a character since a death that no one cared about would hardly be an example of good writing. Tara was lucky in that she got the generous treatment from the writers. Never being given these low moments that were less organic character flaws and more ‘WTF Whedon?!’ I mean Willow will probably be the character I love most overall. Buffy is great and Oz can’t be touched. Gotta love Anya and Cordelia too. But I think Tara easily had the best development and avoided any nasty derailment that virtually nearly everyone else got at some point. And she’s a testament to what the show did right and what holds up about it all these years later.” - Better With Bob?

A fantastic well-worded and reasoned character study analysis of the character Tara Maclay and why she matters even though she was never credited as part of the main or season regular cast. While I don’t believe that Tara had the best character development - by a long mile - I can’t argue with the sentiment that she was a significant character in the show that taught above all that empathy, compassion, kindness and love is all-important in telling a story about flawed characters that so often need it and that rarely, if at all, ever got it. If not for Tara - who could provide it? Sure, tragic and dramatic storytelling is compelling and teaches many lessons but without the balance of hope and love, it feels more like torture than catharsis. You can’t just throw in the dark without the light, the hard without the ease, and the heavy without the heart. And I think - if it weren’t for Tara and the marvellous way Amber Benson portrayed her, Whedon would have taken all the substance out of what he calls a “weight-y story’. Yeah, life does suck and we should just deal with it however way we can, but empathy is enduring a battle that hasn’t been won yet. It provides the empowerment needed to keep fighting against insurmountable odds. We may not win the battle - but least we can say we never gave up the fight and that we never lost ourselves within it.

And that was what Tara Maclay represented alongside being the personification of purity and ‘the nice character’ and ‘Willow’s girlfriend’. She represented that motivation to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep enduring, and to also remain our best selves in the process because it’s not easy to be a fighter and a lover at the same time. It requires real strength and power too few possess or realize that they once did. It’s not just Willow who needed that lesson. Every main protagonist character did. And Tara Maclay showed them how to endure in the fight through love.

[sassygwaine]

parts of “unmasking autism” by devon price, phd that made me go oof

I do think when allistic people declare that everyone is a little Autistic, it means they are close to making an important breakthrough about how mental disorders are defined: why do we declare some people broken, and others perfectly normal, when they exhibit the same traits? Where do we draw the line, and why do we even bother doing so? (32)

All too often, the difference between who gets perceived as an innocent, shy Autistic and who gets viewed as creepy, awkward, and obviously disabled is more a function of things like race, gender, and body size than it is any innate difference in personality or behavior. (57)

I was basically a perpetual adolescent, performing intelligence for praise but mismanaging my personal life and not connecting with anyone in a deeper way. (85)

Once you’ve proven yourself capable of suffering in silence, neurotypical people tend to expect you’ll be able to do it forever, no matter the cost. (99)

When the entire world shames people for being into “childish” things, having odd mannerisms, or simply being irritating, you don’t need ABA to program you into compliance. Everyone around you is already doing it. (102)

Unfortunately, when an Autistic person complains about the sensory pain they’re in, people think they’re being overly dramatic, needy, or even downright “crazy.” … They acted as if I chose to be distracted and furious every day. (115)

We often seek out clear “rules” for good behavior, which we then adhere to rigidly, hoping they will keep us socially safe and finally render us worthy. (121)

When many of us were growing up, adults saw us as loud, stubborn, uncaring, overly reactive, and burdensome. We’ve grown up believing we truly are hard to be around, and to love. (144)

Today, his fiction readers tell him he’s fantastic at writing dialogue, and really understands how other people speak and feel. But it’s not because these things come naturally to him. He devoted thousands of hours to picking conversations apart to make sense of them. (161)

We’re more like the protagonist of the video game Katamari Damacy, a freaky, colorful demigod who rolls an ever-growing ball of objects around, each step forward attracting more random items into his ball’s expanding gravitational field until it engulfs the universe. We don’t complete discrete projects. We build worlds. (178)

It’s vital we learn to navigate interactions marked by conflict, and practice standing firm in the face of negative reactions from others. As long as we haven’t abused anyone or violated their rights, it’s okay for our actions to make others unhappy. (193)

At times, unmasking means teaching our neurotypical friends and family to treat us better; in other situations, it may mean disengaging from those who aren’t ever going to be worth the effort. (195)

[regarding friendships worth cultivating:] Who tells me honestly when I’ve hurt them, and gives me a real opportunity to do better? (205)

“I am not a math-minded type of Autistic…I am the kind who thinks about people obsessively.” (219)

In his writing, [Mike] Oliver described disability as a political status, one that is created by the systems that surround us, not our minds and bodies. (230)

Emotions that are too large, passions that are too childish and not profitable, habits that are too repetitive, and bodies and minds that require daily assistance all challenge this incredibly narrow definition of health. It is only by expanding our definition of what is acceptable human behavior and working to meet other people’s manifold needs that we can move forward. (233)

From the Tuskegee Syphilis Study, to Hans Asperger’s research on “high-functioning” Autistics, to the forced lobotomies performed on gay people and communists, immense violence has been done in the name of science and “protecting” the public. (247)

We all deserve to take a step back and ask whether our lives line up with our values, whether the work we do and the face we show to others reflects our genuine self, and if not, what we might want to change. (250)

[ajamnova]

I feel like I’m ready to talk about why I deleted my tumblr last week. It’s something I’d normally keep to myself, but I have an important message to share.

Last week I had a massive falling out with someone dear to me. And when I say massive, I mean atomic. I knew this person for a very long time and I thought we were always on the same wavelength no matter what. It turns out that was not the case, and it all finally came tumbling down.

I said and did a lot of things to hurt this person. It went on for years and I was ignorant to it. They’d call me out and I’d apologize, only for the cycle to repeat. It finally culminated in us blowing up on each other and saying things I am positive we both regret. They attacked my very core, lashed out at every piece of me. They told me I haven’t grown up and that I’m terminally online. Their words filled me with overwhelming guilt and self-hate. My mind was overloaded, so without much rationality, I deleted my tumblr and pixiv, and even planned to delete my instagram where my art journey began.

But a friend of mine managed to talk some sense into me. He told me I was being self destructive over a single person and he was right. It’s why I came back to tumblr. I also realized how dependent I was on this person and how I went down a toxic path.

Two days after the fight, I texted a long apology acknowledging all of my faults. I asked for forgiveness one last time. But unfortunately, I had already run out of chances. They responded to me a week later and said they didn’t forgive me. Not only that, but they said to never talk to them again. By that point I had already accepted what I had done and I was ready to hear their exact words. I honored their wish and chose not to respond.

However, a week passed and the guilt I felt was replaced with anger. I realized this person wasn’t pure and innocent, they hurt me in a lot of ways too. There was a lot I put up with, and I’m now processing just how insufferable and miserable their behavior was. I may still be mourning our relationship, but I understand now that nothing of value was lost. We had grown far apart for years, becoming completely unrecognizable to one another. It only makes sense that things would end somehow.

I’ve had a lot of introspection these past two weeks. I am not a perfect person, but I always look to improve. I’ve come to appreciate the people in my life more than ever, be it friends, family, or even my followers. I want to treat them better. In the way, deleting my account helped me start over and look at things from a new perspective.

I hope that reading this makes you consider the relationships in your life as well. You’ll not only find yourself with toxic people, but you can become toxic yourself. And perhaps you might also realize the value of what you had taken for granted. Part of being an open minded person is accepting your own ignorances and learning to overcome them. It’s the unfortunate struggle of being human, but not an impossible one.

Thank you for reading

[ballads-for-kuni]

My Guiding Light (Pt. 2)

Masterlist || < Part 1 | Part 3 >

Kabukimono, as he used to be called, is now forgotten.

In his place is Scaramouche, the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers.

His star is the only one to call him something different.

“Kunikuzushi,” his star whispers softly into his ear, hidden under the wide brim of his hat.

A name all his own, gifted by the one dearest to him.

“Hmm?” He hums gently in return, in contrast to his harsh glare, Fatui agents scrambling out of his way to avoid his spartan punishments.

“You must go to Tatarasuna,” his star whispers. “There is something of importance there to me, as dear as you.”

“That place? Why?” He frowns, and the Fatui move faster to clear a path for him.

“I’m afraid I’m fading.” His star whispers, pain clouding their voice for the first time in a while.

He stops abruptly, in the middle of an ice-cold hallway full of agents, just like the rest of Zapolyarny Palace.

The agents flinch. The look on his face is positively thunderous, dark clouds obscuring his usually angry expression, turning it stormy.

“What?” He hisses, barely audible to human ears.

“I’ve known for only a short while,” his star admits, “the pangs started not too long ago, about a week back.”

“I’m going. I won’t accept this. You’re not leaving me. You can’t, not now.” He swears under his breath, resolute and angered.

He resumes his little march down the hallway, even as his star glows faintly in gratitude and affection.

It makes his ichimegasa twinkle with an otherworldly glow.

The meeting was chaotic.

“Your Majesty, I insist. Of all of us here, I am the only Inazuman by birth. I know my country better than anyone else here. It would be in everyone’s best interest for me to accomplish the mission in Inazuma.”

After a full 3 hours of arguing with the other Harbingers, he was arranged to go to Inazuma.

“See?” He smiles gently, holed up in his quarters on the ship being loaded for their voyage to Inazuma. “I told you I could do it.”

“Of course,” his star glows faintly, proud and pained all at once, “my Kunikuzushi is capable.”

An unfortunate Fatui agent is chosen to deliver news to the Sixth Harbinger.

“S-sir,” the agent stands outside the door, knocking twice.

“What?” His superior’s annoyed voice floats into his ears.

“T-the ship’s f-finished loading, s-sir,” the agent stutters, “w-we’re setting sail soon.”

“Finally,” Scaramouche snaps, “get moving then, I don’t want to be there longer than necessary.”

“Y-yes, s-sir!” The agent bows to the door, then spins around as fast as he can to get away from the menacing aura around the Sixth’s quarters.

Not a moment later, the boat sets sail.

“Is this what we’re looking for?” He murmurs quietly to his darling star, standing in ankle-deep water and allowing the bioluminescence to wash over his feet.

“Yes,” his star’s voice grows louder by the hour, stronger the closer they are to home.

“Take some,” he orders his men, “and find a way to sustain them back in Snezhnaya.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

“The beach’s ecosystem is important too, Kuni dearest,” his star chides him.

“And I don’t care how many samples you take, just don’t deplete the supply like a bunch of idiots!” He adds.

“Honestly, which moron doesn’t know to take a total of under 30% of the population for study?” He mutters, intentionally loud enough for the nearest few agents to hear.

The word is spread of the Harbinger’s instructions, and the Fatui begin harvesting.

It’s hilarious watching fully grown men and women, known and feared for their heinous deeds, splashing around in the shallows of Tatarasuna’s beaches trying to catch the evasive glimmers like a gaggle of children.

They get lectured.

“You’ve cut one in half. Do you want to die just like the glitter will?” “You’ve gathered more water than sparkle in that bottle, you useless twat.” “It won’t survive the transport back.” “This sample is as unimportant as you.” “Dump it out and take another.”

“Enough, Kuni,” his star whispers after a while of the agents’ toiling, “I’ll be fine with this much.”

Crates upon crates of glittering glass bottles line the beach.

“Mmm,” he hums, walking over to make a show of inspecting their spoils.

“Passable,” he sighs, “pack them up carefully. Let’s go.”

Their meeting with the famous Traveller has his star pulsing in erratic patterns, the first in a few decades.

He knows that pattern.

Disapproval.

Anger.

Disappointment.

His stomach churns at the thought of his star so upset with him, that he orders all the Fatui to pack up and load the ship in preparation to leave.

In the bustle, he murmurs a quiet “I’m sorry” to his companion, and his star chides him. Gently, like they always have.

“That wasn’t very kind, Kuni. Nor was it honourable.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I will wait for you. I cannot stay with the Gnosis; it will consume me.”

“So you’re leaving?”

“No, I will return,” his star soothes him, the balm to his sharp words. “But you will have to walk the beginning of the path you chose alone. Godhood is lonely, Kuni; outliving your people has never been the goal of any god. I will watch you. I will be there, as I always have been. Just this time, I’m not quite next to you anymore.”

“When I become a god,” their little charge vows, “I will find a way so that you can stay by me. You won’t have to avoid the gnosis anymore.”

“When that day comes,” his star promises, “I’ll find you.”

His star winks in and out of sight for a while, and then that comforting, constant silver glow is no more.

And for the first time since his birth, he is alone.

It’s a painful thought.

He steels himself and grips the gnosis tighter, stalking out of the now-abandoned factory to begin his plan.

The ship sets sail, and when it docks back in the eternal winter of Snezhnaya, The Balladeer is nowhere to be found.

The Balladeer, and one small chest of his personal belongings.

[mishkasthings]

I have clients in their 30s, 40s, 50s and even 60s who still long for a parent’s approval. Especially around the holidays, men and women will come into my office rattled with anxiety knowing they soon will see their mom or dad. A common theme is hoping their parent will finally acknowledge they are an adult — a grownup capable of making their own decisions and, yes, even disagreeing.

I understand how important it is to have one’s own mother or father approve of who we are. I also understand if my client is an adult, chances are slim their parent will change. Can’t fault anyone for wanting validation and respect. However, after so many years of being treated as a child, it may be time to consider either accepting mom or dad will always see you this way or cut your losses and go.

Neither of these options is easy. That’s why so many people keep going back home for the holidays with the hope this time will be different. Unfortunately, it rarely is. I have seen parents accept their grown children as independent with minds and families of their own. And I’ve seen just as many parents hold on to the view their son or daughter owes them respect and for them, respect means agreeing, bowing and always giving in.

I couldn’t give you a percentage but if I had to guess I’d say maybe half of the parents see their grown children as fully capable adults and the other half never will. Doesn’t matter if their son or daughter is successful, a great parent in their own right, educated or whatever criteria their child imagines will finally open the door to validation.

It’s kind of like the Peanuts character Charlie Brown who keeps hoping the football won’t be pulled out at the last second when he runs up to kick it. Each year there is a promise and every time Lucy pulls the ball away and he falls on his fanny.

I use the Peanuts metaphor a lot in therapy because almost everyone has seen this cartoon. Expecting a different outcome, hoping for a change again is understandable but unhealthy. It’s like the Maya Angelou quote, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.”

Therapy for these adult children is rarely about strategizing about getting their parent to change. The focus is on the damage done expecting to be treated a certain way and repeatedly placing oneself in a position of disappointment.

If you are going over to mom or dad’s this Christmas and on the way over tell your partner, “If they start in on me or you, we’re outta there!” you may want to revise the strategy.

Another way of dealing with patronizing, demeaning and passive-aggressive comments is to be confident about who you are. None of us is perfect but by this age we should know if our existence is a fraud. Knowing and being comfortable with our own strengths and limitations makes it less likely attacks on our worth will have a lasting sting.

[citrusfield]

“you’re sort of the only one i know, so i’m afraid i can’t speak on the behalf of any other sorcerers around here, but… are there really no others who would be on your side? no allies… friends?” it’s always been an unwritten rule in helena’s life that sorcerers, like most other people, are to be avoided and (present company excluded), she’s done a fine job at sticking to that rule so far. so much so that she has no idea if they’re even the type to make friends or if they’re typically as bigoted and judgemental to one another as they are to her kind. how andrea turned out so different from all the rest is a mystery. “considering what they’ve been through for generations, i’d say that’s a pretty huge ask... i suppose there's a possibility that you could convince some of them to hear you out, although it wouldn’t be easy and i can’t guarantee they would even agree to any of it by the end. you’re not the same as the other sorcerers out there, but they wouldn’t know that. you’d have to get them to trust you first.” honestly, she couldn’t blame any witch or warlock out there if they have no interest in taking part in his fight. if she didn’t personally know him herself, she likely wouldn’t want to risk her life either. “as for me, i… i’m no soldier. i’ve barely been beyond these woods and i wouldn’t know the first thing about fighting in some type of war, but… i’ll help you as much as i can, however i can. if i can protect you, i will.” despite what people might think, they’ve never intentionally hurt someone before. there was once an unfortunate incident regarding a pretty rough burn, but that was done in a moment of panic. purely self defence; a fact that nobody would’ve believed if they’d tried to plead their case. unsurprisingly, they fled that town soon after.            

“come on, andrea, you come from one of the most privileged positions there is. you can’t honestly tell me there’s nothing about that life that you want to take back.” she’s not saying it’s always been easy for him or that he hasn’t faced his own struggles over the years, but as someone on the outside who has never once experienced the authority and luxury someone of his stature has grown up with, she finds it difficult to believe he would so easily throw it all away. “i don’t think you mean that… she’s still your mother, i know you don’t want anything to happen to her.” as for their own opinion on the current monarch, well… they’ll keep that to themselves for now. it would be a lie to pretend as if they’re particularly fond of the woman, but there’s no real malice held either. truth be told, helena hasn't given her much thought beyond the obvious; of course she wouldn’t accept a witch taking her place. they had tried to tell andrea as much beforehand, but he just wouldn’t listen. he’d still had far too much hope for a future they knew not to bother daydreaming about. “that sure would be something, wouldn’t it? i have no idea what that life would even look like for me.” in an ideal world where nobody blanches and starts sharpening their pitchforks at the thought of witches, what the hell would she do? she can’t imagine ever feeling truly comfortable living amongst those that have persecuted her kind for so long and it's not like she has any remaining family to return to. as if that thought wasn’t already complicated enough, it only gets worse the longer he continues. “yeah… you would've, but you didn’t.” pulling their hand away, they have to avert their gaze elsewhere in order to keep it together. “not that i blame you. if anything, i understand why you did it. nobody would’ve chosen a dead end over being a prince.” though fully anticipating this outcome from the beginning definitely doesn’t mean it hurt any less and if she allowed herself to be honest with him, she might finally admit that she’s tired of being alone. it’s the best option she has for staying safe — there’s no potential risk to her life if she doesn’t get too close to anyone in the first place — but that’s about all it’s been good for. there’s no real joy to be found in isolation. “you know it doesn’t matter how i feel or what promises i make.” biting down harshly on the inside of their cheek, helena’s head shakes. “you wouldn’t want me as your queen… believe me, it would only cause you more problems. even if my type of magic was no longer forbidden, that doesn’t mean everyone else would suddenly change their minds about me. most of them have spent their entire lives believing that people like me are reprehensible and would either hate you for daring to taint your bloodline or worse; think that i got in your head and made you do it.” which they likely could if so inclined, but they’ve never been that type of person. when he wanted to leave, she never forced him to stay, no matter how much it pains her. “point is, there are plenty of reasons why it would never work... you can say it’s hard not to love me, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.” the bottom line is that they don't believe they're fit for royalty. even if her life experience wasn’t so vastly different from everyone else's, who could help rule over a kingdom they know despises them? 

it’s been a strange, unexpected evening and for a moment, she thinks she’s misheard his confession. surely he wouldn’t have gone against their wishes like that, to station someone near her home without so much as a heads up or (more importantly) asking for permission. a frown settles across their face, one of confusion and possibly even a little betrayal, and they realise quickly that yes, there’s a small part of them that’s pissed at him for it. he of all people should know how guarded she’s been forced to become and how much it takes for her to put her faith in someone. “you had someone watching me?” a stranger, no less. it doesn’t matter much to her whether he trusts the knight or not because the bottom line is that she doesn’t. anything could’ve happened and there was no guarantee that it would end the way he intended. if it had really come down to helena or a townsperson, could he honestly say with certainty that his guard would’ve chosen her? “i didn’t ask for that… i’ve never needed or even wanted any help, least of all from someone i’ve never met.” maybe it’s wrong to start chastising a man that almost bled out moments ago, but it continues to spill from them freely. the heartbreak felt when he first walked away, the constant anger at the rest of the world for putting her in this position, the shock from finally seeing him again at her door — she doesn’t know how to handle any of it and it manifests itself in stinging eyes and mounting dismay. “i never see you again because of what i am and you get to hear about every move i make; does that sound fair to you? you don’t think you forfeited any rights to my life when you left? i mean… the only reason you even came back was because you needed help.” which she would still give any time he asked because they both know she can’t stand to see him suffer in any way. she’d run herself ragged to take care of him, deplete whatever resources and energy was required to heal his wounds. even now, it’s bothering her that she was too damn weak to take all his pain away. “i really think you need the peace and quiet to rest but… fine, okay. i suppose it would make it easier to keep an eye on you through the night.” with a quiet sigh of concern, they’re already offering a hand for support in case he needs it. “can you make it to the bed on your own or do you need some help?” 

"I don't know... I feel like I should have known somehow." Andrea tried to reason with Helena, even though he knew that every single thing that came out of their mouth was true. There was no way he could have known what his uncle had been planning, nor did he have the power to see into the future. But he still had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he had to flee the castle in such a manner. The shame that he was feeling did not seem to fade away, no matter what she said to him. "But... I have no means of going back either. So, what difference does it make?" He breathed out a sigh of defeat, though he could not help but feel a sense of comfort when they placed a hand on top of his. He leaned into her touch, and bit down on his bottom lip. "Yeah... I know, it's easier said than done." Andrea knew that both of these things could not be achieved anytime soon, but he was well aware that he did not have the option to lose his hope either. Helena would not have let him do such a thing. "Do you really think there's anyone who would be willing to fight for me? If I'm being honest, I don't know who to ask. I doubt that there is any sorcerer in this kingdom who would be filling to fight for me, not with my uncle seizing the throne." It was one thing he hated about those who practiced ancestral magic. They would only serve those who were the most powerful, rather than those who were the most righteous. It did not leave Andrea with many people to trust at a time like this... well, except Helena. "I would never ask for you to fight, Helena. But if I were to ask you to fight for me, would you do it?" He could not help but ask her, bound by his own curiosity. He was well aware that they would never take part in any of the royal affairs, but he would not help but wonder if they would make an exception for Andrea. "Is there any other witch, or warlock... anyone who doesn't practice ancestral magic... who would be willing to fight for me if I were to ask?" He asked, wondering if creating an army of those whom his ancestors had oppressed for generations would be the only way for him to fight his uncle's tyranny. He had always wanted to end the stigma against those who had been born with magical powers, so that they may live freely without having to hide in the woods like this. Could this really be the start to his reign as the sorcerer king who would unite all practitioners of magic?

"Powers that could help get my life back... right. I'm not going to lie, Helena. I'm starting to wonder if my life was ever worth getting back." Andrea remarked, a faint smile creeping up on his lips at the mention of their feeling towards monarchies. "I know that monarchies have never done you any good, but not a single day goes by when I don't wish that the House of Demarco could have treated you differently. I wish my mother hadn't been so prejudiced towards you when I told her about us, but I guess she now pays the price for it. The flesh, blood, and power that she cared so much about... he has her imprisoned. Meanwhile, the undesirable witch she refused to accept as the future queen of her kingdom... saved the life of her only living heir. It serves her right, if I'm being honest." A part of Andrea might have attributed his attitude to his blood loss, but he was starting to think that there might have been a reason why all of this had happened. His own mother had been discriminatory in her treatment towards those who drew their powers from nature, and it seemed fitting that the only way she could be freed from imprisonment was through the kindness of someone whom she had despised. Perhaps Helena was right; he should not feel guilty over how things had turned out. "I wish I could be different, Helena... if I can get out of this mess, I promise I will be. You wouldn't have to hide, nor would anyone else who doesn't practice ancestral magic. Your magic will not be prohibited under my rule." It had been a promise that he had wanted to make to her, but under very different circumstances. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have been given the chance to make things right... at least with Helena. "It really does... and I've thought about it more times than I could count. You know, I would have walked away... I would have given up all of it, if it meant that we could have been together. In another life, I think we would have. But choosing my kingdom over you... it was the greatest mistake I've ever made. I deserve to lose it all." He admitted, feeling his eyes glaze over with tears as he felt a tug at his heartstrings. The memories of the past that he had buried deep were now beginning to burst out of him, forcing him to feel the agony that was much worse than the ones that had been caused by the arrows that he had been shot with. "Be with whoever I want? Really?" Even after all these years, there was no one else he wanted to be with. "What if I want to be with you? Would that still be true? Is that a promise that you would be willing to make to me? That I could be with you once I've taken back my crown? That you would leave your humble abode, and rule over this kingdom by my side? As my queen?"

"Of course, I never cared for the difference. I loved you... I still do love you, Helena. At least, there's still some part of me that still does. It's hard not to love you." Andrea admitted, wiping away his tears as he forced himself to smile. "Well, you shouldn't be used to it." He admitted, shaking his head upon hearing their words. "Actually, I... may have had something to do with that. Even if we couldn't be together, I wanted you to have a safe place here. So, I left one of my most-trusted knights here... the last time I left these woods, and returned to the castle with the heaviest of hearts. Every time you slipped up when you were here... or trusted the wrong person, been in the wrong place at the wrong time, I made sure he wiped all of their memories. I made sure that no one knew that there was a witch living amongst them, just so that you wouldn't have to live the rest of your life on the run... and because I wanted to make sure you didn't go too far. I wanted to be able to see you, if I ever needed to... like right now, which was how I was able to find my way back to you." There was a part of him that worried that Helena might hate him for doing such a thing, even though she had been clear about not wanting to depend on anyone in any way. But Andrea had not been able to just let them go off on their own, when their life could always be in danger. He wanted to make sure that Helena would always be safe, and he had done his best. "Well, it didn't help that I'd managed to fall in love with the wicked witch who was living in my woods... I needed to make sure no harm could ever come to her." While he had always kept their interactions a secret, except from a select few people whom he could trust. He had convinced his mother that the witch whom he had fallen in love with had fled their kingdom, all the while he had kept a close eye on her, knowing that she was was safe. "I'll try my best not to. But it's not very likely if I'm to be going into battle soon." He reminded them, breathing out a sigh. "Fine, but... stay with me, please. There's more than enough room on your bed for the two of us. I refuse to let you sleep on an armchair, and that's an order from your future king, Helena Hargreeves."

[bunny-rambles]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Handle with care.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

characters; Rubedo (Subject 2, also known as Dorian but I refer to him as Ruby), gn reader

cw/tw; mentions of injuries, very fluffy, comfort, there’s a kitten, mutual pining, let me know if I missed anything

word count; 3.4k

notes; wow this is the longest thing I’ve ever written, but it’s been a while and this should’ve really been updated a lot longer ago so I hope this makes up for it <33 It’s tooth-rotting fluff because he deserves it and I love him. I will most likely make a part 3 to this so let me know if you want to be tagged in the next work.

Part one here; “Made with love.”

Please reblog if you like this!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s raining.

Why was it always raining, whenever you weren’t here?

A crash of thunder made the blonde pause in his pacing around the room, his eyes shifting to look towards the window at the miserable display of weather. You were supposed to be back by now, what was the hold up? Why weren’t you back? Were you in danger? The thought made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar, uncomfortable emotion. He wasn’t quite sure what it was called, even though you had already tried to explain it to him. Emotions were difficult to grasp, but not impossible to understand. Or feel, unfortunately. Exploring new ways to feel the world around you was an exhausting task, especially when those emotions weren’t exactly positive.

He remembers the first time he experienced relief while he was with you. When he finally opened up about who he was, or what he was, to be exact. Instead of the reaction he was expecting, instead of the bitter sting of rejection he had grown so used to feeling, he was accepted. For once in his sordid life, he was welcomed with open arms. Not because he was Albedo, not because he was a successful experiment, but just because he was him. Ruby- your precious gem. Even though the feeling of having that heavy weight being lifted off of his shoulders was euphoric, the vast amount of new sensations was too much for him to handle. He remembered how his throat constricted with each desperate gasp of air, how his eyes filled with so much water his vision began to blur, how it felt like he was drowning in oxygen. But he also remembers the comforting feeling of your arms wrapped around his trembling body, and the new-found warmth blooming in his chest that replaced the unbearable tension. How he wishes he could feel that now.

The doors lock starts to click and he swears he’s never moved faster in his life.

“Sorry I’m l-“ You were cut off by a hand ungracefully pulling you into the house, and straight into his chest.

“You’re not hurt?” He asks hastily, hands beginning to roam around your body as he pulls away to get a proper look at you. You shake your head, but he’s not convinced. Especially since one of your hands seems to be obscured from his view. You’re drenched - shivering, cold to the touch, but other than that…

“Good. You’re not injured.”

“Did I make you worry?” You asked quietly, eyes trained on his face. Ever the enigma, you couldn’t tell what he was feeling, not until he told you directly. It was silent for a moment before he nodded his head hesitantly.

“I think so.” He confirms, but his eyes aren’t on you anymore. Instead, he’s focused on the squirming movements that were coming from inside of your thick coat. He flinched when he heard a high pitched cry, his gaze immediately flitting back up to you.

“I thought you said you were fine.”

“I am, but…” He heard it again, this time louder, and it definitely wasn’t coming from you.

“Ruby… Don’t freak out.”

“Freak out?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. Ah right, you hadn’t taught him that phrase yet.

“Um… Don’t panic. Better?” He nodded, and with that you moved your coat off your hand slowly. In your palm was a small, squirming lump of soaked fur. It cried out once more, head raising up to look around its surroundings.

“What is this… Creature?”

“It’s a kitten. I found it on the way home, that’s why I was late.” The so-called ‘kitten’ squeaked, alerting him of its presence. It was tiny, trembling from head to toe, how it even survived was a miracle itself. Stiffly, he reached his hand out to take it from your own, holding its minuscule body in his grasp. He turned it around, looking at it from every angle as it continued to mewl.

“I thought we could… Keep it here.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t have a home, and it’s cold outside… And it reminded me of you.”

His head raised to look at you for a moment, shock painted on his pale face for just a second before he looked back down at the small animal. “It’s your home… It’s your choice.”

Surprised, you stepped forward towards the pair. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Your friend shook his head slowly, taking another step closer to you so there wasn’t much space between the two of you. “It would be cruel to dispose of it, would it not?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face when you heard those words. How much he had grown, to admit that action was cruel, when just a month ago when you had met him, he would’ve thought the complete opposite. He didn’t seem to notice you grinning from ear to ear at him, his glacial eyes glued to the squirming heap in his hand. He seemed to be a little lost in thought, or lost on what to do.

“It’s shivering.” He mumbled after a moment, walking away from you and grabbing a nearby towel, wrapping it around its tiny body. You knew he was trying to help, but the poor thing looked like it was drowning in the fabric, squealing as Ruby tried to dry it with the thick cloth.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Your hands slid on top of his to try to guide his movements. “Gentle…”

His eyes followed your hands, his own being manipulated entirely by your tender movements - all he was doing now was holding the animal as it was pampered and dried by you. Wordlessly, he placed the kitten in your hands carefully so you didn’t drop it and disappeared out of the room. You were a little confused, wondering if maybe he was frustrated with the new arrival or the task of keeping it warm, but your questions were answered when you saw another towel in his hands. He stepped behind you while you were busy, making you raise an eyebrow. “What are you-“ You were cut off by having your face covered with the cloth before it was swiftly moved away.

“You’re wet too.” He answered simply, his hands massaging your head with the towel and drying the top of your head. It was subtle, but you could feel that his movements were a lot more gentle with you, almost mimicking what you were doing to the wet lump of fur in your hand. It was soothing, you almost toppled into him from the expert way he was making the tension seep out of your body - you nearly did, had it not been for the hand on the back of your shoulder steadying you when he realised you were losing your balance.

You weren’t sure how long you had been there when he started moving to the ends of your hair instead, making sure the droplets of water didn’t drip down from the tips and then stopping his drying altogether. “Thank you…” You breathed out, offering a tired smile to your friend who was now by your side. He merely nodded, eyes now back on the mewling baby. He held his hand out carefully, silently offering to take it from your grasp. “Are you sure? It’s already dry and I-“

“You need to change out of your clothes or you’ll get sick. I also suggest a warm shower. ” He did have a point, and you had been stuck in them for a while now. But what if he wasn’t sure what to do while you were gone? What if it was injured or it overwhelmed him if it started squealing again?

“I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry.” Ah, it seemed like you weren’t exactly a blank canvas like him when it came to trying to conceal your emotions. As he had put it once, you were like an open book, but a book he still had interest in, with each chapter still drawing him in no matter how many times he has read the same passage.

“…Please come get me if you need me.” Finally, you relented, and he offered you a nod in reply as you gave him the kitten. After leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as a thank you, you retreated out of the room and straight into the bathroom to change.

If only you had stuck around to see how he stood there with a dumbfounded expression, frozen in place as his artificial blood rushes to his cheeks. He raised one hand slowly, tracing where your lips had been, the contact still burning his skin. That feeling again - the fluttering in his stomach, the speeding of his heart, the tingling in his fingertips. What was this emotion again? One too complicated to fixate on, so he simply dismissed it after a few moments, waiting until he had calmed down to make his next move.

“What do I do with you then?” He mumbled to himself, looking down at the (now) quiet creature, staring back at him with wide, silent eyes. When his head tilted slightly, the kitten mimicked the motion, blinking slowly up at him. Curious, he again tilted his head, this time to the other side. Again, it followed suit. He shook his head, eyes moving away from the tiny fur ball and around the room. After subconsciously worrying himself sick about you, he was feeling drained.

All he wanted to do was cuddle up to you, something you had done once when he couldn’t sleep and now it had become a part of your daily routine. But unfortunately, you weren’t here at the moment, and the blanket he had wrapped around himself once he sat himself down on the couch felt too big for just one person. He released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, his shoulders sagging as he melted into the comforting warmth of the fabric. He would’ve much preferred you being here with him, with your head resting against his torso, as his hands carded through your hair. Or his favourite, when his ear was pressed up against your chest so he could listen to the thumping of your heart. He couldn’t quite explain it, the sound was the one thing that gave him the utmost comfort - perhaps it was because it was the most damning proof that you actually existed, that he wasn’t just delusional from being deprived of affection and care. He wasn’t on that mountain, alone. He was with you, and really that was all that mattered to him, even if he didn’t show it very often.

He had almost forgotten about the kitten at this point, until it started crawling its way up his chest, nudging at his cheek to snap him out of his thoughts. He hummed questioningly, raising his head from where it had rested on his palm, staring down at the purring little thing. Does that mean it was happy? You liked it when he ran his fingers through your hair, especially after a long, stressful day. Maybe if he… Reaching out his hand, he carefully ran his fingertips over the top of the feline’s head, raising an eyebrow when his hand was bumped against in response. The strange noise coming from such a small body was only growing louder, and he hoped that it really did mean it was happy. Well, he wasn’t getting scratched up or bit, so it was safe to assume he was correct. When the little one curled up on top of his thighs- thigh, actually, as it could barely fit on both - a strange feeling began to settle in his chest. A permanent weight felt like it had been lifted, and he could finally feel the fluttering in his torso. You had once described this phenomenon as ‘butterflies’. Ah, yes, he summarises. He was happy.

But now he was also feeling a new sensation, a familiar one at that. He could feel his droopy eyes begin to slide shut on their own, and the need to sleep overtook his senses. Still, he didn’t want to disturb the newest member of the family by lying down. With the lightest touch, (you had mentioned it once, you described it as ‘featherlike’ when he ran his fingers traced intricate patterns on your back) he carefully lifted it off of his lap while he laid himself down, and set the small lump on his stomach. He released a breath when he didn’t feel it stir. And now, finally, his eyes could close and he could just… Sleep.

-

“Ruby! Are you hungry?” You called out from your bedroom after you finally changed into some comfortable clothes, feeling refreshed after a much needed shower. When you heard no response, you weren’t exactly surprised - he wasn’t really one to shout. Instead, he waited for you to come to him, face to face so he didn’t need to raise his voice. He was quiet in general, silent almost. Sometimes you forgot he was even here, until he curiously poked his head out of his room if he heard you were busy and asked if you needed any help.

He was getting better, sometimes he even initiated conversations. ‘How was your day?’ ‘Would you like me to start dinner?’ And then your personal (and his) favourite, ‘Would you like a hug?’. For someone he didn’t understand emotions, he was an expert at giving comfort when it was really needed. The way he would take you into his arms, how he would say such sweet phrases to you that would make you melt against his warmth, how he would hold you for as long as you needed him to - you would happily label him a professional at it. After a while, you sadly came to the realisation that perhaps he was giving you what he himself craved back when he was alone on that desolate mountain. You were quick in returning the favour whenever you felt like he needed it, which seemed to be quite often. You didn’t have a clue how much it meant to him, how he felt like he didn’t deserve it so he didn’t ask often, but you knew. You knew.

With a tired hum, you stepped out of your room and made your way to the living room, expecting to see the blonde having a staring competition with the kitten. He does that a lot. And when he stares, you know he was confused, his thoughts so loud you swore you could almost hear them. And then he would act on whatever answer he thought was best. Even though he was smart, most of the time he would get it wrong. You couldn’t help but find it cute when his entire body deflated and a pout began to form on his lips. All it took was some encouraging words from you and a demonstration on what to actually do and he was fine again. There were other times, however, when he would cower away from you if you reached out to touch, repeatedly calling himself a failure for not being able to do such simple tasks. It was a little more difficult to get him to calm down if he got worked up into that state, but thankfully, it didn’t happen nearly as often as it used to.

Instead, you walked in on something… Rather unexpected. Ruby, so still you could almost mistake him for a porcelain doll, and the small feline you had rescued, fast asleep together on the couch. You almost didn’t want to move in fear of disturbing them, together in their own little world of dreams. But you could see the both of them beginning to shiver, and suddenly you remembered there was a storm raging outside. Trying your best not to disturb the sleeping beauties, you carefully grabbed the nearest blanket and draped it over both of them, making sure the young creature's head wasn’t covered so it could breathe. You froze when you heard a quiet groan, but relaxed when your friend hadn’t seemed to wake up, only shifting to be more comfortable.

“Sleep well…” A whispered, hush voice whispered in his ear before he felt the gentle press of lips against his cold cheek.

-

“Are we not keeping it?” The blonde questioned, looking to where the kitten resided on his shoulder. After you woke him up the next day and fed him breakfast (Pancakes, one of his favourites), you brought up that you weren’t sure where to start looking for a home for the little one. All you earned was a confused look - from the both of them - and that question.

“Well…” You began, frowning as you thought. You weren’t exactly equipped to have a cat, you didn't have any food or toys, and neither of you knew the first thing about taking care of one. You thought it was the smarter choice to give it to someone who did know those things. You weren’t expecting them to get so attached… “I don’t know… Are we really capable of looking after a pet?”

It was silent for a moment, and you thought maybe you had gotten through to him, until he spoke up. “I can learn.” His voice was quiet, and he was avoiding your eyes now. He never asked for anything he wanted , not even when you asked what he wanted to eat - you had to learn his favourites just from his reactions alone. This was the closest he had come to expressing that he finally wanted something. And who were to deny such an innocent request?

You let out a heavy sigh, making your way towards the pair and running your fingers through the animal's fur gently. “Would you be happier if I let it stay with us?” He nodded his head slowly, still not meeting your gaze. “Then… I see no harm in keeping it. It is adorable, after all.” You giggled, smiling brightly when his head raised to meet your face. He nodded again, but you could tell from the way his eyes lit up that he was incredibly happy. “So… What do you want to call it?”

“I don’t… I’ve never named anything.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what things are important to you?”

“… You.” He mumbled quietly, and your ears burned from such a sweet, honest answer. You coughed quietly, hiding your surprise before snapping yourself out of it.

“Ah- Yes- right- you’re important to me too…” You rushed, laughing nervously before clearing your throat once more. “Apart from me, what things do you like…? Your favourite things? Start from there.” Again, there was another silence, this time even longer. And for once you could see the frustration forming on his face as he tried to think. He was lost. “Hm… I named you after a gem. So what’s your favourite colour?” Perhaps this would’ve been an easier question.

“I like blue…”

“Perfect! How about Sapphire then?” You suggested with a grin, watching as he thought for a moment.

“Sapphire…” He spoke in his smooth voice, closing his eyes as he let the sound of the name linger in the air. “I… Like it.” He confirmed, looking back up at you.

“Ruby and Sapphire… It sounds like I’m collecting precious things, it suits you both very well!”

“I’m precious?” He asked quietly, looking utterly (and adorably) confused. Sweet thing.

“Of course you are. And you always will be, to me.” You responded earnestly, resting a hand on top of his cheek, your thumb caressing the soft skin underneath. Another silence, as he stared in your eyes in awe and bewilderment. He could feel that fluttery feeling again… and heat rising to his cheeks. Was this normal? You caught yourself before you could lean forward to seal the space between you, pulling away abruptly with a nervous smile. “Ah… Well… I’ll go out now to look for the things we need.”

“Can I…?” He asked quietly, reaching for one of your hands. “Excuse me… Can we come with you?” No way was he going to leave his new friend in the house alone. The smile that spread across your face was infectious, since he could feel the edges of his lips beginning to curl up.

“Yes, you can.” You weren’t letting go of either of these precious gems any time soon.

[candied-peach]

ao3: “bad thoughts” rating: T genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending warnings: platonic anxceit, age regression, self deprecation, thoughts of ducking out description: Janus ends up in a downward spiral before Virgil finds out and comforts him.

Janus is a big boy. Janus is an adult, he means. 'Big boy' is far too childish and he is not childish because he is a grown-up and grown-ups don't cry about the way Roman made fun of their name, or the way Thomas may have accepted their presence but seems to think their existence is what makes him a flawed person. They don't cry about how Virgil hates them, or how they wish they could start over with Logan, or the way that Patton only now has considered that maybe, maybe, they're actually working to help Thomas. They especially don't cry about how sure they are that their best friend of all time, Remus, must hate them now, because he compared him to his twin and made a scathing comment about telling who's the evil twin.

Unfortunately, Janus doesn't seem to be a grown up after all, because he is crying in great, whooping gasps that he tries desperately to silence, tears pouring down his face. He is so upset, even his snake eye has managed to produce tears, and that almost never happens. It isn't supposed to happen. It's unnatural. Like the rest of him and his disgusting scales that mottle one side of his face, and the way the nails on one hand are a little too sharp and claw-like, and the fact the damnable scales meander down one side of his body and nearly take out a tuft of hair on his head. No one else has scales. No one else has a snake eye. No one else is wrong.

But Janus is wrong. Wrong and bad and- and evil. He hurts Thomas by existing, no matter how much he wishes he could help, and they would all be better off if he wasn't even there anymore. They would-

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," an achingly familiar voice says, as a blur of black and purple crouches next to him. "Deceit? Why- why are you thinking about ducking out?"

"Tol' my name," he blubbers, too out of it to realize exactly who it is who has heard his crying and come to investigate, who has felt the familiar ache of someone this close to ducking out and alarmed, decided to remedy the situation in any way possible. "Ro- Roman laughed  an'- an' said it was a librarian name, but I- I said somethin' so much worse-" His sobs re-double and he curls in on himself, hat abandoned to one side and hair in gloriously curly abandon. Another way he differs from the others. Another thing that marks him as not like the rest.

"What did you say, Jan?" The familiar voice asks softly, as familiar fingers begin to gently card through his hair.

"That- that it was a good thing Roman don't have a mustache, otherwise who'd know who the evil twin is," he tells on himself, his eyes wide and horrified and shimmering with a thousand tears, still spilling down his cheeks, scaled and human alike.

"That wasn't a great thing to say," the voice admits carefully, fingers still carding through his hair in just the way he likes and soothing him despite himself. "But Jan- what Roman said wasn't okay, either. There's nothing wrong with your name. And it sounds to me like it hurt you, and you lashed out. Would that be uh, accurate?"

Janus nods, his bottom lip wobbling. Virgil- for he finally realizes it is Virgil- sighs softly and scoops Janus up into his lap. Janus stiffens.

"You hate me," he says bleakly.

"I don't hate you," Virgil corrects. "I feel- complicated about you. When you're grown up. But I've never hated you, Jan. And especially not when you're little."

"You sure?" Janus asks, suspicious.

"Positive," Virgil says, squeezing him a little and holding him closer. "Now why don't we put on your softest pajamas and watch some cartoons until you forget you ever even thought about ducking out?"

"Okay," Janus says, readily enough. He looks up at Virgil, eyes still blurry with unshed tears, and flings his arms around Virgil's middle.

"If you don't want me to duck out, I won't," Janus whispers. "It's just...it's just hard."

"I know, little noodle," Virgil says softly, hugging him back. "I know. Do you need any help?"

"Course not," Janus says indignantly. "I'm a big boy."

"Even big boys can need help sometimes," Virgil points out. "It's okay if you do. I won't laugh at you or be mean." Janus considers that for a moment, then nods shyly.

"Help, please," he requests. It's hard to get the words out, but Virgil just stands, scooping him up like he weighs nothing.

"Thank you for trusting me," Virgil whispers in his ear, making Janus feel warm inside.

Maybe sometimes it is okay not to be a grown-up, if only for a little while.

[akuzeisms]

“Well over a billion credits… apparently. So I’ve been told.” It was more than just a feat; it was an expense, one she wasn’t sure she was exactly worth. She was one person. How could one person be worth that much? Miranda had talked about the amount of effort it required, but… She still couldn’t believe Cerberus would do it without something else up their sleeve, or without some other ulterior motive. Why bring back someone who despised everything Cerberus stood for?

Standing there, she wasn’t sure what to do. It was like she was frozen in place; she’d felt so detached from everything and uncomfortable in her skin, it was like she’d shut down. She didn’t resist him, though; awkward as she was, she knew she needed whatever he was offering. Or maybe she believed he needed it more; she’d grown used to just catering to everyone else’s feelings and grief lately.

It took her a moment to register the embrace, standing stiffly for a moment before she finally relaxed. Standing there, hearing him talk, she knew deep down she couldn’t keep trying to numb herself to the turmoil of emotions bubbling under the surface. There were a lot of things she wanted to talk about. Things she wanted to tell him, wanted to let out, but could she? And not because she didn’t trust him, but because she didn’t trust herself.

“…I… I don’t know if I can,” she admitted, her voice quieter, smaller in a way. “I—I want to, and I know I need to, but… God, you don’t even know the half of it. And you know more than anyone else in the galaxy does.” Even Anderson, who was without a doubt her closest confidant, didn’t know the whole story. Even her brother didn’t, and he had seen the gritty parts of her recovery from Akuze, sitting daily by her bedside. But Rust had met her after the majority of that chaos happened, seeing her only after most of her physical recover was complete.

“Truthfully, I… I don’t really know if I actually… died, exactly. I mean… What I mean is that—the two years I was gone, I…” God, why was it so hard to put into words? Why was it so hard to say that the last thing she remembered was her own death? “I don’t remember any of it. I remember… Fire. Things—exploding, running to the bridge, grabbing Joker, helping him to the escape pod, and then… Not being able to breathe. A million things just—going through my head. Promises I’d made, people I wished I’d spoken to… you,” she admitted, her voice breaking a little. Scared and terrified didn’t even sum up how she’d felt that day.

After a few ragged breaths as her grip on him tightened a little, she managed to continue. “I… I woke up, and—that was all I remembered. I woke up, was under fire, being shot at, things exploding… the next thing I know, I’m being told it’s been over two years since then. Two years that… people were left without me. Grieving. Aching. And I just… had to accept that.” She’d just been forced to accept that everyone around her had been hurting—and unfortunately, it was at the cost of her own well-being. She may not have said it, but her choice of words spoke volumes.

"Rebuildin' you must have been no small feat…"

Taking her hand into his, Rust pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace. Leaning down, his lips brush her forehead in a gentle caress. He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent, and exhales slowly, as if sharing his strength with her.

"I can only imagine the challenges you've faced, both physically and emotionally—but I want you to know that, while I may not understand all the intricacies of your cybernetic scars, I'm here to listen. I'll support you in whatever way you need."