#very clearly in the reflection because they're sitting behind me :)

[thebirdandhersong]

layers of school and family and health issues and future planning and final exam stress aside, do you ever feel like there is a long ongoing scream inside of you that seems to have no end ha haaaa

[rainbowswirlything]

That bit of writing that went with the Faerie Artificer Trick-or-Treat Bag was a treat in and of itself. The implications!!!

I'm copy-pasting it below the cut, for reference...

Someone crumpled up this tear-stained note and concealed it inside a hidden compartment disguised as a brick on a Faerieland castle balcony.

I thought I saw you last night. Lounging in the courtyard, where we used to sit together, charting grand futures. For a moonbeam-dappled moment, I could have sworn you called for me from the shadows. As if you had been waiting all this time, for us to pick up where we left off. Then, the clouds parted. The grass lay empty while a dead silence evidenced that even the wind sought to abandon me, And the moon illuminated the fact that I was still alone. An eternal verity I accepted when first lifting the crown. I thought I saw you last night. Alone in the library, perusing the mustiest tome you could find. Perched on the corner of those stiff chairs you could never seem to sit still on. Provoking stifled memories to rupture their restraints and abscond to the forefront of my mind. Then, the shadows faded. Memories of simpler times twisted into fragmented phantasms of the past... slipping away. Leaving me nostalgic for your irksome fidgeting, your rambling yet fervent tangents, And sobbing into the arms of a deeply perplexed Seshatia. I thought I saw you last night. Propped against the throne, twiddling your curved locks. The same spot where you counselled me through the darkest of times. Never shying away from even the most contentious of conversations. Then, a gentle zephyr roused my wandering mind. Stirring me from my conceited daydream. The tender breeze wished to remind me, That you had always closed the windows before dark. I thought I saw us last night. Arguing in the reflection of the Rainbow Fountain. When I faltered, you were never afraid to share your every thought. Until our quarrels reached a crescendo, and an insurmountable distance grew between us. Then, I looked up across the water. To see younger faeries shouting in our place. I witnessed Earth and Shadow parting before me, History revolves as they turn their backs on one another. I thought I saw you last night. Or at least that intrigued gleam of yours, reflected in the eyes of a gifted young sorceress. She acted as you did in those days, lighting up at new discoveries, unable to let go of the past. Once more, I found myself lacking, unable to balance duty and friendship. Then, I woke to a stone-cold realisation. The years had worn away my convictions, driven me to clutch secrets tight to my chest. How could either of you truly be to blame for your missteps, When your leader failed to guide you down the right path? I thought I saw you last night. Then I remembered, because of me, there's nothing left of you...

---

It sounds like Fyora was really very close with the Artificer in the past.

"Earth and Shadow parting before me" sounds like it must be a reference to the Illusen/Jhudora split, which Fyora seems to think is an echo of her own split with the Artificer (which also makes it interesting that she seems to be trying to get Illusen and Jhudora to make up.)

Plus the fact that Fyora saw Xandra (who I'm assuming the "gifted young sorceress" must have been) as being similar to the Artificer... another, different sort of relationship that also fell apart...

And the fact that Fyora goes to Seshatia (aka the Library Faerie) for comfort after splitting with the Artificer... they're clearly close, too.

Now there's another reason why Fyora may not be mentioning her suspicions about who's behind the Void/Grey curse plot...

...she probably really, really doesn't want the mastermind (or one of the masterminds) behind the plot to be someone she once cared about so deeply.

[redrandomposts]

Hello! thabk you for writing out tills perspective it was very good! And sad :( what does Till think once he finds Ivan gone? Does he know that Ivan is dead or does he think he’s just gone

and if he gets that Ivan won’t come back how does he mourn? I think it could be cool if till got into sculpting to make a statue of Ivan)

Also , I was wondering what if sua gave Ivan a little more time like 3 months or 3 years to get till to love him/kiss him so we could have more time of them loving eachother secretly. I specifically think Till keeping Ivan in the fancy rooms for longer is fun, because till can try out all the things he says he wants to do just long enough to miss them when Ivan is gone

I personally imagine till braiding and brushing Ivan’s hair quietly (because I love the mental visuals of Ivan with longer hair) and putting 1 thousand little sliver clips in his hair as one thing I find really interesting! Or maybe till collecting beautiful clothes to dress Ivan in and having enough time for Ivan to try them on but not enough time for him to receive them tailored (and I was also thinking maybe till considers proposing to him, or at least asking him to be a concubine if that’s not allowed but he doesn’t get the chance to give the ring- just enough time to have one made)

I am not sure if I make sense, I do not write very well but I hope u like this

-🍎

yeah u make sense 🍎!! dw, i have to sort through my thoughts and get it into a tumblr post... and this is mainly what the baseline looks like.

guys i can't believe i did a bad ending ngl i think i'm un-canonizing the bad end for a happy one and the bad end can stay a thought unreleased to the world.

i was thinking of having ivan be there for a month, but that's a kind of long time not to sort through feelings... so a week it was. ivan was practically bed-ridden and spent a lot of time asleep, so till would sneak in and brush and braid his hair and decorate him up. and, well, a lifetime of yearning for something, getting a taste of it, and then forever losing it...guys i'm sick why did i do that?!

happy ending time or i'm beating past me up (im making them eighteen its kinda weird otherwise)

===

the gentle feeling of his hair shifting along like waves in the ocean woke him up. the moon peaked in through the window, spilling its light across the room. the mirror reflected ivan, who was sitting and leaning on another.

the haziness of the entire situation felt like a dream; calming, slow. ivan's eyes were barely cracked open, irises focused on the mirror and the picture it reflected. his head was tilted onto a shoulder, legs saddling another's to make sure he doesn't slip from the very comfortable position he's in.

the brush glides through his hair, gently tugging on his scalp. ivan leaned in the slightest bit. it felt good. compared to his eyes, his lungs, his feet; this person was like a safe haven, a warm spring bath.

he watched as his hair was carefully divided and braided into a relaxed hair style, not pulled too much this way or that. as the end of it was tied with a silk tie, the other hand reached into a box. ivan didn't see it clearly, but if he did, he'd recognize several silver pins with details impossible to get underwater, each a different design.

throughout his midnight hair, stars were scattered across it.

the sound of pen scratching parchment lulled him back to sleep, forgetting the brief moment of awareness.

another painting hung in till's studio, depicting two characters. one, asleep, was in front and the clear subject; the second was behind, carefully pinning the last hairclip in place, recreating the galaxy.

till's pearl was his muse; from paintings to songs, it seemed as if creativity itself sprouted from ivan.

briefly, till fantasized a life where he and ivan would marry. in a month from now, they'd be engaged, and follow a two-year courting period until they're both twenty, and get married.

the entire empire knew he was courting someone at this point. he isn't sure what gave it away; was it the mass amount of jewelry and clothing and paints he commissioned? perhaps someone saw him carry ivan home? or did a servant gossip about it?

till paused, looking at the painting. he had a new idea, and all he had to do was wait for night to come and ivan to sleep.

flowers were delivered to the palace, where till arranged them around ivan's sleeping form. he let his hair fall naturally, but changed the clothing to be looser, as if ivan were floating on the water's surface. the moon carefully shone on ivan's face, giving a feeling of tragic beauty; as if ivan were a corpse on the water, surrounded by the flowers of loved ones.

...till readjusted the scene to make ivan seem immortal.

and, when he stepped back to paint it, he left a light kiss on ivan's forehead.

one night, ivan woke up during a scene. fully awake with conscious thoughts; it had to happen sooner or later.

this one... was a more dubious one that'd be stored under till's bed. his shirt was rucked up, pillow under his neck and shoulder blades to let his head fall back, hair splaying out. his pants were pulled down just a bit to show his hip bone, and the moonlight fell across him to paint a lascivious portrait. till had left marks of himself too; a cloth that lay across ivan's eyes with till's name stitched onto it, jewelry that till had commissioned himself.

ivan was briefly confused by the darkness, before realizing a cloth was gently laid over his eyes. confused, he took it off, stilling at the sight of till painting him.

"what are you..." he couldn't finish his sentence. his mouth had gone dry. the easel was positioned so that he could just barely see the painting, but the glimpse was enough.

there was an obvious artistic choice in it; in the way that ivan's pearl skin was pink, mouth slightly open.

the night ended with a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

ivan discovered, the morning after, that the knives had completely left. his lungs stopped drowning in unseeable water, and his eyes no longer burned at the slightest disturbance.

till had paraded his fiancé, who wore a veil to shield themself from the world. it was improper to gaze upon them until they wed, after all.

===

slowly edging to being able to write smut... then no one is safe. this is a mess and ooc, but also, i need to get peace of mind on this au

[frozen-fountain]

It's ten years today since I made a pilgrimage down to Brighton to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds live in concert. My purpose today isn't to get into the circumstances that preceded this or the specific reasons why being there meant so very much to me; maybe some day I'll do that under this name as well. For now, suffice to say it was the best show I've been to, and one I doubt will ever be surpassed. I think the Bad Seeds were on stage for the better part of three hours, with two encores and everyone clearly having a great time, reflected just as strongly in the audience. I really hope I get to go again eventually, though it'll be a more sombre affair now. And that's fine. I've always looked on his music as a big congregation that plumbs the depths of human existence without ever denying or shutting out the light, and it's this that's struck such a resonant chord with me across the years and made him one of the most key pillars in my musical journey.

One of my most vivid memories of the night doesn't even concern what was happening on stage. The whole time, I was fascinated by the two ageing punks sitting in front of us. I love ageing punks; I was raised by one, and they're my favourite people at shows because of their sheer enthusiasm for the music and utter disregard for what's generally considered age-appropriate dress and behaviour. Deeply inspiring stuff. But I remember one of them lifting both fists in a cheer when this song (from 1986) started playing – and he did the same for Higgs Boson Blues, a track from the contemporaneous album. And I was struck by what a gift it must have been to watch this wonderful group evolve and shift over the years, to meet new songs at different stages in life, and to remain no less excited for their new creations even decades later.

It was many things, but to me, it was a thick, bold line under what I'd spent the previous year working to convince myself of as I left my youth behind me, and that this band's congregational music helped so much in drilling through my obstinate, oblivion-seeking skull: there are and always will be things worth sticking around for.

I don't know anything about this man besides what the back of his head looks like and his enthusiasm for Bad Seeds old and new. He never even turned around to look at me in turn. I highly doubt we'll ever meet again, and if we do, I'll have no way of knowing it. But I still smile every now and then when I listen to Sad Waters, or simply when my mind wanders back to the show from time to time. When I need to remember the future is unwritten and the world has a capacity for many things, and one is endless surprise. Regular readers of whatever it is I'm doing here will know my young life was not the happiest, and I expended a lot of time and energy wrestling with the desire to end it. As I write this I'm closing in on the eight-year anniversary of the last time I seriously contemplated suicide – which is something I couldn't have even dreamed about saying back in 2013. It's these experiences, these moments of connection between strangers through the shared appreciation of another stranger's artistic expression, that go along way to making this so, and I'll never forget it.

This last decade has intensified a cultural shift that was gathering steam around the time of the concert. And one of many reasons I feel conversation can be so divisive and contentious is that we're rapidly becoming more aware to how badly we can hurt one another through simply existing as we are. Whether it's the descendants of colonisers reckoning with the ways we continue to benefit from that bloody history, or men being pushed to evaluate the allowances they are granted to take up space persistently denied women, or any of us learning the benefits of initiating awkward conversations about boundaries in our interpersonal lives, what is bit by bit rising to the surface of our awareness is how easy it is to become a bad story in someone's life just by being people. It's a very difficult thing to come to terms with no matter who you are.

And I wanted to write this memory down and share it because, at least to me, it's a reminder that we can help one another, too, and often without trying or knowing. You don't know what you might have done for a stranger you had no idea was watching. A simple, unguarded gesture that I doubt this man thought about for so much of a second has stayed with me, cheered me, and reminded me of several crucial lessons when I most needed them. If I've learned anything in the years since it's that, simply by being you and being open with your joys, I can guarantee you're someone's good story, too. Even if you'll never know about it.

In the meantime, if you're so inclined... maybe tell me a story about a time a stranger helped you in a similar way?

[acestories]

The Starfarer Chronicles Chapter 1.5

01–01–408 GSC, Kadath

The Wanderer sat down with a huff. Fucking Solari, sending him down into an infinite hell to get a piece of technology. And of course, the Fusion Cell had its parts knocked out of place. And because the manufacturer was cheap, the access panel was a pain to remove.

After a minute of fumbling to get a grip, The Wanderer tore the panel off with a loud grunt, falling back slightly. 

“Suck it bitch.” He declared to the inanimate object, getting to work immediately. Man, everything really was knocked out of place, yet everything is still intact. Score! 

As he pulled out the wires, contemplating what he would do with the bonus for it being so intact, he noticed a fast approaching light being reflected off of the mechanical guts strewn about. The Wanderer himself had the gift of See-In-Darkness, so he hadn't come with a light, wishing to avoid attracting any predators, which meant only one thing. 

On instinct, heart hammering, The Wanderer grabbed one of their Blaster pistols from their waist, twirling around, and pointing it at the person that was running up to them.

“Tell me who you are and what you want, or I'll shoot.” The Wanderer announced in a stern voice, finger already on the trigger.

Despite his pessimism, the Stranger wasn't particularly threatening. In fact, under different circumstances, The Wanderer might have found them cute. 

They were short. Very short. Even sitting down cross-legged, he came up to their shoulders. They were wearing blue robes with gold edges, a purple scarf wrapped around their head and neck. All of it was clearly several sizes too big for them, giving them a baggy appearance only counteracted by the satchel they had slung across their shoulder. Glowing, blue-within-blue eyes stared from above the scarf, a clear spark of excitement visible while their cat ears stood to attention, poking tents into their hood. Their brown tail went this way and that. A small ball of fire hovered behind their shoulder, being the source of the light in the room.

The Stranger finished running up to him, coming to stand about a meter away from him. Their large eyes stared at his Blaster in utter fascination, seemingly unfazed by his demand.

“Tell me who you are, and what you want, or I'll shoot.” The Wanderer repeated harshly. He'd rather not kill this person, but he hoped the second time would get them to cooperate.

The newcomer turned their eyes from the gun towards him, clearly recognizing the annoyance in his voice. “AAABABA!”

That was not the answer The Wanderer was expecting. What in the ever living hell was that? Was this person trying to mess with him? 

The Stranger was clearly happy, almost like a kid answering a question. And either they didn't care that he was still pointing his gun at them, or, as he was beginning to suspect, didn't understand. They got on their hands and knees, coming over to investigate the Fusion Cell in front of him.

Well, at least they're not touching it. He thought, reaching for the tool he needed. Honestly, The Wanderer was almost done with the repairs anyways. He went about putting each individual part where it was supposed to go, clicking it into place, before moving on to the next part or wire. The whole time, the seemingly feral cave child watched with intense interest, their eyes never once deviating from the process. 

When the last part was in place, The Wanderer put the access plate back on, and scooped the Fusion Cell under his arm as he got up. As he did so, the Stranger got up and followed him with none of the same practiced grace as he. 

The Stranger followed him, a few steps behind, their eyes practically glued to him. He kept swiveling his head around to look at them, hand hovering over his gun.

After several minutes of walking in silence, the pair arrived at the ramp The Wanderer used to get down to here. At a little under 3 meters wide, it had plenty of room for him and his unusual companion.

After the first bend, the Stranger rummaged through their satchel, pulling out a Nutrient Brick, the soft crinkle of the wrapper filling the air. Huh, I didn't know there were any Synthesizers around here. So that's how they survived. 

“So, how long have you been down here? I assume a while since you have a whole bag of the Bricks. Any run-ins with some manner of beastie?”

The Stranger took another mouthful of Brick, staring at him while they noisily chewed. “Abapō amamama.” 

Yeah, this kid can't talk. The Wanderer thought with a dry laugh. Not unless random gibberish counts. 

The Stranger seemed confused for a moment, and after scarfing down another mouthful of semisolid nutrients, tried again. “Aglam iqorsh ass.” 

It was still gibberish, but the fact the last one happened to be “ass” made The Wanderer explode with laughter. The Stranger kept babbling incoherently all the way up the rest of the ramp. As they exited, the Carbon Guard stood around them, their armor painted in matching colors. The gang's leader stepped up. 

“Ah, you've returned. We were wondering if you'd be here on time, considering where the wreck is.”

The Wanderer held the cell in their hand, ignoring the comment. “I brought the Fusion Cell back in perfect, working condition. Give me my bonus pay like you said you would.”

The leader's face was hidden behind His helmet, but The Wanderer could feel the frustration coming from the trollish leader as he was ignored. He took the cell and started fiddling with it. After he removed and returned the access plate to confirm what The Wanderer said, he nodded in agreement. It was at this time that he noticed the Stranger.

“Who is this?” He asked, voice subtly harder, pointing at the Stranger, who ‘eeped’ and got behind the Wanderer immediately. Turning to look at them, he saw that the Stranger's uncaring attitude had evaporated. Where there was once curiosity, there was now unease and fear.

“Don't worry Solari. I found them down in the tunnels. Can't understand a word.”

“This wasn't part of the deal Raj. We never said anything about paying 2 people.”

“The deal was you paid me for getting a Fusion Cell your friend lost down in the tunnels, extra if it was in working condition. I have gotten you the cell in working condition. They don't change anything about the trade.” 

The Leader tossed the cell back to one of their companions, hands grabbing the rifle dangling on his side from his shoulders. “Don't bullshit me. I can see their eyes, they're a mutie freak! And is that a ball of fire behind them? A mage too!?”

Just as Raj, the Wanderer was about to grab his gun, the largest member of the gang came up and grabbed his leader. 

“He's right. He has done as we asked, and now honor demandss we pay him.” The Vesk spoke, his deep voice hissing slightly as his accent slipped through.

As the Leader turned to face his gang, he saw the others were clearly unhappy with his reaction. “Fine. Here's your credits, with bonus.” 

He held out a fist full of thin, small silver bars. Credsticks.

Raj happily and quietly took them, and swiftly pocketed them. Money attained and the Carbon Guard walking away towards their hovercraft, their backs facing them and showing the gang's logo, Raj turned to his companion. 

“Well, I can't just leave you here, now can I?” He sighed tiredly. “Don't worry, the nearest Tubeway Station isn't that far.”

The Stranger looked up at him, their brows knitted in confusion. 

========================

Raj sat in his seat, fiddling with his wrist mounted computer. His fingers danced across the screen, bringing up his list of contacts. After only a few seconds of aggressive scrolling, he got to the one he was looking for. After listening to it ringing for 30 seconds, a click sounded, followed by a rustling and some muffled talking.

“Sorry about that, kids wanted to talk. Whatcha need Raj?”

“I need your help with getting someone a home.”

“Another orphan?”

“I'm not sure. I ran into them down in the tunnels while on a job. Poor thing has a severe case of Tunnel Sickness. Any attempt at talking is literally just random noises.”

There was silence. “Are you sure it's a good idea to give them to us? You know how bad sufferers can be overstimulated.”

“Believe me, I know.” He stated, looking over at the Stranger next to him. Almost as soon as the pair had finally reached the city proper, the Stranger had gone quiet. 

They had their knees up to their chest, sleeves emptied. Their tail curled over to cover their feet, fur wiggling with their toes. Despite it all, their eyes bounced around, looking at everything excitedly, ears whipping around wildly at every sound.

How could he blame them? After being in the tunnels for long enough, the brain becomes sensitive to outside stimuli. And the Tubeway Pod had plenty of stimuli to give, due to the overcrowding that always occurs around 1600 hours. 

A Kasatha monk stood serenely amongst a group of angry teenagers. An elven mother who looked like she hadn't slept in 3 years tried to quiet her baby. An Ork in a pink dress thumbed through a book titled “How to Honourably Garden”. A group of adventurers were planning whatever chaos they were going to get into next. A gaseous lifeform that smelled like rotten eggs in an environmental suit was referencing a map.

And those were just their immediate neighbors. 

“I'm gonna try and help them at least start recovering, then I figured you and the girls could handle the rest. I'm not the best choice to handle this.”

“Fair enough.” She purred. “Well, can I at least get a description so we can plan ahead?”

“1.4 meters tall, 42 kg, mage, bl—”

Raj stopped as he heard laughter through his comms. “I'm sorry, you sound like you're reading a wanted poster, I'm still not used to it!” She guffawed.

“No it's okay, I do sound like that. It's just kinda how I talk. Usually.” He stated, slight inflection on the last word. 

“Okay, I think I'm good. Anything else of note?”

“Other than clothes and the aforementioned tunnel sickness? Not much, but it's also been only an hour or two.”

“Any particular reason for liking this one so much?”

“Because when I look into their eyes…” He said as he looked down at the young mage. They looked up at him with their big, glowing blue eyes. Despite the obvious catching quality, it was the spark of intelligence there that usually wasn't there with cases this bad that stood out. “I see something that's unexpected. I'm not sure their mind has completely gone.”

“Hmm… I want to see them soon then. I know a few spells that could help.”

“Agreed. I'll make sure they can talk before we pick a day.”

“Agree—” BANG “Ssssshit, what was that? Damn kids, talk later.” Click, and the voice was gone. 

Raj waved his hand in irritation, frustrated at Luck's intervention. Figures. 

The Pod doors swooshed open shortly after, allowing the passengers to disembark. Raj waited for things to thin out before he grabbed the Stranger. Normally, he’d be more reluctant to handle someone in such a delicate mental state, but the Stranger clearly liked it before when he carried them onto the pod, so it was safe to assume carrying them off would be ok. 

Lo and behold, his guess was right. They clung to him like a drowning rat clinging to wood. Still, they looked around at their surroundings with unending curiosity and excitement.

The Pod was bad, but the streets weren’t much better. A Cosmopolis like this is the worst place to be if one has sensory issues. But, he didn’t have a choice. His ship was at the docks, and without the money to afford a transporter, he had to walk. 

The Stranger whimpered as a stage magician conjured a gout of fire as part of their performance. Raj held the Stranger slightly tighter. “It’s ok. We’re almost home, and then you can relax.”

Almost on cue, The docks loomed over them, Raj’s ship visible from where they stood at the base. 

[beta-adjacent]

“Woof” by Chai (me!)

This is the first post of its kind on my blog— my analysis of a song written/produced by me! This initial post will just have the song lyrics, my interpretation of them, my inspirations for the piece, and some “behind the scenes” of my writing process. If I can get my shit together, I’ll hopefully reblog this with an audio file with the actual song, so you can understand the song’s tone more!

Without further ado, I present….

I. The Lyrics

The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / I am happy pretending it’s the moon (awoo) Don’t ask about the silver on my neck/ you were never meant to know/ That I domesticate myself for you I want to say I’m sorry/ Or get angry/ I can’t even muster up a smile/ I am stoic but my tail will wag all the while Because it means you see me/ Do you see it? Do you finally see me?/ And I’m sorry/yeah I’m sorry I see you clearly Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I’ll never find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear a labyrinth Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I fail to find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear/I pray, I fear The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / and I’m happy pretending it’s the moon

II. Theme(s)

The major theme I try to tackle in this song is the juggle between desiring to express your wants while struggling with internalized shame for wanting. And I found that easiest to explain with this analogy of a werewolf, with the human side trying to forcefully domesticate this inner beast inside them.

III. Line-by-Line Analysis

The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / I am happy pretending it’s the moon (awoo)

This picture above kind of illustrates the imagery I was hoping to go for with this line! It's what inspired the whole song tbh; I was literally sitting in the back of the car late one night, and I kept seeing headlights reflecting off the window. It made me think of dogs who sit in the back of cars, which made me think of a domesticated wolf seeing headlights as the moon instead of the moon itself.

I think that the theme of being trapped/trained by the human side is shown well through this imagery, because the very key to the wolf's transformation —the full moon— is synthetic.

The little "(awoo)" part is just a silly thing I did in the recording, but I thought it was funny to keep in the lyrics because. because howling at the "moon".

Don’t ask about my silver on my neck/you were never meant to know/that I domesticate myself for you

I struggled a lot intially with this lyric, with some earlier drafts using "the dogbed in my room" and "my grandma-eating teeth" (referring to the little red riding hood tale). But I settled for the silver because it reminds me of dogs that actually wear a silver chain as a collar. It also made me think of a shock collar, since silver is like, a classic werewolf repellent, and that lended itself well to the theme of "training the wolf".

For a while, the lines were "don't ask about the silver on my neck, you were never meant to know /that I am always at your beck and call", which was really just an attempt to rhyme 'neck'. But I changed it because “beck and call” implied a servitude more than a protection, which isn't really on-theme.

I want to say I’m sorry/ Or get angry/ I can’t even muster up a smile/ I am stoic but my tail will wag all the while

I am hoping that everyone who's been on Tumblr understands the trope of a dog character wagging their tail because they're happy on the inside but trying not to show it. Fun fact: I spent so long recording this part specifically because I kept saying "my tag will wail".

Because it means you see me/ Do you see it? Do you finally see me?

And here's where we learn that the very neglected, overly supervised wolf-dog-thing is actually being noticed, probably during some argument that would normally warrant the human side to be apologetic/angry/sardonic/happy/etc. The stoic-ness (meant to imply a tiredness/jadedness) from the human side now makes sense; the thing being domesticated is going against its training by being seen. The toggling between someone seeing "it" versus "me" is also pretty painful to wrestle with, because it's an acknowledgement that, despite hiding away the wolf, it's still a part of the person or even a “glitch” in which narrator is talking (though I don’t think I ever bring up that concept of multiple narrators anywhere else)

There's also a large question as to whether the repetition of asking is done out of joy, desperation, or even a disbelief (like a “really?? Uh huh, yea sure *eye roll*”).

And I’m sorry/yeah I’m sorry that I see you clearly

It's heard way more in the recording, but there's a lot of sass in the last line. There is a suggestion that human has the ability to see the vulnerabilities in others, while struggling to show that vulnerability themself. And that having that ability brings some sorrow or regret, which gets expressed through that sardonic tone.

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind

HANDS DOWN MY FAVORITE LYRIC IN THIS SONG AND MAYBE EVER IN THE HISTORY OF MY SONG WRITING!!!

So yes, obviously, there’s the implication of a disconnect between what you want to say versus what you think/feel, “there’s a disjoint between mind and mouth”, you’ve been reading so much of this post that this is just a restatement of the theme.

So instead, look at tHE SYNTAX!!!!!! LOOK AT HOW MANY WAYS YOU CAN INTERPRET THIS SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Mind (noun) to mouth (noun)” for mouth (noun/verb) to mind (verb): first describing the transcription of words as an effortless/involuntary process, that then needs constant oversight/hindsight to not fuck up

Mind (noun) to mouth (verb) “for mouth (noun) to mind (verb)”: the mind itself is hyper-aware that there needs to be constant oversight on what is being said, could even be read as dismissive of the mind like “whatevs, not my problem~”

Mind (verb) to mouth (noun) “for mouth (noun) to mind (verb)”: reminding the mouth of its purpose to be overly analytical of what’s coming out of it, like a sardonic courtesy

Now, those are just Chai’s top 3 favorite interpretations. But I think that, because it’s 4 words (2 minds, and 2 mouths) that can be interpreted in 2 ways each (verb or noun), there’s 8 possible combinations for this lyric, or maybe even 16 depending on your calculation (4 multiplying versus squaring by 2)!!!!

And granted, this is a stretch, but since it’s a sentence About misconstruing thoughts/words, any other words listeners could hear (ex: ‘mind’ becoming ‘mime’) make a Legitimate alternate interpretation. In fact, the lyric would still make sense if the listener heard absolute gibberish, because the lyric is about Speaking Absolute Fucking Gibberish And Our Brains Will Fix or Rationalize It!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And my favorite part is that it ALL depends on the prepositions. “Mind TO mouth TO mouth TO mind” is an Entirely different meaning than “Mind TO mouth FOR mouth TO mind”!!! And hopefully misinterpretations even fuck up the prepositions like “Mind TO mouth OR mouth TO mind”, (which btw is another awesome interpretation; it questions if the mind or body is truly the one in power).

Point is that this lyric is RIPE with potential, and that potential is endless. It is so easy to fuck up this (or any) lyric by hearing/singing/reading the wrong thing, but it still can be analyzed and have a thoughtful meaning regardless. And that process is Exactly what the lyric itself is describing!!! And that daunting feeling, that your words could be taken in any possible way, is such a major loss of control and matches the theme of the rest of the song seamlessly!!!!!!!

Isn’t that just the coolest fucking thing ever????? It’s definitely not The first lyric ever to do this, but it might be My first lyric to ever do this, and it might be nonsensical but goddamn it, I’m Proud to say I can extrapolate all of that from 6 fucking words!!!

The fool in me will bark again/and pray you’ll hear a labyrinth

Second favorite lyric, and it’s much simpler to wrap your head around too methinks!! This entire bridge is mind-melting tbh and I love it

Revealing this hatred of the inner beast (by calling it a fool), and how its attempts to articulate can’t (or rather, shouldn’t) be recognized as something worth listening to, or even something human.

And do you guys ever listen to an animal speak, or even a baby cry, and you’re just…. confused? Like, “I can’t tell what it wants and am glad it’s not my responsibility to figure that out”? That’s what the “labyrinth” is supposed to mean. The speaker hopes nothing of true value is heard in the barking. Instead, they pray that a warning label is produced, a placard with the face of a minotaur and the words “string store 300 miles left!”. Through careful training, the barking should threaten people to get lost inside of something larger than life (aka the meta-analysis of speaking/behaving, as described in the “mind to mouth” segment), so that they never actually venture in. Which hopefully also makes listeners question…

"why pray for it if the speaker can control it?", to which the simple answer is "it can't because fool is inside of the speaker, not the speaker itself; it’s a separate, uncontrollable entity, like how the mind and mouth are separate” or even cooler “it can’t because the general process of ‘mind to mouth’ takes the speaker and the listener, and since the listener is out of the speaker’s control, the whole process is out of control”, or even “the fool and the man are the same entity, but have been so alienated from each other by their own actions that reconnection of the self feels impossible!!!”

Either way, it’s a hopeless lyric, a pitiful cry for help over something already expressed to be uncontrollable. It’s a short way to explain how interaction is a two-way street, and almost always leads to a conversational car crash, which is so routine now it’s become desired

And in a way, this is the wolf. This overwhelming complexity —a black hole of thought and emotion that is near-impossible to describe due to its sheer vastness, which controls every layer of thought and perception, something that can’t even truly be understood or acknowledged by others because of how you interact with it— is the wolf.

Hopefully now all of the desperate measures from before make sense. The contradicting feelings when someone glimpses into the wolf’s personage. The internal strategies to keep the wolf contained. The futile scrambling for a simple reality. If you were plagued with a wolf, and how much letting to roam free could hinder you and others, wouldn’t you want to train it too?

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I fail to find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear/I pray, I fear

Can you believe I loved my lyrics so much that I just had to repeat them? It’s a popular motif in music so I’m not bothered, and it’s important to me at least to emphasize that 1) This Is Where The Analysis “Meat” Is At and 2) You Don’t Need an Analytical Brain to Enjoy This.

Which, speaking of, is a good time to bring up rhythm!! Because I don’t remember the poetry lingo, but this is the Most on-beat part of the song and it’s very stable (which is ironic). Let me rewrite it so you can see where phonetic emphasis is intended:

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I fail to find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear/I pray, I fear

Also here people get to sit on the amount of alliterations (mind, mouth, mind/ fail, find, fool) and repetitions (mind to mouth, and the pray/hear/pray/fear), and are able to enjoy a new rhyme scheme (the again/labyrinth versus the shortened hear/fear)

Speaking of, that shortened rhyme is a lead up to the final lyric:

The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / and I’m happy pretending it’s the moon

Which I fear is a segue easier seen on paper than heard because we’re mirroring the rhythm/notes of the first line, so the jump is a bit harsh. It’s meant to read like “I fear the following: 1) the reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window and 2) I’m happy pretending that’s the moon”

But analytically, the last thing we’re left with is a fear of being content with all of the training and trapping of the beast. This feeling of unrest, of wanting life to be simple but refusing to commit to simplicity or complexity, makes it a constant back and forth between man and beast. Really, this is meant to be when we can step back, and let the meta-analysis of the inner battle wash over us as the final chord is played, leaving us in a similar state of being stuck in our own heads, idly watching life pass us by…..

And yea, that’s the whole song! :> Congrats for reading/scrolling this far!!!

IV. Inspiration

My music has been heavily influenced by Midwest emo bands, especially ones like The Front Bottoms and McCafferty (Mom Jean and Pet Symmetry get honorable mentions). And I emphasize The Front Bottoms and McCaffetty because of the “mind to mouth” verse. The rhythm and the lyrics of this segment sound exactly like something these bands would write!!!

If you recognize these bands, I encourage you to read this verse again (pasted below), imagining the lead singer belting it:

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I’ll never find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear a labyrinth

If I find a decent Nick Hartop AI, it’s over for y’all!!

IV. Outtakes/“the Process”

Making this post: I had the terrible, terrible idea at one point to work on this post in the presence of humans, and at one point they saw my search history. Seeing “shock collar dog”, “silver chain dog”, and “bad guys tail wag gif” all in a row made them….Really concerned for me.

I wanted to share the song itself in this but I wussed out. Mostly because I’m terrified the FBI (or worse, my friends) will stumble across that file by accident (it’s the wolf, I suppose LMAO). I did convert it into an AI cover using Sonic the Hedgehog (which gave it a lovely Blink 182 quality) and even tried out Garage Band and using the piano feature! But I’m also a lil afraid bc it is Midwest emo inspired, and I don’t know much more than power chords (ooh, “not much more than power chords” is a good lyric, no one steal that unless you show me your demo first). So the backing is…kind of missing A Lot (like a consistent beat). If people want to hear it, I’d probably drop the half-baked piano version I made, which doesn’t do the song justice but would at least help people get the music’s vibe

V. Conclusion

Hopefully, I have been able to convince you that my song, “Woof” may be simple at first glance, but a lot of thought was put into its creation!! Making songs like these is one of my all-time favorite ways to understand my perception of the world. It’s really a process I treasure.

As perhaps expected now, the Meta-analysis Wolf in my mind is worried that everything I wrote is disjointed or that it’s not telling the cohesive story I want it to. So, if you have questions about anything mentioned in this post, or wanted to share critique, feel free to do so! My only request is that you be kind; I am a nothing more (and nothing less) than a student of thinking and creating

And I feel like I need an upbeat takeaway for this post sooooooooo…….. if you find something in you, urging you to be creative, listen to yourself!! Follow that instinct to be a fellow student in thought & creation!!!!!!!!!!

[shallowrambles]

I'm so bothered by the fetishization of twins and triplets, actually. If I could erase anything, it'd be the flippant references to this. :(

To be clear, I'm not pro-purity culture. I just- this one stings and I have to literally curate my experience so hard because of it

I can't stand when it's used as "code" for "queer experience" either because it's just positioning queer as "unnatural / evil," and that bothers the heck outta me when they're equated. Inappropriate boundary crossing, grooming, and abuse =/= insta-queer. It's like HMMM. The way ppl stan the crowley hookup when it's a shows canon incest kink interest squicks the fuck outta me and like...the whole Demon!Dean is a study in disinhibition! Disinhibition was shown as very evil / shameful / uncomfortable experience for Dean, like, the entirety of season 10...Sam even tries to comfort him about it. But because Crowley-Dean supports those sides of Dean ppl want in their ships, they overlook that aspect of it.

There's also the American-ness of howling at the moon and total "I do what I WANT" as being a good thing, when it's clearly shown as...not. There's gotta be balance, man.

Reduced inhibition is OFTEN used as circumvention of consent, as Dean recounts in his John-and-the-bar story. And disinhibitions are ofc not always a reflection of true self. I'm thinking of a neuro unit, where an injured TBI survivor hits on his granddaughter. Is that his "true personality?" Of course not! It's a loss of free will, judgment, and choice due to the injury and/or disinhibition.

And this is a show about free will, after all.

Drinking and drugging tend to ‘loosen you up’ by reducing inhibitions. But they remove your judgment and CHOICE about things, too. That's not necessarily free will. Reduced inhibitions can be enjoyable, but they can also create risks and dangers. Our inhibitions serve to keep us acting within an acceptable threshold; reducing these inhibitions can push you past the threshold.

Drug addiction is sometimes potrayed as "freeing" but ofc that isn't the complete story. Even so, the show doesn't agree that the punishment fits the crime. Like Crowley, Randy is complex, and he has real feelings and emotions for his relationships!

I feel like the Claire episode puts this in full display:

///

10x09

DEAN: All right, so I get there. I sneak in, and it is nuts. I mean, people are drinking and they’re smoking and they’re—they’re snorting whatever. There’s a five-hundred pound guy on stage with a Mohawk just screaming. And, uh, my mind is blown. I don’t even know what to do. Then this girls walks up and she says “Hey, why don’t you come over and sit down with me and my friends at our table?” All right!

SAM: Yeah, and they get him drunk. First time.

DEAN: But not fun drunk. I’m not quite sure what was in that stuff, but the room starts to spin, and I feel like I’m going to puke … forever. And right about that time, I hear him. “Dean Winchester!”

[Cas looks confused, but Sam just smiles.]

DEAN: My old man. I don’t know how, but he found me. And now I’m really freaking out, because he’s just standing there, not saying anything. I look around, and everybody else is freaking out, too. In fact, nobody’s even looking him in the eye. And finally, this one guy with, like, a safety pin through his nose and a—a “Kill Everything” tattoo looks up and he says, “Sorry, sir.”

---

[Claire is sitting on a bed by herself when she hears footsteps. The door opens, and Salinger is standing there. He motions for his men to leave, and he turns to Claire.]

SALINGER: Hi. [He finishes off his beer, then turns and locks the door.] It’s Claire, right?

[She won’t look at him, until he’s standing in front of her. He reaches down, taking hold of her chin, making her look up at him.]

You really are a pretty one, you know that?

[She lifts her leg, kneeing him in the groin. She runs to the door and tries to unlock it, but Salinger is right behind her, grabbing her as she screams.]

[One of Salinger’s men opens the front door to find Cas, Sam, and Dean standing there. Cas lifts a hand, and the man goes flying backwards.

--

CASTIEL:

Where’s the girl?

[They hear screaming come from upstairs. In the room, Claire is screaming, trying to fight Salinger off. He’s trying to hold her down, and the door flies open. Castiel is standing there, and Salinger turns to look at him, giving Claire enough of an opening to kick Salinger in the face and get up. She kicks him, over and over again.]

CASTIEL: Claire. Claire!

[Castiel grabs her arm, and she finally stops kicking. Cas leads her from the room. They walk downstairs, and Claire moves away from Cas.]

--

[Claire climbs into the back seat of the Impala, and Castiel sits beside her. Claire smiles.]

CASTIEL: Are you okay?

CLAIRE: Yeah.

[She moves over, laying her head on Castiel’s chest, wrapping her arms around him. Cas hugs her back. Sam climbs in the front seat and glances back. He turns his head back towards the house as he hears shouting, then leaves the car as fast as he can.]

///

10x10

(Scene changes to Castiel pacing in the bunker library.)

CASTIEL: She barely speaks to me.

(Sam comes into view, sitting.)

CASTIEL: She’s like a wounded animal, just watching me.

SAM: Look, Cas, you know what? You really tried to do the right thing that night. You did. This guy Claire was hanging out with, Randy, all he did was use her.

CASTIEL: Well, she thought he was kind. And for that, she loved him. Shows how little kindness there was in her life. You know, whatever Randy did, he didn’t deserve –

SAM: No, yeah, I know, I know. I hear you. Dean has had to kill before. We both have. But that was –

DEAN: That was what?

(Sam rises, surprised. Dean walks in from the war room.)

SAM: Dean.

DEAN: That was a massacre. That’s what it was. (Dean looks from Sam to Cas.)

DEAN: There was a time I was a hunter, not a stone-cold killer?

(Cas and Sam look troubled.)

DEAN: You can say it. You’re not wrong. I crossed the line. Guys, this thing’s gotta go.

(Dean looks down at the Mark of Cain on his arm.)

///

And 10x22

MR. McKINLEY: By suggesting my daughter was a slut?

DEAN: I'll admit that thought crossed my mind. Then I came here, and I smelled the deceit and the beatings and the shame that pervade this home.

MR. McKINLEY: You shut your face right now.

DEAN: And you know what? I don't blame Rose anymore. No wonder she put on that skank outfit and went out there looking for validation, right into the arms of the monster that killed her. (Dean looks at Mr. McKinley and in a very calm voice says) Joe, who did this?

[daltoneering]

Fire and water imagery in ep 10 (+ Kinn smoking thoughts)

Not as much watery goodness as the pool scenes of the past two weeks! But there are a couple of things I want to touch upon.

First, very briefly, that after fleeing Porsche and Vegas stop by the river. This pulled me up because I couldn't work out if it was the same bit of pier where KinnPorsche had their first kiss, but still: river. Interesting that KP were sat facing the water and the forward flowing motion of it, whereas Vegas and Porsche sit with their backs to it. The lighting also does a lot of work in establishing the contrast with that scene here as well: KP's ep 3 kiss was very romantic, with the lights of the city behind reflected on the water, and lovely colours--here, the colours are much more of an uneasy yellow/grey, with a slight golden hour tinge to the lighting. Porsche wants Vegas to believe that he trusts him, so it's almost like he wants it to feel romantic, if deceptively so--but the off-kilter angle, ominous sky/river and tense music tells us that it is not actually so.

I'm surprised I haven't seen more discussion of Kinn smoking! This is the first time he has smoked all series, outside the warehouse after the explosions. (A couple of quick things of note: 1. he's using Porsche's lighter and 2. the water spray directly behind him while he holds his flame up... nice!)

I've been having lots of thoughts brewing about what Kinn smoking means, particularly with how it relates to Porsche and his smoking habit. I've established earlier in this series that Porsche smokes as a form of comfort and familiarity when he's feeling out of control/stressed--the flame/lighter a little nod to the spark of the Phoenix's flame that has helped him survive. The other characters we have seen smoke have been Vegas and Pete, both only ever with Porsche (and Vegas smoking in the mirror in ep 4 was when he was thinking about Porsche)--it's clearly related to him.

I don't think Kinn has suddenly started smoking, but I do think that the decision to not show him doing so yet is an intentional one. In the same way that last episode Porsche was fully immersed in an element that is generally more Kinn-leaning (water), in this episode Kinn is embracing an element that is more Porsche-leaning (fire). This isn't just him picking up his boyfriend's vices, this is, as @ginnymoonbeam really wonderfully put it to me earlier, Kinn ceding ground to Porsche in the evening out of their relationship. Ze said that letting him leave with Vegas at the beginning of the episode was a huge gesture of equal partnership--and Kinn smoking and taking on this element of Porsche is a really neat way to show him giving ground to Porsche in balancing their relationship's power balance.

Kinn is finding comfort in Porsche's element, just as Porsche found a place to centre himself and calm down in Kinn's last episode.

Then we see them smoking together--I've mentioned before that characters smoking with Porsche is a way of putting themselves on his side/at his level, and this just reinforces to me the idea that Kinn is trying to even out their relationship and restore the completely tilted power balance we saw in the last ep (and in the brilliantly-angled shot on the stairs at the start of this one). They literally share the cigarette. Ginny also brings up the point that smoking is a self-destructive act, despite the comfort that it brings Porsche, and that's why he stopped during the ep 8 fairytale--but they've been forced right back into the real world, and that fairytale and those good intentions can't last. So now they're smoking together, not necessarily because they are being self-destructive together, but because they've got to to cope with the shit that is being thrown at them (but doing it together in a way they weren't before!).

The final time we see Kinn smoke in this episode is in the scene by his pool. Again, he's preparing himself to try and sort things out with Porsche, to be on an even playing field with him (and also smoking to destress). Once again the fire of smoking and the water of the pool are juxtaposed.

He takes a couple of drags but eventually throws the cigarette away in lieu of grabbing Porsche's shoulder: he doesn't need the artificial comfort or ground-evening support it offers anymore, because he's got the real thing right here, and he's busy Communicating (kissing).

A final note on the water of the pool in this ep is that this is such a good parallel to episode 4, when we saw it during Kinn's attempt to communicate with him about the kiss--they're making progress! They sort of got across some of their frustrations with the situation and then kissed any lingering doubts away! They're getting closer to being fully in that pool and fully able to communicate with and trust each other--they're just not there quite yet.

(Thoughts on mirrors and reflections in this episode here / fire and water imagery gdoc that has thoughts for all aired episodes here / series tag)

[wearywinchester]

Not Going Anywhere

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When he nearly loses you, Dean finds he can’t stand the thought of that happening.

Requested by Anonymous: “May I please request a one shot of dean and reader with her having an internal bleeding. You know when the character seems fine but then boom they collapse and turns out they're not fine at all?? I LIIIVE for that shit... The shock, the realization, the worry....”

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: angst, injury, bleeding, shock, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, guilt, fluff

You sat slumped in the backseat of the Impala, exhausted from the hunt. Fortunately, it’d been close to the bunker, close enough that you didn’t need a motel room overnight. Close enough that the drive hadn’t been terribly long like most cases were. You felt like you’d been run over by a semi two times over, a certain weakness running through you that left you feeling less than okay.

You watched quietly as the rain came down and trickled against the chilled windows of the car, falling into each other as they raced down the glass before fresh ones took their place in an instant. It was gloomy weather, something you could have found yourself seeking comfort in on any given day, something that otherwise would have been cozy had you not felt the way you did.

But you did, and it wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Dean had the heat cranked up because he could see that you were cold, could tell by the way you wrapped your arms around yourself. The ache and burn in your stomach had yet to subside, Dean having cleaned your wound before setting off to go home earlier that day, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

You were less than comfortable, as far from it as you could be as you sat behind Sam. You missed the way Dean had glanced at you in the rear view more often than not, his concern evident in the crease between his brows, deepening each and every time he looked. He saw your agitation, the way your face contorted in discomfort as you slumped against the seat. You couldn’t sit still even if your life depended on it, constantly moving in your seat despite the way the hurt in your abdomen is screaming at you otherwise.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so restless in your life more than you were in that moment, anxiety settling in heavily the more you sat stuck in that car. There wasn’t anything in particular for you to feel this way over—you’d ridden in this car more times than you could count for years, having sat in the very same spot for far longer than this trip has been before. You’d done it all before without fail, without a problem, but this time was different.

It was different and he knew it.

Any other time you’d start a conversation about any and everything, singing along with him to nearly any song that came on the radio for the sake of getting on Sam’s nerves. Any other time you’d take a nap if you were tired, especially on a day like that where the clouds and rain offered ample comfort to allow you to do so, but this wasn’t any other time. This time you looked like you were two seconds from hopping out at the next red light, and it didn’t sit right with him.

“Sweetheart, you okay back there?” He calls out over his shoulder.

You’re not even sure if the words came out of his mouth, not even sure if you heard him as you shifted your gaze. When he didn’t get a response he looked in his mirror at you, calling out your name once more with more concern than the last.

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at him with eyes squinted slightly in confusion. “‘M fine, De.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, not even a little bit as you blinked, trying to gather yourself a bit more than in that moment as he turned down the road that led to the bunker. You had a habit of saying you’re fine when you’re not, and you’re so clearly the opposite and he finds himself grateful he’s home, you’re home. But that doesn’t soothe the worry boiling over in the pit of his stomach, clouding his mind of anything and everything revolving around you.

Your words were merely words as they fell from your lips, that feeling simmering within you feeling awfully bad as you sit there, as the impala descended down into the bunker’s garage. The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, your wince inevitable as you fought the groan sitting in the back of your throat. Dean didn’t need to be worrying over you, though he surely already was.

You think you just need a rest, a few hours sleeping in your own bed would do you some good. It had to.

You hadn’t fully registered the fact that the car had come to a stop, put in park in its usual spot and it gave Dean enough time to round the back end of it before you tried to get out on your own. When he pulls the door open you’ve got that look, one that tugs at his heart because you look so miserable, so tired and defeated. He crouches down closer to your level as you sit there, watches as you take a deep breath to try and steady the race of your heart. To try and calm the queasy feeling in your stomach.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, eyes on you in search of any indication that you’d been listening. You were, you really were, but you were trying to get a handle on how you felt. “Baby, we’re home.”

You nod then, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile in an attempt to assure him you’d heard him. He stood to his feet and held his hand out, gentle as he helped out of the car. You tried to ignore the rush that came down over you the moment you got up, tried to swallow down the intensifying nausea that’d swirled around in your stomach just begging to come up. You tried your hardest and it was proving to be a challenge.

You were dizzy when you stood to your feet, almost overwhelming, but you were quick to balance yourself and you brushed it off. You’d been in the car for the past two hours, doing nothing but sit in the same position for the majority of that time and you’d yet to eat or drink anything. A little dizziness seemed reasonable upon standing in your mind, not to mention the way your head had been hurting for nearly the same amount of time as the drive home.

You felt his hand slip from yours in favor of wrapping around you to steady you, to help you as you walked but you shrugged him off just as quickly, flashing him a look.

“De, I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me,” you say, and the look on his face shows just how much he disagrees with you. You could see it with the dimples forming by the very corners of his mouth and the raise of his eyebrow.

“Y/n—”

“I’m serious. I just need a little sleep and I’ll be fine,” you say, smiling once more in hopes he’d settle down, but you knew he wouldn’t.

It took a few moments, but eventually he dropped his hand to his side reluctantly and eyed you carefully, cautious as he watched you walk ahead into the bunker’s hallway towards your shared room. He knew you better than you thought, better than you knew yourself. He knew you like the back of his hand, but you were just as stubborn as he was and that’s the problem.

You flickered between bouts of nausea and none at all, between feeling fine, like you said you were, and feeling like you’d been drug all the way home tied to the trunk of the Impala. It was something that worsened the more you dwelled on the feeling, something you wished would subside.

You felt a beat of relief upon seeing the golden eleven mounted on that familiar wooden door come into view just down the hall, could smell the faint scent of Dean’s cologne wafting over you as he walked by towards Sam.

You were almost there, then you could lay down for a good long while, tuck yourself into that memory foam bed that was unbelievably comfortable and smelled every bit like Dean, and rest like you’d been longing to do since the moment you left to come home that day. You could rest in the comfort of your shared space for as long as you needed to get better. You were almost there.

But you weren’t.

In that moment, you felt like you were miles away from your destination, you felt like the conversation the two of them were having just a few feet away had been miles away from you, their voices muffled far more than they should be for how close they’d really been to you.

You slowed yourself to a wavering stop for a minute just to gather yourself a little more than you were then and there, reaching out for the wall that was just a little farther than you anticipated it to be. Your ears began to ring slightly, gradually, as that same nausea made its unpleasant return in your stomach, eyes squeezing shut just for a moment. You weren’t aware of just how awful you looked in that moment, but you knew it couldn’t have been too good if it was a reflection of how you were feeling in that very same moment. To be quite honest you felt like you’d just run a marathon with the way you couldn’t catch your breath, with the way your heart had been hammering within your chest at a faster than normal pace.

You felt like a walking, breathing disaster, and sure enough, you looked like it too.

Dean’s brows furrowed when he followed Sam’s gaze, to you, to you who stood there unsure of yourself as a flurry of emotions flashed over your face within a second’s time. A number of emotions, none of anything positive being displayed and it intensified the worries he’d had running through him. A sheen of sweat had glistened over your skin despite the chill that ran through you, your vision doubled as you opened your eyes once more to try and give Dean a glance.

“Y/n?” Your name fell from his lips, soft and hesitant at first as the initial confusion took over, his mouth going dry as he approached you.

“I’m…” you start, nodding your head as you swallow thickly. “I’m fine, Dean. I just…"

Your words were failing you, your ability to form a coherent thought failing you in that moment as you lost all means of balance, teetering on the edge of collapsing before you’d gone and done it. The shout of your name had come off as an echo to you, the impact of the floor having been cold and unforgiving as you fell, too weak to catch yourself.

He hated just how limp you felt in his arms as he knelt beside you, the pain jolting through him from dropping to his knees on the concrete floor having been the very least of his concerns as he watched you. Panic had lanced through him as your head lulled, caught in the crook of his arm as his other hand grabbed your face. Despite the sweat gleaming across your skin, your cheeks were void of any heat that you’d expect to feel and it only added to his upset.

“Y/n!” He called out, your brows furrowing as you felt yourself go from bad to worse, a steady declining feeling blanketing you. “Sweetheart, stay with me.”

His voice was loud, carrying through the winding hall in an echoing display of his fear, the sound taunting him as it bounced off the walls. You nodded weakly, despite the way your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears enough to muffle what he’d been saying to Sam, or the way you couldn’t hold yourself up if it weren’t for the way he held you. Despite that, you nodded for him.

That ache from the wound you’d walked away from that hunt with was still very much there, that you knew. You knew things didn’t look good for you in that moment, not with the way Dean looked at you as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, or the fear in his eyes when he’d pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, your pulse faint but bounding beneath his fingertips. Things were continuing to go from bad to worse, to far beyond that and you knew that wasn’t a good sign.

You knew it the moment that feeling hit you in the car an hour earlier and the panic you felt was only increasing the more you thought things over.

You should have said something then, you know that now. You should have stopped saying you were fine when you so clearly weren’t, should have stopped doing what you always do and downplay a situation in fear of thinking about the outcome. You should have known better than to think it’d be as easy as Dean patching you up, not after what that spirit did to you. Nothing in hunting is ever as good as it seems, as easy as it seems, and you should have said something earlier.

Because now, now you were quite sure you were facing your fate when you didn’t have time to prepare for it. And that’s what scared you the most. It could have been something trivial, that’s what you’d been longing for it to be, but you knew it was just your own denial telling you that.

“Dean,” you say, taking a breath as you look up at him. The green eyes you loved so much were filled with a kind of emotion you never liked to see. “I—I just want you to know—”

“No, no c’mon. We’re not doing this sweetheart, okay?”

Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks at the sight of the crimson that slowly began to stain your teeth when you coughed, rage bursting through him in waves over the situation he doesn’t know how to control the ending of. Over the fact that he doesn’t think he can control the outcome for the love of his life in his very arms. He knows nothing in this life is guaranteed, not for the life of someone who hunts the world’s worst monsters.

He’s lost so much in his life, but damn does this one hurt.

“I don’t feel so good,” you murmur instead, watching the expressions flicker across his face through half closed eyes as you groan, brows furrowing at the expression he’d been looking at you with. “What is it?”

He couldn’t tell you what he saw, he wouldn’t do it.

“I know you don’t,” he says softly, chuckling despite it being void of humor, running his hand over your head. “I know you don’t but you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

All you could do was hum and nod, a soft noise you can’t quite tell had left your lips as the weight of your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. You were tired, that much was true. But he tapped your cheek with his hand lightly, grabbing ahold of your face.

“Don’t do that,” he urged, “please, don’t do that.”

He looked to Sam, a mirrored look of panic looking back at him that didn’t do much to soothe his stresses.

He feels near paralyzed when his gaze drops to you again, your eyes closed. He’d grabbed your face and called your name till his throat felt like sandpaper, till it felt like he swallowed a thousand knives he shouted your name. He held you tight in his arms as his mind worried in a frenzy of fear, calling out desperately for the one person that could help.

Cas.

If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was worry. He’d worry himself to death over the ones he loved, in fact, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. But worry is what he’d done for the last two and a half hours and nothing else.

If it was possible, one might think he’d wear a hole in the floor from his pacing at the foot of the bed in the bunkers infirmary. Cas had come in a moment’s notice much to Dean’s relief, had swooped in quite literally and healed you the way he hoped you could be.

It turns out that spirit had done more than just graze you, had gone a little deeper than either of you had thought. It turns out you’d been bleeding more than just on the surface, and that it hadn’t actually slowed to a stop once he’d patched you up back there. You were bleeding this whole time, you just didn’t know it until it almost became too late.

It all made sense now, the way you were acting in the car. The restlessness, the agitation and the way you couldn’t sit still. He knew there was something wrong even when you refused to admit it, and he hated it when you did that. Hated it when you kept your pain to yourself when you really didn’t need to, in favor of staving his worry and trying to be independent, and that’s something he knew well.

But that wasn’t the point, the point was you were lying there in that bed almost within an inch of your life had Cas not come. The point was he nearly lost you in his arms and he couldn’t help the blame that sparked and burst within him that maybe he shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. He didn’t, but he felt he should have kept pushing, kept prying to get you to admit it. Thinking that maybe he should have known there was more to that injury by the way your face crinkled up when it happened, by the way you fell to the floor for a moment or two before you stood back on your feet.

He felt like this was on him, and it was tearing him up from the inside out.

Dean ran through a myriad of emotions that night, each one hitting harder than the last. He was scared, the mere thought of losing someone he found himself rapidly not being able to see himself living without having scared him more than he’d care to even admit. He was angry, his fear masked behind clenched jaws and hands running through hair, chairs kicked and chest heaving. Angry at himself for not having gotten to you sooner back there.

It was a never ending cycle of fear and anger and guilt, a cycle he felt he’d always feel in one way or another so long as the ones he loves keep getting hurt when he feels he has the means to prevent it somehow.

For the better part of that two hours, apart from the anxious pacing, he sat at your side as you rested. He was reluctant to leave your side should something happen again. He couldn’t handle that and he knew it. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He held your hand for a while, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as his foot tapped and his knee bounced subconsciously.

For the better part of that two hours, the events of what lead up to that point had replayed in his mind over and over in a taunting loop, having worsened the feeling he held each and every time it restarted. Each time he recalled something more in the way you’d looked in the car, in the way you acted, in the way you felt in his arms.

Cas had to tell him a million times over that you’d be okay. That wound on your stomach had been healed, everything had been healed as though it was never there. He told him a thousand times over that you were stable, you were okay. You were okay, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get over it just yet.

The last time Cas had said it was when he believed it, it was when he couldn’t be in that room another second otherwise he just might crack. He couldn’t bear to see you laying there like that, no matter the fact that you were just fine. It made his stomach churn and twist in knots.

He left, the stack of lore books swept off the table in the library in his wake, a string of curses leaving his lips. He went to your shared room first, the door slamming roughly behind him. He was angry at no one else but himself despite the fact that he shouldn’t be, but he’ll beg to differ on that a thousand times over.

When you woke up, the infirmary was empty. You’d seen the chair at your bedside that hadn’t normally been there. And if it wasn’t telling enough of Dean’s presence, the weight of his jacket splaying warmly overtop of you was sure to make it all the more obvious he’d been there.

You were sore as you sat up, stiff from having been laying in the same position for an amount of time you were sure of. But, when you lifted the hem of your shirt, that burning wound had no longer resided where it’d been. That nausea had since dissolved, that headache had gone away for the most part, and the weakness you felt, the dizziness, it’d all gone away. You knew it was done with the help of no one other than Cas.

You were sure Dean had been there with you for quite some time, but you also knew Dean better than to think he’d handle it well. You knew by the way you’d woken up by yourself that he’d handled it horribly. He gets worked up over injuries that are on a smaller scale, but this, this was far different than that. Inches from meeting your fate had been much too different than that and you knew he’d disappeared to sulk by himself.

You sighed when you pushed yourself off the bed, leaving the empty infirmary before navigating the bunker. The sight of the books splaying messily across the floor had been an indication of something you already suspected, the quiet in the air having added to the tension only followed when one of the three of you had been angry.

Your bedroom was empty, the blankets stretching over to his side of the bed having been wrinkled some from where he’d been sitting. A photo of the two of you had been sitting there on the nightstand, half-tucked under the base of the lamp sitting lit atop it, the drawer not closed all the way.

The Impala was still in the garage where he’d parked it hours ago, a frown tugging at your lips at the sight of the very hallway everything had taken place.

You knew where he’d be at this hour, at one where everyone should be asleep. Sam had been, you were sure of that, but if Dean hadn’t been in either of those places, you knew where he’d be.

A knowing sigh left your lips as you stepped down into the kitchen, the very one you’d been looking for sitting at the table. You saw the bottle of whiskey on the table and you saw the glass in his hand. You saw the way his hair had been a ruffled mess and you saw the ivory of his knuckles as he held that very same glass. You knew that all too well, you knew he’d been all sorts of torn up inside. He was.

“Knew I’d find you here,” you say, his head turning at the sound of your voice.

You could see the relief flooding his expression as he looked up at you, at the way his eyes widened and the way his face lit up just a little bit more than before, though it didn’t take long for the crease between his brows to deepen once more as you sat down next to him. He’s quiet for a moment before he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and another as his next words are murmured against your skin.

“Sweetheart, you should be in bed, you’ve been through it today.”

You could hear the fatigue in the softness of his tone, could feel his nose brush against your temple before he turned away.

“Without you?” Your words are lighter as a soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles, half-humorous as he shakes his head, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. He swallows thickly, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind as a million words sit on the tip of his tongue. You knew a little humor didn’t do much to stave off that feeling he held.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, head shaking before he brings the glass up to his mouth and swallows the rest of his drink, pouring himself another.

You saw the way his eyes were rimmed a pale shade of pink. Dean Winchester wasn’t one to cry too often, but you could always tell when he had been. His eyes were red and so was the very tip of his nose, flushed a soft pink and the quiver in his lip hadn’t quite left just yet.

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m okay.”

“Well you weren’t a few hours ago, Y/n. You were damn near dead,” he says, louder than before as his jaw tenses.

“Well I’m not,” you counter, the huff that puffs through his nose an indication of his frustration.

“I’m glad this is just another day to you, Y/n.”

He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing over it in frustration as he sniffs. You saw that quiver just a little more now, one he hid behind his glass as he tipped his head back and drank it.

“For cryin’ out loud you still got blood on your teeth, Y/n,” he says, softer this time as the tension in his jaw loosens.

You sigh softly, more so to yourself as you stay quiet for a moment or two, your tongue swiping over your teeth before you bite the inside of your cheek. You can see the emotions flicker and roll through him, can see the guilt written clear across his face to match the feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach. When you got up, he’d expected you to just walk away, though instead you find yourself leaning atop the wooden table.

You snag the glass from the loose grip he had on it, setting it aside as he drug his hands down his face.

Your shoulders drop a fraction as you look down at your hands for a moment, foot tapping quietly against the floor. When you looked at him, his gaze was on the table, the inside of his cheek between his teeth. You bring your hand up to smooth over his hair before your palm settles on his cheek, thumb brushing over his chin. His eyes lift to yours, weary and upset.

You don’t fail to miss the way he leans into your touch no matter how subtle, or the way the clench in his jaw dissipates the rest of the way before your hand drops to your lap.

“There was nothing you could’ve done differently back there, De. No matter how much you think otherwise,” you say, watching that tension return as he looks away. “I know that’s what you’re thinking right now, but I’m still here. Now you don’t have to believe me on this, and I know you won’t, but you were there when I needed you the most. And that’s the only thing that matters to me. So you can be mad at yourself all you want, you can blame yourself all you want, but I’m not blaming this on you.”

He sat quietly, simmering in his own silence with closed eyes as his chest heaves a bit more than normal. You swipe your thumb across the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly as you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Dean Winchester’s got a whole lot of stubbornness in him, but a whole lot of softness no matter how many layers of anger and frustration and worry sit atop it.

You move from the table after a beat of silence, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He relaxed under your embrace, more so when you dipped down from behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, one more for good measure.

You don’t know what to say for a little while as your head rests against his, arms dangling over his shoulders as you clasp your hands together loosely. You know for a fact he’s still beating himself up for this, that was something you knew was unavoidable. But that was something you could handle.

“Come to bed, De, it’s late,” you murmur, kissing his cheek once, twice, three times.

He hums at first, nodding his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You let him go with a soft squeeze to his shoulders, spinning on your heel as you sigh softly. But it doesn’t take more than a mere few seconds before you hear him move around.

“Sweetheart, wait.”

You turn around once more, brow raised in curiosity.

He’s hesitant for a moment before he crosses the room in a couple of steps, arms around you in an instant. You wrap yours around his neck, his embrace near bone crushing as his face tucks into your neck. His stubble is rough against your skin, the softness of your smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He’s got fistfuls of your shirt in his palms, holding you close as you stand up on your toes.

“What do you say we ditch hunting for a little while?” He mumbles into your neck, your soft laughter immediate as you lean back to look at him. “Don’t want you dyin’ on me again, sweetheart.”

You bit your cheek for a moment as you shook your head, fighting a smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

He rolls his eyes, looking to the side as he fights the beginnings of his smile. “Yeah, well, I’m good with that.”

The tension he held minutes ago lessened some, his expression softer as he looked down at you. You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, lingering just over his lips for a few seconds before kissing him once more with a smile as you speak up.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

[leqclerc]

I'm so sorry bestie i just really need to rant rn. Like ferrari is literally fucking Charles over race after race and he always takes it with so much grace and kindness, never blaming the team, always holding himself accountable and he gets absolutely nothing in return. Like literally nothing. That video on b*notto talking to him makes me so unreasonably angry like stop wagging your finger at him, he has every right to be furious at you and the whole clown show so don't act like he is being unreasonable or anything. Like how can they throw away win after win??!? I just don't get it. You have a driver who is clearly cut out to race for a wdc and you don't prioritise him??? Am I supposed to believe that sainz is anywhere near his level??? They had no issue picking Charles over Seb (or at least they did imo and like I kinda get it) so why are they having such a hard time with it now??? And like Charles is stupidly loyal to this team and he wants to win here, with them, but how many more times will they let him down before he realises that huh maybe ferrari kinda sucks??? And like I want him to go on a rampage. I know that he'd never talk badly about them but I wanna hear him drag the team through mud, to tell everyone they suck and that he is disappointed and mad and saying that "the next race will be better" is not enough. I wanna see him destroy sainz at every given chance and race for himself and just go absolutely insane. I wanna see him enter his reputation era. I want to see ferrari on its knees begging him to stay and for forgiveness. I wanna see ferrari clearly treat him as a number one driver. Like I don't see him leaving and even if he did, where he'd go? But I want ferrari to make a fucking effort lol. Anyways, sorry for using your ask box for this and thank you for listening to my rant💖💖

No, you're so right, thank you for sending this in ❤️

Because they're essentially showing that trust, patience and loyalty isn't worth very much and when it comes down it it's every man for himself. Which is a part of racing, sure, but I don't think drivers are used to their own teams being their biggest rival/obstacle.

You make such a good point here, I keep thinking the same myself. Like, if I speak on it I'll probably get blasted, but it's so true and the attitude shift is so noticeable. The pit wall was very comfortable using team orders with Seb and Charles whenever they were near each other on track (which happened frequently since they were evenly matched on pace). Even when they weren't going for the win (in Australia 2019 they finished like 4th and 5th so) and the car wasn't consistently quick enough to be a title contender.

Now though? They literally dragged their feet for ages, costing Charles time, energy, and tyre life. Then they essentially chicken out of committing to a decision and just pit the teammate. They come out behind each other and the situation repeats itself. Again they're slow to respond, hesitant, but Charles eventually is let past to create a gap. And that all comes tumbling down under one safety car pit stop window. They say things but don't exactly enforce them very well - during the safety car period Sainz was told his priority is to defend from the guys behind and to let Charles create a gap in front, so the intention might've been there, but the execution? ...

Idk, a part of me thinks maybe he was antsy to get his "firsts" and by extension the team was too, but now that it's happened, where do they go from here? I don't think it'll change anything, at least not in a good way. Now you've essentially taught one driver that it's okay to disobey orders if it benefits him. Also the fact that both times Charles slipped completely out of podium contention, just left out there like a sitting duck...fuck, it was grotesque.

Imo B*notto was always a poor leader, always comfortable with throwing his drivers under the bus instead of reflecting on his own behaviour and attitude. People started warming to him this year and last year when things started improving for Ferrari, but on days like this he still shows his true colours. Berating Charles, saying he shouldn't be disappointed? What, because "there's always next year"? Farcical.

I mean, this is - or rather was, worst case scenario - a year where they are championship contenders. The driver that got himself into a position of being a title contender on merit was Charles. But I guess they don't give much of a fuck about the WDC for him if they still have this "oh well, it doesn't really matter which of the drivers wins 😊❤️" attitude. It's extremely disappointing and really quite baffling to see them going about it like this, consistently failing to do right by Charles, who is, by all metrics, their championship hope. It's not like they don't have a history of pulling team orders. Now they're tip toeing around it even when one has the pace and the other evidently does not. Even when there's a title on the line. What's changed? 🤔

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt for "Close" or "Reforged": NMJ & Baxia goes to the Nie tombs to accompany someone. The spirits sensed a saberspeak translator FINALLY exists and traps them. Everyone thought the place hostile, but the sabers just want NMJ listen to their ramblings/demands/complaints/lectures... and also to do something about that "basketcase" saber spirit sealed further in. They're sick of listening to it! Do something, Nie descendant!

ao3

“Tell me something about yourself,” Lan Xichen said one day when he was a teenager, lying on his back in a field in the Cloud Recesses with his best friend in the whole world, excluding family. “Something secret.”

Nie Mingjue, lying beside him, hummed for a moment, thinking about it. “When I was a kid – about Wangji’s age now – I got stabbed in the stomach during a fight,” he said eventually. “Everyone thought I was going to die, and I mean they really thought it, but then I didn’t.”

“Wow,” Lan Xichen said, having meant something more along the lines of ‘a girl let me touch her chest behind the garden shed once’. “Everyone must have been very glad you were all right.”

“Mostly,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice and gaze distant. “Once they let me out.”

“Of your sickbed?”

Nie Mingjue blinked and shook his head as if to wake up. “Enough about me,” he said. “What about you? What’s your secret? Is it about that He sect girl and the shed again?”

“It was not,” Lan Xichen insisted, even though it totally had been. He was very proud of it. “I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular!”

-

When Nie Mingjue told Lan Xichen about his family’s curse, he didn’t actually tell him directly.

He brought him to a room, with tea and food set out, had him sit, and then vanished, sending Nie Zonghui to tell him instead. It was horrifying, of course, but in the same manner as the whole war they’d just endured had been horrifying – nothing that would make Nie Mingjue blush.

“Why didn’t he just tell me himself?” Lan Xichen asked, mostly because he couldn’t really be upset at Nie Mingjue for being in the process of slowly dying, even if that’s what he really wanted. “Did he think I wouldn’t be able to stand it or something?”

“Or something,” Nie Zonghui said. “It’s not about you, Zewu-jun. It’s about him.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a sensitive subject for him,” Nie Zonghui said. “Especially the saber tombs – and after what happened when he was younger, I can’t really blame him.”

“When he was younger? What happened?”

“Did he never say? He said that he’d already told you: when he was young – eight or nine, I think – he was in a fight, and got stabbed…”

“Oh, yes, that,” Lan Xichen said. “I know about that…what does that have to do with cultivation?”

“It was his first fight carrying Baxia,” Nie Zonghui explained. “She wasn’t even fully forged, but he grabbed her out of the smithy and wielded her against those invaders.”

Nie Mingjue had not said anything about invaders.

“He saved the lives of several other children,” Nie Zonghui continued, and Nie Mingjue hadn’t said anything about that, either. “Shed his first blood on his blade – even took his first life, all the things that function as a marker of adulthood. Defeat evil, rescue the innocent, all that. So when they thought he was going to die, they decided to give him the honors of an adult.”

For some reason, that made something sink in Lan Xichen’s stomach.

“When you say honors…” he started.

“He was taken to the saber tombs,” Nie Zonghui said. “To die as his honored ancestors had.”

They must have been very sure that he would not live.

“But he didn’t die,” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Zonghui hesitated. “What are you not telling me?”

“Sect Leader Nie was left there to die alone, as is customary,” Nie Zonghui said. “When they returned after three days to collect his body for cremation, they found him still breathing, much to everyone’s surprise…after, there were rumors that he had died.”

“What? How? He’s walking around even now.”

“They thought he had been possessed,” Nie Zonghui explained. “By one of the saber spirits. It caused some trouble, later. Anyway, ever since then, he doesn’t talk about it directly – and nor should you.”

“But –”

“I think that’s enough of an explanation for now,” Nie Zonghui said firmly, and no matter how Lan Xichen entreated him, he said no more.

-

“Oh, sure, we have plenty of stories about saber spirit possession,” Nie Huaisang said when Lan Xichen asked in a roundabout fashion. “All sorts! I grew up on them, naturally. Temporary, permanent, through birth or misadventure – that one story about the generation of Nie women where everyone was female, whether born or misaligned –”

That did sound somewhat interesting, actually, but not exactly what Lan Xichen was looking for at the moment.

“What happens in cases of possession?” he asked, pretending to be casual. “You know, if someone thinks someone else is possessed – speaking generally, of course?”

“Generally?” Nie Huaisang frowned and tapped his fan against his lips. “I mean, in the case of temporary possession, you usually try to exorcise the spirit – usually through traditional means, like arrays or talismans or incantations, but sometimes if you think they’re trying to steal a human life permanently, through discomfort.”

“Discomfort?”

“Oh, you know. Excess exercise, denying food, hurting them. Show them that they’d rather not be human after all, that sort of thing.”

“…what if they’re wrong about the possession?” Lan Xichen asked, a cold chill going down his spine.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “It’s supposed to be pretty obvious? Someone who has the strength of a guai instead of a human, who refuses to die when a normal person would, someone rigid and unyielding with barely any flexibility – more metal than human – unusually angry, full of bloodlust and an unquenchable desire to destroy evil –”

“That could describe your whole family tree, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said. That could describe your brother.

“Sabers reflect their masters,” Nie Huaisang said cheerfully. “So it makes sense that it would, doesn’t it?”

“But –”

“Oh, don’t fuss, er-ge! I’m sure the elders wouldn’t just go around assuming someone’s secretly a saber for no reason,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now, let me tell you about the generation of women story – it’s one of my favorites –”

-

“Da-ge refused to let me play for him again,” Jin Guangyao commented, and Lan Xichen frowned.

He wasn’t an idiot – he knew how bad the relationship between his two sworn brothers was – but although he’d hoped that this would help repair some aspects of that, his primary goal with the Song of Clarity was to improve Nie Mingjue’s health.

(Sabers could suffer from qi deviations, too. Not that Nie Mingjue was possessed by a saber or anything.)

“Did he say why?” Lan Xichen asked.

“He was busy this week,” Jin Guangyao said mournfully. “Visiting his family tombs, apparently.”

Lan Xichen blinked. “The – Nie family tombs?”

Jin Guangyao had been speaking casually, clearly thinking of it as some excuse meant to fob him off, but perhaps there was something about Lan Xichen’s face that caught his interest. “Yes, he said there was some issue there that he had to deal with personally. Is there something the matter with that?”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, and then frowned. “At least, I don’t think so? I’ll speak with him about not skipping more sessions, A-Yao; don’t worry.”

He excused himself shortly thereafter and went to Qinghe on the first possible excuse.

“Where’s your sect leader?” he asked one of the guards.

Their frozen expression said everything he needed to know.

-

“Xichen?” Nie Mingjue said, blinking at him. “Is that you?”

“No, it’s Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. “Of course it’s me!”

“I meant that more in the ‘what are you doing in my family tombs’ sense,” Nie Mingjue said.

Lan Xichen allowed that that was a fair question. A better one, however…

“What are you doing in your family’s tombs?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “If the Song of Clarity isn’t working, we can try something else!”

“Xichen –”

“It is far, far too early for you to even think of coming down here –”

“Xichen –”

“And may I say, that’s a barbaric tradition anyway, I don’t care if your ancestors did it, locking up a child is just –”

“Xichen.”

Lan Xichen stopped.

Nie Mingjue was rubbing the back of his head, and his cheeks were red. “I heard a rumor that one of the old masterless sabers got loose,” he said. “I was just checking it out. I wasn’t coming here to – to reside.”

“…oh,” Lan Xichen said, and felt rather stupid. And then, trying to change the subject, he said, “How’d you hear about the saber getting loose? I thought no one came here unless there was a death.”

“Oh, the sabers told me,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Oh, I guess…wait. What?”

-

“So you…hear them,” Lan Xichen said. They were seated on the foot of one of the statues guarding the tombs, which was a bit rude but Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to mind and they were, after all, his ancestors. “The saber spirits.”

“Since I was child, yes,” Nie Mingjue confirmed.

“And you don’t think this is – odd?”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “They gave me spiritual energy so that I could survive. It left a mark, I think.”

Lan Xichen nodded.

He tried to figure out how to phrase his next question.

“I’m fairly certain I am not a saber spirit possessing a human corpse.”

“Oh, good,” Lan Xichen sighed. “I had no idea how to ask.”

Nie Mingjue knocked their shoulders together. “You can always just ask. I’m your friend. Corpse or not.”

“Please don’t make jokes about that,” Lan Xichen said mournfully, even if it was a little funny. “I’d miss you if you were a corpse.”

“Well, depending on the state of the corpse…”

Lan Xichen snickered, even though he really didn’t mean to. It wasn’t actually funny.

-

“So is it just sabers?”

“Not always. Why? You want to know what Shuoyue thinks of you?”

Lan Xichen stared at him. “Can you?”

“Either directly or indirectly,” Nie Mingjue said. “Even if the weapon doesn’t want to talk to me directly, they usually don’t have a choice when Baxia is pushing them.”

“…do swords have a lot to say?”

“Not as much as saber spirits. But more than you might think.”

“What does she think of me, then?”

“She likes you. You’re good to her. Except when you wield her overhead because you keep tensing a muscle in your back that makes the strike a little wonky, so she’d prefer you stick with forward thrusts or low cuts until you get that fixed.”

Lan Xichen started laughing.

-

“If I die outside, make sure I’m brought here,” Nie Mingjue said. “I think I’d enjoy the company.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Lan Xichen promised, and he meant it, too. “I promise.”

[rightfcllysols]

Hey could you write about azul speaking with mc/so (this takes places in chapter 3) and so when azul is like "well since you don't have any magic you could put ramshackle dorm" and they're like "well I actually have something really special for you" and he's like "oh really well show me" they tell him to give them his dominant hand and put a flower ring in his ring finger then they say "when I can ill exchange it for a true one from a jewelry" and everyone is just shocked. And fluffynes happens

Ack my heart (❁´◡`❁)

A RING OF COMPROMISE, azul ashengrotto x reader

short fluff scenario of azul panicking when his s/o gave him a flower ring

azul being a soft dude at heart bc we all love him

❝ Corporate can't ask me to choose

between you or the world,

they're the literal same. ❞

"Wh—" Azul reflexively jerked his hand back, cradling it as if it was the most fragile thing to ever exist.

Floyd gaped, and believe it or not, even Jade is a little stunned at your boldness. He knows you're quite the blunt human, but not to this extent. He ended up covering his mouth with his palm to prevent his laughter from coming out.

Ace basically vibrated, either it's because he wanted to laugh or cry you'll never know.

Deuce? Who's Deuce? You meant that ghost floating out from a body?

Jack felt really awkward, but he cheered for your boldness inside.

You stood with a smile as Azul uttered incoherent nonsense, his glasses fogging as his face turned redder than the roses back in heartslabyul.

He learned this before...! This is how humans court... And he can't help but feel a little— no, really nervous. He swore, he had never felt the overwhelming urge to just bury himself inside his octopot more than this.

Azul slowly but surely will gain his composure back, the remaining traces of red could still be seen despite his smug facade. Calm yourself down, Azul Ashengrotto! You need to keep your cool, after all, two can play at this game. He will smoothly dismiss himself, not knowing that you tailed behind him like a love-struck puppy.

Once he does realize though, he will jump three feet into the air before you soothe him down from hyperventilating.

He's very... Jittery. He had never heard someone actually confessing their love to him, and you were a first. Moreover, the next day you decided to give him what's basically an engagement ring?

It's only natural that he felt so nervous his body ceased to function by creating a proper sentence.

Give him a few minutes and he'll calm down, at least a little. His hands still shook, adjusting his glasses as he swallowed thickly.

"Why are you following me?" He spluttered, coughing into his palm to fix himself.

"You haven't given me your answer yet," You blurted, crossing your arms jubilantly.

"..." Azul inhaled, and it seems like he had to put all the bravery he had left to approach you without trembling, "Isn't it obvious?"

You cocked your head to the side, feigning ignorance as you smiled a little. "What is obvious...?"

He sighed, shaking his head vehemently. "It's a little bit early for that... I believe we should start slow."

"Huh..." You deflated like a balloon, looking to the side.

Then you felt his lithe gloved fingers caressing your jaw, turning you to face him directly.

Your half-lidded eyes bask in his inhumane beauty, the way his eyes shone with seas reflecting stories inside them has always been the one to entrance you. Complimenting his unblemished skin was the mole sitting just below the left corner of his lips. In all honesty, he looked like someone out of your league but here he was.

Standing, living, and breathing. And most importantly, loving you.

"Hey? Can you let go of me now? My neck is getting a cra—"

Chu~!

You froze.

Ghosting your fingers over your lips gingerly, your jaw dropped. The lingering taste of salty water mixed with faint [f. Beverage] was enough to send you to orbit.

Azul gave you his signature smile, looking like he had outwitted his feelings— and you, too.

"Don't get too cheeky on me, angelfish. I might have lost the battle, but clearly, I won the war."

[geminil0vr]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 !

the masterlist -> part one

summary ✰ it's the night of the slytherin bash, and, intoxicated, you almost blurt out all your relationship troubles to pansy and the boys of slytherin.

tags ✰ @partr1dge <3

word count ✰ 3.4k

content ✰ alcohol, weed, rip. mill's hairbrush, a big party, drunk/high people and reader, mentions of sex, mild (but just as serious) sexual assault, boyfriend being pushy, arguments, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, pansy lowkey admiring the reader and vice versa, pansy taking off your makeup for you.

a/n ✰ yes we're having a lil party moment right on shedyool <3 i think i made draco too hot in this like have i forgotten this is a pansy fic ?? and i've been listening to the playlist on repeat for some inspiration but now all the songs are stuck in my head yikes... anyway, happy reading :))

letting out a short yell, you bolt out the way of millicent bulstrode being chased by her own hairbrush in your dorm room, falling backwards onto your bed, then leaning up on your forearms to watch in amusement as she squeals.

"stop it, stop it!"

pansy crosses her arms, leaning in the doorway for a moment before speaking calmly despite the urgent situation, "mill, i already told you not to try any beautification spells for tonight. they take a certain finesse that you clearly..." she eyes the hairbrush, which has somehow grown teeth, "lack."

daphne fervently attempts to throw millicent's wand to her, having lost her own somewhere in the room, ducking whenever the hairbrush swings too low by her head and yelling encouragement to her as she wails.

"it's gonna bloody eat me!"

you glance over to pansy, your lips quirked but still fighting the brighter grin that tries to force its way upon your mouth, one brow raised. she looks back with a smirk, raising her brows lazily, then pulls out her wand at last.

sure, you have yours, but come on! this is quality entertainment.

muttering a spell under her breath, the hairbrush rises, letting out a sharp, plasticky sound, teeth gnashing at the unknown force which has suddenly halted its rampage. then, thin, dark cracks begin to show upon its surface as it travels higher and higher into the air, finally letting out one last high-pitched sound before exploding into hot pink shards of plastic onto the wooden floor of the room.

millicent makes a lacklustre attempt of trying to catch certain pieces that are still falling, whining about how it was her favourite hairbrush. daphne drops the wand and falls back onto her duvet, exasperated, and you watch ahead in shock.

"blimey, pansy, couldn't you have just done 'finite'?" you ask, eyes wide.

"'s not nearly as much fun," she grins, bounding over to the large, dark oak wardrobe in the corner of the room, "now, ladies. what are we going to wear for the slytherin bash?"

"i bagsy y/n's black dress!" daphne pipes up, bouncing to sit cross-legged on her bed.

"no, you bloody well don't!"

you look in the mirror of the vanity, tucking back a few strands of hair out of your face and looking down at your silky emerald dress, the neckline dipping a little at your chest, the straps thin.

"whatever, i actually might look better in the green, anyway."

slinking out from the bathroom, daphne fixes the button on the back of the dress she's wearing, the black fabric clinging to her skin, "you definitely do."

"you're just saying that to keep my dress, aren't you?"

"maybe so. but you're still very pretty." she pecks your cheek and sits on her bed, fixing her curled hair in a compact mirror and swaying slightly to the thumping music already playing downstairs.

pansy pulls at her dress, leaning onto the vanity and applying a thin coat of red lipstick over her lips, looking at you through the glass "she's not wrong. you look nice."

you swallow, blinking at your reflection. you've brushed your brows, applied some blush, and a little smokey eyeliner, but nothing much. you don't mind letting your skin breathe a little, anyway.

"thanks, pansy." you eye her loose, sparkling, red dress, neckline dipping so low on her chest that you feel the sudden need to look away, instead focusing on her light-green eyes which never actually ceased intensely tracking the movements of your iris. "so do you."

"right. thank you."

millicent finishes tying her hair up, avoiding using any muggle products and therefore resorting to something simple, clipping it back with a claw accessory, "okay," she starts, and you and pansy quickly look away from each other, "so, are we going or not? can't be too late, they're still missing the life of the party!"

"mill, you pass out after three hours during almost every single party." daphne blinks.

"what's that saying, here for a good time but not a long time?" pansy snickers, zipping up her black boots.

millicent rolls her eyes playfully, crossing her arms. "shut your gobs, the two of you! now let's go!"

locking the door quickly on your way out so you won't have to deal with any arseholes doing it in your bed like last time (well, at least they were having a whale of a time), you bid goodbye to your dormmates who all part ways, immediately grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey from a large table in the corner, looking over at the youthful atmosphere suddenly claiming such a place as the slytherin common room.

pouring yourself a shot, although you're awful at doing those, you hold your nose (as if that's going to help) and gulp down the alcohol, finishing by setting the little glass down and placing your hands on the table full of drinks in front of you, hair falling down into your face.

feeling a hand on your waist, you tense and stand up straight, not relaxing much when your boyfriend kisses your cheek and whispers a 'hello' into your ear.

"ben!" you exclaim, turning around and smiling at him, though not genuinely, "i didn't know you were coming."

"some guys in the year above invited me, unlike my own girlfriend." he teases, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer, and your nose scrunches at the sharp stench of beer on his breath. putting two and two together, considering how he's slurring his words, you realise he's already tipsy.

"right, sorry!" you genuinely are, though if he hadn't showed up, you wouldn't mind much, "i didn't really find out until the lesson before my free hour, and, well, you wanted us to go to your room, so —"

"oh, yeah. how could i forget?" he leans in, almost stumbling over his own two feet as he gets even closer to you, pulling you to him by your waist and kissing your neck, making you push your head down a little. the party having only just started, people are still piling in and the lights aren't turned off just yet.

you push him by the chest, gently, "it's still early, benny. not now."

ignoring your wishes, he nibbles at your neck, and you bring your shoulder up in discomfort, "but don't you want a repeat?" no, you really don't.

"ben, just, back off, please." you push a little more firmly now, shaking him off, and going to grab the bottle again to pour yourself another shot of firewhiskey as an excuse to not stay so close to him. but clearly that tactic isn't great, because he pushes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly.

"come on, this party'll be lame anyway. your room's empty, right?" you freeze as his lips meet your throat once more, swallowing before finding it in yourself to stretch your shoulders back, and push his arms from your waist, quickly pouring the shot and keeping it in your hand, just in case you need to spill it on him as a distraction.

if he's gonna be pushy, he could at least be decent in bed.

well, at least, that's your cynical view on it.

"ben. no. my — my friends are here, and i... i don't want to leave them all alone." you fiddle with the shot glass in your hand, brows furrowed, and he exhales loudly before shrugging his shoulders.

"if you don't want me then you could've just said so."

your eyes widen, "no, i didn't mean it like that, just that... just not tonight."

"well, it kinda seems like you're not interested. but whatever, y/n, it's fine." as you try to reach out to him, he walks over to his friends, and you lean against the table, gulping down the firewhiskey and wincing at the burn in your throat.

shit.

"come on, y/n! they're dimming the lights now, i wanna dance!" daphne bounds over to you, dragging you by the arm before you can protest.

and you oblige.

two hours in, you're tipsy, worn-out from all the dancing, yet still going back between the many students for more adrenaline. grinning as a song you love comes on, you regroup your dormmates in the crowd, grabbing them by their hands and all winding your hips to the beat, millicent giggling and falling over her feet, daphne tearing away from her boyfriend to join with a smile on her face. pansy isn't very giggly when drinking, you've noticed. in close settings, sure, but in big parties like this, everyone so close, air hot, green lights strobing across the common room... she just dances. raising her hands above her head, swaying her hips, twirling her friends around by their fingers — it's almost sensual. well, to anyone else. not to you.

pansy eyes you as you spin — the exhilarated grin on your face from being able to shrug off everything burdening you, everything weighing atop your shoulders. and she realises that she likes the shine of the strobing lights against your skin, your nose and cheeks gleaming, eyes a little bloodshot and chest glistening from all the alcohol in your system, and all the dancing. and when you and pansy finally get off the dancefloor to join the slytherin boys on the sofas, she likes the way your eyes tear up a little after taking a long drag from the joint that's being passed around.

"this isn't laced with anything, right?" you clear your throat to speak over the music, passing it back to theo, head dizzy. you watch the lights entangle themselves between little clouds of smoke, and wonder which cloud is yours.

"what do you think i am, a drug lord? no, it is not laced with anything." he rolls his eyes, leaning back on the sofa.

blaise elbows him, looking at you and pansy who are both sitting next to each other, "don't mind him — you know he gets bitchy when he smokes."

"do not." theo huffs.

"yes, you do." draco deadpans, snatching the joint from his hands and inhaling the smoke, blowing it upwards from his bottom lip.

you chuckle, stretching to settle comfortably into the sofa and tapping pansy's bare thigh subconsciously, to which she tenses, "i feel like nott's always a bitch, regardless."

"not wrong there." theo winks at you, rubbing at his eyes. your head feels like it's spinning, and you giggle again, leading blaise to do the same.

"what's so funny, y/l/n?" pansy raises her brows nonchalantly, crossing her legs and studying you at her right. she's taken the joint between her plump lips now, inhaling deeply for a second, then blowing it up into the air.

"think it's the weed." you giggle once more, eyelids heavy, leaning your head onto her shoulder — you two are much more friendly when a little bit intoxicated and high. more so you, than her.

draco leans back into the armchair he's sitting in, looking over to the corner of the room and spotting your ravenclaw boyfriend drinking with his friends in the corner. and, being significantly less of an arsehole with something in his system, draco decided to be polite.

"how's the boyfriend, y/n?" you chuckle at this, smiling softly and lifting your head up from pansy's shoulder.

"my boyfriend is an absolute, grade O, cockhead."

the whole group is still for a short moment, exchanging varying levels of shock and amusement, before turning back to you. draco speaks again, "is that so?"

"mhmm." you nod lazily, as if your head is too heavy to hold up, pointing over at him from the other side of the room, "ben sucks. he's awful. if i could, i would — well, i mean, i could, but if i really could, i'd —"

"right, i think that's enough of that for tonight." pansy takes the joint from between your index and middle finger, interrupting you and attempting to change the subject considering your tipsy and high state. she’s been through enough non-sober confessions in her lifetime to know best.

"no, i mean it. and it would be worth it if he would actually fuck m—"

"i said, enough." pansy presses, trying to save you any embarrassment. being good enough friends with the slytherin boys of your year since you all first arrived, you know there'll be no judgement or rumours spread around. but, still. better not to air out all of your dirty laundry, or whatever the americans say. well, that's what 'sober you' would say. and right now, you're completely ready to confess how shitty your boyfriend is, to reveal the dialogue that usually only stays in your head.

"come on, pansy, the people wanna know." blaise raises his finger to her, grinning. the boy loved drama; he wasn't a sharer, but certainly a listener.

"i, the people, do not care." draco raises his finger as well, slouched in his seat.

"and i, the people, say you're not gonna let y/n humiliate herself. if she really wants to say this, she’ll do it when she’s sober.” pansy frowns, standing up and gripping your arm, passing the joint over to theo who was watching the scene casually.

“usually you love this stuff!” theo raises his arms lazily for emphasis.

“well, she’s my friend.” pansy gives him a blink stare.

"blah, blah, blah, parkinson." you slur you words a little, and she scowls, "i'm ready to say it. ben rowen is shite in and out of the be—"

she muffles your voice with her hand, forcing you to get up and follow her to the dormitory calmly, as you attempt to yell through her fingers, instead practically humming. it's not a messy, nor embarrassing scene -- you're at least sober enough to know better, and no one's paying attention anyway, not with the beat of the music thrumming through the room, vibrating the floor beneath your feet. but you're not sober enough to control your urge to break down and admit that you desperately want to break up with your boyfriend, even though you think you still love (the old, fake) him, even though you're scared to break his heart.

seeing the scene from across the common room, ben strides over with a purpose, and the boys on the sofa snort at his actions. "what happened?" he tears pansy's hand from your mouth (thankfully, you're not wearing lipstick), to which she scrunches up her nose, clenching her jaw and glancing to the side impatiently.

"your girlfriend had a little too much to drink and smoke. she's going to bed."

"she can just stay with me." he seems over his annoyance from before. shame his annoying personality continues to linger, you think.

pansy eyes him up and down rapidly, grip still firm on your arm. there’s something about your boyfriend, especially considering your change in behaviour around him, that pisses her off. you're looking between the two of them with wide eyes, considerably amused. "no."

"what do you mean, no?" you notice now that he's much, much drunker than before. the boys are still watching, leaning forward to hear over the music. well, theo and blaise are -- draco gives the 'altercation' a glance before setting his focus on the almost-finished joint between his fingers.

"i thought ravenclaws were meant to have an IQ of at least more than ten — no, means, i will not let her stay with you, she's going to sleep it off." you look over to the sofas and give a look the boys, half-grimacing, half-grinning.

"listen, i'm the boyfriend here —"

"are you? because i don't recall you ever being present the entire party."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean, i was just over —"

"with her, i mean. why don't you go drown yourself in some more of that beer you obviously like so much," 'ouch', blaise mouths, "and i'll take care of your girlfriend, who... y/n?" you stop making frantic pointing gestures to the boys to ‘translate’ what they were saying since the boys couldn’t lip read, turning your attention to the people in front of you.

"yup?" you shrug, tilting your head up at her, being just an inch or two shorter.

pansy closes her eyes, sighing, then shakes her head, feeling a little wobbly herself, "nevermind. let's get you to bed, huh?" she shoots daggers at ben, whose nostrils flare as you're guided to the girls dormitory. he goes after you two again, but is quickly halted when draco's voice raises over the music.

"perhaps you should let them leave, rowen. just head elsewhere — don't be an arse."

ben sighs in exasperation, making his way to the group, but draco sticks his leg out through the gap between the armchair and the sofa on which you were just sitting, making your boyfriend stumble back.

"that wasn’t an invitation." draco deadpans, although the corner of his lip quirks up as he takes a sip of firewhisky and raises his brows.

instead of casting a quick makeup removal spell, pansy opts to lean you against the bathroom sink at a safe distance, using a cotton pad and cleaning off your eyeliner and any sweat or blush left on your skin. you know, just in case the spell doesn't go well, and you end up being eaten by a magic cotton pad.

you close your eyes, gripping the cold sink behind you loosely as pansy wipes warm water over your skin.

"done." she nods, expressionless, as your eyes flutter open, easily casting 'incendio' on the cotton and not bothering to watch as it crumbles into ash on the floor. she certainly has a flair for the dramatics, and you can't help but think she's picked it up from draco malfoy.

you look into the mirror to smooth down your hair, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen from the firewhiskey (and a little from when pansy pressed her palm into them). she tosses pyjamas at you, and you wobble a bit when they hit your side.

"change."

"okay, sergeant." you snort as she shuts the door, clumsily picking up the shorts and sweater she'd thrown.

shrugging off your dress, you call out from inside the bathroom. "why did you get mad at ben?"

for a beat, there was silence, until she called back. "because he was being a 'cockhead'." pansy mocked.

"and why did you make me leave?" you pull up your pyjama shorts, squinting down and trying to tie a little bow at the front, rather unsuccessfully, "i was having fun."

"well, you were gonna embarrass yourself, y/n. i only helped you out."

after slipping on your large sweater, you peek your head out the door, seeing her tie her raven hair back into a tiny ponytail, most strands falling out due to the length of it (or lack thereof). she'd done a makeup removal spell on herself.

"you're going to bed, too?" you murmur, furrowing your brows.

"yeah, tired." she lies, sorting out her bed covers.

you bite the inside of your cheek before deciding to ‘confront’ her, “and, pansy?” her movements still, “i didn't need help. they're my friends, and i wanted to tell them —"

she turns around, cutting you off with a challenging look that makes you step fully into the doorway, "tell them what?"

you swallow. nevermind. maybe she was right to drag you out of the party. maybe she was right to have cut you off, instead of letting you indulge into your history and your barely-there sex life.

feeling like you're being frowned upon by authority, you duck your head sheepishly and clamber into bed, glancing over to millicent who has seemingly collapsed onto her bed and blacked out.

"is... everything okay with you and — you and ben, though?"

"yeah. i don't know what i was saying. he just pissed me off earlier and i started... talking shit." you lie through your teeth.

"right." she flicks off the lights with her wand, back turned to you as she sits on her bed, pulling off her dress and slipping into a big shirt. the lamp on your bedside table that she turned on beforehand faintly casts the room in a warm glow, and through the darkness you can see the pale skin of her back as she pulls it down. your eyes dart away, deciding to focus on the ceiling, instead, "and you're really okay?" she turns now, and relief washes over you — relief that she didn't turn sooner.

you eye her as she gets under her covers, propping her head up with her hand. you bury yours sideways into the pillow, wrapping the duvet tightly around your frame. "yeah. you?"

"yes, y/n. now, sleep off all that shit in your system. and lie on your side, not your back." you listen to what she's told you plenty of time before, and lean over to switch off the lamp, the entire room pitch black.

"'night, pansy."

"goodnight."

[lokiondisneyplus]

Although Loki has been a fixture of the Marvel Cinematic Universe since 2011’s Thor, the character has never had his own musical identity. That all changed with Loki - the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s latest Disney+ series - and the music of Natalie Holt. The innovative, versatile score is a perfect match for the God of Mischief’s sensibilities and is easily among the best sonic works we’ve heard in the genre.

As such, we were excited to sit down with Holt to discuss the inspiration behind the score’s instrumentation, sticking up for her music in late-night dub sessions, and being part of the MCU.

I want to start right at the beginning. What was your reaction when you booked the Loki meeting?

I just knew that it was the biggest opportunity I'd ever had, and I really prepped hard. I went into the meeting with my ideas really fleshed out, and quite a lot of my responses to the script seemed to by some lucky coincidence fit with the directors. That was cool. I then got to do the pitch after the meeting, so I had to score the time theater scene in episode one, and I totally went to town on that as well. I really wanted this job so much because I felt that Loki was a great character and I was a big fan.

You and director Kate Herron were immediately on the same page in regards to using a Theremin for Loki. What was it about that instrument that appealed to you for this project?

A friend of mine had sent me ‘The Swan’ by Clara Rockmore ages ago, and I just loved the sound of it. I had also been listening to lots of BBC Radiophonic workshops, and I'd seen this documentary about Delia Derbyshire as well so I had all these 1950’s, analogue-y synth sounds buzzing around in my head. Tom Hiddleston has a Shakespeare-like quality to his performance, so I thought this needs to have some kind of classical, weighty grandness. So it was a fusion of those two things.

You weren’t on set for Loki, and I know that is something you like to do. In the absence of that, what sparked your creativity the most?

It was engaging with the character in a really deep way. The storyline really got under my skin and inspired me. I had the Loki theme in the pitch, so that’s been there from day one. And as for the riffs in the theme, I feel like Loki is the Salieri to Thor’s Mozart, so I was listening to lots of that. There's a bit of ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ by Wagner in Loki’s theme as well. That was all in the pitch. Then I had a month to write the suite. That was the Mobius theme, the Sylvie theme, and the Variant theme.

For all the hi-tech stuff we see in Loki, the TVA is also very analogue in some respects and you’ve clearly taken that into account with the score. How quickly did you catch onto that and are there any other ways that are reflected in your score?

I sampled lots of clock-ticking sounds. I worked with Daniel Sonnabend - he’s got lots of old analog tape machines - and we were messing around with that. The tape machine player almost became its own instrument. We had this big church bell for the timekeepers at the beginning of episode four. That was sampled and then downgraded, so it gets glitchy as it goes on to signify what’s happening in the story. I was just messing around with a lot of that in the background, and it's all over everything. There's always an urgency and a time-ticking feeling in the background of lots of tracks.

How long does one spend listening to samples of clocks before you find the right one?

I've got a lot! I'm sure they'll come in handy at some point.

I’ve read that you wanted a score that “reflected Loki’s personality.” What were some of the characteristics you were looking to emphasise and accentuate with your score?

Something that I touched on with Kate, from reading the scripts for the very first time was Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange. In that film, Alex commits these horrendous acts and he's extremely violent, and yet somehow you connect with him. I feel like Loki is the same. He's a likable villain. In the series, he comes to terms with his fallibility and it is quite painful for him. So I suppose my job is to help him reach those emotional depths. When he sees his mother in episode one, his past is calling to him and that's when we hear those haunting Norwegian instruments that suddenly seem to shine. Yearning for your mother is something we can all relate to.

We’ve spoken a bit about the use of the Theremin. What drove your selection of the other instruments?

I did this amazing lockdown project for an ad agency. They kind of got all of their artists to play Pass the Parcel with a theme, and we just did this lockdown piece. I'm not sure how successful it was, but the person that I got sent the material from was Charlie Draper who's a theremin player and a theremin enthusiast. So he was in the back of my mind, and I knew I really wanted to collaborate with him at some point. He played on my demo. And then the Norwegians... I saw them at a concert in Stoke Newington about three years ago. They're in this group called the Lodestar Trio. They're amazing, and they play with Max Bailey. I've known him for years, and I just went to this concert. He did all these interpretations of Bach, but with a kind of Norwegian folky twist. I just loved the instrument combination of the Nyckelharpa, the Hardanger fiddle, and the violin. It sounds mystical and magical and amazing. It felt like the perfect pairing with Loki’s past.

I read that you started with the finale and worked backward. Is that an unusual way of working for you or do you do that often?

This whole show has been a departure from anything I've ever done before, in terms of the scale of it, and, you know, the resources. It's all just been different. I think Kate and Kevin [Feige], the producer, saw it as a six-hour film. They didn't want it to be a TV show. The thing about scoring a film is that you do have that time to really craft themes and to have more of an overarching narrative than you sometimes get to do in TV because there's usually a quicker turnaround. And I guess because of the pandemic as well, I had more time.

I didn’t want to just work my way through the score in a linear order. I wanted to know where I was going and then seed it. I think writing a suite before starting on a picture, and having those themes in my mind before seeing the footage was super useful as well. I think I'm always going to do that from now on.

Are we ever gonna hear the full suites somewhere down the line?

I had never done one before. And I was like, “have you got any examples from anybody else?” So they sent me suites from a couple of other composers, like Ludwig Göransson’s one for Black Panther. I was totally geeking out on that. I heard Mark Mothersbaugh’s suite for Thor: Ragnarok as well, and that was kinda intimidating. But it was really good to hear that they've all gone through this process.

You get to see these epic moments in Loki before there’s any music to it. Was there any particular moment you watched that you were excited to work on?

I read the scripts, and I had Mobius in my head as something very different. I saw him being a bigger person who was quite slow, like a kind of cheeseburger-eating cop. The way Owen Wilson brought that character to life was so brilliant, as was the chemistry between him and Tom. I loved watching their bromance. It was really fun to score them as their relationship blossomed. When Mobius is pruned, that was so awesome. I loved episode four. I had seeded everything and built their friendship up. That moment where Tom walks down the corridor in slow motion with tears in his eyes… I loved scoring that.

Loki is a man of many multitudes, and the show goes down a lot of strange avenues. I love the tracks where you really get to do something different from the main body of the score, like ‘DB Cooper’ or ‘Miss Minutes’.

I had a bit more time for episodes one and two. Like, I had a month to score episode one. By the time I got to episode six, it was really frantic. So, with the tracks you mentioned, I just had the time to do it. Kate was like, “we've got a source track that sort of works, but wouldn't it be really fun if we could do a version of it with the Loki theme?” And I was like, “yep, cool, let's try it.” It was one of the upsides to the pandemic, that we had more time to work on it and do stuff like that. I did a film before with where I got Chris Lawrence - he's like a bass player in London, and he plays in orchestra’s but he also plays at Ronnie Scott’s - and he did the baseline on ‘D.B. Cooper’. He’s so good. And I sang on that track too!

‘Miss Minutes’ felt like a moment to tip your hat to those sci-fi shows and do a pastiche. So I got the theremin and the choir and had some fun with that piece. And again, that's got the TVA theme in it. I think that’s really nice, and it's something they did with WandaVision as well. There's cohesion in the score. Even when you're hearing this jazzy track, you're still getting the Loki theme and you're hearing a different side of his character.

You mentioned how you had more time to score the earlier episodes. Was there anything positive about having less time on the later episodes? How do you prefer to work?

I remember reading something about people who can see colours with music. I feel that I have the same thing with a scene. I can watch a scene and I can start hearing it in my head, and as I get more into a project... I remember watching episode six, and because I was so into the project and into the characters by that point, I was like, that's what needs to happen. I could hear it as I was watching it. I feel like sometimes if you’re spending ages working on something, that instinct can get a bit boiled down. Episode six felt like my most instinctive version of the music because I didn't have time to fiddle around with it. It just felt like that was my very undiluted response.

I like it. Natalie Holt uncut.

I just kind of sketched it all out on the piano as I heard it. It was very quick.

How long did you have to work on that particular episode?

I think it was a week. It was a very quick turnaround with the orchestral recording, and I thought we were going to need more time.

How involved were you with the track Tom Hiddleston sings in Asgardian?

They had found a Norwegian song, and he'd already recorded it. I was like, I think we need a musician in the background. There should be someone on that train who’s a little bit drunk and has an instrument, and it's a kind of space-age fiddle, and they're going to accompany Tom in the scene and I think that's going to really help. Kate and Kevin were like, yeah, that could really work. So I did a few versions where I just took what Tom had done, added some violins,  and then improvised a bit in the middle where Loki sings to Sylvie. And they're like, yes, we've got to do this. So they went back in and shot a pickup of an alien musician in that sequence because I insisted. I really wish it was me!

We know that season two of Loki is in the works now. They better have you on camera.

Oh my god, I'm so up for it!

How did you find it working remotely? Were you involved in the mixing stage at all?

It was kind of frustrating. Getting picture to work in the orchestral recording sessions was a problem. Marvel is very strict about how a picture goes out because they don't want any leaks, so that was quite challenging. I could never send people the picture to play with. It's kind of nice for the musicians to come in and see what they're playing against, but there was none of that. That was a bit of a downside. With that said, it was easier to get hold of people because everyone was at home and really happy to be working. I don't know if I'd have got the job had it not been for the fact that everyone was suddenly happy to accept more remote working than they would have done in the past. So I feel like it's opened some doors. The frustrations and the benefits seemed to be in balance.

Speaking of opening doors, you’re only the second woman to compose an MCU score (Pinar Toprak scored Captain Marvel in 2019). That feels significant.

We're in a time, certainly, where I think people are very consciously opening up opportunities to all sorts of people that wouldn't have had those opportunities before, which I'm really grateful for. A few years ago, I wouldn't have gotten this opportunity until a bit further on in my career. So it accelerated things. We are moving forward. But the thing that I really struggle with… I went to a state school and I got scholarships to study music. It wasn't prohibitively expensive to go to university. I did a master's and I didn't come out with 30 grand of debt. The opportunities are here for me now, but I think if I was young and I wanted to go to film school I wouldn't be able to afford it.

So what bothers me is social mobility. I still think we're opening up our industry, but we're not supporting people being able to study music and being able to get into film, and being able to spend those years doing low-paid jobs from the ground up. I still think we've got a long way to go with that. But I think at my age and my level, I'm just privileged that I did have those bursaries and those opportunities to study music, and I hope they're still there for my daughter's generation.

You have a lot of synths in this score. How tricky was it to find that balance between the classical and modern instruments?It's a blend. There’s some in-the-box stuff. Some of the synths are recorded, and then I ran them through the analog tape machine to dirty them up. I've got a Juno 60, so I've got some analog synths going on. It's such a weird process, isn't it? Creating something and being like, no, that's right! Jake Jackson - who mixed the score - must feel like I’m a complete control freak. I was like, “yeah I really like your mix but can you just go back and basically listen to my demo?” I was quite specific with him. He did an amazing job. The D.B. Cooper track... I cannot believe that he made it sound like that. I've never worked with him before, and handing your work over to an engineer does feel a bit like, oh, how's this gonna be? But it was a really, really great experience, and I think Jake is a genius. He really gets it, and he was really collaborative and respectful of my intentions with everything. I never felt like he was trying to put his mark on anything. It was a really smooth part of the process.

What conversations do you have about how prevalent your music is in the mix when it comes to the TV side of things?

I was so obsessed with Loki that I couldn’t let it go. I went to the dub even when it was two o'clock in the morning. I just wanted to check in and I was calling Kate and asking her, “please can you turn the music up here?” I was like a dog with a bone until it was ripped out of my mouth and they were like that’s it now, this episode is locked. I definitely fought for things to be turned up.

You had a 32-piece choir for the last 2 episodes. What was it like to get that recording in? Are you watching as they’re recording it from a remote location?

They were a Hungarian choir. The male singers could really go down. I was adding notes in at the bottom for those guys to sing. I didn’t know anyone could sing that low. That was cool. I had never recorded a choir before, so it was a new one for me. I was really lucky to have Andy Brown from the London Metropolitan orchestra. He assisted me with the Brass and singing sessions.

I imagine that one of the cooler things about scoring something like Loki is that you are now part of the wider MCU universe. I think I heard hints of Alan Silvestri’s Avengers cue a couple of times…

I put in a Loki version of the Avengers theme at the end of episode 4. Also, at the very start of the season before the title card, it goes from an Alan Silvestri cue and then segues and then I take it over. It was really cool to get to play around with the multitrack from that. I was always a big fan of the Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther scores, so those were kind of my inspirations. I was just kind of honoured to be in the same league as those people and those scores because I thought they were great and quirky and had all these interesting flavours and textures.

I love that you’ve been given the freedom to be as bold as you’ve been with your score.

I wanted to do something a bit different, and Marvel's TV ventures... they're wanting to do something a bit different and challenging as well with this new direction that they're taking. It felt like there was a lot of creative freedom being dished out with this series, in every department. Kate was like, “let's try this DB Cooper scene with the theme, if it doesn't work then it's fine.” It was just trying things out and seeing what stuck.

I remember handing over my score for episode one, just before Christmas 2020. I'd scored the whole thing and was very nervous because I think it was the first time Kevin Feige and the execs were going to hear my stuff. I’d really worked hard on it, and it had a lot of live stuff. There was just one note back from Kevin Feige - push it further. I think that's so cool. As we went on the execs were really happy with it, I got calls from Victoria Alonso and Louis D’Esposito [Marvel producers]. They both rang me and just thanked me and they were like, 'we're just so happy that you've taken the ball and run with it'. I couldn't have asked for a nicer bunch of people to work with. I wasn't sure how it was going to be, I was a bit intimidated. I thought it might be a bit more terrifying. But actually, it turned out to be a really amazing, fulfilling experience.

Welcome to the world of Loki YouTube covers! How far down that rabbit hole have you fallen, and how much are you enjoying that side of the MCU experience?

It's really flattering. I’ve posted some of them on my Twitter. It’s just amazing how quickly people will post music from the show after episodes. They sound almost the same as my demo, and they’ve knocked it out in about two hours the minute after they’ve watched the episode.

Once your work on Loki was complete, how did you detox? Do you delete all your voice memos?

I've still got them. The TVA theme actually came to me as I was walking down the high street. I've got some in the bank for the future as well. I'm always noodling and sketching things down on manuscript paper. How do I detox? I just bought a new piano. It’s 100 years old. I haven't had a piano for a bit, so I've just been playing a lot of Bach.

[flamingo-writes]

Zoro x reader! They've been traveling companions for a year before they met Luffy and became pirates, so they're close to each other. S/O fell in love with Zoro but he rejects her, so they stayed as close friends. Then, after 2 years passed, S/O is still friendly to him and the others but seemingly moved on while Zoro's love for her grow, and while he was still ambitious towards his dream, he felt so lonely as he watched S/O move on, even if she's happier than before.

Hello!! I’m so sorry for the late response!! 

From the moment I read this request, I fell in love with it!! It took me a while to write it, but here it is!! Let’s go! (I slipped a bit of Law x Reader to add to the angst, I hope you don´t mind XD) 

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: angst

Posted: 06.05.2020

Unique Kind of Pain — Zoro x Reader / Law x Reader

It didn’t matter how much time Zoro spent training, it never seemed to be enough. As soon as he got down from the crow's nest, and he saw you there, it instantly hurt. Almost as if someone poked his heart with a needle, it stung. Constantly. His decisions haunted him, and were slowly carving a whole in his chest. 

The sight of you was unbearable. And it pained him. Seeing his best friend should not hurt this much. And yet, the weight of his mistakes seemed to follow you everywhere. Your smile, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice. Oh, the sound of your voice when you called his name. 

“Zoro! Come see this! Look what Ussop did!” 

That same gentle voice that had been calling his name for several years now. He remembered he sometimes found it annoying. The way your voice pronounced his name when you were angry. The concern, when he got injured. The annoyance when you got lost and were looking for him. Back then, he disliked the ways your voice called his name. But now, each and every single time you called his name felt like a cursed blessing. 

He wiped his face with the towel, as sweat kept falling from the intense training. His heart shrunk at the sight of your smile, your eyes reflecting fascination at Ussop’s newest project. 

“You’re amazing, Ussop” 

“Thanks, [Name]!” Ussop giggled. 

He could hardly concentrate on Ussop's new additions to his slingshot, as he was distracted by you. Your smile radiating fascination as it shone all the way into your eyes. The sweet smell of your hair that now haunted him in his sleep. 

Over time, as his feelings for you grew and grew, things got worse. Little by little. It hurt. But it wasn't so bad. Not yet at least. 

At least not until the whole Dressrosa chaos was over. In Punk Hazard, Zoro could tell Law was being particularly friendly towards you. But he could easily ignore that. God knows what happened in Dressrosa. For a fair amount of time, you stuck with him, fighting side by side. And suddenly, you were gone. 

Back in the Sunny after whatever shit show Fujitora tried to pull before you left. Everyone was on the ship and it was only you who was missing. Zoro's heart was in his throat, wondering if you were alive. 

A series of conflicting feelings overwhelmed him at once when you ran across the deck and jumped into the ship. A cheeky laugh escaped your breathless lips as you apologized to your crewmates. As your eyes scanned the Sunny, they stopped when you saw Trafalgar Law, rather weak, sitting on the grass.

"Law!" You sprinted one last time towards him. 

Falling in your knees as you slid a few feet, colliding with the doctor and wrapping your arms around Law. 

"Oh god, you're fine!" You said breaking the hug and looking at him. "Your arm! You got it back" 

"Yeah. I was not going to lose my arm. Fuck that" He chuckled "You dissapeared, I was worried" 

"I went looking for Luffy...sorry" 

"It's okay, you're fine and you're here" One of his long hands brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering on your cheek as you leaned into his touch, looking into his grey eyes. 

The whole scene, while for most of the strawhats looked rather adorable, for Zoro ir was unbearable. 

A sting pinching his heart, as well as an uncomfortable twist of his guts suddenly angered him. Not angry at Traffy. Zoro knew it was childish to get angry at him. He was angry at himself for digging his own grave like this. He wished he was the one in your arms, and not Law. He wished he had corresponded to your feelings back then.  

Without saying much, he turned around and left. Drowning himself in yet another intense training. Probably more intense than before. His mind constantly picturing you in Law's arm, his imagination torturing him, playing him. Picturing you kissing him, clinging to him, as his hands roamed your body, whispering sweet nothings back and forth in each other's ears as you were both consumed by desire. 

The sweat puddling on the floor didn't seem to be enough. The strain in his muscles and the fatigue weren't enough to stop his head from wildly betraying him. 

"Oi! Zoro!" Franky called, cheerfully climbing the ladder to the crowsnest. "Robin says dinner is ready! Since sanji isn't here, she cooked for us tonight" 

TFrabky's fatherly instincts needed a single glance at Zoro to notice he was pushing himself way too much. 

"Zoro? Aren't you overworking yourself?" 

"I'm fine," Zoro grunted, doing another sit up with a bar and weights on his shoulders. 

"No you're not!" The cyborg hurried to his side. "Stop that, if you injure yourself, Chopper not only will get mad, but you won't be able to work out for a while!" He begged as Zoro growled lowly and put the weight on the floor before sitting down on the ground "Don't you feel like everything hurts?" 

"That's precisely the problem"  Zoro whispered to himself, however Franky managed to listen clearly as day.

"What?" 

"Nothing" Zoro answered.

"Do you feel alright?" The swordsman looked at Franky, noting Franky was being insistent.

"Yeah. C'mon. Let's go" Zoro shrugged.

"Zoro, don't lie to me. I know something's bothering you" Franky said louder than before.

"It's nothin'" 

"Its [Name], isn't it?" 

Zoro stopped dead cold at the entrance of the crowsnest. He glanced at Franky over his shoulder.

"I noticed the way you were looking at her when she ran to hug Law" Franky said. "If you like her why don't you tell her?" 

"I can't" 

"Of course you can! Aren't you guys best friends?" Zoro glared at Franky, feeling somewhat annoyed, and also desperate.

"It's more complicated than that" 

"Talk to me, kid" Franky said, resting one of his huge hands on Zoro's shoulder. 

He took a deep breath, thinking. He'd never talked to anyone about it. When you confessed your feelings for him back in Thriller Bark. He wanted to keep it a secret, but his body urged him to let all those intrusive thoughts out. Maybe talking to someone would help him soothe his nerves instead of intensively working out. 

"After dinner," Zoro said. 

He wanted to buy some time, maybe put his thoughts in order before talking to Franky. 

Strangely enough, what normally felt like a blink of an eye,the usual chaotic dinner scene now seemed to go by in slow motion. 

On one hand, his thoughts seemed to float around the room, shapelessly, and without an order. His mind was a total mess. Ten times more chaotic than the traditionally loud strawhat mealtime.

On the other, your flirty playful game with Law. You were talking to him, not really minding the other conversations taking place in the kitchen.  His arm was around your shoulders as the both of you were deep in your conversation. Zoro could tell how your "mindless" playing with his hand wasn't so mindless. 

After dinner, Zoro politely waited for Franky to be done and the both of them left the kitchen without saying much.

Zoro told Franky the whole story. Normally, he'd like to go straight to the point and keep the details to himself. But talking to someone about it, felt so liberating, all of his thoughts left his lips without second thoughts. 

Franky listened. Carefully. And very rarely interrupted Zoro to ask something. In the end, he remained silent for a few moments, letting all the information sink in and drawing conclusions.

"I still think you should talk to her. Maybe she'll get mad, considering the circumstances. But she still deserves to know. Especially because it's bothering you this much" He began "Even if she gets mad, she's your friend. I've seen you guys fight and yell at each other, and half an hour later, see you guys laughing as if nothing happened" 

"I don't know…" The swordsman whispered

"Think about it…" 

Zoro sighed loudly, looking at the moon shining bright close to the sea. 

A set of silhouettes left the kitchen into the deck. Not noticing Zoro and Franky, Law and you made it to the edge, looking at the moon and the stars. 

Zoro watched, silently, feeling his burdens weigh on his shoulders heavier than all of the weights up in the crowsnest.

It didn't take long for Law to place a hand on your waist, as you spun on your toes looking at him. Unable to hear what you were saying back and forth, Zoro could tell where this whole scene was going to end up. 

It didn't take long for you to stand on the tip of your toes, and for Law to leane down. Any trace of space was gone. The both of you trapped in a kiss Zoro craved. 

He felt nauseous and light on his feet. He turned around, unable to keep watching as you wrapped your arms around Law's shoulders. 

"I'm sorry, Zoro" Franky whispered upon   witnessing the scene.

"I am too…" Zoro said defeated. "I'll talk to her tomorrow, I'm off to bed now".

"Goodnight, kid," Franky said looking at Zoro as he silently made his way through the deck to the guys' room.

"Night, Franky" He whispered, not helping but peek once more, as Law had you in his arms, kissing you passionately. 

It hurt. It hurt as bad as it hurt when he realized he had feelings for you. And hurt like the pain your eyes reflected when you confessed to him back in the day. It hurt like the realization that you had moved on whereas he had fallen for you. And boy, what a unique kind of pain that was. 

[starlightsearches]

His Pilot Ch. 6 (SFW)

Masterlist

Armitage Hux x Pilot! Reader (f)

NSFW Version of the chapter can be found here.

Warnings: Language, angst.

The fire paints with dim, golden streaks on the ceiling above your bed—not bright enough to keep you awake, if you could manage to close your eyes.

You should be tired, exhausted. You should have fallen into the deepest sleep of your life before you even managed to crawl between the sheets. But you can’t. And you’re not.

Rest stays elusive, no matter how hard you try. After everything that’s happened, every promise and commitment you made in the blazing heat of the moment, it would be wise to take this time alone to think about what’s been done, and what cannot be undone.

And instead you're thinking about how it would feel to have Armitage's lips against your neck.

You huff at yourself, turning once again, the sheets in a tangle around your legs from your restless movements.

The knock at the door is so quiet, you’re sure you’ve imagined it. You want him to be there, but finding the hallway empty would be unbearable. The sound comes again, slightly louder, and you close your eyes, offer your hopes to the universe, and slip from between the sheets.

It takes effort to keep from running—even on your sore and tired legs—your footsteps marking an even beat against the floor, not loud enough to drown out the rapid strike of your heartbeat as your fingers curl around the cool metal of the door handle.

It could be Day, checking to make sure that you’re alright. Or Alida with fresh clothes for tomorrow or more wood for the fireplace.

The door opens; all your fears go quiet. It’s him.

“I . . .” Armitage hesitates, eyes gone wide when he sees you, shoulders positioned away from the door, like he's ready to run, “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought . . .”

Thank gods. You manage to keep your excitement to yourself, stepping out of the way so that he can enter.

The fire burns low in the hearth, casting more shadows than light at this point, bringing the walls in closer and shrinking the room, small enough that you can’t help but stand close to him.

He’s still in his clothes from before, except for the jacket—the fabric stiff with rain. His hair has lost any of the gel he had put in it that morning, and it falls across his forehead in soft waves—longer than you expected it to be—before he brushes it back with one ungloved hand.

“I— I didn’t mean to bother you,” he says, his throat jumping slightly when he swallows, eyes on the mess of sheets and blankets on your bed. He clasps his hands tighter behind his back when you rest your hand on his arm, the skin of his knuckles turning white.

“You’re not bothering me, I couldn’t sleep either.”

His eyebrows raise, the breath he was holding brushing your skin when he finally releases it. “Really?”

“Yes." You continue to shrink the space between you, looking up at him through your lashes.

He frowns, confused. “Why not?”

“I was thinking about you.” He can't not know what you're waiting for at this point, standing so close you can feel the heat from his skin through his clothes, staring pointedly at his lips.

He holds your hand to his face, and you think you've finally gotten through to him, letting your eyes flutter closed, but he doesn't come any closer, and when you meet his eyes again, they're full of pain.

“I’m— I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for all of this. I’ve ruined—”

You kiss him with an exasperated sigh—kiss him to shut him up, kiss him because you can’t wait any longer. It stuns him, but he kisses you back, his hand at your jaw, lips moving seamlessly against yours.

It’s exactly what you wanted—uncomplicated, pure connection. He won’t listen to you when his own insecurities are so loud, but he can feel this: the urgency of your mouth against his, the sincere desire in your sighs.

There’s no forethought, no planning, just need—every movement motivated only by desire. He stumbles back on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, pulling you down against him with his arm at your waist until you’re a mess of shifting legs and desperate, roaming hands.

It’s need that presses your hips against his thigh, warm and solid between your legs, need that has you sliding your core against the firm press of his body, sighing into his open mouth.

You reach for his shirt collar, pulling him closer, the buttons slipping easily from their hold under the strength of your hands until you can grip at the skin beneath—his neck, his collarbone, each valley and ridge mapping itself beneath your touch, searching lower, deeper, for more.

You’re left staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and empty hands.

Armitage turns to you, half his face in shadow as he sits on the edge of the bed, running his palms over the silk covers methodically, as if he’s trying to make sure that there's something real beneath him.

“Is everything . . . alright?” you whisper, apprehensive. There’s a sinking pit in your stomach, a terrible strain between your need to touch him and your fear of pushing him away.

He waits a moment before answering with an unconvincing nod.

“Yes, of course. I’m— I apologize.”

He looks so broken, defeated, and you don’t even know what you’ve done to make him this way. With no other options, you shift closer, stroke your fingers over the back of his neck in what you hope is a soothing gesture. His shoulders relax minutely, pressing closer against your hand, and even this little sliver of contact makes your stomach soar.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He scoffs, turning away from you, and it's only then that you realize the anger in his eyes is directed inward.

Your chest collapses, folding in on itself in shame.

“Armitage,” you hook one finger under his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes, “it’s alright. I’m not upset, or angry. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

His jaw tightens, eyes heavy with an unspoken pain. “Please, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. You don’t have to worry about me, Armitage.”

He pauses, quiet, shifting in his seat, clearly still embarrassed despite your assurance, “I should return to my room.”

You stop him with a hand on his chest, “Don’t, please, stay with me.”

He flushes, red from his temples to his cheeks; his shame only just overpowered by the desire to stay with you. “I’d need a change of clothes.”

You press your lips together, biting away a smile, “I think I can help with that.”

The trip to his room and back is uneventful, thankfully. The hallways are dim and empty, and the house is large enough that you don’t have to worry about waking anyone, or having to explain your trip to Armitage's quarters in the middle of the night.

The refresher is off when you get back, the room swallowed by silence, and you knock on the door to let him know that you’ve returned from your little mission.

“Come in.”

He speaks quietly but you still manage to hear him, bracing yourself before you enter the refresher, greeted by a wall of steam that clings to your skin and collects in your lashes like tears. Armitage stands, bare from the waist up, staring at his hazy reflection in the fogged glass.

His back is to you, pale white skin pulled tight over sharp shoulder blades, dotted with freckles and occasionally marred by the white stripe of a long-healed scar. There’s another mark, an unexpected one on his left shoulder, just below the junction of his neck.

He watches your approach through the glass, no longer covered in mist now that you’ve let the cold air in, the leftover condensation dripping down its surface like rain before pooling at the edge of the counter.

It’s not a very large tattoo, about the length and width of your thumb: a small sprig of flowers, like the ones you saw on your trip to the market. You trace the lines—the dark green of the stem and where it fades into the soft, white petals—with the tip of your finger, memorizing the pattern.

“It’s Halia,” he says with a cough, “they’re the flowers that grow on the mountains along the shoreline. She was named after them. It was the first thing I did after leaving the academy, in her memory when—” he pauses, voice thick with emotion, “—when I thought she was dead.”

You nod, stroking your thumb over his shoulder, unwilling to speak just yet, in case it breaks whatever spell has overcome him.

“It scared me, for most of my childhood. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a few moments I’d be terrified, thinking I’d forgotten her name. My father, he told me the truth when I was very young. Maybe he thought I’d be ashamed, but I couldn’t be. She was the only thing that separated me from that man, and I worried that if I forgot her, like he had, I’d end up like him, too.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to you in a single sitting, bared to you not just physically, but emotionally as well. It's the moment you've been waiting for.

“If she knew the truth,” you whisper, kissing the bend right above the tattoo, “she would be proud of you.”

His hand covers yours, pressed tighter against his skin. “I hope you’re right.”

He glows in the darkness beside you, skin bright and reflective as a moon, and you stroke your hand over his cheek as he slumbers, brush the dark, still-damp hair from his eyes, your other hand firmly held in his own.

You rest your head against the pillow, laying on your side. He'll be the last thing you see before you drift off tonight, and the first you'll see when you wake up.

You fall asleep knowing that you made the right choice.

Hux Tag List: @theredwolfisalesbian, @aramanna, @catboykenobii

Join my tag list here!