#and Color is fine for online spaces/with people who know this side of me. but it's not really something I tend to introduce myself as irl

[colorstormx]

what if I renamed Storm as Zephyr instead. what if I renamed myself Zephyr. hmm. hmmmmmm.

#nothing permanent decided just yet of course #but I was just reminded that the word exists and hit damn. it sure does have a certain pull to it #if I do rename Storm then like... 'Storm' would definitely still stick around as a nickname at the very least #but like. I'm honestly considering it for my own name. I've been looking for a better one #my birth name is just ehhhh to me. I don't feel a ton of connection to it really #and Color is fine for online spaces/with people who know this side of me. but it's not really something I tend to introduce myself as irl #I mean to be fair Zephyr might not be taken much more seriously either but it does have a certain feel that I like #eh. if it doesn't really really stick with me then maybe it'll end up as the name for an alternate Storm form or something #like that angel design I made for her yeaaaaars ago #ironically it's about this time of year that I decided to change her name from Color to Storm. that was back around new years 2017... #holy FUCK how is that SEVEN years ago #I. huh. what .. what the fuck. yeah it was winter 2016/17 I'm pretty sure? if not then it was 2015/16 which means eight years and. man. huh. #okay checking old refs it was in fact 2017 when she officially became Storm #wild. #anyway that's tonight's 2:30am thoughts #the snowjag speaks

[qqueenofhades]

Last anon here -- I'm sorry for sending that message through. I don't know what is and isn't true anymore.

I deleted what I presume was your first ask (the one accusing me of not condemning the Gaza genocide and calling me a "DNC shill and a liar") because it was rude, uncalled for, and I couldn't see any good to come of engaging with it. However, because you've returned and apologized and sent this followup, I am willing to answer it, because I am aware that we can all do stupid things (especially on the internet) that we regret. So there is that.

Once again: I have strictly limited my posts/reblogs on this topic because it is so inflammatory, there are reams of people willing to attack you on every side, and none of it is actually constructive (this is the blue hellsite where we have two whole jokes about Ea-Nasir and color theory in children's hospitals. We are not doing important social justice work here and expecting this to be the main/only forum in which we post the Correct Opinions is not going to work out for anyone). But I would like, for the record, to point out that I have condemned the situation in Gaza and explicitly called it a genocide and Netanyahu and co. war criminals. Often and repeatedly:

Ask from October 28, 2023:

What’s happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. [...] To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being “anti-Western,” and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

Another post from December 2023 explicitly calling out Netanyahu and his cabinet, while also pointing out that Tumblr's response now mostly consisted of antisemitic dogwhistles and rampant political misinformation:

[...] the way Netanyahu is personally a genocidal maniac with a far-right cabinet of war criminals and is bent on continuing the war in order to escape his own criminal prosecutions (and yes, he is HIGHLY affiliated with Trump and Putin) but this somehow still does not remotely justify or excuse the rampant frothingly mindless and generalized anti-Semitism seen everywhere on leftist spaces these days [....]

An ask from January 10th, 2024 (worth probably reading in full) where I once more say that nobody wants this to be happening, but that once again, the criticism in Western leftist forums (particularly Tumblr/Twitter) is not made equally or in good faith :

Nobody of basic good sense and decency wants to see Gaza leveled while the Israeli state continues to apply a number of violently cruel collective punishments even outside the actual daily bombing of civilians. But for the love of god, let’s get rid of the idea that the continued mindless violence doesn’t benefit Hamas (because it does; unsurprisingly, sympathy for their cause has soared in Gaza) as much as it does Israel, or that Hamas is some kind of benevolent peacemaker that is being thwarted by the cruel imperialist US/West.

This post, also from January 2024, explains why the kind of stunt-trick "pro Palestinian" activism that just relies on publicly hassling Jews is a) antisemitic and b) actively harming the people of Gaza, while once again pointing out whose fault this whole mess actually is:

If these people actually wanted to advocate constructively for Palestine in a good-faith way and not just punish random Jews or people who might have once met a Jew (which they don’t), they would take a look at that, go “hmm, this isn’t really getting the right result” and listen to the people who are telling them that by generating this bad publicity, they are doing far more harm to the cause than good. They are going to make the cause look foolish, they will drive away anyone who isn’t already radicalized, they will shut down any possibility of discussion and dialogue, and their efforts will be picked up in the Israeli nationalist right-wing media/Netanyahu and his war criminal advisors to insist to left-wing or anti-zionist Jews that (one of the, you know, big fucking reasons Israel was founded in the first place) they aren’t safe in any other country in the world, and they need to support the Israeli government’s actions, no matter how heinous.

A follow-up from January 31, 2024, discussing (again) the problems with insisting that Biden personally/the American power apparatus is just giving Israel a blank check and therefore Biden Iz Bad And This is All His Fault:

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn’t doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell.

I am a historian. This does not mean that I always know The Greatest Things Ever, but it does mean that I default toward long, cautious, and qualified responses where I try to consider multiple perspectives and nuances, rather than just posting pithy soundbites or black-and-white statements. (Yes, I know; I am doomed on social media.) Thus when I do discuss the situation, I tend toward trying to put it in broader context, to push back sharply against the idea that being "pro Palestine" is just being wildly antisemitic on social media and nothing else, and to call out those bad actors who are using this situation to continue to imperil American democracy and deliberately try to get Trump (who openly hankers to be a genocidal fascist dictator for everyone, not just Israel/Palestine) back into office.

I know that this is a situation which provokes (to say the least) strong emotions from everyone. I know that it's infuriating to feel totally helpless and just to have to watch it from afar. I know that we all wish we could stop it and that leads us to create meaning or assign importance to our own actions where there actually is none. But that does not mean that people have total liberty to spread antisemitic conspiracy theories, wild political misinformation, narratives designed whether unwittingly or deliberately to help Trump and other far-right fascists, and otherwise anonymously dogpile on people who haven't Posted The Correct Opinion on Tumblr (once again, Tumblr, where we get our news via Destiel meme). So I hope this has helped you, if this is what you wanted to get out of contacting me today, and hope also that you'll continue to think about what to do and how to act. It's hard, I know, and you have my sympathy. But so it is for us all.

#anonymous #ask #history #politics for ts #israel hamas war

[imaginesbymonika]

“Shame” Part 7

A Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader fan fiction

Plot: For the last four years, Y/N and Pedro have been dating in secret. The fear of rejection has turned them into a mystery that could only be encountered in yearning looks on red carpets or hands that are touching one another briefly. However, for the longest time, things have been working out that way just fine. But now Pedro's agency wants him to have a PR relationship with another woman and neither Y/N nor Pedro is sure if their love is going to survive that.

Warnings: swearing, mgg is here to STAY (this is for you kim, love ya)

A/N: you guuuyss!! hello!!! i was gone for such a long time (?) i was just really busy with university and just life, but yeah, im back for now, i guess <3

"To be honest, I didn't expect you to show up.", the tall man states as his eyes light up at the sight of the young woman. Y/N just chuckles at the sincerity in his voice. She watches how he takes a step to the side, offering her to walk through the door into his home. There is a certain tension, lingering in the chilly evening air. Who would have thought, that they were living in the same city… She mouths a brief 'thank you' before doing so and waits for him to close the door. However, before he does his brown eyes scan the street in front of the building. Curious if any paparazzi have seen her. But once he realizes that no one has noticed his guest his posture visibly softens.

„Well, I didn’t expect you to reach out to me, Gubler.“ At the mention of his last name, he giggles (actually giggles) and wipes the corner of his mouth with his left thumb. His gaze falls on the floor for a second, before he meets Y/N's again. She can clearly see that he wants to say something in return but doesn't. Instead, he makes a hand gesture, telling her to step further into the house.

„Oh my god… This is actually so stunning.“, the y/h/ced woman whispers as she wanders down the corridor into his living area. She can sense Matthew’s eyes on her form but acts like she has no idea. "Thanks.", is all she receives back.

A silence falls upon the two again and when she sits down on his long couch, she feels its softness:" You know, I always wanted a couch like this myself." "Why didn't you buy one?"

"Are you sure this is the one?", Pedro scratched his chin, his finger moved up his face and stayed underneath his nose. He taps his skin a few times and sighs:" Don't you think that leather would be a better choice?" There was something in his look that told Y/N that the decision was already made.

"I don't know." He lets out a soft chuckle:" Well, I tend to spend a lot of time in here. So I figured, that the least I can do is make this space as cozy as humanly possible." Y/N feels how she sinks further into the colorful and fuzzy furniture:" Oh Really? Because whenever I see videos of you meeting fans, you appear to be outside quite a lot!" At that, Matthew laughs out loud:" You've seen videos of me online?"

"I may have looked you up."

The actor crosses his arms in front of his chest, and Y/N watches how his muscles flex. She swallows and her hands stroke the material of the couch. "You looked me up?"

"You're asking me a lot of questions." His chuckle is as soft as honey. Y/N already wants to hear it again." You're right, sorry." "But yeah, I did."

Hot tears were dwelling up in her eyes and she felt how her hands were violently shaking:" God! Everyone thinks that you are so sweet! That you're this perfect nice guy! Hollywood's goddamn fucking sweetheart! I wish people could know the disgusting and ugly and horrendous truth about you and your stupid and mean lies! And- and- and the way you're only acting! You're not like that at all! You have them all fooled!"

Pedro stared at her. Her hand flew up to wipe her eyes:" You're so mean!" "You don't mean that.", Pedro whispered and swallowed thickly. "You're so mean."

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal angst #angst #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro x reader #pedro angst #x reader #pedro x you #pedro pascal x you #Spotify

[trans-axolotl]

i am so sorry if this is the most ignorant shit you’ve ever heard—that long post about how the trans community isn’t inherently safe for intersex ppl—can you outline the harmful, like, ideas? phrases? intersexist talking points that you’re referencing? again i’m rly sorry, for some reason your intersex questions tag won’t show up for me but if you’re willing i’d love to maybe know what phrases or words i should look for to call ppl out on. obviously feel free to tell me to eat shit. i appreciate ur time thank you v much

you're totally fine anon, I'm usually open to most questions when I can tell that people have good intentions :)

So I'm gonna list out a lot of shit but I do want to clarify that it's not only trans people who do this stuff; cis people are horribly intersexist as well. I'm just going to be talking about some specific intersexist things I see more often in trans spaces and also because my audience online is a lot of trans people.

A huge thing is I see a lot of trans people saying that they "want to be intersex" or "wish they had an intersex body." This is an issue for a lot of reasons, because it feels fetishistic, is ignorant of what intersex actually is, ignores the fact that being intersex means you're going to face a lot of oppression, and generally contributes to stereotypes that intersex is like some mythical third sex where you perfectly have a mix of all your characteristics in a gender-affirming way.

Faking being intersex. I haven't seen this shit as much online in a while but this honestly was a kind of big issue in some of my online circles like 5 years back and I still see it popping up every now and then. I don't think I need to explain why this is bad.

Literally just using slurs. I see wayyy more dyadic trans people than I should saying "hermaphrodite" when that is not a slur that dyadic trans people can ever reclaim.

Saying stuff about "AFAB bodies" or "AMAB bodies" or generally talking about sex assigned at birth and assuming that means people have certain body parts or experiences. Not all people who were AFAB have a uterus, not all people who were AMAB have a penis. Generally, I see a lot of trans people making generalizations about the "transmasc or transfem experience" in a way that doesn't leave room for intersex trans people who have different experiences with transition or different ways of understanding their trans identity. Acting like AGAB tells you anything more than what is assigned at birth is a problem, because it excludes intersex people who have different bodies, sex characteristics, lived experiences, all that.

Saying really harmful shit about our bodies, whether that's about body hair or genitalia or our voices, or anything. I've had a lot of dyadic trans people say weird shit to me that I think they think is complimenting me but is just really fucked up. People make weird offensive comments about my body hair and will just say a lot of invasive stuff about my body that is not their business. Asking invasive questions about my genitalia, demanding to know what's in my pants, that sort of stuff.

Specifically harassing a lot of intersex people of color and saying racist shit to them when they speak about intersex topics. This is something I've seen a lot irl and also on tumblr, and people specifically have targeted intersex poc on here and said really racist shit to them if they call people out for saying intersexist stuff.

Getting involved in intracommunity discussions about whether or not intersex is LGBTQ and ignoring intersex people when we speak on it. Our relationship to the LGBTQ community is intersex people's business and we all have a lot of different thoughts on it, and too many trans people speak over us on that.

On the flip side, always leaving us out of conversations where we are relevant (like reproductive rights, lgbtq bills, some types of discrimination, medical abuse, stuff like that)

Only bringing up intersex people when they're arguing with transphobes. Way too often i only see people bringing up intersex issues when its like "Take that transphobes! People with XXY chromosomes exist so you're wrong!" And it's like yeah, that's true, but it's shitty when y'all only bring us up when we're a convenient talking point and then don't know shit about what our activism is, what issues are important to us. It feels exploitative to only use our issues when convenient for you and then not pay attention to us the rest of the time.

Currently a lot of people are ignoring the way transphobic bills are also intersexist. People don't realize that all the things they're saying about "It's so easy for cis kids to get hormones, why is it so easy for cis kids but it's hard for trans kids!!!" is ignoring the fact that most of the cis kids who are "easily" getting hormones are intersex kids who are put on hormones in a way that is often coercive and is trying to "cure" being intersex. All these transphobic bills have specific exceptions to enable intersex medical abuse and it isn't cis people being lucky, it's intersex people being abused.

In general, trans community will ignore intersex exploitation when it's convenient. This one I'm less mad about because I don't think that even a lot of intersex people know this, but the history of how gender-affirming surgery and transgender clinics have been created in the US is really not great. Like obviously gender-affirming surgery is great and I want gender clinics to exist and trans healthcare to be easily accessible, but a lot of transgender healthcare was borne out of intersex medical exploitation. Look up John Money and the John Hopkins Gender Identity Clinic for a particularly bad example. This isn't trans people's fault at all, of course, but what is an issue is when I see trans people unquestionably celebrating doctors who invented trans surgeries, or celebrating the birth of gender clinics without critically understanding the horrible history some of these places have.

Acting like being intersex makes it easier to be trans, or would make it easier to get hormones or be respected by cis people. Most of the trans and intersex people I know have gone through so much shit. I went through hormonal conversion therapy because i was trans and intersex, which was literally so fucked. Because I was both trans and intersex, they did a lot of fucked up medical abuse to try to turn me cis and dyadic, and it did not make medical transition at all easier, it made it harder. That's why it can hurt so much when trans people say that being intersex makes being trans easier, because it fucking doesn't.

Also, I've seen a lot of dyadic trans people lately acting really hostile towards intersex organizations that are advocating for an end to intersex surgery because they think it's going to limit access to trans surgery. Dyadic trans people do not get to fucking say that we should stop advocating for ending intersex genital mutilation because it's "not the right time politically." It's always fucking necessary to be advocating to end IGM, and if there was a specific issue with a specific policy that intersex orgs were advocating for that would make it difficult for trans people to get surgery, that would be important to bring up, but most people I've seen saying that stuff are just saying that we shouldn't talk about it at all.

Not educating themselves on intersex issues. Most trans people I know have no clue what intersex is, what our major activist issues are, what the major intersex org for their country is, what the legal landscape of intersex rights is in their country, stuff like that. I'm not saying that trans people all have to be experts on specific intersex intracommunity debates, intersex history, intersex politics, but I do think that dyadic trans people do need to do the bare minimum of education.

Honestly? This is a little more personal but I know so many intersex people who have had bad experiences in their relationships. A lot of dyadic trans people can get weirdly jealous of their intersex partners, which is fucked up when you consider the fact that the things they are jealous of are things that cause us systematic exploitation and abuse. I know a lot of dyadic trans people who also just...trying to think of how to put this. Who are really not considerate partners during sex for some unique needs that intersex people have during sex. Again not a issue unique to trans people but something that I know happens in like most intersex people's relationships so it's good for trans people to be aware.

In general, the way a lot of trans people talk about and think about biological sex is counterproductive to intersex justice. Biological sex is a social construct. Sex isn't real, in terms of there's no reason sex is tied to gender, and also no reason that we've decided some body parts are now all linked together in a specific way that for some reason is going to be sorted into two categories. Chromosomes and genitalia are not some special body part that is entirely different than like, your kidney or your stomach. Biological sex is not real and the sex binary is not real and I see a lot of people talking about stuff like "male" or "female" is a real category that means anything. There is so much diversity and variation of sex even within dyadic people, and I see a lot of trans people clinging to biological sex in a way that is really apparent and also pretty harmful.

This got kind of long but these are some things that really bother me. I also left out most of the overt stuff like actual hate crimes and assault because I think that most people can recognize that as intersexist when that's happening. Again, I don't want to make it seem like it's only trans people doing this shit, but this is the stuff that I am seeing a lot specifically in trans community and some stuff that has some unique dynamics from trans people. And I think that trans people a lot of times will say things about "how close our two communities are" and "how much our issues overlap" when in reality they don't, and most dyadic trans people aren't putting in the work to build solidarity with trans intersex people. Cis intersex people also aren't putting in the work to build solidarity with trans people either, to be fair, and I'm really mad at them too, but I'm talking about this from the perspective of a trans intersex person who's already existing here in these spaces. other trans and intersex people feel free to add on.

okay to reblog.

#asks #actuallyintersex #intersex #trans #okay to reblog #again i dont want you all to feel like im shitting only on trans people #but this is the shit im experiecning in trans community in very particular ways #i could also make a long post with all the htings i hate about cis people and their intersexist stuff #but they don't follow me on tumblr lmao so what's the point. #also cis intersex people i kind of dont want u to jump onto this post #bc half of you all are transphobic in a way that im like i dont trust u

[singingninja4]

very long and kind of emotional word vomit post under the cut

tl;dr - I love BCS and this fandom community and I'm really not ready to say goodbye to the story and the characters

I shared a post earlier saying that a piece of media has never affected me as much as better call saul. last night I wept. I felt sick to my stomach, and my heart ached so much I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been hyperfixated on shows and movies before, but I’ve never had such a strong visceral reaction. in some of my other fandoms, I’ve cried—uncontrollably sobbed even—when a favorite character died or something else tragic occurred. like when tony stark died in endgame I ugly cried during the last 30 mins of the movie. I spent 10 years loving that character but then when I left the theater, I was able to go about my day. I was a little down for a few hours, and I certainly continued to grieve the character, but I was functional.

I’ve been contemplating all day why this show, better call saul, has ingrained itself into my being more so than any other show. one reason may be the amount of time I’ve spent with this universe and these characters. I didn’t watch brba from the very beginning—I started while season 3 was airing—but I’ve been with this universe for 12 years!! but I’ve been with other fandoms for just as long if not longer. another reason is definitely the quality of the show. across the board, with acting, writing, directing, music, cinematography, sound, costumes, literally every department is at the top of their game producing some of the best quality television to ever exist. no one is doing it like gilligould and co. NO ONE. but that’s not the only reason. I’ve watched other shows and movies that are of similar quality. Avatar the Last Airbender is and probably will forever be one of the greatest animated shows to ever air imo and for a lot of the same reasons. and yeah, atla holds a special place in my heart and I cry every time I watch certain scenes, but I don’t feel debilitating physical pain from it.

but after reflecting on it all day, what sets BCS apart from all of my other hyperfixations is the timing of it all. as I said, I’ve been a devout fan of the brba universe since around 2010, but my hyperfixation hit a whole new level in march 2020 when the pandemic hit and the first lockdown occurred. this was a very dark time in my life, as I know it was for many others. suddenly being totally isolated, scared about our health and our future, and for those of us in the usa, the fear and anger about our political landscape was traumatizing. I turned to tv and other media to fill some of the voids in my life, bcs and brba being the main shows I turned to for comfort. tbh I think that bcs being there for me during such a traumatizing and lonely time just stitched the characters even deeper into my heart.

another thing that sets it apart, is that this is the first time I have ever made friends through fandom/online spaces. I’ve been on tumblr for about 11-12 years, but until spring of 2020, I never really interacted with other people in fandom spaces. I was always a little detached, simply reblogging things I liked. as I’m sure we all were during the beginning of the pandemic, I was in desperate need of social interaction, and so I started to branch out a little bit in online fandom spaces like tumblr and ao3. then in november 2020 my family and I came down with severe covid. like my mom had to be hospitalized (she’s fine now) and I should have been but wasn’t because of my age and the number of beds in the hospital. during this time a lot of my irl “friends” showed their true colors. even though they knew we were sick hardly any of my friends checked in on me and my family. fortunately, we had other people besides my shitty “friends” to rely on to take care of us. anyway, I lost a lot of friends during that time, and so I dove even deeper into cultivating my friendships online as well as the few irl friends who stuck by my side.

I’ve made some fantastic friends over the last 2 years in the bcs fandom. some of y’all know me better in some ways than several of my irl friends.  the bonding that I have shared with y’all as we waited for season 6—the watch parties on tutturu (aka hyperbeam), the unhinged blogging, discord server inside jokes, fic writing and reading, song covers, voice chats, memeing and so many more interactions both about BCS and outside of it—all of these experiences continued to weave the bcs universe, its characters, and this fandom community into my soul.

last night’s episode was the end of an era, the beginning of the end. and the break-up between kim and jimmy, though inevitable, was devastating. I am utterly heart broken and am having trouble rising up out of how depressed I am about it. I never anticipated that I would be so emotionally invested in these wonderful characters that I would feel physically ill at the thought of their separation. I love this show so so much and it has gotten me through some very dark times, and I feel absolutely sick thinking about it ending. but I’ve realized it’s because I associate these characters and story that I love so much with all the wonderful people I’ve met here. y'all truly helped me through those dark times as well.

I am really not ready to say goodbye to this story and these characters. and I know it’s a silly thought, but I also think that the episode subconsciously triggered a fear that when the show ends, so will the lovely community I’ve made over the last 2 years (I’ve got some abandonment issues, but I won’t go into that here). I really hope that is not the case, and I’m going to try my damnedest to keep in touch with y’all even if the fandom dies down because this community truly means so much to me. 

anyway, I don’t really know where I was going with this…I don't think I articulated anything very well and I’m just kind of rambling at this point 😅 but I really just needed to write down my thoughts to process all these feelings I’ve been having all day. and also just wanted to tell y’all how much this fandom means to me 💖

edit:

thought I should clarify that even though I'm devastated by their break up, I'm anxious and excited for journey these characters are going to take us on in the final few episodes...even if I'm not ready for it to end yet 💖

#better call saul #personal #long post

[astraltrickster]

Tbh that shit I was ranting about in the tags of that one post, about why I feel alienated from artist communities online, is a huge part of why I hate the way the word "entitlement" (derogatory) has no set meaning

Because on the one hand, in fandom spaces especially, there are a lot of people who act...for lack of a better term, super fucking entitled to an endless stream of free content that caters to their exact specific tastes and get really pissy if you dare to create anything for YOURSELF rather than for THEM and excuse you how DARE you make an AU or have a different headcanon--

On the other hand, holy fucking shit, online artist communities...I've been in and out of them for over a decade and the level of drama and blatant hypocrisy I've seen is off the fucking charts. Love how many FANartists are so aggressive about copyright that they'll accuse someone of stealing their OC for having a vaguely similar and very common color palette. Who will talk about all their influences and then stick "DO NOT TAKE INSPIRATION FROM MY WORK" on their profiles - and that's not hyperbole, I've seen it, verbatim! If I had a dollar for every fucking artist I've seen who thought they were the sole true owner of an extremely generic composition...well, I'd definitely have a nice set of ring splints by now. Dare I even mention the omegaverse lawsuit?

And the thing is, the people who take these attitudes to these extremes are a tiny, TINY minority - but...they're loud enough to have an impact on others. Even if it's not to such an extreme as "I can't believe I have to stop my pirated movie marathon to file another DMCA, how could this person really think they could get away with it, an OC with blue hair and angel wings is MY idea!" there's still a pervasive attitude of "copyright maximalism for me, but minimalism for everyone I can argue is Bigger than me" that really goes unquestioned in a lot of these spaces. Similarly, between that horrible loud minority in fandom and corporate Astroturfing fandom spaces, it really feels like a lot of non-fanartists see fanart as being part of the actual canon, that just springs forth fully formed from the ether, even in spaces where people...nominally know better

So some people will treat hobby art like a side hustle in the sense of "well with the state of the economy today everyone could use more security so if you're gonna act like I'm here to provide YOU a service, fuck off, pay me" which is honestly totally fair, and some will just be hopeful that people will be generous toward people who make them happy but not have any expectations or demands thereof which is also cool, and some will sell actual goods and services which is totally fine, and some people will press the fact that if you want other people to make fan work that caters to you personally then commissioning them will be a lot more effective than just complaining that you're right and they're wrong and just generally being a giant penis, which is also completely true and fair, but others will indeed have every ounce of leftism just leave their bodies when you point out that drawing blorbo from your shows doesn't make them uniquely MORE deserving of survival than anyone else/that the people they're complaining about "stealing [their] jobs" and even the "lazy consumers" need to eat too, or ask them to examine their beliefs about IP law for internal consistency and stop equating legality to morality whenever it benefits them, or even just come up with a meaningful set of standards for what constitutes small enough to be "sacred" vs. big enough that derivative work is inevitable (ask me about what I call the Mario Kart model of copyright, that I propose until art is no longer a Market under capitalism)

And some people will be critical of the Patreon/Ko-fi/etc. economy and the flaws of the culture in online artist spaces for those reasons...but others will be critical of it because they're really really mad that those uppity snobs don't know their place and need to just make pretty things for them to mindlessly consume without even so much as a moment of basic human connection beyond hitting a button, or that they themselves aren't popular enough on the internet to get any kind of mutual aid...in the kind of way where they'd throw everyone like themselves under the bus just as hard if their own internet identity became Marketable enough; the problem isn't that PEOPLE in general get left out of this "merit"-based model but the fact that THEY PERSONALLY do

And all of the above will call some or all of the attitudes across the gap "entitled" and from that word there's no way to fucking tell whether the complaint is rational or not

And it's honestly one of my least favorite things about internet culture

#art talk #internet culture #serious tag

[hashtagloveloses]

hii, so i recently joined tumbler from pinterest and i don't really know how is this website supposed to be used... could u help me with that?

sure! it depends on what you like. i'd suggest following tumblr's official @tips blog, they have a lot there! but here's some basic things i've learned along the way:

determine what kind of blogger you want to be. personally i'm just here to see shit i like, i have 1 big blog that is a mix of all my shit and i don't give a fuck if its mixed around. some people aren't like me, and they like to organize by topic. they have a main blog and side blogs for different topics. it's up to you! there's no right way to do it.

either thing you decide to do, tag your posts to help with categorization. i don't do this bc i am lazy and i don't care. but if you're making sideblogs, or just want to find people and get followers, just tag the things you post and reblog with the topic (if it's a moon knight post, tag it with moon knight, etc)

as i've said in my big post - this place is for reblogging things! reblog is and should be the default action you take. you can never post an original post on here and be totally fine. just be a lurker. but your blog should at least have a profile pic, a banner photo, and something in your bio about yourself (online pseudonym/blog name, maybe pronouns if you feel comfortable?). maybe pick some colors for your blog layout. you can get custom layouts if you want, but the default one is fine too.

when you reblog things, make commentary in the tags! tag it with the relevant topics, but in the following tags you can share your little thoughts about it. also for original posts, it helps to have an original post tag so people (or you) know where to find your original posts. for example, i tag all my original posts with kaludiasays. if you go to your blog settings, you can turn on featured tags so those show up when people look things up on your blog.

5. speaking of the blog settings, turn off sharing your likes and who you are following. that's YOUR business. and people use likes for different things - maybe they like personal posts people make bc its not rebloggable content. maybe they like posts that they've already reblogged to mark it for later. maybe they use their likes to save things. you can use your likes for whatever you want. just know that likes don't really help a post that much, so default to reblogging.

6. create a queue schedule for yourself! so yes there's a post limit on here (most people don't reach it, but i used to regularly), but it's basically to keep your blog active while also not having to be on here all the time. while you can manually schedule a post for later, you can set up a queue so that you can add things to the queue and they'll publish at a regular cadence. some people even have an automatic queue tag. it can be whatever you want. instead of reblogging posts, then you can just add them to your queue.

7. There's DMs (messages) and also "Asks" here. you can change your settings to determine who can DM you, and who can send Asks. Anonymous people can send asks, too. You can turn these on and off as you're comfortable. Never click on a link in a DM or ask from someone you don't know (or someone you DO know but that looks sketchy). You can also get blog submissions - I have this off, but people use it for various things.

8. In that same vein - be liberal with the block button. Get a weird DM? An ask, even an anonymous one you don't like? Don't answer. Just block (and report if needed, and yes you can block an anonymous sender, too). Nobody will care. Curate your space. It's always better to just block or delete something then get into a fight (I've learned this the hard way). And if you're in certain fandoms, yes people will send you weird shit to bait you. It is definitely bait. Don't take it.

9. Follow shit. Follow a LOT of shit. Follow any blog you see posting something cool or funny (especially artists or gif makers). Follow the tags for ships and shows and other stuff you like. Follow LOTS of them. This is advice I often give for ANY social media site - the more people you follow, the less bullshit you see on your feed (unless you're following all people who post about one thing, please don't do that). It's a moving river, you're not stuck in an echo chamber, and you can just jump in, have your fun, and jump out. Curate your space, and you'll care less. But in that same vein, like I said about the block button, be liberal with the UNFOLLOW. They post something weird? Or just something you do not give a fuck about and too much of it? Unfollow. Nobody cares. Unless it's like a close personal friend you know IRL or something.

10. Go to your account settings and set up your filtered tags, or blacklist. This can be personal triggers, shit you just don't wanna see, anything NSFW that you're fine with but might want to not autoplay on your screen in case you're not in the most appropriate environment, ships you hate, whatever. It'll basically put a warning cover over the post if it comes across your feed, and you can choose whether you want to view it or not. This is why tagging posts correctly and not censoring words especially for triggers is helpful.

11. Mess with your dashboard however you want! Most people here have "Best Stuff First" turned off, nobody wants that algorithm shit. But on mobile they have the two columns, "Following" and "For You" anyway. Definitely make sure at least "include followed tag posts" is on.

Ok there's a lot more things I'm forgetting but, I think this should get you started! The official tips blog has more detailed explanations you should check out. remember to just reblog things, don't feel pressured by anything, and poke around tags to find stuff!

#tumblr tips #ask

[sinigangsta-ao3]

Thursday Thoughts: Just a personal reflection...

Wrote this while I was on vacation and while I went dark for a bit…

I’ve been sitting with my thoughts and emotions a lot over the past week or so. And, as I continue processing things emotionally and mentally, I needed to brain dump a little bit.

I hesitated to post because I (1) just wanted everything to fizzle out and (2) wanted to stop hurting people both online and offline… But I ultimately realized that I needed to put this out there, so as to help expend my thoughts from my body and to enable me to move forward at peace.

I’ve already reached out to the individuals with whom I inadvertently stirred up toxicity and have apologized and owned up to where I went wrong. I kept going back and forth if I needed to say something more widely spread — and I realized that just putting something on my blog suffices. I don’t want to center myself on a more visible platform anymore, but I can center myself here. On my personal blog.

I’ve been thinking about why I even started doing this in the first place: to write. And, more specifically, to write about things that are important to me.

Thinking a lot about walking into and trying to occupy space in an environment that I know little about — while also staying true to who I am. Thinking about how to honor both my own emotions and also the emotions of those around me, especially those who I respect and care about. Thinking about how I could have handled things differently, while also recognizing that I don’t believe in leaving anonymous hate unchecked.

I’ve been called unhinged, antagonistic, sick, a weird freak, immature, a traitor. And I know those descriptors simultaneously are par for the course when you’re on the Internet AND hold some truth. Because I am those things sometimes, and I showed those sides over the past couple of days and they are valid and true to a certain degree.

However, I draw the line at a couple of things:

Calling my identity into question, especially my identity as someone in my 30s, as a woman of color, as a MOTHER.

Calling my experience of trauma into question (which, I admit, I also did not do with some people — and I'm sitting with and grappling with that hypocrisy).

You can disagree with what I say, what I do, how I handle things — that’s completely valid and fine, and I take the feedback. Hold me accountable if I do things that are harmful (because I’m not going to deny that I’ve unintentionally caused harm and I’m also reflecting on how I can continue to make things right). But when someone questions who I am as a PERSON, that is not something I can leave unchecked.

I am not new to trauma. I don’t owe anyone my life story, but I have known — viscerally — what it’s like to deal with ACTUAL HATE in the world. Hate that has threatened my life and my well-being. And because I'm not new to trauma (and, specifically, to hate), this is the manner that I developed how to handle hate and harassment that feels right to me, in any space I'm navigating, both online and offline: I don’t ignore — I respond. Not everyone agrees with this approach, but that’s what I do. In any space that I occupy.

I know that this is “just internet hate” and that I have been accused of being toxic and being emotionally and mentally immature for how I responded (for what it’s worth, I don’t believe that directly confronting toxicity is in itself toxic, but that’s where I know a lot of people disagree). I also know that I'm new to experiencing this type of harassment — and I'm learning how to deal with it. Even though I've observed second-hand and thought pragmatically that I could handle it a certain way, it wasn't how I expected. And I keep reminding myself that it's okay. That I'm bound to make mistakes.

And I know that I made quite a few mistakes, that I overstepped in a few ways, as I tried to navigate all of this...

I overstepped when I brought someone else into the fight on a public stage — I didn’t need to do that.

I overstepped when I didn’t clearly shut down when there were unnecessary name drops — I should’ve said more explicitly that it wasn’t okay.

I overstepped when I hurt specific individuals while I was navigating what was happening — I have shared with them directly already, and I’ll say it many, many times. I’m sorry. I never expect forgiveness or reconciliation, particularly when I’ve committed such offenses, but I am truly, sincerely sorry for betraying their trust and confidence. Particularly when they were nothing but accepting of someone who continues to reconcile if she belongs.

I overstepped when I expected (even subconsciously) that others react to trauma in the same way I do. That wasn't okay. And it also isn't okay for others to expect me to react to trauma the way they do. Both things can exist at the same time. I'm working through embracing that.

I have no intention of stepping away from this forever: writing means too much to me to completely abandon everything.

Candidly, I wanted to step away in order to minimize future harm and hopefully to let this fizzle out, allow this space to heal a bit after I harmfully disrupted it. I also recognized that the situation was progressing in a way in which I was being centered, and in my heightened emotion I was becoming more of the focus, rather than what I was trying to say — and that was never my intention of what I was saying or doing. I wanted to highlight something bigger going on, and it was obvious that my intended message was getting lost.

I may not agree with a lot of things in how this space is conducted — but I know I’m one person. And it’s not my place to make the rules. I don’t actually plan to lead a fandom revolution, whether in terms of content or rules of engagement: that is silly and unwanted and no one actually gives a shit. I know that.

I truly do see opportunities for it to change, though — I shared my thoughts, I advocated for something different, and I got shut down. It happens all the time, and I accept it. Things don’t happen overnight and, honestly, I spend this energy around creating change everywhere else that I’m also coming to terms with what it means to occupy an inequitable space in a way that still aligns with who I am, authentically.

At the end of the day, I am feeling many things. Hurt and angry, because I am a person and I think those are valid emotions to feel whenever anyone hears something hurtful. Ashamed, because I dragged people into this mess and it is never my intention to do harm. Confused, because there are many aspects of how this played out (both from me and other parties involved) that I’m still trying to come to terms with. Disappointed, both in how the situation panned out and in how I let this occupy way too much of my headspace. Worried that people are misinterpreting how my decision to step away for a bit signifies that I am weak. And vulnerable. A little unwanted. A little like a hypocrite. Tired.

But also strong and confident in who I am and how I exist.

I am resilient. I’ve built my whole life around resilience. And, throughout my life experience as a 32-year-old queer woman of color — who, over the past week has been told to kill herself, that I’m a horrible mother, that I deserve this type of treatment because of the people with whom I decided to surround myself — I have also learned the beautiful truth that people, even resilient people, don’t and shouldn’t be resilient all the time. That we can let go of being strong and just be. In whatever way is coming up at the time.

Because, when it comes down to it, resilience is just another way that people (especially people of marginalized groups) are expected to shut up and keep their heads down while hurtful things continue to happen to them. We (I) don’t have to put up with that if we (I) have neither the desire nor the energy to just “be quiet and take it.”

And, at this moment, I’ve allowed myself to let go of resilience for just a little bit. To call out the problems. To take care of myself. And to give myself the compassion and understanding that I did what I needed to do in a harmful situation.

And now I’m back. Still me. Still more direct than most people want, still never hesitating to call out shit when it happens — also a little wiser in how to do so in this space specifically.

And still writing. Because that’s why I’m ultimately here.

#personal post #thursday thoughts #nina-bean writing #on fandom #on healing

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe? #C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess? #there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

[caker-baker]

Of Convenience

The protagonist was sometimes asked if they were married. They would always say no. There was no point in the whole truth.

To be fair, they were young, in college, and both them and their spouse figured being married would make things just a bit easier with money.

So, marriage. Totally platonic marriage between two broke best friends that was meant to last only through the end of their schooling.

Then their spouse disappeared, and stayed disappeared for ten years.

Legally, the protagonist wasn’t even married anymore, they never lied when they said they weren’t married. How could someone be married to a presumed dead person?

Sometimes they felt guilty. All the mourning for their best friend had been done with, and they weren’t by any means in love with them in the traditional way one would love their spouse, but it never stopped the protagonist from feeling bad.

Bad about moving on with their life. Bad about this date.

But it had been ten years, and the protagonist reasoned their best friend, wherever they were, would be happy for them.

It was supposed to be at a nice place, this date. A traditionally formal restaurant, one with valets. The protagonist enjoyed that. They didn’t always have the time for nice outings.

It was also relatively public, a little ways away from the heart of the city, close enough to home in case things took a turn for the worse.

But that was just a what if. Their friend gave this blind date a glowing review.

The bad feeling still ate away at the protagonist. Not for their possibly dead spouse, but for the lack of knowing. They didn’t know this person, and sure, the goal was to get to know them, but there was no basis for anything.

Regardless, it was going to be a nice night out with a nice meal in their nice clothes. All thoughts the protagonist had to remind themselves of as they watched the valet take their car away.

The door closed behind them, and the protagonist jumped.

Online, the place looked lively, warm. This was empty, abandoned of all people.

The tables and chairs and lights were all there. Lovely centerpieces of flowers and candles decorated empty spaces. No chatter filled the room, no host stood at the front, and most notably, no date.

It was all under a second the protagonist was able to observe these factors, and took less than three to turn and push on the door that wouldn’t budge.

“It locks electronically.”

For the second time that night, the protagonist jumped.

“How wonderfully modern.” They said, not taking their hand off the door.

“Wonderfully.” The faceless voice agreed. “Wouldn’t you like to sit?”

“Actually, I think I was just about to leave.”

“What about your date?”

The protagonist turned, and nearly screamed.

They thought they could deal with a regular person in this irregular situation. However, dealing with a villain was much, much different.

“Funny enough,” the protagonist managed “I’m beginning to think they stood me up.”

“Oh?” The villain grinned, sitting slowly at one of the tables. “What makes you so sure?”

“It’s been a few minutes since the agreed upon time.”

This was wrong. Talking with a villain while waiting for help.

What help? No alarms were triggered. There’s no sign of a villain being here at all. No hero would have any clue of potential danger.

“Still.” The villain moved their eyes to the chair opposite them. “You should sit.”

At this point, the protagonist was only conscious through fear and adrenaline, so, they moved to the chair, and sat.

“Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you married?” The villain said, leaning forward to rest their chin in their hand.

“I-” Two more people came out then, trays in hand, and all the protagonist could do was watch as they set them down, and left wordlessly. “I- what?”

“Well,” the villain started again, lifting the lid to their tray. “I could have sworn you had a spouse. Yet here you are, waiting for a,” they sucked air in through their teeth, a harsh sign of disapproval. “date.”

“What an unlucky bastard my spouse is, huh?” The protagonist felt dizzy.

“Oh, surely.” The villain’s eyes looked as if they darkened. “I’m glad, at least, corporate life hasn’t knocked the humor out of you.”

What?

“No, just all my free time.”

“Still free enough to try for a date.” The villain looked at them with a matter of fact stare, something the protagonist had been on the receiving end of before.

It was a stare their best friend, their spouse had mastered.

It was the same stare the villain was giving them now.

It was the same eye color the protagonist used to know well.

It was…

Oh.

“There they are.” The villain - or rather, their presumed dead best friend, their spouse - looked amused, and leaned back in the chair. “I knew you were smarter than that.”

“But you-”

Oh, God.

“You vanished.” The protagonist whispered.

“And you never even looked for me.”

“Looked for you?” The protagonist repeated in disbelief.

“I’m only teasing, love. I didn’t leave a single trace. No one could have found me.”

The protagonist stood. “And now you’re a villain.”

“Mm. I prefer goal-oriented entrepreneur.”

“You’re a villain!”

“If you insist. You are really going to let the foie gras go to waste if you don’t eat.”

“You’ve been alive this whole time! You’re perfectly fine!” The protagonist sat again, lowering their voice. “We had a funeral for you. We mourned you. The police could only assume you died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realize my disappearance would upset you so.”

The protagonist slammed their hands on the table. “You were my best friend! We got married.”

“I know, I was there.” The villain held up their hand, the old, cheap ring still on their finger. “Bringing me back to my point. Why go on a date?”

For a brief moment, the protagonist had to wonder if they were the crazy one for not seeing the villain’s side of things.

“Why was I trying to go on a date ten years after you left?” They spoke slowly, still trying to decipher if there was something strange about it.

“We both know it wasn’t just the one date. Maybe the first one in a while, but-”

“Have you been watching me?”

“No more than I need to. You’re my spouse, Protagonist.”

“It was a marriage of convenience. Neither of us really ever…and legally, no, we aren’t married. You can’t be married to a dead person.”

The villain let out a single scoff. “You’re not dead, and I’m still very much married to you.”

“That’s not-”

“Point being, Protagonist, I got tired of watching these people come in and out of your life.”

“And you get to do the exact same thing, is that it?”

“Absolutely not.” The villain scowled. “What kind of a person do you take me for anyways?”

“The kind who disappears for ten years without a call or even a postcard!”

The villain at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “Touché.”

The protagonist’s tone turned less angry, and more serious. “I’ve seen you online. The news.”

“Ah.” The villain let a look of annoyance pass over their face. “Most people have, love.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t go running to the closest person I could find to tell them about you? I know your identity now. There’s someone to find and blame for the things you’ve done.”

“I do have your car.”

Stupid valets.

“And, really, love. Do you know me? My civilian self has dropped off the face of the earth.”

The protagonist felt a chill up their spine, but the villain was just getting started.

“You also seem to be forgetting I’m the one who kept on eye on you. I know you. For better or for worse, I know you. How it’s only six blocks to home, how you visit your parents and sister every other month. She’s sixteen now, right? How you meet up with my parents every anniversary of my disappearance, and how you manage to avoid telling everyone who asks that you are indeed committed to someone.”

“What do you want?” The protagonist spat.

“Other than your company?” The villain tapped a finger to their lips in faux thought. “Now that you mention it, that cushy corporate job of yours has a hold on some valuable assets of mine. And believe me, love, it’s honestly something they wouldn’t want to get too deep in.”

“You’ve been watching me this entire time just to threaten me? Because of my job?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, love. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not threatening you. I adore your family, and I would never hurt you. You know that right?”

“Do I?”

“Mm.” The villain tilted their head to the side. “Tell you what, love. You don’t even have to do any of the corporate espionage. You just have to give me your boss’ number. I can go from there.”

The protagonist found themselves shaking.“Why are you doing this?”

“I couldn’t think of a better reason to stay in your life than to bring a little chaos.”

#I’ve composed a song #it’s based on my feelings #and I would like to share it #in the tags #of this silly little snippet #ready? #here goes #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #thank you #we will now proceed with our regularly scheduled tags #villain #villains #villainess #hero #heroes #heroines #protagonist #villain x protagonist #protagonist x villain #honestly #I don’t like this one #but it’s been in my drafts #and I wrote it while I was sick #writing snippet #villains and heroes #hero x villain

[lunerbean]

Witch Tips 24

Holy shit it's been over a year since I posted one of these but it's because I kept setting myself up for failure by putting way too high of expectations on myself to crank out 10 new and unique and helpful tips everytime I got 100 new followers except first it was 10 and then it was 50 and holy shit I got so stressed about these so I've just been writing them down as I've thought of them instead and now here we are, please be gentle.

Hello here are tips

1. Use transfer paper and a hair dryer to decorate candles.

Maybe you're doing a spell for someone & you want to put a picture of that person on the candle. This can be a way to help you better visualize the effects of the spell on the person the spell is for. Or maybe you need a picture on the candle for some other reason. Maybe you want to put pictures of coins on it for a money spell. Or hearts for a love spell. Simply print out whatever you want on transfer paper, cut it out & place the image face-down on the candle. Then, you'll want to get your hairdryer and a piece of tissue paper (I highly suggest the tissue paper is the same color as the candle, otherwise you risk getting that color onto the candle. Which can also be fine, but if it's not what you want...) use the blow dryer on a low-warm setting to melt the photo onto the candle side. Remove the tissue paper and there you have it! A picture printed onto a candle.

2. You can incorporate witchcraft into ANYTHING... even brushing your teeth.

I recently got this fucking delicious toothpaste from Trader Joe's. I'm one of those people who sometimes struggles to brush my teeth twice a day because I hate the taste of toothpaste. So I got a super unconventional toothpaste flavor instead, "fennel, propolis, & Myrrh. And about a week after using it, it struck me -holy shit these ingredients have meaning behind them. Most obviously, myrrh is associated with wisdom and meditation. And fennel has been used in magic for centuries! Even if you use regular mint toothpaste, that ingredient has power behind it! Obviously this goes more so for natural toothpastes but I'm sure you can find a way to enchant other varieties as well! Use the ingredients already infused into your toothpaste for enchantments & glamours!

3. Actually study your grimoire.

If I sound at all harsh by saying this, it's only because I'm being harsh with myself too. Study your grimoire. Don't just write everything down & then expect to have it all perfectly memorized & be a master in everything you research. Reread it. Rework it. Learn.

4. Feel drawn to be a sea witch but you don't live by the ocean? Get a saltwater aquarium!

First off, I'm not saying that it's a flawless solution. Being a witch of the sea is more than just using salty fish water in your craft. HOWEVER, with that out of the way, there's no way that a salt water aquarium will harm your craft as a sea witch. Think of it like a houseplant for a green witch. Sure, living in the forest would be better but it's still something special to be able to bring a little piece of your craft into your home.

5. Personal taglocks make a spell more powerful, but exercise caution when using them.

Undoubtedly, using a taglock (such as a strand of hair) can better connect you to the spells you're performing, but they're not always wise to use. I only use them in extremely personal spells and crafts. Things that no one except for me can have access to. I would never suggest using a taglock on something that you wish to give another person (especially another witch) such as a spell bottle or sachet. Even if you're best friends. Even if you're siblings. Even if you're MARRIED. You never know when a relationship can turn south or what someone is capable of when they're extremely angry with you. Don't risk it.

6. Be respectful of the deities that you don't worship or work with

I don't work with deities. Shocker, I know. I have my own belief system when it comes to higher powers that I won't get into on Tumblr, probably ever. But I do believe in showing respect to all things, both living, dead, & otherwise specified. If a deity approaches you who you're not interested in working with, please remain kind & respectful with in declination. You're allowed to say no to anyone and everyone.

7. Just because someone is more experienced doesn't necessarily mean they're always right.

Without naming names or being too specific, there was a witch I followed on Tumblr for a long time. They were much older than me and had been a witch for like 20+ years. I followed everything they said as fact. But slowly, over time I started to learn more and realized I didn't always agree with them. They were SO negative. If they heard basically anything new that younger witches were coming up with, they'd have a whole 10 paragraph post about how "stupid and wrong and ridiculous and fake" these new witches were. There was not an ounce of open mindedness with this person. And because of that, I started to feel really bad about myself and my craft. Things they said would stick with me and I'd feel so shitty about it. Well fuck. That. More experience means absolutely nothing if the person is unwilling to learn or expand their minds beyond their previous knowledge. Anyone can learn and anyone can teach. Age means nothing. Surround yourself with open minded people.

8. Put full moon water into your humidifier to charge your space.

This is an idea that only just occurred to me while I was setting up my crystals & jar of water to charge under the full blue moon on Samhain. I always turn my glowing humidifier on at night while I sleep. As I watched the mist begin to arise out the top I thought to myself, 'if I'm charging that water (the glass jar on my altar) for the full moon, why not this water too?' So now, I just add a little splash of full moon water into my humidifier water whenever I'm performing rituals or doing spell work. This way, the full moon water can charge my entire bedroom with the power of the full moon as I work.

Speaking of...

9. You can charge water under more moon phases than just full.

I don't know if that wording was weird or not so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense. My point is, I always see people talking about moon water as if it's only full moon water. The moon holds power in every phase she goes through. Adding to the above tip, you can put new moon water into your humidifier to cleanse your space. Waxing moon water to help you plan and focus. And waning moon water to assist during a banishment spell. Hell yeah dude, all phase of the moon are useful and powerful!

10. Incense matches are a great alternative to full incense sticks

I love burning incense, but sometimes it can really overwhelm the area, especially because my house is small & I dont want to expose my cat to it. Incense matches are literally matches that are covered in incense powder. They burn for just a few minutes & produce a steady stream of smoke for spells. They come in a bunch of different scents. I buy them locally for 30 matches for $1.05USD but you can probably find them cheaper online. Still be sure to keep them away from pets & those who are smoke-sensitive.

Thank you so much for reading, follow me for more #10tips, search my blog for the previous 230 tips, & have a magical day.

#10tips #10 witch tips #sea witch #witchy #witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #baby witch #cottage witch #witchcore #witch community #witch tips #advice for witches #cosmic witch #full moon magic #moon water #new moon magic #magic #grimoire #grimoire tips #wicca #wiccan #deities #incense #magic spells #magical #advice for new witches #tumblr witches #witchtok

[technowoah]

Hi! If you do tommyinnit x reader (romantic), I would like one where reader is tubbo's sister perhaps? She would have the feature reader has still not tubbos. Maybe they meet when tubbo and tommy meet up and he just kinda starts to like her? If not that's ok! -paw <3

Prepare For Trouble Make it Double

I hope this suffices 😋

Requested!

Romantic(?)

Tommyinnit x Tubbo's sister!reader (blurb?)

⚠︎ its tommy so it'll be slight swearing-

It wasn't a secret that Tubbo had siblings, he had Lani of course, but what people didn't know that he had another sister closer to his age.

You tended to stay out of the spotlight, for reasons. Streaming was interesting but not your fortè. You usually tended to stay behind the camera when Tubbo was streaming or off to the side quietly talking to him as he did his own lore or sitting on Lani's bed doing your own thing listening to her talking to her viewers.

Your siblings never tried to convince you to go out of your comfort zone and appear on streams, only once in a blue moon you would talk to Lani out of frame. Lani of course would respond, the chat would freak out asking if you were a friend, finally the moment was gone as fast as it came.

Thats how days go in their household. Tending to hover around eachother and whatever they were doing at the moment. But it was this one particular moment when Tubbo was streaming and he suddenly decided to bring you on to show his 700k viewers that he had another sister.

He had pulled up a brown folding chair next to him and patted it beckoning you to sit down in frame.

Tubbo was currently streaming on the Dream SMP, you didnt think he was doing lore today so you hesitated a little bit. Other days you wouldn't have budged out of your spot out of sight, but he looked so excited in his yellow jumper you had bought for him whe going to out to the shops.

In a unrelated note You remember saying that "yellow is your color" and he ended up buying it, and his stans loved the jumper. So a win win.

"C'mon Y/N!" He yelled as continued to pat the folding chair next to him.

You ended up shuffling over to the seat next to him and smiling at the camera. Over in the corner of your eye you saw the chat which was going 1 million miles an hour. You saw some comments that were basically copypastas of other comments in the chat. It was basically nonsense, now the only thought in your mind is that you're going to make an uproar on twitter.

"This is my sister chat!" Tubbo said while shaking you around by the shoulders making the both of you laugh.

"Yes chat! I have more siblings" he continued while rocking back and forth in his gamer chair.

He continued to answer more questions and ask you some too, wanting to include you in the stream.

"Lani isn't the only one! My big sister is just shy."

"I just chose not to be on their streams! I was in the background of Lani's streams though."

"Out of frame. Dosent count." Tubbo said bluntly while still walking around SnowChester in the Dream Smp not looking your way.

You could still see the chat in the corner and you couldnt tear your eyes off of it. It was slight glare from the lights and the sun shining in his gaming room. He always had the lights bright in his room. The chat was spamming purple hearts and either still freaking out that Tubbo had a sister. It was getting old to you, so you decided to lean into Tubbo's space focusing on his screen as he quickly hopped around the map.

He continued talking to chat about anything else, but your presence. He continued to talk about gathering supplies and what he needed to bring back to SnowChester. You knew a lot about the Dream Smp lore because you weren't in it. Spending time on Twitter interacting with people and their theories and also making theories and showing them to Tubbo and him debunking them, or accepting them in some way.

"So we need some more lapis." Tubbo said suddenly after being quiet for a while.

"I can help you!" You said wanting to be apart of the stream.

You might as well, you're already here.

"I dont think you can help, 'cause you're not on your account. Plus it'll be awkward with your laptop." Tubbo said while speeding through his water transportation system.

"Well I can just point it out to you." You said while leaning back into your seat.

"Talk to the chat while I go mine for lapis."

"Fine then." You smirked as you turned your attention to the speeding words in the chat.

"Is there a slow mode on this?!" You laughed.

Tubbo laughed as well. "This is on slow mode!"

You both screamed in fake agony and then turned your attention back to the chat where the you caught a few questions. You were about to answer until the chat stopped for a quick second and you saw one comment out of all for a quick second.

✔tommyinnit: HI TUBBO'S SISTER IM TOMMY LETS MAKE A VIDEO TOGETHER

After that comment the whole chatt was just spamming the word 'TOMMY' or 'TOMMY IS IN CHAT'. That confused you even more than that comment.

When you did know about the Dream Smp you also knew a little bit about who Tubbo hangs out with. You knew about the time Tubbo had met up with Wilbur Soot, Philza, and Tommy. And that prompted you to look up their individual accounts and get into their content.

You knew about Tommy and his character and channel, you enjoyed his content a lot as well, but you wanted to play around a little bit. Hopefully Tubbo will play along.

"Why is the chat spamming Tommy?"

"Tommy? You know Tommy don't you?" Tubbo asked with a small bit of shock in his voice.

"No I dont, who's Tommy?" You asked again, acting oblivious.

"Oh. Oh well then, Tommy is like my best friend, we're actually meeting up soon!" Tubbo said with excitement.

He continued. "You hear that chat! You get Tommy and Tubbo content!

You had lost interest in Tubbo talking with his chat about hanging out in Brighton with Tommy again. Your eyes drifted towards the chat again and saw Tommy comment in the chat again.

✔tommyinnit: HOW DARE YOU NOT KNOW WHO I AM

✔tommyinnit: I WILL NOT MAKE A VIDEO WITH YOU ANYMORE

"Well Tommy I dont have an account so, sorry I cant get you views whoever you are." You said responding to Tommy with a smirk.

"Woke up and chose violence huh?" Tubbo laughed and you joined in as well.

"Tommy chose violence today too."

"You both are violent you will be nice together." Tubbo said with his focus still in his screen.

"Together?!" You exclaimed.

"Yeah together!" Tubbo said matching your energy.

You rolled you eyes and continued answering other comments instead of thinking about Tubbo's answer.

After that whole, incredibly longer than you thought, stream Tubbo decides to invite you along to their little meeting. Which you didnt know how you found yourself walking along Brighton's rocky shore in old Crocs. You were walking along the shoreline letting the cold water come up and hit your feet every so often.

He was waiting for Tommy at the moment, but you wanted to walk for a bit, he let you ho on by yourself while he waited for Tommy by himself.

You were quite a long way from where Tubbo seated himself on the rocks, you were doing your own thing looking at people who stared back at you for temporarily blocking their line of view of the shore, and little kids who decide to run away from their parents who weren't paying attention. Your peaceful walk got interrupted by your thoughts because you were quite a long way from Tubbo's resting place.

You started to head back, following back the way you came, but this time picking up the pace a bit to reach your destination. As you came upon Tubbo you saw a taller figure approach Tubbo and they seemed to greet eachother, it was hard to see where you were standing. Of course it was Tommy so the two of them started talking about who knows what, until Tubbo pointed your way.

As you kept walking, Tubbo continued to wave you over enthusiastically. You waved back with the same energy, finally making your way over to the both of them.

"What's up?" You asked the two of them with a smirk.

"Nothing much! Apparently you two haven't met before! So Tommy this is Y/N! Y/N thjs is Tommy!" Tubbo user hand gestures to introduce eachother.

You held your hand for Tommy to shake it, "Hey Tommy! Im a big fan."

"Big fan?! I thought you said you didn't know me?" Tommy exclaimed.

He was a lot less shouty in real life, than online. He was still loud, but to a lesser extent.

"Yeah I lied back then." You sent him a huge grin.

Tommy scoffed and groaned a little, "I cant belive you fuckers lied to me."

"Im actually a big fan. Well not big, but a fan at least." You laughed.

Apparently you and Tommy were the only ones standing while Tubbo typed on his phone while sitting back on the rocks not paying attention and letting you both talk amongst yourselves.

"Oh! That's an honor that Tubbo's big sister like my videos." Tommy's eyes widened slightly as he talked to you.

"Big sister only by 1 year! It's close!" Tubbo complanied, looking up from his phone.

"It still count big man." Tommy said to his friend.

"Thanks Tommy!" You thanked the tall man standing next to you.

"It's only a year! It dosent count! We're the same age!" Your brother continued to complain.

After the laughter and joking around calmed down you and Tommy stood there awkwardly until he spoke up again.

"Well good thing I know what I have to deal with. I cant deal with one of you, now I have to deal with two." Tommy joked around taking a seat next to Tubbo.

The exact moment when Tommy took a seat next to Tubbo, Tubbo shot up from his spot on the ground.

"Do you think we can do Uber Eats here?" Tubbo asked as he stood up.

You say down next to Tommy. "Yeah maybe if you go to a certain place and not say "the beach".

"I'll go to the pizza place and order there. What do you both want?" Tubbo asked, ready to put in any order.

"Just get McDonald's really." You sighed leaning back on the rocks.

"Im not hungry." Tommy said bluntly.

Tubbo nodded and walked away from you both leaving you two to sit in silence for a while with the small waves crashing, and kids having their own fun. It was a comfortable silence to you, but Tommy kept figeting over where he sat criss-crossed.

Tommy finally spoke up. "Im actually fucking starving ya know?

"No I don't! You should've asked for food!" You laughed in disbelief.

Tommy sighed. "Do you want to get some food and ditch Tubbo for now?"

Your eyes widened, not opposed to the idea, but was this his plan the whole time?

He continued on, "We could go sit at that pizza place and order some food there. Just the two of us until Tubbo freaks out."

You opened your mouth to protest leaving your brother in the dark, but he beat you to it.

"Dont worry about Tubbo! Stuff rolls off his back easy."

"No it dosent-"

"Yeah it does! You wanna just go out with me now?!" Tommy exclaimed.

"Are you getting annoyed?" You asked amused at his words.

"No I am not I just-"

"Yeah I want to go to the pizza place now. I would love to Tommyinnit." You smiled at him and he smiled back.

Both of you got up and made your way over to that small pizza diner close to the beach. You only could hope this goes as well as you wanted it to

#tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit #mcyt blurb #mcyt imagine #mcyt angst #mcyt fluff #mcyt headcanons #mcyt x reader #tommy mcyt #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x you #mcyt hc #tommy x y/n #dream smp x reader #requests open #tommyinnit fluff #tommyinnit angst #minor! reader #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit imagines #tommyinnit blurb #requested #technowoah! #tommyinnit blurbs

[keewriting]

Cove x MC - One Shot #3 (request)

[Read on google docs to insert your MC's name]

SPOILER WARNING: Don't read if you haven't finished Step 3!

Your insides bubbled with excitement as the car neared the cabin nestled deeply in the forest. The fresh blanket of snow was nearly blinding in the bright morning sun. You looked over to your driver, Cove, who wore a focused scowl.

Cove: We made it. I can’t believe we made it.

Y/N: Isn’t it gorgeous? There is so much SNOW.

Cove smiled at you with apprehension. This trip was a special one for many reasons. You were both freshly 19, so it was your first holiday together as independent adults. On that note, it was also your first holiday away from your families. You felt more down about that than Cove did. His main gripe was the snow, and it was unmistakable in his expression. Cove parked the car in the designated snowless space. You both stepped out, Cove with a little less enthusiasm than you did.

Cove: Snow, snow, and more snow.

The cabin was glowing and decked out in beautiful Christmas decorations. An intermingling of garland and lights hung across the roof. More garland and Christmas baubles framed the frosted windows. Oversized candy canes lined the pathway up to the porch. The wreath on the front door was massive. It hung proudly with a cute snowman proclaiming “Let it Snow!”

Cove: The owners didn’t hold back out here. It’s impressive.

Mesmerized, you could only nod. The online advertisement described the cabin as a pre-decorated Christmas escape. The images you showed Cove online were spectacular, but they did not do justice to the real thing.

Not wanting to stand outside any longer, Cove moved to the trunk and began unloading the luggage. Cove first extracted a suitcase that he claimed was not filled entirely with gifts for you. Your gift for Cove lived safely in your own suitcase, already wrapped and ready to go. He then removed both of your clothing-packed suitcases. You were proud of your ability to convince Cove to bring winter-appropriate clothing to this trip.

You helped Cove drag the luggage to the front door. The host messaged you the entrance code before your arrival. You punched it into the keypad which stood in place of a normal keyhole. 1-2-2-5. Clever.

You paused for dramatic effect, then slowly opened the door to reveal the inside. It looked like a Christmas bomb went off, in the best way possible. You squealed and bounded inside first, leaving Cove to the luggage.

The cabin was small and cozy. The kitchen and living area were open to each other. There was no bedroom, only a pull-out couch that sat comfortably in front of a fireplace. The only other doors in the cabin were for the bathroom and a storage closet.

The Christmas tree drew in your eyes first. You stepped closer to inspect it and inhale the sweet evergreen scent. The tree skirt was wide and inviting to colorful wrapped boxes. Cranberry and popcorn strands wrapped the tree from bottom to top. An assortment of ornaments littered the branches. You peered into one of the big red baubles and smiled at your distorted reflection. Finally, you tilted your head upwards to take in the tree topper— a stunning golden star.

You spun around excitedly to appreciate the rest of the decorations. There wasn’t a corner or window without winter greenery. Festive cushions sat on either side of the couch. Stockings hung by the chimney with care. A miniature village of joyful folk lived on a console table by the entrance. You turned to face Cove, who had just finished lugging everything inside by himself. He shut the door and smiled at you, happy that you were already having a magical time.

Y/N: I’m sorry, Cove. I got a little carried away with—

You halted your own sentence. Your gaze drew upward to the ceiling above Cove. A mistletoe hung delicately in the doorway. Cove followed your sight, twisting his head for a better view. You strode towards him before he could speak. You stared at him intently and wiggled one of your eyebrows. He met your gaze again, already blushing intensely.

Cove: It’s one of those...

His sentence trailed off as you stepped even closer and hushed him.

Y/N: Just kiss me, you big, beautiful dumbass.

Cove gulped hard. He gently took your face in his cold hands. You hoped the heat from your blushing face would warm them. He bent towards you as you stood on your toes to meet the kiss. Your lips danced together sweetly. You parted after a moment and stared into each other's eyes. Cove’s ocean blue eyes glistened and crinkled with the wide smile that spread across his face. You dove into a hug, wrapping your arms around his tall frame. He returned the hug enthusiastically.

Cove: Let’s get everything unpacked and unwind. I need to get that fireplace lit as soon as possible.

You agreed and helped Cove locate a suitable location for the luggage. He paused with his gift-laden suitcase in hand. Face lost in thought, Cove's grip tightened on the suitcase.

Y/N: Everything okay, Cove?

Cove: Today is Christmas Eve.

Y/N: That it is.

Cove: Presents go under the tree on Christmas Eve.

You chuckled at his observations, but allowed him to continue speaking. He brushed it off casually.

Cove: I want this to be special, Y/N. If I put the gifts under the tree now you’ll see them and start wondering what’s inside.

The concern in his tone was apparent. It was just like Cove to worry so deeply about something most people wouldn’t think about. You pondered for a moment.

Y/N: Wait for me to fall asleep tonight, then sneak them under the tree like the real Santa Claus.

Cove laughed at the implication of a “real” Santa Claus. You were glad to see his mood lighten. He hesitated, then set the suitcase behind the others, careful to conceal it. Perhaps in an attempt to block you from using your x-ray vision to see through the luggage. You thought it was ridiculous, but in the sweetest way. Satisfied with the arrangement, Cove slapped his hands against his legs.

Cove: Well, now what? What Christmas activities does Y/N have planned today?

Y/N: Let me just pull out my Christmas to-do list.

You spoke sarcastically with a twinkle in your eyes. Cove rolled his eyes lightheartedly and wandered to the fireplace. While he fiddled with it you sank heavily into the couch. With an enthused “Aha!” from Cove, the fireplace roared to life. It crackled pleasantly.

Cove turned around to smile at you sweetly. He patted the ground next to him. You got up and settled in next to Cove. He wrapped his arm around you and drew you in closer. You immediately appreciated the warmth from both Cove and the fireplace. You leaned on his shoulder.

You spent the rest of the morning watching Christmas movies and munching on candy canes. For lunch, you and Cove made macaroni and cheese. You both welcomed the gooey warmth of the meal.

Imbued with energy from lunch, you leapt from your seat and proclaimed.

Y/N: We have to go outside and enjoy the snow before the sun goes down.

Cove made a sour face and spoke quietly without looking up from his now empty bowl.

Cove: Enjoy, yeah…

You sighed and clenched your jaw, restraining yourself. You knew Cove would be difficult regarding the snow, but hoped the special occasion would nudge him along.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll go outside myself.

Cove’s head immediately snapped up and he stared at you with wide, pleading eyes. He didn’t expect you to so easily give up on convincing him. You maintained an unimpressed expression while he spoke.

Cove: No, Y/N. I’ll come with you. You know I love spending time with you no matter what.

Your expression cracked with a hint of a smile, but you regained control.

Y/N: You’re going to hate it. Don’t bother.

You weren’t sure why you were being so stubborn with this. Cove was willing to compromise, but you still felt annoyed that his initial reaction put a damper on your mood. You shut your eyes tightly, now irritated by your own childishness.

Cove stood up and firmly gripped your shoulders. He waited for you to look at him. You met his gaze and stuck out your bottom lip in a small pout.

Cove: Let’s go build a snowman. It’ll be like building a sandcastle.

You sighed, but couldn’t resist his comforting voice and adoring eyes.

Y/N: I’m going to have to bundle you in layers. Gloves, a hat, maybe even a scarf.

Cove cringed at each word that escaped your lips. He nodded anyway. You both put on more winter gear in preparation for the snow activities. You held open the door for Cove, who hesitantly stepped outside.

Cove: This is way worse than the ice skating rink.

Y/N: You don’t say?

You loved teasing Cove for his blunt and often obvious statements, but he knew you adored him for it. He scoffed and stuck his tongue out at you.

Y/N: Careful with that, might get stuck on a pole.

Cove retreated his tongue and blushed lightly. You gently poked his tummy then grabbed his hand to lead him into the snow. You chose a wide open space away from the cabin for your snowman’s home. You started shoveling snow into a pile. Cove stood reluctantly nearby. You didn’t want to push him, but hoped he would join in the building.

To your surprise, it was only a moment before Cove dug his gloved hands into the snow. He smiled at you shakily while adding to your growing pile of snow. You went back and forth between adding snow and rounding the pile into a snowman base. Cove’s big hands proved useful in this endeavor. With the base done, you moved onto the head.

Y/N: We have to make the head smaller than the body.

Cove: How small? Do you want to give him a shrunken head?

You cackled at the thought, but shook your head.

Y/N: I think he deserves a normal sized head.

Between the two of you, the snowman’s head slowly grew. You stepped back to assess the size.

Y/N: I think that’s perfect. What do you think, Cove?

Cove stepped back as well and tilted his head. He spoke matter-of-factly.

Cove: Looks like a snowman.

Y/N: Not yet, he needs a face and arms.

You scoured the ground around you for twigs, leaves, and rocks. Cove did the same.

Cove: If only we had seashells. That would bring it all together.

With your findings combined, you got to work on designing the snowman. His face came together in a wide smile made of various pebbles. Leaves stuck to the top of his head represented the hair. Two sticks on either side of his body became the arms. Cove found several small pinecones to pin on his front like an array of buttons. Finally, the nose. You didn’t have a carrot on hand, so you opted for another one of Cove’s pointier pinecones.

Once again, you stepped back with Cove to admire your work. You wrapped your arm around him in a side hug, he returned the gesture with an arm around your shoulder.

Y/N: He’s beautiful.

You pretended to dramatically wipe a tear from your eye.

Cove: We should name him.

You agreed, and began to ponder names that would fit the snowman. After much deliberation, you settled on Sandy, as a memento of the inspiration for his existence.

Y/N: Sandy the Snowman, it really is perfect.

Cove: Next time we’re at the beach we should build a sandman and name him Snowy.

Cove waggled his eyebrows at you, hoping for a reaction to his hilarious joke. You couldn’t contain the grin that emerged from within. You were suddenly overcome by a wave of affection for Cove. His dorky jokes, the way he looked at you, his willingness to put his own comfort aside for your sake. You wanted nothing more than to push him down into the snow and ravage him. Knowing better, you instead decided to grab his hand again and lead him back indoors.

Cove followed with a small gasp at your sudden insistence. Once inside, you leaned Cove against the door and pressed your lips into his. You were desperate for his warmth. He returned the kiss passionately, running his fingers through your hair. You broke away from Cove, satisfied with your second mistle-toe kiss. Cove stood bewildered, disappointed by losing the warmth of your lips. You winked at him, never tiring of teasing your flustered fiancé.

You spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other’s company. You played board games, sang Christmas songs, and drank hot chocolate. As the evening emerged, a light snowfall began outside. You gazed out the window, hypnotized by the dancing snowflakes. Your eyes began to droop, and you felt the weight of the day pulling you down. You yawned and turned to Cove, who was already turning the couch into a bed. He must have sensed your weariness.

Cove threw some blankets and pillows into the bed and you dove right into the inviting warmth. He joined you and extended his arm to make his chest available to your sleepy head. You nuzzled in and closed your eyes, ready to drift away…

You stirred awake at the feeling of the mattress shifting. Your eyes fluttered open and tried to adjust to the darkness. Cove was climbing back into bed. It was completely dark outside, you judged it must have been a few hours after you fell asleep. Still half asleep, you muttered quietly to Cove.

Y/N: Santa, baby…

You couldn’t see his expression through the darkness, instead you heard a small chuckle. You held your arms out limply, hoping for a Cove cuddle. He took you in his arms and kissed the top of your head. You continued feebly, in a sleepy sing-song voice.

Y/N: So hurry down the chimney tonight…

Cove chuckled again and stroked your cheek gently.

Cove: I love you so much.

That was the last thing you heard before falling back into a deep slumber. Several hours later, the morning sun woke you. Cove was sleeping peacefully next to you, likely exhausted from playing Santa Claus last night. You turned over and rested your body on his chest. You peppered his face in tiny kisses until he awoke. His eyes eased open, a smile already growing across his face.

Y/N: Merry Christmas, Cove.

Cove: Merry Christmas, Y/N.

Unable to contain your excitement, you leapt out of bed, leaving Cove to fully wake himself up. You ran to your suitcase and recovered the small wrapped gift you got for Cove. You decided to place it beneath the already populated tree. Your jaw dropped seeing how many gifts Cove got you. You placed the gift down carefully and went to check on Cove.

Y/N: Please tell me you’re ready to open gifts.

Cove: I’m ready, but you have to open yours first.

You didn’t argue, you wanted to save your gift to Cove for last anyway. He joined you by the tree and sat cross-legged across from you.

Y/N: Where should I start? Is there any order to this madness?

Cove thought for a moment, then pulled out one of the presents. Shiny reindeer-imprinted paper covered the box. He held it out to you.

Cove: Definitely start with this one.

Impressed that he seemed to remember what was in each box, you took the gift with a smile. You tore open the paper and uncovered the joy within: an adorable stuffed dolphin. Your eyes lit up as you hugged the little guy. You thanked Cove, who immediately bestowed you with another carefully selected box. You giggled and repeated the process. The rest of the boxes contained: a book from your favorite series, tickets to an upcoming play, rare foreign candy, colorful seashells, and a beautiful ocean-themed puzzle.

You felt overwhelmed by the thought that Cove put into each gift. You struggled to find words besides “thank you.” However, Cove wasn’t done. He handed you a final box.

Cove: One more.

You unwrapped this one carefully, a mix of anticipation and nerves stirring within. Inside was a small album titled “Our Life.” You carefully lifted it out of the box and flipped through the pages. Each page was designed to represent a point in your lives together, from childhood all the way to this past summer. There were pictures, funny quotes, tickets from various events, and doodles. Cove even included the piece of paper from your infamous hang-man game.

You were already tearing up before you noticed a smaller box within the original box. With shaking hands and a pounding heart, you opened it.

Inside the box was a simple ring with an engraved wave design. You couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears that erupted from your eyes. Your emotions surged and your mind was spinning. Without speaking, you grabbed the present you put under the tree and offered it to Cove. He was visibly confused, even a bit concerned.

Cove: Y/N, is everything okay?

You spoke through tears.

Y/N: Just open it.

Cove silently complied. His fingers carefully removed the red and white pinstriped paper. He looked at you nervously before looking into the box. His eyes widened and glistened.

Cove: A ring…

You laughed shakily and scooted closer to Cove, still holding your own small box. He looked up at you, tears streaming down his red cheeks.

Y/N: We’re already engaged, but still got rings for each other. And look at how emotional we are about it!

Cove: I thought it would be nice to make it official with a real engagement ring.

You nodded in agreement, pleased that you were both on the same page.

Y/N: Let’s put them on each other.

You exchanged rings with Cove. He held your still shaking hand and carefully slipped the ring onto your finger. You did the same, relieved that the ring was a perfect fit on his finger.

You let out a massive sigh, it felt as if you had been holding your breath for ages. Cove was admiring the ring on his finger, his ocean eyes still glimmering with tears.

Cove: It feels as magical as it did the first time on the poppy hill.

You looked at him adoringly, unable to contain the crashing ocean of love you felt inside.

Y/N: Thank you, Cove. For putting in so much effort for me. All the time. But especially this Christmas. I know holidays aren’t your thing, especially not winter ones…

Rambling nervously, you felt like Cove in that moment. He invited you to sit on his lap with a simple pat. You settled in and waited. He cradled you close and spoke quietly but confidently.

Cove: You are my thing. You’re the best gift I could ask for. You make braving holidays and snow worth it. I can’t imagine how this day could get any better.

Cove was right. The morning was still fresh, and you were already swimming in bliss. You sniffled, feeling lucky to have him and looking forward to living your life with the man you love. Christmas Day would hold a special place in your hearts for the rest of your lives.

#our life #our life: beginnings & always #our life beginnings & always #cove holden #cove #cove holden x mc #cove holden x reader #lgbt #writing #my writing #gb patch games #gb patch #fanfic #fandom #fanwork #oc #self insert #mc #romance #one shot #visual novel #otome game #request #christmas

[harrysgloves]

Three’s Company (part 2)

Harry Styles x Reader x Florence Pugh

>>>PART ONE<<<

Story Summary: You deal with your breakup.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Language // Angst // Pretty sure I made the reader an alcoholic // oh and you know smut!! YEAH bet you didn’t think you were getting makeup sex but oh you are. (threesome so proceed with caution, thanks)

Authors Note: I got carried away... but don’t we all when it comes to them? Anyways, feedback is always wanted and deeply loved. Hope you you guys like it!! xx

>>>

"Is this color too moody?" You asked your neighbors cat that was lounging in your living room.

The midnight black ball of fur lazily blinked open his eyes long enough to croak out a "meow" before going back to sleep. Your head nodded in agreement as your 5th beer bottle of the day pressed against your lips.

"No, you're right. It's allowed to be moody." You agreed with the very large, very old, cat who always wandered over to your apartment. His owner, Ms. Thompson, gladly let you babysit him for a few days after she came to your door to find him the first night. Your blood shot, tear filled eyes when you answered the door, fully gave away the fact you'd been crying for the last few hours. 

A bowl of Tupperware with hot chicken noodle soup laid on your doorstep the next morning along with the first gorgeous bouquet of flowers. 

It had been four days since your break up with Harry and Florence. Four days of sleepless nights, alcohol filled days, and meaningless activities to keep your mind off how you were feeling.

Four vases of flowers that you couldn't bring yourself to throw away sat on your cluttered counter. The delicate petals were starting to turn brown around the edges from your lack of care. The notes on each one seemed to glare at you everytime you walked to your fridge to grab another drink.

Each one a variation of, "I'm so sorry. -H"

"When we broke up it was for totally different reasons. I wanted to raise the kids Jewish; you wanted to sleep with men." Debra Messings' voice and the horrible laugh track of 'Will and Grace' filled your lonely apartment. Your comfort show played on repeat. The same jokes, the same voices, the same fucking void in your heart.

It'd be four days and you felt like you were a second away from losing mind.

And sure, maybe, you could have called them. You could have said you overreacted and that you messed up so badly. Instant regret hit you as soon as you had walked out his door.

You'd get over it, get over them but it didn't seem to be as easy as you originally thought.

Everything reminded you of them.

"Love this one." Harry said the last time he'd spend the night with you. Your favorite record played softly in the background when he placed the needle down on it.

"Oh, this is one of my favorite episodes!" Flor cheered as she ran out of your kitchen to the living room at the sound of a 'Friends' episode starting.

"Got yeh this when I was out today." Harry handed you a dumb pen holder. A small Julius Caesar that had pens jetting out of his back.

"Take this before you freeze." Florence mumbled as she moved your blanket slightly off Harry and towards you while you all cuddled in your bed.

Everything that reminded you of them had been boxed off, separated, put away somewhere else until you could look at it again. You were left in an almost barren house that no longer felt like a home, with a cat, that wasn't even yours, sleeping on your coffee table that was littered with empty beer bottles. All while you drunkenly painted your walls at 2 in the afternoon. 

How did shit get this bad?

The sound of a knock at your door called you out of your mind. An instant sinking feeling started in your chest as you walked across the floor. The wave of alcohol that ran through your system calmed some of the nerves but not all of them.

They wouldn't show up here, right?

You could feel the sweat starting on your hand as it rested on the doorknob. Another knock came from the other side of the door made you jump in your skin. 

"You haven't answered your phone in four days! Open up!" One of your brothers yelled from the hallway as his fist pounded on your door. You rolled your eyes as you stood there debating if you could avoid him. Your plan to stay as quiet as possible quickly went to shit. 

"Y/N, do not make me call dad." Your other brother, the one who's slightly fucking scary, voice boomed through your door like it wasn't even there.

You threw your door open to the absolute shit show that was your family. All four dumbass brothers stood outside of your apartment door. All four let out a simultaneous sigh of relief before walking into your very messy apartment.

"Jesus." Jason, the youngest, breathed out when the smell of alcohol hit him right in the face. His nose scrunched as his worried eyes flashed over the room.

"Did you drink an entire liquor store?" Tommy, the one you were closest to, asked as he scanned the damage done to your living room and what the hell you'd been doing to your liver the last four days. 

"Shut up." You mumbled as you sat down on the floor, the couch was deemed unusable by you until further notice. Way, way, too many memories on that dumb thing.

Raphael's lips pursed as he studied the new living room color. He didn't even bother to hide the fact he was judging your meltdown as he turned to you.

You two were the closest in age. You were only 6 months older, and were both adopted at the same time. It definitely didn't make getting along as children necessarily easy. The both of you butted heads so much the other 3 acted more like referees than siblings. Which is why the room seemed to shift dramatically as he turned to you.

"So, you stonewall your way out of a relationship and then ignore everyone who checks on you?"

"Here we fucking go." Jack, the middle child and probably the most sensible brother groaned as he sat down cross-legged on the floor. His head rested in his hand as he stroked Marshmallow's black fur.

"Hey! We said we weren't going to bring you if you started a fight." Tommy snapped right before Jason interrupted.

"He has a point, Tomás."

"Like you haven't had your heartbroken."

"She's the one in the wrong!"

"No she isn't!"

"You can't defend her forever. She has to own up to her shit."

You groaned, your head laid back as you listened to them argue about you, right in front of you. 

There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to deal with this.

"Get out." You said as you stood from your place on the floor, all eyes darted to you as you demanded for your own space. 

"Wait, what?" Tommy asked as the rest of them looked at you like you had magically grown three heads.

"I said, get out. I'm not listening to this. You guys want to fight, go to dad's." You opened your front door, held it wide open for all of them to filter out. Each one gave a sad or sympathetic smile as they left.

"Y/N, I think you should really give them anoth-" Jack tried to reason with you before you shut the front door, hard. The slam echoed through your now quiet apartment as you stood there yet again, alone. 

>>>

Your hooded eyes stared at the same spot on your ceiling. Your back rested on the cold hardwood floor of your wrecked living room. Your head swam with a fuzziness that only happens when you spend too many days on a bender.

You were fucked and your heart, your soul, hurt in a way you didn't think was possible. 

You could feel the prick of tears starting again in your eyes as your mind ran over everything. The good times, the bad, the moment you wished you could take back.

Why did you leave that damn house? You could have at least let him explain.

You sighed as you sat up. The uncomfortable feeling of the room spinning only got worse as you shifted forward to grab the drink you'd poured earlier. The glass pressed against your dried out lips as the same laugh reel ran in the background.

Was this your life now? You wondered as you sat on that cold floor of your apartment. You used to be okay with nights like these. You used to be fine being alone.

Now, the silence felt like a stab to the gut.

Your phone that laid on the table vibrated non-stop. The worried texts of people who loved you flooded your phone, you were worried about you too but you couldn't admit it.

Why did this hurt so bad?

Was it because you'd never experienced a loss like this before?

Or was it because deep down, shut away in the corner of your mind you dared to never go to, you knew exactly how you felt about them? And it scared the shit out of you.

You gulped down the rest of your drink. Not wanting to begin the vicious cycle of why you were so quick to give up on them. Why you were so determined to leave before any explanation could be given. 

Fucking hell, you needed therapy.

Your shaky legs walked over to the TV, turning off the reruns. Your glass placed on the edge of your coffee table as you made your way to your bathroom. A hot shower would always fix everything. 

The stream of warm water pounded against your back as you sat in your bathtub. Your mind fluttered around the idea of taking a job that required you to permanently leave the country for a while. Maybe you could fall in love with a nice coast side in Italy or a small Cafe in France.

You didn't notice the sound of your front door opening or the footsteps in your apartment. Your eyes were already so heavy. The steam of the shower only made the low lullaby of sleeper louder in your mind.

Sleep and everything will be better. 

>>>

You woke up the next morning in your bed. The bright sun burned your eyes as you blinked away the foggy feeling of sleep that still lingered around you. Your brain felt like a pile of mush as you reached for the bottle of water you kept on your side table.

How did you even get to bed?

The last few days had blurred together into a muddy picture. Everything jumbled together; drinks, painting, TV, organizing your kitchen, looking at apartments in foreign countries online.

"Morning!" Your brother chirped happily as he walked into your room. 

You could have literally jumped out of your skin. You screamed, loudly, almost falling out of the bed.

"What the fuck!" 

"I came back last night and you were asleep in the shower!" He said like you were the dumb one. "A thank you would be nice."

"Why are you in my apartment?" You asked, but only received the blankest of stares back. You knew why he was here. "I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad. Obviously, you need to hear it 'cause your apartment smells like a bar and you haven't talked to anyone in almost a week." He shrugged as he sat on the edge of your bed. The black ball of fur you'd eventually have to give back to your neighbor wasn't far behind him. Small black paws circled around you before he found a place to sleep comfortably.

"This sucks." You mumbled after a bit of silence. You could tell Jack didn't want to push you. Usually, this was a thing Tommy would handle but for some reason, the tribe had sacrificed Jack to be the emotional voice of reason this time.

"You know," he said as his hand ran through Marshmallow's fur. His teeth bit the inside of his lip as he debated what to say for a second before continuing. "you could just admit you were in the wrong and go apologize. I mean, you clearly fucking regret it." 

"I don't." You answered so quickly even Marshmallow didn't believe you. His green eyes stared in lazy disbelief. "I mean I do but… I don't know, Jack. It's weird 'cause I'm so sad but… what if this never gets better? What if it's always like this? Like, we're always struggling to be a normal couple?"

"You're not a normal couple so why would you try to act like one?" 

Your eyes shot to his at the words that poured out of his mouth so carefully. You'd never thought of it that way before. Your brows furrowed as you stared back at the bed. 

Was there a chance for you to make this work with them?

"Look, Y/N, relationships are fucking hard no matter what but you can't just… walk out on people before they get a chance to hurt you."

"I didn't."

"You did. It's kind of your thing, you know?" He smiled softly to you. Not condescending or in a know it all way, in the way only a sibling could without getting smacked. "Not that it doesn't make sense but if they made you happy, maybe you should try to hear their side of it."

"When did you become the smart brother?" You teased with that wide smile across your face.

"Right after I came out of the closet." 

"Shut up." You said through a laugh. The first one you'd had in days. That weight that laid on your chest seemed to have lifted a small amount.

Maybe, just maybe, you could talk this through with them.

>>>

You stood on the same doorstep you angrily stormed across not even a week ago. The pink door that you used to love, suddenly felt like a door to the electric chair. 

Maybe you couldn't do this.

You sighed, your eyes darting back to the old Camero you loved just a little too much. Arms crossed over your chest to keep you warm as you stood in your place. You knew you couldn't go back to your apartment this quickly without getting asked questions. 

Raphael, Jack, Tomás, and Jason were all waiting for your post-breakup meltdown if this didn't go well. Each one said they'd stay with you on rotation shifts until you felt better if you needed it.

Which was sweet, but you kind of wanted to rot in silence and alcohol if this went as badly as you thought it was going to. 

Your tongue grew thick as your stomach churned. Your eyes closed as you sighed heavily, your ass plopped down on his front steps, head rested in your hands.

You didn't know where to even start when it came to talking to them. Your feelings were hurt but you shouldn't have walked out without giving them a chance to explain. You didn't want to feel like the odd man out but didn't want to broadcast your relationship. 

The whole thing was messy and complicated. You wished so hard that it'd be easy. That talking about what you felt would be easy.

But you knew it wasn't, it never was, at least not for you. You shoved all your emotions down and kept chugging along your whole life. You pretended everything was fine, even when it wasn't. Which was exactly what ended you up here in the first place.

If you would have told them sooner they would have ended the PR shit.

"Hi." The thick accent from behind you startled your thoughts for a second but you didn't turn around. Your fingers messed with the edge of the rip in your jeans as your eyes focused on the crack in his sidewalk.

"Hi." You said quietly after what felt like a full minute of silence. You heard him let out a small sigh, his feet shuffled forward until he sat down quietly beside you.

You tried to not look at him, knowing if you did you'd burst out into tears. So you stayed focused on the ground, the dead leaves that floated along the road, the grass that was getting crunchy from the cold weather. 

"Y/N, 'M-" he started but you waved your hand to get him to stop. Your head rested against his shoulder that tensed up from your touch. 

You didn't want to talk for a second, just a second. You breathed in the familiar smell of him, the cologne he always wore was faint on his skin. The sleep shirt he wore was your favorite, you realized. The blue sweatshirt always made his eyes look so beautiful.

"I missed you." You said into his shoulder. Your lips brushed against the soft fabric as you spoke. 

"'M missed yeh too." His voice cracked as he rested his cheek against the top of your head. His fingers laced through yours as you moved closer into the warmth of him. "Flor's inside if y'wanna talk."

You sighed, you knew you needed to talk, knew you had to talk about it. You just didn't want to. The feel of him being close to you again, the intoxicating smell of him near. 

Your head lifted from his sweatshirt, only to see how rough he'd been doing himself the last few days. His bloodshot green eyes had large bags under them. His scruff on his face, messy brown curls. He'd done just as bad as you.

You only caught sight of his lips for a second before saying fuck it. Talking could happen later, you'd missed him so much.

Your lips pressed against his with a force that knocked him backwards for a second but you didn't care. No, this was the most "at home" you'd felt in days.

He felt like home.

His lips molded to yours so perfectly, once he got a hold of himself. His hand slipped to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him.

Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest as your lips parted, welcoming him back. 

He pulled you up with him. His hands around your waist, lips still connected with yours as he walked the pair of you inside.

You wished you could slow down the moment. The way he was holding you tightly to him, like he never wanted to let you go again. The fleeting feelings ran through your mind but they all ended the same way.

You fucking loved him, so much.

All your energy was going into not crying from your surge of emotions. The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating, your shaky hands danced in the messy tangle of his unkempt brown curls as you tried to hold onto that shred of sanity you had left. 

"I missed you." You breathed out when you came up for air. His forehead pressed against yours, his body crowded yours to the wall. "God, I fucking missed you." 

He chuckled, a slight smile on his now swollen lips but you couldn't help it. It was the only thing your brain could come up with besides how sorry you were for not giving him a chance to explain.

"Miss me any?" Her voice made you look around Harry. Her arms crossed over her chest but that hint of a smile smoothed across her lips as she leaned on the doorway that led to the entry.

"Wanna see how much I missed you both?"

>>>

Maybe this wasn't necessarily the healthiest way to deal with your problems as a couple. But at this moment you could have cared less what a therapist would say about your tendency to avoid things that were important.

You laid on your back, your legs wide open, toes digging into the mattress as Florence's tongue pressed a wide thick lick through your folds. Circling around your bundle of nerves before slipping into you. 

You would have moaned out loud, if it wasn't for the dick rammed down your throat. Your head laid off the side of the bed, your vision upside down as Harry's pulsating member slid down your open and waiting mouth. His hand around your neck, squeezing himself.

"Missed fuckin' yeh throat, pup." He groaned out as his hips snapped against your spit soaked face. He backed out long enough for you to catch your breath before shoving his way back in. Your abused throat would hate you for this in the morning but right now you didn't care.

"Feel good, baby?" Flor asked as her finger curved inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that always made your eyes roll back. She didn't have to ask if it felt good, she knew it did, she just wanted the bragging rights of who gave you the better orgasm of the night.

Harry's member pulled out of your throat. You tried your best to catch your breath as he crouched down to your level. His hands doing the best they could to wipe away all the saliva that ran down your cheeks. Playful green eyes met yours.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart?" He asked even though he really didn't need to. The sound of your moans alone was enough to tell you were close.

"Mhm." Was all you managed to get out, your hands threaded through Florence hair as her mouth joined her fingers. Your eyes closed as you got closer to your high, your skin raised in goosebumps as she did that fucking flicking, swirl, of her tongue that always did you in.

"Good, 'm gonna make you cum harder than that." Harry's words faded in your mind as that crashing sensation washed you away. 

Florence scoffed as her head lifted from between your legs. The back of her hand wiped your juices away as she rolled her eyes at Harry.

"Good fucking luck trying to top that one." 

"Guys," you groaned, your hand over your eyes. "Supposed to be makeup sex, not a competition." 

"Can be both." Harry mumbled under his breath, quietly, but you still caught it. Your eyes glared at him as you turned around on the bed.

"Shut up." You mumbled as you reached forward, your hands around his neck as you brought him up to your level. Your mouth enveloped his quickly to stop the argument.

You pulled him onto the bed with you two. His knees hitting the edge before climbing up the rest of the way as your tongue took control of this kiss. It didn't happen often but when it did you ran with the opportunity. His mouth following your lead until you pulled away slightly, your teeth catching his bottom lip softly causing him to moan.

"Fuck," he cursed as you pulled away that sweet smile on your face like you didn't know that he loved that.

Florence came behind the pair of you, her lips pressed against your shoulder, up your neck, small love bites left here and there before she took the chance to kiss you when Harry pulled away. Her hands pulled on your waist, tugging you down to the bed to lay on your back.

"Ready?" She asked as Harry stroked himself, the nod of your head was all he needed to hoist your legs up. His pulsing tip ran through your folds as you reached for Florence, your arms wrapped around her thighs as you pulled her down on your mouth.

Harry continued to tease your opening. His tip slipping in and out of you easily as your tongue ran rapid through Florence's pussy. Her wetness was almost to the point of dripping down your face. You groaned as you pulled her by her thighs down harder onto you as your tongue circled into her hole. Fuck, you missed her taste. 

You heard the sounds of their kissing, her moans, before he finally pushed his way into you. Your walls clinging around him immediately, pulling him closer into you, making him hiss lowly.

"Jesus, she always so fuckin' tight." His hands embedded themselves into your thighs as he held you open for him. His fingers pulled back the lips of your pussy briefly before you felt Florence shift forward, her core off your mouth as her tongue circled your clit.

Your loud, unabashed moans filled the room. Your mind clouded with nothing but desire and lust, barely functioning at all. Thoughts weren't making sense, you were going based on instinct when your fingers slipped into her cunt that was inches in front of your face.

Harry's grunt and groans as he fucked into your tight cave halted for a moment, his erection pulled out of you briefly. The unmistakable sounds of your girlfriend choking on your boyfriends cock filled the room.

You moaned at the sound, your core clenched as your fingers finally twisted into the right angle. Her velvet walls pulled you in as she tried her best to keep breathing around Harry's thick member.

"Fuck, keep doing that." He panted, accent thick, voice deep with pleasure as you hit that spot in her again. A flood of her arousal coated your fingers as she let out another loud moan, her body slacked on top of you as Harry pulled out of her throat. 

You weren't prepared for when he thrusted himself back into you. Your moan cracked as you gripped tightly onto Florence's thighs. 

"Told yeh I was gonna make you cum harder." He mumbled as Florence let out a laugh. She rolled over to lay beside you, her lips lazily kissing yours the best they could through Harry's rough thrusts into you.

"Make her cum harder than I did and you can cuddle her tonight." Florence smirked, her hands ran over your hair as you pouted.

"Deal."

"Hey! I wanted to cuddle both of you." Your head shot off the bed as you glared at the both of them, who were both very very clearly taking their competition too far.

Leave them alone for four days and you come back to them acting like children.

"Tomorrow night, sweetheart. I got somethin' prove." Harry smiled as he leaned down to you, his lips capturing yours before you could protest, a roll of his hips had you moaning.

Maybe this bet wasn't that bad.

"Yeah, proving I'm better." Florence scoffed again, adding fuel to the fire as her hand leisurely traveled between her legs. A soft moan passed through her lips as Harry basically growled at her through his teeth.

You rolled your eyes at her as she gave you a shrug and a smile. His length pulled out of you again as he lifted you up, switching you over to be on top of him.

He was pushed back into you in less than a second, his hands grasping the round flesh of your ass tightly as he leaned you forward into his chest. His legs pushed himself upwards, hitting your sweet spot every single time.

You were thankful he pulled you into his chest. Your moans rolled easily as his hands dug deeper into your skin, you were teetering on the edge with in minutes. His gruff groans as his sensitive pulsating member pushed into you only added fuel to the fire. 

"Come 'ere, baby." He said as he slowed down his punishing pace his hand left your bum, fingers slipped into Florence's mouth for only a few seconds before finding their way back to you.

The pressure from his finger prodding into your back hole had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. The deep, low, sound that resonated in the bottom of your chest had a smug grin on Harry's face.

He knew he'd won.

His finger and along with his cock fucked into you until you could hardly register your own name. You could feel your heart beating in your core, your nipples so sensitive you could barely stand to have them brush against his own chest. 

Harry hummed as you seemed to lose yourself in the feeling of your mounting high. Florence's hand between her legs, stroking herself faster as her lips pressed to Harry's.

You felt a pressure in your stomach you'd never felt before, building and building, ready to bust any second. You didn't even have time to warn him when you felt the dam release. Your head floated in the clouds as your juices ran down him, soaking the bed.

"Well, fuck, I've never made her do that." Florence mumbled after Harry's final thrust into you. His gloating laugh filled the room as you laid limp.

"Told yeh so." He cooed as his hand ran down your back in soothing circles. Florence kissed softly on your shoulder, your arm, wherever until your eyes finally focused on her.

"You okay?" She asked as she brushed away the hair that was stuck to your face.

"Mhm, wanna sleep." You whined, your head pressed into Harry's shoulder tightly as you felt him soften inside of you. Your hips shifted to move off him but his hand quickly pressed your ass down again.

"Go to sleep, darlin'." He kissed the top of your head before he nuzzled into your. Florence arm wrapped around the both of you as Harry opened one arm for her to cuddle into his side. 

>>>

"Mornin', sweetheart." Harry hummed as he rounded the corner to his kitchen. A quick kiss placed on Florence's lips before he picked up the cup of tea she already had made for him.

"Morning." She mumbled into her cup. Her legs pulled up beside her as she sat on the counter. 

"Wot's wrong?" He paused before taking a sip, his eyes studying her as she sighed.

"It's just…" she stared at the coffee pot that hadn't been used in a week. The steaming brown liquid dripped into the vessel below it. She sighed, shaking her head. "I woke up this morning and the first thing I did was make sure she didn't leave again." 

Harry's eyes softened, his hand ran through her hair, lips pressed to her forehead. Trying his best to comfort her which is what he tried, and usually failed, at doing all week long.

"We'll talk to her, okay?"

Flor nodded her head, her lips pressed to his one last time as they heard the door to the bedroom creak open. A shirt you'd taken out of Harry's closet hit your knees as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

"Morning." You said as you gave both of them a kiss, your eyes more trained to the pot of delicious coffee than either one of their faces.

"Y/N?" Florence asked as you poured your first cup, the smell wafting into your senses had your knees almost buckling. 

"Yeah, baby?" You asked without turning around. The glass pressed to your swollen lips from all of last nights kissing, the warm mug felt like a relief to them.

"Can, uhm," she started, you finally turned around to see her looking uncomfortable. Her tongue wet her lips, eyes glanced to Harry before she continued. "can we talk, you know… about everything now?" 

"Right, yeah of course, we should… just-" You could feel the nerves pit in your stomach growing as you nodded towards the table. The three of you sat in your usual chairs, your usual mugs in your hands, but it wasn't an usual morning.

No, now you actually had to talk about what was bothering you.

"Right." Harry said, hoping to get the conversation started with already but the room was dead silent.

"Right." You repeated mostly to fill the awkward silence that was growing thicker in the room by the second. You could feel your ears rushing, the room was so quiet. No TV to drown out the weird atmosphere, no music to cover up the fact you had to talk about what happened.

"So, I guess 'm gonna start." Harry said after he glanced at the both of you two, seeing he was going to have to get the ball rolling on this whole thing.

"Yeh know 'm really, really, sorry 'bout the Gemma stuff. I was gonna tell her the next week after the last interview but she decided to come in early and surprise me." Your lips rolled in your mouth as you listened to him. You knew the whole time you sat in your apartment, drunk, that a version of this was what happened. "And I didn't want yeh to get hurt and 'm so sorry it seemed like I was hiding yeh away from people."

You could feel the start of tears in your eyes. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down from a blubbering meltdown that was about to happen. Which you might have been able to avoid if his hand didn't wrap itself around yours from across the table.

"Just," you sighed, your hand squeezed his as you tried to wipe away the tears that rolled down your cheek. "Just, I should have said it was bothering me before it got to that point and I'm sorry I didn't and I blew up then walked out."

"It's okay." Florence said softly, her other hand laced through your free one. "But… maybe, we should agree to talk about stuff a bit more."

"Yeah, think that would probably be good." Harry agreed as he scooted forward in his chair, his hand wiped away the rest of your tears. "So, yeh gonna stay, right?"

You smiled up to him, your hand laced tighter through Florence's fingers as you nodded your head.

Yeah, you think you'd stay with them.

#Harry Styles #Harry #Harry Styles x Reader #Harry Styles x You #Harry Styles x Y/N #Harry Styles fanfic #Harry Styles Fanfiction #Florence Pugh #Florence #Florence Pugh x Reader #Florence Pugh x You #Florence Pugh x Y/N #Florence Pugh Fanfic #Florence Pugh Fanfiction #Fanfic #fanfiction #w|w #threes*me #writing #mine #TC

[xenospacebabe]

Broken Wings

Hawks drabble

A/N: So I imagine for some reason that regular doctors and surgeons are capable of treating Hawks to a fault. But when it comes to his wings, they’re a bit...lost?

Summary: After coping with treating injuries to his wings by himself, Hawks finds himself with a more serious injury than he can handle. He can’t open his wings, or fly. The pain is mind numbing. He finds himself breaking into an animal clinic for some help.

Warning: Broken bones. Mild language

HawksxReader

7am. The doors don’t open until 8:30, but you still had things to do from yesterday that weren’t even started. Clutching your steel tumblr full of coffee that’ll barely scratch the surface of your exhaustion, you stifled a yawn and crawled out of your car. Barely remembering to lock it. You always parked on the side of the building so as not to take up any spaces in front. The key missed the lock a few times before eventually sliding inside and turning to the side.

The moment you turned on the lights, a couple of dogs in the back already started barking, hungry for breakfast and ready to go home. Your veterinary clinic was modest in size, but it was always busy. It was your father’s practice before he retired and passed it down to you after finishing school. Now it was all yours. It was hard work, but your clients were loyal. Many of them have been around since the place opened almost 30 years ago. You were the vet that people would recommend to their friends who needed help and had struggles affording it. Your clinic was the one that everyone knew cared the most about patients rather than money. And it showed. While your profits were great, it wasn’t what you were concerned the most about.

After setting down your things in your office, you tied back your hair into a high ponytail and took a long drink of your “breakfast.” You looked at the white board on your wall, deciding which surgery from yesterday to start on first. Picking the cat spay, you headed towards the back to get started. Passing surgery and into the kennels, you found your patient and greeted her with a sweet voice and scratches on her cheeks.

“Good morning, Sadie. You ready, sweet girl? C’mon.” The cat whined tiredly as you scooped her into your arms to bring into the surgical room. But when you lifted your head and looked inside you screamed. Unfortunately, this spooked your cat and she bolted out of your arms to hide under the kennels.

“AH SHIT! Sadie! Sadie c’mere girl! Who are you?!” There sitting on your operating counter was a man. A shirtless man with enormous wings that nearly filled the small room. He was covered in decently serious lacerations and wounds that made the surface of his skin look like a blue, black, green, and purple water color canvas. He looked terrible with deep bags under his eyes. However, he looked at you through messy strands of hair that hung in his face with a tired but smug expression.

“Really? You don’t know who I am?” He said, his voice croaking out with a subtle groan of pain. Your eyes shifted from his, those golden pools that shined like the sun, to the massive crimson wings. They, too, looked to be in disarray. Feathers stuck out in random places, others crumpled, many painted in blood. However his left hung in a slightly abnormal manner.

“I’m sorry. You shocked me all of a sudden. You’re Hawks right? What are you doing here? How did you even get in? The doors were all locked.” As you finished your statement, a single red feather lifted in mid air and hovered, showing you its bent up quill. He picked the lock with the feather and locked it behind him.

“Sorry. I just-..mmgghh...I think it’s broken. And the clowns at the city hospital the commission would send me to aren’t capable of fixing it. I found you online, you do exotics, right? Birds and stuff?”

All the while he was explaining his situation, you were assessing his condition. The area that connected the wing to his back appeared incredibly swollen, and slightly out of place. Without thinking, you reached out to palpate the area causing him to immediately flinch and groan out loud.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m used to my patients being-...well animals. But yes, I’m a small animal and exotics vet. There’s a couple birds I’ve been treating for a long time.” Now this time, as you were talking, Hawks had his eyes trained on you. He was listening to every word you spoke intently. “Some of them were my dad’s patients before he retired. Shows how old they can get.”

Hawks braced the cold steel of the table, crouching forward some. His skin seemed damp with sweat, the pain he was in must have been affecting his body temperature. You needed to act quickly if you were going to save his wing.

“Okay, so. I have to touch it. I need to get a couple xrays to see if we have any breaks and we’ll go from there. I don’t....all I have are sedatives for animals. Would that..?”

“It’s fine, ain’t no pain out there that I can’t handle.” He looked at you with a charming smirk, clearly flexing his pain threshold to impress you. Because he looked you up and down and liked what he saw. Even in those scrubs which were relatively form fitting but patterened in cartoon cats and dogs.

“I’m serious. This is really going to hurt. Are you-“

“I said I can handle it.” Hawks snapped, frustrated with the questions now. He just wanted the pain to stop. And besides, that cute look on your blushing face was too good to miss.

“Alright...well...first you need to help me find my cat that you scared off.”

“You mean this one?” Appearing in front of you held under the arms and the butt by a trio of feathers was your very angry, very sleepy cat. You sighed in relief and retrieved her into your arms. It took some settling to calm her down but you were a natural with all animals. It came so easily. She was comfortable in her kennel when you set her back inside and you felt your brain shift gears.

You first had to get your hands on the wing. Just to get a feel of what you were working with. You’d never seen such beautiful, red feathers before. Even though you saw parrots and other birds daily. These were just...breathtaking. But even the most beautiful wings didn’t stop the pain of broken bones. Hawks groaned behind tight lips when you gently palpated the swollen wing. Inside you felt the distinct break and slight crunchiness that accompanied it. The growling in his throat didn’t frighten you, after all, you dealt with aggressive animals day in and day out.

“Y-you almost finished there, Doc? Agghh...” He finally outwardly complained when you flexed his wing. Your hands were gentle but it was still nearly unbearable. Slowly and carefully, you folded his wing back down into its natural resting position.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I know it hurts. But thank you for holding still. Alright. Let’s do some xrays.”

After some struggling and repositioning, and many awkward brushes of hands and faces, you and Hawks were successful in taking some clear shots of what you determined was a broken wing. You didn’t notice his eyes on you as you explained it to him. The room was dark, illuminated only by the backlight box that made it possible to see the xray photos. But he was studying your face quite intently.

The space between your eyebrows crinkled a little when you would point to a specific spot on the xray in concentration. When you were quiet in thought, your tongue pressed against your cheek or you nibbled your bottom lip. The slope of your nose was accentuated by the pale shine of the light box to make it look like you had a cute button nose. Everything you were saying filled his ears but didn’t register as anything coherent. Eventually, you noticed.

“Hawks? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Your voice brought him out of the trance he’d slipped into and he blinked rapidly to soothe his eyes. He hadn’t blinked once.

“Oh! Uh-...aheh...I’m fine. And please...call me Keigo.”

“Keigo?”

“Yeah, that’s my real name. Hawks is just my hero name. I can trust you, yeah?” He looked down at you with those eyes that you swore were glowing and swallowed harshly. Suddenly your throat was dry.

“R-right! I knew that. Keigo...so...like I said. The break is pretty clean. Luckily there’s no fragments or splinters that would make a problem.”

“So what can you do to fix me?” He lied, though, about being in pain. Broken bones were painful enough. But a broken bone that carried the heavy weight of his wing was absolutely agonizing. However, years of working as a pro hero conditioned him into hiding his pain from his enemies.

“Well, there isn’t a lot we can do. Other than immobilize the wing so the bone can heal back together.”

That got his attention.

“Immobilize? You mean I can’t-“

“Fly. Yeah. Not forever, but for a while. You’d have to come back every now and then for xrays so I can see how the healing is progressing. Given the size, I’d imagine...6 weeks?”

6 weeks? Of no flying? Hawks hadn’t spent that long out of the sky in so long that he wasn’t sure he remembered what it felt like to walk anywhere. You could see the panic in his eyes, beads of sweat formed on his neck and forehead. So you reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. He froze, not sure of what to do.

“Sorry! Sorry.” You quickly withdrew your hand. “That’s a habit. I always try to comfort the parents of my patients when they get difficult news.”

“No no, it’s-...you just surprised me.” He reached for your hand and returned it to his shoulder which was still bare. You hadn’t even realized he hadn’t redressed after finishing the radiographs. Your palm rested on his shoulder, his skin was warm to the touch. Your thumb gently stroked the end of his collarbone as you often did to support your clients. Beneath your fingers you felt the impressive muscle he had, in spite of appearing relatively lean, the muscle tone of his torso was quite defined. You imagined it had to be in order for him to fight villains and hold himself aloft while flying.

“I know it’s a difficult thing to hear. Your wings take you everywhere, I’m sure. But this won’t last forever, okay?” Something about your voice was so soothing to his fried nerves. But you’d never know because of how cool and composed he made himself appear.

“You don’t mind?” Hawks felt his anxiety dissolve when he thought about getting to see you next. It was a strange feeling, but he knew he could trust you. Those pretty eyes of yours really spoke volumes.

“Of course not. Now let’s get you taped up and on your way. I’m sure you’re exhausted, no doubt whatever broke your wing has you worn out.”

“Heh you can say that again.” There it was, his suave and too-cool demeanor. But you didn’t mind it. You were sure it was just a front he was used to keeping up. After all, you were just a civilian and he couldn’t afford to let anyone know just how weak he was.

You managed to tape and place Hawks’ wing in a makeshift splint. He refused any medication but you could tell by the way he white knuckled the table that he was in pain. A majority of the time, your patients were under anesthesia when setting broken bones. So you had to be careful this time about how heavy handed you were. By the time you were finished, you had less than 10 minutes to get him out the door before your techs and kennel attendants showed up for work.

“Come see me in a week. We’ll take more xrays and make any adjustments if you need them. Try to keep the splint dry, and rest. I mean it, Hawks.”

“Alright, Doc. I’ll be a good little bird just for you.” The winged hero winked at you as he slipped out the back door. You felt your heart leap into your throat and cheeks burn up as a result. Just as he disappeared, you heard the sounds of your employees coming in and quickly closed the door and composed yourself.

“Morning, Doc!” One of them said as you appeared in the exam area. You smiled and waved, reaching into the pocket of your white coat with your other hand. Something was in there. You looked inside and saw red. A feather. Unbeknownst to you, Hawks had slipped one of his feathers into your pocket. You couldn’t fathom why, but you felt a strange sense of comfort when you ran the tip of your finger along the center spine. It quivered when you did so.

“Ungh...” In an alley a block away, Hawks had to brace a brick wall with one hand. His insides trembled as he sensed you touching his feather. Even he didn’t know why he left one with you. But the thought of parting made him remarkably...sad?

“Get it together, Keigo...” He muttered to himself, shaking his head and continuing back home. It would be a long 6 weeks out of the sky, but at least he’d be able to see you.

A/N: This was longer than I anticipated omg. Does anyone think I should continue?

#winged hero hawks #hawks drabble #keigo takami #bnha keigo #hawks x reader #veterinary #writing #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero

[mldrgrl]

The Matchmaker

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary:  Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.  

Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her.  The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.

“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.

“Really, Mulder?  Once upon a time?”

He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide.  “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”

“Mmhm.”  

Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation.  She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.

“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old.  This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”

“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.    

“Well?” she asks.

“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees?  Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”

“Folklore.”

“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”

“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”

He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen.  “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by.  There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court.  In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair.  And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”

“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”    

Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color.  The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black.  Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.

“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.

“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”

Scully snorts softly.  “And why is that?” she asks.

“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”

“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.”  She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.

“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”

“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”

“Glad you asked!”  Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman.  The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.

“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”

“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible.  There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”

“Unrequited?”

Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment.  There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe.  There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles.  The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.

“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”

“True love’s touch,” she repeats.

“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest.  “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”

She tries not to sigh in response.

*****

The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon.  Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.

“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car.  “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”

“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

“About what?”

“The tree.”

“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”

He chuckles.  “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”

“Yes, lucky me.”

*****

The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road.  She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful.  The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn.  Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges.  To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.

The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy.  A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space.  There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door.  Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.  He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.

A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus.  She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.

“Take your pick,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter.  She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform.  “The counter is fine,” she says.  “Janet.”

“Sure.”  Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back.  Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.

“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.

“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket.  “But, the special today is meatloaf.  And the soup is tomato bisque.”

“I’ll do the burger.  Medium well.  Is that pie under that dome back there?”

“Pecan.”

“More of a sweet potato guy.”

“Yeah, me too.  Well, sweet potato girl.”  Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.

Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps.  “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet.  “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”

“Sure.”

Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her.  Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”

“The witness?”

Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows.  “Did you even read the file?”

“I gave it a glance.”

“Janet is one of the unrequited.”

“Too bad for Janet.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question.  She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does.  No, that’s not true.  She does know why she’s feeling catty.  The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows.  And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking.  They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.

“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Forget it.”

“Flirting?”

“Nevermind.”  

Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter.  Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down.  She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment.  Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.

“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.

“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.

“Sure do.”

“Two lemons, please.”

“And for the lady?”

“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.

Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices.  Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.

“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID.  “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully.  My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”

The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown.  She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.

“What do you know about it?” she asks.

“Not much, which is why we’re here.  We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”

Janet nods slowly.  “That’s not...a crime, is it?”

“No, no.  We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though.  It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”

Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter.  Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them.  She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued.  The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark.  Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.

“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.

Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head.  “Go ahead,” she answers.

“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.  

Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck.  It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all.  Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says.  “It appears to be a localized eczema.  Have you seen a dermatologist?”

“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around.  “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards.  No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”

“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”

“Oh, I know it does.  I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”

“I see.”

“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.

“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school.  Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation.  We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”

Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.  

“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.

“Oh yeah,” Janet answers.  “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid.  And everyone wants to brag about it, you know?  You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”

“You and Anthony?” Scully asks.  “You never married?”

“Well, how could we?  He wasn’t the one.”

“According to the tree.”

“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”

“You really believe that?”

Janet points to her neck.  “I didn’t until this happened.”

“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.

“Not really.  Who would believe that a tree could do this?”

“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.

“Mmhm.”  He nods once and turns the page of his paper.  “That cursed tree is part of her legacy.  Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”

“You got it, Wallace.”  Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.

“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.”  Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter.  “Thank you, Janet.”

“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.

“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.

Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm.  “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie.  Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker.  And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”  

“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”

“No.”  Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.

“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.

*****

Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be.  While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal.  Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.

The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry.  She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet.  Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips.  Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth.  She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.

“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says.  “And here you folks are.”

“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Sure am.  Who’s asking?”

“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.”  He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket.  “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”

“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”

“Forgive me for my tardiness.”

Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.

“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.

“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”

Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him.  She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished.  The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space.  Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors.  Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair.  There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.

Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest.  She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.

“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.

“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married.  After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back.  That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”

“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says.  “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”

Hattie laughs again.  “I was born in 1885.”

“You’re 114 years old?”

“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?”  She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows.  Even Scully has to smile in amusement.

“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.

“Hattie, please.  Never liked formalities.  So stuffy.”

“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”

“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.

“A curse?  Bah.  Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”

“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.

“Name is Wallace Byrd.  He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”

Mulder and Scully give each other a glance.  “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.

“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man.  He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”

“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”

“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”

“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”

“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”

There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.

“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says.  “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often.  Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay.  Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”

Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully.  His enjoyment of the tale is palpable.  She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.

“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues.  “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task.  He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage.  Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took.  A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”    

“Overnight?” Mulder asks.  “Incredible.”

“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.

“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says.  “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events.  Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery.  He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy.  When he went home, his village was in chaos.  They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”

“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.

“So they say.  Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified.  He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper.  When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help.  The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”

“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.

“That’s about right.  Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”

“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.

Hattie shrugs.  “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree.  The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”

“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks.  “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind?  You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed.  Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”

“Ailments?  No.  Broken heart is more like it.  Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed.  He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love.  A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident.  He never got over it.  Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone.  I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale.  It’s just a tale, after all.”

“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.

“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?”  Hattie laughs.  “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”

It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly.  He stands, and Scully does as well.  

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.

“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”

“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west.  The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”

*****

It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it.  The photos didn’t do it justice.  The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames.  The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall.  The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle.  She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.

“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist.  Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in.  I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”

“Leaves of three, let them be.”  Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves.  “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”

“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”

“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”

Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on.  Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.

“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers.  He’s right.  

“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag.  “We’ll need soil samples as well.  Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”

“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mmhm.”  Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up.  “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”

“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence.  Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”

“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”

“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”

“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.

“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree.  Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk.  She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly.  She jumps back, heart racing.  A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers.  Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold.  Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.

“Mulder?”  She turns, but no one is there.  She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.

Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part.  She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches.  Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it.  She crouches down to collect some dirt as well.  As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles.  Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk.  She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.

“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree.  She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand.  There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding.  She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.

“Scully!” Mulder calls.

“Yeah,” she answers, warily.

“Where are you?”

“In here.”  She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches.  She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.

“You have…”  Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.

A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns.  She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks.

“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”

“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”

“I did.”

“What was the answer?”

“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”

Mulder chuckles.  “There is some poison oak in the woods up there.  You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”

“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”

She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket.  It’s beginning to itch.

“I guess we should probably head out then?”

“No argument from me.”

*****

They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends.  Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home.  They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.

A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching.  It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home.  She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.

They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa.  She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field.  She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day.  When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire.  She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.

By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist.  It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls.  She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm.  There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before.  She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again.  When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin.  She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.  There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge.  It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile.  After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration.  She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.

“I need to show you something,” she says.

Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her.  He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table.  “Okay,” he says.  “Show me.”

Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up.  Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her.  He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”

“The Matchmaker?”

“Yes.  It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know.  I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”

Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm.  Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.  

“It feels like...I’m not sure...”  Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm.  Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm.  It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.

They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf.  Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded.   “Mulder…how did…?”

“I don’t know.”

“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”

“Well, there is one explanation.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You touched the tree.”

“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.”  She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge.  “I need scissors.”

“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor!”  She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag.  Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.

“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders.  “Come on.”

“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”

“I can see that, come out here.”

Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit.  She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.

“Let me see,” he says.  

Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger.  He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all.  When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria.  She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.

“Scully?”  The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.

“Oh, I feel…”

“Sit down.”  He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.

“No, I…”  She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful.  It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen.  It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.

“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.

“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically.  Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy.  “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”

Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows.  “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.

Her heart hammers in her chest.  She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers.  She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I heard you, you know,” he says.

“Heard me?”

“When I was exposed to the artifact.”  He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead.  “I heard you.  I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”

She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now.  She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again.  By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in.  Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers.  The kiss is soft and unhurried.  It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

“Of course you don’t.”  He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped.  He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.

“It’s just not possible.”

“All of it?”  He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.

“Maybe not all of it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”  He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.

“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.

“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”

“Is that all?”  

“Autumn in New England?  I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”

“So, you never intended for…”

“For you to start becoming part tree?  Not at all.”

“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it.  It’s…”  She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.

Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand.  “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it.  Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”

“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face.  “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”

“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”

“What?”

“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #definitely non canon #but set somewhere after The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati #msr