#far fewer fics just each a lot longer

[ro-is-struggling]

Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man || TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Female Reader

Word count: 17000+ (okay, hear me out! the story is split into parts so you can close it and come back later and you won't miss anything)

Warnings: this is inspired by some of Peter 3 lines in No Way Home (about how he stopped pulling his punches) so there’s a lot of sadness over Gwen’s death, hurt/comfort, Peter being a flirty bastard, the reader doesn’t know Spider-Man’s identity for the most part, mentions of blood and injuries, Peter being scared of feelings, the reader getting attacked in the streets (but it’s very quick and nothing happens) and I think that’s it. But if I missed anything let me know!

This is just a bunch of cute scenarios with Peter and the reader comforting each other and developing feelings all while she doesn't know who’s under the mask, it’s really fluffy in my opinion so enjoy I guess

English is not my first language so there could be a lot of grammar mistakes in this.

Summary: Spider-Man was doing his night patrol when he heard the sobs of a lonely woman sitting on the sidewalk under the rain. He went over to help her, unaware that by doing so he was also helping himself. 

Or the one where two lonely souls find comfort in each other.

(I’m so bad at summaries I’m so sorry)

Notes: This is my first time writing tasm peter and I tried my best to capture his playful and flirty personality (that in my opinion peter 1 & 2 don't have). Also this fic was so much longer that it is right now. In my head this concept was better as a series, but I don’t have the time to write one right now so I edited it to fit all in one story. So if there are parts that don’t make sense or are worded a little weird that’s probably why! I tried my best to make this look good as a one shot, I’m sorry if it’s trash.

Also, can you guys tell I have a thing for hands?

I hope you like it! Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Peter was doing his usual patrol through the streets of New York. It was a quiet night, probably because of the rain that had been falling intermittently since sundown. In his years as Spider-Man he had found that rainy days tended to be quieter because there were fewer people on the streets. People who could stayed dry and safe in their homes, and those who were outdoors took refuge in cabs or public transportation to get home. He usually went out into the streets anyway, ready to help anyone in need, although he paid less attention to his surroundings, expecting less danger than usual. 

Despite the noise of the water droplets hitting the pavement he was able to hear a sound that caught his attention. He stopped swinging between the buildings for a moment to pay attention and discovered that what he heard was sobbing. Someone was crying, no doubt in need of his help, so Peter hurried to get to that neighbor in distress. He bounced from building to building, passing a few lamp posts and traffic lights, imagining the scene he would encounter when he landed. 

Maybe it was someone who was lost. Or maybe it was someone who was being robbed and crying in fear as they were stripped of their belongings. It wouldn't bother him if that was the case.He was eager to relieve the tension that was building up in his shoulders and so far he hadn't had the opportunity to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any criminals. Well, actually only one, but the police interrupted him before he could take out his frustrations on him. He held so much anger and resentment inside him since Gwen's death that he found it difficult to live his normal life as Peter. He needed to work through his emotions somehow and he had found that beating up criminals helped him. 

He landed in a dark, smelly alley and walked into the street very carefully, following the sound of the sobbing. He hoped he could surprise the criminals that way, save the victim and take out his frustrations before the police arrived to break up the fight. But, as he emerged from his hiding place he discovered that the street was deserted except for a couple of people walking quickly so as not to get wet under the rain. There was no armed bulky man attacking an innocent person or any other kind of disturbance. But what he did see was a girl sitting on the sidewalk crying in the rain. 

Every muscle in Peter's body relaxed at the realization that he wasn't supposed to engage in combat and his expression softened under the superhero mask. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to approach her to ask how she was doing. He didn't want to frighten her or pry into matters that didn't concern him. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that something bad would have to have happened to her to end up crying audibly in the rain so late at night. Someone in that condition definitely needed Spider-Man's help, so he approached her.

Maybe she wasn't in the kind of imminent physical danger he had imagined, but saving someone from such a situation wasn't the only way to help them. Sometimes a couple of words of encouragement spoken at the right moment were just as important. So Peter walked over to her and asked if she was okay, resting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She was startled, but didn't answer him, choosing to concentrate on wiping away her tears rather than speaking.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he insisted in a soft tone, trying to evoke calmness with his voice. 

"Can you be my friend?" she answered with a sarcastic snort. 

Peter was pretty sure she wasn't serious, but she really seemed to need a shoulder to cry on. So he sat down on the sidewalk next to her.

“That I can do! I am the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man after all.”

The young woman looked at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. She didn't expect him to take her words seriously. She was pretty sure that a woman crying in the street didn't require the presence of a superhero like him. He must have had more important things to do, more important people to save. 

"You don't have to do that, Spider-Man. I'm sure there are plenty of people who need your help more than I do."

“Nah, I went around the neighborhood a few times today and apparently crime took a night off so I'm sorry, I guess you're stuck with me," he said and she let out a laugh that sounded more like a huff than anything else, shaking her head slightly. 

"I'm fine, you can go," she insisted, wiping the tears and water droplets from her face, thankful that it was finally stopping raining. At least she had that going for her.

"I'm not so sure of that. I mean, in my experience people don't sit on the sidewalk crying under the rain because they're happy. So...what happened to you?"

A silence formed as she contemplated her options. She didn't want to discuss her problems with a complete stranger whose face she couldn't even see. She didn't care how friendly and supportive Spider-Man was, talking to him about her personal problems was ridiculous and pathetic. He wasn't a therapist -at least she didn't think he was. He wasn't even her friend. He was a stranger brave - or insane - enough to put on a flashy suit and swing through the streets of Queens in search of danger. He was definitely not a suitable person to tell her problems to. 

But as she looked around she realized that she wasn't much better. She was crying in the middle of the street at 11 PM sitting in the rain. And all because she had missed the bus and now had to wait who knows how long for the next one.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. That was just the situation that had caused her breakdown, but it was far from being the cause of her tears. It had been a difficult time for her. Over the course of a couple of days she had been fired from her job, had failed a project she had been working on for weeks and had gotten into a fight with her best friend, the last close person in her life she had left. Her life was a complete mess, so perhaps she wasn't the best person to judge others. 

"Have you ever felt lonely, Spidey?" she asked him sourly. "But really lonely, not bored or sad, but pure, crushing loneliness. To the point of not having anyone to celebrate with when something good happens to you. Or who to share movie tickets with. Or who to call when you're sad.... I do.

She didn't bother to hide her tears or the pain in her voice. She figured there was no point, he had already heard her cry. She had no way to sink any lower, so she didn't bother to maintain any semblance of stability. Besides, she wasn't sure she could hold back the tears even if she tried. She had repressed her feelings for so long that now that she had finally snapped she had no way of going back. 

"You know what the worst part is? That it's my fault. I mean, it has to be. It's the only explanation I can find as to why everyone I love ends up walking away from me sooner or later," she added sobbing, not daring to look at the superhero next to her. "I don't know what I do to push people away so I can't change it. I just have to accept it and watch them go... I don't know... I must be a terrible person." 

The girl's words echoed in Peter's mind, his heart shattered not only by the sadness he heard in her voice, but also by the familiar feeling she described. He knew very well what loneliness was. It was one of very few emotions he felt since that tragic night when he had lost everything. Anger, guilt, resentment and loneliness had become his intimate friends, the only ones who accompanied him in the crushing emptiness that was his life. 

He knew all too well how horrible it was to have no one to call to celebrate moments of joy or share sadness because the one person he wanted to talk to was no longer there to answer him. And it was all his fault. Not a day went by in which he didn't remember it, the images imprinted in his memory with fire, impossible to erase. He knew what he had done wrong and had spent the last few years thinking about what he should have done to avoid it. But none of that mattered now, because Gwen wasn't by his side and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

"You're not a bad person," Peter said as soon as he found his voice. He hoped he didn't sound as terrible as he felt inside. He wanted to be a positive figure for her at that moment, to encourage her to stop crying. Something he wouldn't accomplish if he started talking about his own traumas. So he cleared his throat and made an effort to put aside his own emotions to concentrate on hers.

"You don't know that," she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "You don't even know me."

"That's true, I don't know you. But in my experience bad people don't question whether they are good or not. Let alone to the point of crying in the middle of the street, so I think you're safe."

She let out a bitter laugh and turned to look at him for the first time since seeing him sit next to her. She was surprised to notice how expressive the mask could be considering it covered the entirety of his features. The large eyes took up most of the upper space of the face and even though she wasn't able to see what was hidden behind it, she was able to feel his gaze on her. The superhero was watching her with his head tilted slightly to one side, giving him a curious expression. He was probably studying her, analyzing her face to find out how mentally unstable she was. At least that's what she thought.

"Maybe," she muttered with a shrug.

"Oh I know I'm right," Spider-Man replied. "I'm sure you're a good person because my spidey sense tells me so."

"Spidey sense?" she asked, looking at him with confusion. 

"Oh it's this thing I have, like a sixth sense that activates to alert me of danger and bad people nearby. And it hasn't been activated in all this time we've spent together, so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that you're a good person."

Spider-Man's voice sounded amused, to the point that she could have sworn he was smiling under the mask. His good humor was infectious and his words of encouragement helped her feel a little better. 

"Maybe I am," she finally admitted, letting out a sigh. "A very lonely good person, though."

"Who isn't lonely these days?"

"Touche."

"Besides, you're not lonely anymore, you have me. I'm your new best friend. So if at any time you need someone to talk to just go over to your window and yell as loud as you can. I promise I'll come running, or well, swinging I should say."

The young woman burst out laughing as she imagined that sequence. If there were any neighbors left who didn't think she was weird or a crazy hermit she would probably convince them otherwise if she started screaming for Spider-Man out her window. She could think of a couple of neighbors who would call for her eviction from the building immediately because of the excessive noise. And she didn't even want to imagine what it would be like to endure the barking of her neighbor's poodle, who seemed to think any sound was worthy of an hour-long concert of uninterrupted howling and growling. Although she had to admit that being kicked out of her home over having Spider-Man for a friend sounded fun and kind of tempting, despite how insane it would really be. 

Hearing her laugh filled Peter with happiness. He always felt a strange combination of euphoria, relief and pride when he helped someone in danger, but this time it was something different. This time he wasn't saving someone from falling off a cliff or stopping a bus with his bare hands. He was sitting next to a girl who in some ways felt as lonely and broken inside as he did. It was nice to find the words to help her in that dark moment of her life, giving her the comfort he was unable to give himself. 

"What if I want to go to the movies?" she asked, imagining how comical it would be to enter the theater with Spider-Man at her side. 

"What about that? I can see perfectly well with the mask on," he answered as if it were obvious. 

"Do you think they'd let you come in dressed like that?"

"If we go to the movie theater a few blocks from here, yeah. I stopped a robbery there a couple of months ago and they're very grateful to me. In fact, I think I might be able to get us a couple of free tickets."

"It's okay, you don't have to do that."

"Why? Are you embarrassed to be seen with Spider-Man at the movies?" He said, pretending to be offended. "Is it the colorful suit? Because I can wear a more neutral one."

"No, of course not!" she was quick to affirm, laughing at the dramatic tone in the superhero's voice. "And for the record, I think your costume is great."

"Thank goodness! Because there are endless common activities I can do with the suit on. It's not limiting at all if you stop being afraid of other people's opinions. So I hope you're not uncomfortable with people looking at you, because I can assure you that everyone's eyes will be on us." 

"You don't even know my name!" she exclaimed in amusement, reminding him how ridiculous it sounded to make plans to go out together as if they had known each other all their lives. 

"What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Aha, I knew it! You look like your name is Y/N."

“Wow you are so full of shit”

“No, It's part of our connection, I could sense your name before you told me. Face it, Y/N, we're best friends."

Y/N let out a laugh, shaking her head slightly in amazement at his insistence. His cheerful personality was infectious, making it impossible for her not to smile at his comments. Spider-Man seemed genuinely interested in improving her mood and had succeeded. It was hard to resist when he acted with such determination. 

She would be eternally grateful to him for stopping to talk to her. He could have ignored her. She was a complete stranger and he was a superhero with far more pressing situations to attend to than her bad day. However, he had taken the time to sit and listen to what an emotionally unstable girl crying in the rain had to say. Not only that, but he hadn't stopped until he made her smile. That kind of treatment he displayed with the people he helped was what told her he was a good person. 

"Thank you for everything, Spidey," she thanked him as soon as she calmed her laughter. "I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, I really needed it." 

"That's what I'm here for," he said, tilting his head in a subtle bow. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe walk you home or something? It's late, you shouldn't be out on the street alone.” 

"Oh, no, I'm fine. You've done too much already. The bus should be coming by in a little while, I live a couple of stops from here."

"I can take you faster," he said, pointing at his wrists. 

"I'm sure you can, but your method is too risky for my taste. It would involve being suspended several meters above the ground, hanging by a small thread in the rain."

"It stopped raining," he corrected her, as if that would make any difference. "Besides, my webs are very strong."

"I believe you, but I'm not ready to test them for myself yet."

"All right, you win," Peter said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "We can walk."

"It's like 30 blocks."

"I don't mind walking, but if you get tired I can carry you on my back."

Y/N was tempted by the offer. She had to admit that the opportunity to be carried home by a superhero didn't present itself every day. She wondered how it would feel, but she didn't want to cause any more inconvenience. He had done enough for her.

"I still think the bus is faster." 

"Are you sure? Because we've been sitting here talking for like fifteen minutes and there's no sign of it showing up," he said, getting up from the ground to look off into the distance in search of the bus. 

Y/N let out a sigh knowing the superhero was right. The bus line he used was often a mess, especially during the evening hours. The vehicles would pass by spaced out for hour-long periods of time or more, if she was lucky enough to have them pass by at all. She already had one bad experience where the bus left her stranded when she left a friend's house late. And she didn't want to go through that again. 

"We can walk a few blocks and if we see the bus show up I promise I'll stop it with my bare hands so you can get on, what do you say?" Spider-Man offered, seeing the doubt in her expression. 

Y/N wondered if it was appropriate to tell a complete stranger where she lived, worried that it was dangerous. And maybe it was, but there was something about Spider-Man that inspired her trust. This was the first time she'd come across him. So far she'd only heard his name on the news or read about his deeds on social media, where people he'd helped told of their experiences. But despite that, she felt safe next to him. So when he held out his hand to help her up, she took it without a second thought.

"My hero!" she exclaimed in amusement as she imagined him chasing the bus to let her get on at a street where there was no stop. "Are you this kind to everyone you meet on the street or only to those who are having a mental breakdown under the rain? "she added as they started walking. This time it was Peter who let out a long laugh. 

"Only if they're pretty like you," he replied in a flirty humorous tone.

She knew he wasn't serious, but she still couldn't prevent from blushing at the compliment. Peter looked at her in amusement as he realized how easy it was to dye her cheeks pink. He had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out similar comments throughout their walk, suddenly interested in testing her limits.

They walked through the streets of New York at a leisurely pace taking advantage of the fact that the rain had stopped. Y/N was glad she accepted the superhero's offer, not only because she didn't see a single bus pass by during the entire journey, but also because the walk helped clear her mind. Talking with him about trivial matters allowed her to let go of the negative thoughts and frustration that had taken hold of her. He made her laugh and knew how to keep the casual chatter afloat which made the walk seem shorter than it really was. Y/N didn't notice they had reached their destination until she found herself standing outside the door of the building she lived in.

"Well, we are here," she mumbled, not quite sure how to say goodbye. A kiss on the cheek seemed silly since he was wearing a mask, and a hug was too personal. But she didn't think it was appropriate to disappear behind the doors of the building with a simple goodbye after all he had done for her. So she stood there, fiddling nervously with the edges of her jacket sleeves, not knowing what else to do.

"Thank you for everything," she thanked him again, giving him a genuine smile.

“You don't have to thank me, it's my job," he told her even though they both knew it wasn't true. He decided to take care of the well-being of the people of New York, but it wasn't his responsibility. He was just a nice guy. "Now go home, relax and try to get some sleep. Everything will be better in the morning."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Spidey!" she exclaimed, holding a hand to her temple as if he was an army general and she was his subordinate. He laughed and began to walk away towards the sidewalk. She took the opportunity to walk up the steps of the building, struggling to find her keys in the dim light of the night. 

Before entering her home she turned to look at Spider-Man one last time. He gave her a wave, to which she returned with a smile. Then she watched him throw a spider web into the air, sticking to some light pole or wall opposite him. 

"Don't forget to yell for me if you need me!" was the last thing she heard him say before he disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Peter thought that would be the last he would see of Y/N. It was not uncommon for him to lose contact with the people he helped. Sometimes he didn't even get a chance to ask them their name before they fled in fear to a safe place. Maybe if he was lucky he would run into her at some point as he roamed the neighborhood, though he hoped it wouldn't be under dangerous circumstances. So that night before going to bed he asked the universe to be good to her, thinking that would be it.

However, the next night he was greatly surprised to discover that his body ended up leading him to that bus stop where they had met. He didn't do it consciously and he didn't think it was very likely that they would meet again either, but apparently his mind hadn't completely forgotten the whole thing. He had a strange need to know if she was all right and he didn't quite understand why. 

He suspected it had to do with the way he identified with her words. He knew very well the hell that life could become when one felt alone. He had spent the last years of his life trapped in that dark, empty hole, accompanied only by guilt, pain and resentment. He was still trapped in that black hole and that was why he wanted to prevent her from ending up like him. No one deserved to go through that.

So he waited for Y/N sitting on the ledge of a building and when he saw her appear in the distance he didn't hesitate to climb down to approach her. The girl was surprised to see him there, but greeted him with joy. They chatted about their day as they waited for the bus to arrive. Peter noticed that she was in a better mood than the night before, although he could still distinguish some sadness in her eyes. He cracked a couple of jokes to hear her laugh and when the bus appeared he let her go, knowing he would do the same thing again the next day and every day after that until he no longer saw the sadness hidden in her eyes. 

Their friendship grew with every little encounter they had. Peter learned her routine and whenever he could he would stop by the bus stop to talk to her and find out how she was doing. Sometimes he would even walk over to her college to join her from there so they would have more time to chat. He discovered that he enjoyed her company. She was a nice, friendly and fun girl, so he went out of his way to maintain their friendship. Even if that friendship consisted of short casual encounters in which he remained anonymous, hiding in his superhero costume. 

He had thought about revealing his true identity to her a couple of times, but always came to the conclusion that it was better that she didn't know. Telling her his secret would make their relationship much more personal and then she would be in danger. He couldn't let anything happen to her, especially not because of him, so it was better for things to remain as they were. 

Peter waited for Y/N in the same building as always, keeping an eye out for the movement of people on the street in case she showed up-or someone needed his help. However, the minutes passed and there was no sign of her. He thought that perhaps her class had been extended or maybe she had stopped to talk to a classmate. He considered approaching the college to make sure she was okay, but in the end decided it would be best to wait where he was. If she had already left and he was moving they might miss each other on the way.

At the hour mark Peter began to worry. All logic disappeared from his mind as a voice inside him wondered if there was any chance she was in danger. Perhaps she had been attacked on the road. Or maybe she had suffered some kind of accident and was in the hospital. Or maybe...

"That's enough!" he whispered in an attempt to control his thoughts. "She's all right."

That seemed to keep the voices in his head at bay, but the idea was already planted in his mind, the worry increasing with every second. He couldn't help it. Panic would overtake him every time one of his loved ones didn't answer his calls or didn't read his messages. He was used to expecting the worst in life after everything that had happened to him. So he decided the best thing he could do at a time like this was to go to Y/N's house to check on her and make sure she was okay to calm his panicked mind.

He swung down the street quickly and without being very careful. It wasn't the first time he had gone to her house. He had accompanied her on foot a couple of times so he knew the way by heart. When he reached his destination he climbed up the fire escape until he reached her window. He was glad to see the faint glow of light behind the curtains because it meant she was home safe.

He tapped his knuckles on the glass a couple of times, being careful not to use too much force so as not to damage the window. He waited a few seconds, listening closely to the muffled noise coming from the other side. Then Y/N's face emerged from the curtains, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, opening the window and stepping aside to let him through. "I don't remember yelling for you."

"No, no, I know. It's just that I was waiting for you and you didn't show up. I got worried and stopped by to make sure you were okay," he explained, hoping the desperation wasn't clear in his voice. 

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. I didn't go to class today, I wasn't feeling very well."

Y/N walked over to her bed, sitting down on the mess of disarranged sheets and blankets on the mattress. Peter took the opportunity to look around the room, immediately noticing the boxes of tissues scattered on the side of the bed. The small trash can next to the nightstand was overflowing with used tissues and a teacup rested next to the lamp, forgotten there for who knows how long. 

Outside of the clear signs that Y/N was ill, the room was clean and well decorated. The walls displayed a couple of posters of her favorite movies and artists. The desk was neatly arranged, with stacks of books and notes from her classes. On the small dresser on one side rested a couple of photographs of her friends and family. Peter smiled, it was just how he had imagined her room would look.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. How are you feeling now?" he asked, concerned about her condition. Even under the dim light of the night lamp he could see her red nose and tired eyes. 

"I'm a little better," she admitted, giving him a weak smile. "I took some painkillers and spent the day sleeping and that seemed to help a lot."

"Did you eat anything at all during the day?" Peter asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with her. Y/N paused to think about her day.

"Does tea count as food?"

"No!"

"I'm sorry, don't be mad at me," the girl pouted. "I was going to get up and make some soup, but I don't have much energy and my muscles hurt for some reason."

"How can you expect to have energy if you haven't eaten anything all day!" Spider-Man exclaimed with an angry motherly tone that put a smile on Y/N's face. He shook his head, silently disapproving of her behavior, and headed for the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?"

"To make you something to eat." 

He spoke as if that was a completely normal thing to do. As if having a superhero walking around her house preparing dinner for her as if he were her professional chef was something that happened every day. Y/N followed him into the kitchen, telling him he didn't have to do anything, reassuring him that she was already feeling better. But Spider-Man ignored her.

"It's my duty to protect the neighborhood and you are a crucial member of this neighborhood, so let me help you" he said in a dramatic tone that made her laugh. 

"You don't even know where I store stuff," she mentioned, reminding him that he had never entered her house before.

"I think I can manage on my own. I have a kitchen too, I know how they work."

"And you won't make a mess?" she asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not! I'm here to help," he replied, sounding offended that she had suggested such a thing. "Now go back to bed and let me work."

After giving her a couple of basic pointers on the organization of her kitchen Y/N went back to her room. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and opened the camera. Then she slipped down the hallway trying to make as little noise as possible, and snapped a couple of pictures that captured the strange event unfolding in her kitchen. She didn't plan on showing them to anyone, it was mostly a souvenir for her. Evidence that Spider-Man really had come into her house to cook her dinner and that it hadn't been a dream or a hallucination due to a very high fever. 

While the superhero worked in the kitchen she tried to tidy up her room a bit. She threw away the used tissues that rested on her bed along with the empty boxes. She pulled back the sheets to make the bed look more presentable and fixed her messy hair from the hours she had spent sleeping. She'd gone through enough embarrassment letting him see her in that state, with a red nose and a raspy voice from the discomfort in her throat. She didn't need to add to it. 

Spider-Man entered the room shortly after with a tray in his hands. On it he had placed a bowl of soup with a couple of crackers, a glass of water and a couple of napkins. Y/N accepted the food gladly, realizing how hungry she was when she smelled the soup. She enjoyed the way the warm liquid ran down her throat, easing away the discomfort inside her. 

As she ate, Peter took the liberty of scanning the room more closely. He flipped through the titles in the stack of books on her desk, flipping through her class notes curiously. Then he moved toward the picture frames on the dresser, photographs that told the story of her life. He was amused to see that she had a couple of pictures from her childhood. He paid special attention to one where she was hugging another little girl and they were both smiling at the camera showing their missing teeth without any embarrassment. 

His eyes then moved on to another one in which she appeared to be in high school. She looked very different, with a different haircut and the pair of glasses on her nose framing her face differently. Although he couldn't say they looked bad on her.

"I don't talk to half the people in those pictures anymore," said Y/N from the bed, finishing her soup. "They're all childhood friends who I lost touch with due to the ways of life, you know. I don't know why I still have those pictures there. I guess they remind me of the happy times I shared with them."

Peter understood perfectly well what she meant. He still kept the photos he had of Gwen, although in his case he stored them in a drawer. But they served the same purpose: to remember her and how happy he had been with her. Sometimes he would spend hours admiring her smile in those photos, losing himself in the pain and nostalgia, remembering the way his heart would race when he heard her laugh. 

"I don't know, I think you look really cute in this one," he said, showing her a picture of her posing with a friend dressed as Britney Spears in the Baby One More Time music video. He couldn't help but smile under the mask as he saw the horror on her face when she realized which photo he was referring to. Her cheeks flushed red and Peter felt the urgent need to pinch them. 

"Oh God! I forgot that one was there," she exclaimed, embarrassed by the revealing outfit she was wearing in the photo. "It was for a costume party. I was Britney and my friend was Christina."

“Don't be embarrassed, you look pretty," he tried to cheer her up, but his comment only worsened her condition. 

"Well if you like it so much for next Halloween we can dress up as Britney and Justin in their iconic jean outfits." Peter let out a laugh, imagining himself wearing that hideous jean outfit. It would look completely ridiculous, but he wasn't opposed to the idea. He admitted it would be fun to laugh with her about those outfits for a while.

The conversation turned to the subject of Halloween after that comment. They discussed the worst costumes they had ever worn to a party and mentioned which ones they had always wanted to wear but hadn't had the chance yet. She told him about the wide variety of costumes she would like to wear but couldn't because she didn't go to many parties and because, in her words "they were too covered up and true to the original characters" to wear to a party. For some reason he found that comment adorable. In the end, Y/N seemed to be an antisocial hermit just like him. 

When she finished eating, Peter took it upon himself to carry the dishes to the kitchen, taking the tea cup from the bedside table on the way out. He returned a few seconds later with a glass of fresh water which he propped up next to the lamp so that she would have something to drink in case she needed it. Then he settled once again at the foot of the bed, facing her.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, resting a hand on her leg.

"Yes, thank you," she said, nodding her head slightly.

The girl's eyes were fixed on the superhero's hand, which rested delicately on the area of her knee. She enjoyed the light touch despite the fact that they were separated by two different layers of clothing. Inspecting the suit more closely she was able to notice new details, such as the texture of the fabric and the exact shape of the web shooters. Though the detail that caught her attention the most was the almost imperceptible seam found on his wrist, indicating that what covered his hand was a glove and not the suit's sleeve. 

It was then that an idea formed in her mind.

"Can I see your hands?" she suddenly blurted out without realizing what she was saying.

"What?" asked Spider-Man in confusion.

"Your hands, I want to see them."

"Why do you want to see my hands?"

"I don't know... You know so much about me and I haven't even seen your face," she explained with a shrug. "Which is fine. I understand that your identity is personal and all.... But, I don't know, I thought seeing your hands would be the best way to know something about you without it being something too compromising like your face or your name. Unless you have any distinctive scars or birthmarks.... But in that case I promise not to use that information to investigate your true identity," Y/N rambled, nervously. She put her hand to her heart at the end of the sentence to show her honesty and Peter laughed. 

He analyzed the situation for a moment, wondering if there was any risk in taking off his gloves in front of her. He didn't have any distinguishing marks on his hands, and even if he did he knew he could trust Y/N. There was something about her, her aura, her demeanor, that inspired him with confidence. He was sure he could trust her with the secret of his identity if he wanted to because she would never give him away. She was that kind of friend, loyal and companionable. And maybe that was what drove him to her.

"Go ahead," he finally said, extending his arms to bring his hands towards her.

The young woman looked at him for a moment trying to read his expression through the mask. She seemed surprised that he had agreed to her strange request so Peter nodded slightly to reassure her that he was fine with it. And that gesture was enough for her to proceed.

She began by resting her hands over his, familiarizing herself with the fabric of the suit, tracing each line delicately with her fingers. Then she carefully tugged at the glove to reveal the skin hidden beneath. When his bare hand was exposed before her eyes Y/N let out a gasp of air she hadn't realized she was holding. Her eyes admired his palm as her fingers caressed the area delicately, going from his wrist all the way to the tips of his fingers. Then she turned over his hand and stroked the back of it, showing it the same delicate and affectionate treatment before advancing to the other hand. 

Her heart beat rapidly against her chest. There was something so intimate about what they were doing that she couldn't help but feel a tingle run through her body. It was almost as if she was doing something forbidden. She wasn't supposed to see his hands without the suit and the fact that he had allowed her to do so filled her with joy. He trusted her. That gesture, though small and insignificant to anyone else, showed her the depth of their bond. He was her actual friend and trusted her enough to show her a part of the real him, of the person who was hidden behind the red and blue suit. Thinking about it brought tears to her eyes. She wasn't completely alone after all.

The difference in size was the first thing she noticed as their hands intertwined. Spider-Man's hands were big, but they looked even bigger next to hers. He also had long, slender fingers decorated by short, well-maintained fingernails. And a couple of veins were marked on the back of his hands, creating trails that she followed with her eyes until they disappeared under the suit's sleeve. Y/N also noticed a couple of bruises and scrapes on his knuckles, the shades of red and yellow highlighted against his light skin. She had to restrain the urge to kiss the wounds, reminding herself that it would be too weird.

Peter watched her admire his hands closely. Electricity coursed through his body with every little caress she provided on his skin. She looked so absorbed, completely amazed to have the opportunity to intertwine their hands without the barrier of the gloves. The air caught in his throat and the blood from his entire body concentrated in his cheeks, suddenly embarrassed by Y/N's delicate touch. He had never gone through a similar experience before. No one had ever admired his hands with such devotion so he didn't know exactly how to react. He felt a pleasant tingling in his stomach and for a moment he wished he could stay there forever, reveling in the inner peace he felt from having their hands laced together like that.

"You have very nice hands," she said, looking up to meet his face.

"Are they everything you had imagined?" he joked in response, appealing to his sense of humor to hide what he really felt.

"Shut up!" Y/N exclaimed, looking away in embarrassment. She dropped his hands suddenly, as if they were burning her. She didn't want Spider-Man to think she was weird.

But then she felt the superhero's hands closing over hers. She looked up and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of their intertwined fingers. She relished in the warm feeling of his skin against hers. There was something so comforting about the way their hands fit together. She could very well stay in that pose for the rest of her life without letting out a single complaint. 

"I like your hands too," he said in an almost inaudible whisper. 

Y/N wondered if he felt the same electricity coursing through his body at her touch, if he found the same level of comfort in the way their hands seemed to fit together so perfectly. The girl wished at that moment she could see his face to read his expression, to search his eyes for something that would tell her he felt the same way she did. But when she looked up she met her own gaze reflected in the large eyes of the superhero's mask. 

The moment was interrupted by the flu attacking Y/N's immune system. Since Spider-Man's surprise arrival at her house she had been feeling so well that she forgot she was sick. But the itch in her throat that suddenly appeared forced her to break away from the superhero so she could cough. He gently patted her back and reached for the glass of water, prompting her to drink the liquid to improve her condition. 

"Better?” he asked as he took the glass from her hands and placed it on the bedside table. She nodded. "Cmon, let's get you into bed.”

Spider-Man helped her pull back the sheets and once she was back on the mattress he tucked her in, wrapping her in the fluffy blankets. He asked her a couple of times if she was comfortable to which she always replied positively. He then told her to try to get some sleep before heading for the window. He was ready to leave to let her rest, but Y/N's voice stopped him.

"Wait!" She exclaimed, forcing him to turn around. "I don't want you to go."

The room fell silent. It took Y/N a few seconds to understand why. But when she realized what she had said the blush rose up her neck all the way to her cheeks. She hadn't meant to say that. Well, actually she had, but not in such a direct way. She enjoyed his company, especially in the situation she was in. His visit had been the only good thing in her day. But she wasn't going to tell him that.

“I m-meant t-to say that I'm not feeling sleepy yet and that, umm... I-I'd like you to stay a little while longer. If you can, of course, I, um, I don't want to inconvenience you or anything," she babbled nervously, trying to get out of the embarrassing situation she had gotten herself into.

Peter wasn't able to resist her when she looked at him with those big eyes full of illusion. His heart melted with tenderness at the way she struggled to find the words to ask him to stay, the blush reddening her cheeks giving her an adorable aura. He had nothing better to do, so he walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, giving her room to lie down comfortably.

They talked for a while about everything and nothing, as they used to do whenever they were together. Peter noticed how gradually Y/N's eyes closed tiredly, her voice getting softer and softer and more and more paused. Until eventually she fell asleep. The faint sound of her calm breathing was all that could be heard in the room. He smiled as he saw her curled up in a fetal position under the covers, her hair spread out on the pillow as if it were a halo of light framing her figure. She looked lovely and Peter found it hard to look away from her. He admired the peace she radiated, silently envying how easy it was for her to surrender to the arms of Morpheus. Why couldn't he be the same?

It was approaching that time of year Peter dreaded so much. The anniversary of one of the worst days of his life. The date that reminded him of the worst mistake he had made since the first time he put on the Spider-Man suit. He couldn't escape the guilt that haunted him at every moment. The pain, a crushing emptiness in the middle of his chest that made it difficult for him to breathe. 

He dreamed every night of the last moments of Gwen's life. He saw her fall again and again, and despite all his efforts to reach her, he was never able to get to her. He watched her die continuously. And when he woke up, her figure would watch him from the foot of the bed. It was an illusion that lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough time for him to question his mental sanity. She always looked disappointed, sometimes angry. She blamed him for her fate, he could see it in her eyes. 

Peter knew it was all a product of his imagination. His dream-confused mind projected his feelings of guilt onto those images. But that didn't make it any easier to deal with. He didn't want to sleep because he knew that as soon as he closed his eyes she would appear in front of him. So he avoided it as much as possible. He spent his nights wandering the dangerous streets of New York, taking out his frustrations on the criminals who were unlucky enough to cross his path. 

He was not particularly careful with his attacks when he was in this state. He was too tired, too sad, to worry about such things. He would suffer the consequences later when he returned home bleeding and with his suit in tatters, but at least that gave him another excuse not to sleep.  

That night was no different than any other. His mind clouded by loneliness and exhaustion often made bad decisions. That's how he ended up in a situation more dangerous and complicated than he had anticipated. And even though he had emerged victorious, he didn't do so without taking a beating at the hands of his opponents. Dazed from the blows and bleeding from several open wounds, Peter used what little strength he had left to escape the scene before the police arrived. He planned to return home so he could heal and try to hit the streets for a couple more hours, but halfway through he changed his mind. 

He told himself that he was too weak, that he wouldn't make it home before passing out, that he needed to find a closer shelter. He convinced himself that it was purely a physical need and nothing more. Though deep down he knew that his real motivation for heading to Y/N's house and not his own was that he didn't want to be alone. He ignored that voice in his mind because he wasn't ready to listen to it. He wasn't ready to admit that he simply couldn't go on this way, pushing all his loved ones away to protect them while he suffered in silence. 

The poor girl was sitting at her desk, concentrating on finishing a paper for a class when she heard noises coming from the window. She paused the soothing music she had put on to concentrate and turned in her chair to inspect the strange sounds. She immediately encountered the figure of a man crouching on the other side and didn't have to pull back the curtains to know who it was. Y/N approached the window with a smile, happy that her friend had come to visit her. His cheerful presence was just what she needed at that moment. However, her expression changed completely as soon as she saw the state he was in.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?" she asked in horror as she helped him slip through the window. His suit was ripped in several places where the exposed skin was stained red from the blood pouring from his wounds. The gashes on his chest and abdomen appeared to be the most severe, but not the only ones. Y/N noticed a couple of cuts on both arms and one of his thighs. He moved with some difficulty and as soon as he passed the window sill he collapsed on the wooden floor of the room. 

"I'm all right. You should see the other guys," he said with a wince.

"You don't look so good."

"I will be. Do you have a first aid kit?"

Y/N nodded, but didn't move. It took her a few seconds to react and go find it in the bathroom, concern clouding her mind. Spider-Man was hurt and she had never seen anything like it. She wasn't an accident prone person, she hadn't even broken a bone in the years she had been alive, so she had never seen similar injuries. And the shock of seeing him in that state paralyzed her. Even though she knew that what he did as Spider-Man was dangerous, she had never thought about how risky it could be. Seeing him bleeding on the floor of her room had been far too real of an image, one she wasn't prepared to see. 

When her brain snapped back into action the young woman ran to the bathroom to get what she needed. She frantically flipped through the cabinet drawers under the sink until she found the small white box filled with medical supplies. She made sure to also grab a clean cloth before returning to the room where the superhero was waiting for her. He had shifted position, opting to lean his back against the wall under the window. Though the first thing Y/N noticed upon returning to his side was that he had pulled his mask up over his nose, leaving his mouth and chin exposed. His lips were cracked and bloodstained, but despite that she couldn't help but think Spider-Man had nice lips. 

"How do we do this?" she asked, kneeling down beside him, not knowing where to start. 

"I need you to help me take off my suit."

Peter instructed her to reach for the small zipper hidden in the back of the suit and she obeyed, approaching him with trembling hands. He leaned forward to give her room to pull the zipper down the length of his spine, enduring the stabbing pain that awakened. He felt the delicate touch of her fingers on the skin of his back. One hand worked on the zipper while the other removed the suit from his shoulders. Peter took a deep breath, enjoying the freedom he felt with the spandex no longer tightly hugging his body. He let himself fall back against the wall once more, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain. 

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to a hospital?" asked the girl as she gently tugged on the sleeve of his suit to free his right arm. 

"Yeah, it's fine, don't worry. My body heals faster than normal," he reassured her. He removed the rest of the top part of the suit by himself until it became a pile of crumpled fabric on his hips. "We just have to get the bleeding to stop and then close the wound. My body will take care of the rest."

Y/N nodded. She wasn't entirely convinced this was a good idea, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she took the clean cloth she had brought with her from the bathroom and pressed it over the wound on his abdomen. Spider-Man let out a groan of pain and she quickly apologized, worried that she might have hurt him. She had never treated a similar injury before, so it was very likely that she was doing things wrong. She was about to remove her hands to release some of the pressure she was putting on his body, when she felt the superhero's hands closing over hers. She looked up to look at him and he gave her a weak smile to indicate that she was doing a good job. 

It was a subtle smile, his lips barely curving upward, but it was enough to make Y/N momentarily forget the circumstances she found herself in. A strange tingle ran through her body as she realized that this was the first time she had ever seen him smile. Her gaze lingered on his lips for longer than it probably should, admiring every little detail she was able to catch in case she never got the chance to see his smile again. When she realized what she was doing she looked down, embarrassed. She felt the blood rush up her neck to spread over her cheeks as she prayed he hadn't noticed her behavior.

Returning her attention to the wound, she noticed that the cloth under her hands was rapidly turning red. She could feel the warm, thick blood under her fingers. There was a metallic taste in her mouth, though she wasn't sure if that was due to the particles of the superhero's blood traveling through the air or her lower lip that she had caught between her teeth, biting down hard. 

She was nervous and somewhat embarrassed to have Spider-Man half naked in her room. The situation was horrible and stressful, but despite everything a part of her couldn't help but admire his abdomen as if it were the most beautiful piece of art she ever laid her eyes on. She told herself it was because she was amazed to see a part of his body that wasn't covered by the suit, but that was a half-truth. 

"I think the bleeding has stopped." Spider-Man's voice brought her back to reality. She carefully removed the cloth from the wound without daring to look up, embarrassed by her thoughts. 

"What's next?" she asked him in a whisper, assuming he knew more about first aid than she did.

"We have to clean the wound so it doesn't get infected and then close it."

"Close it as in stitch it up?"

Y/N knew the answer to her question, she just wasn't sure she was capable of doing something like that. She was not trained to stitch a wound. She was not a nurse and had never been in a similar situation before. The only medical training she had came from the first aid course she had attended in high school several years ago and what she had seen on Grey's Anatomy, though she doubted that would help her now.

"Don't worry, I can do it myself," Peter said, reading the panic in Y/N's expression. "Just pass me the first aid kit." 

"No, no, it's okay. I can do it," she said, clearing her throat to make her voice sound firmer. 

"Are you sure?" he asked and she nodded.

"I want to help you." 

She gave him a small smile, hoping that was enough to convince him. He nodded slightly and she took that gesture as a sign to start working. She grabbed a gauze pad from the first aid kit and soaked it with the antiseptic liquid before pressing it on the cut. Peter hissed in pain and she looked at him apologetically. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized, moving the gauze over the wound more carefully.

"It's okay, it's not your fault. You're doing a great job."

It was a simple comment, but the compliment helped her gain a little more confidence in her actions. She cleaned the wound with firm hands, but applying a delicate touch. When it came time to stitch the cut, she let him guide her through the process. Watching the needle pierce his skin was a strange and not at all pleasant sight, but she got used to it faster than she expected. Spider-Man would utter words of encouragement from time to time, reassuring her that she was doing things right and thanking her for her help. She could feel his intense gaze on her as she worked, but she was able to keep her composure, enjoying his compliments.

"See, that wasn't so hard," he said when she announced she was done. "You did a great job." 

When she finished properly bandaging the wound on his abdomen Y/N moved on to the small cuts that adorned the rest of his body. Her confidence grew as she worked, certain that there was nothing she could do to hurt him further. She carefully disinfected and bandaged the gash on his chest and then moved on to the cuts on his arms. She took her time with each wound, working gently to avoid causing him more pain and discomfort than he probably already felt.

"You have to be more careful," she told him as she finished cleaning a wound on his shoulder. 

"I'm usually more careful. This was just a small mistake, there were more men than I expected." 

"Yes well, a small mistake that left you sheared like cheese." Peter let out a laugh that turned into a whimper of pain halfway through due to the tension the muscle movement generated in his wound. "Do I have to worry about you being followed and my life being in danger?"

"You are safe. I would never have come if I suspected there was the slightest possibility that you were in danger," he replied in a serious tone that showed Y/N how honest his words were. "I took care of them."

"You took care of them?" asked the young woman, looking at the superhero with a raised eyebrow. The way he pronounced those words sounded a bit sinister. 

"I didn't kill them if that's what you're thinking," Peter clarified. "I knocked them unconscious and I'm pretty sure the police were on their way to arrest them." 

"Oh. Good," she muttered, not sure what else to say. She proceeded to wipe the blood from under his nose and at the corner of his lips. She cupped his face with one hand, fingers closing over his chin so she could tilt his head in her direction. Then she slid the gauze across his skin gently, making sure to remove all traces of blood from the area. She slowly moved down to his mouth, being very careful as she touched his injured lips. Though despite her precautions, he let out a hiss of pain when the liquid made contact with the irritated skin. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured apologetically. She offered him a small smile before blowing lightly on the skin of his lips to soothe the sting.

Peter accepted the gesture gladly. Her breath was warm, providing great relief to his irritated skin. Y/N leaned towards him to be more precise, and then he realized how close they were to each other. Their noses, separated by barely a couple of centimeters, almost bumped into each other. The scent of her floral perfume flooded his senses, clouding his mind. The brush of her fingers on his chin awakened a strange tingle on his skin, and the warmth of her body enveloped him in a comforting embrace.

Overwhelmed by his feelings, Peter closed his eyes in an attempt to gather his thoughts. A sigh escaped his half-opened lips and it turned into a whimper when he stopped feeling Y/N's breath mingling with his own.

"Better?" she asked, forcing him to open his eyes again and snap back to reality.

Peter nodded slightly since he didn't trust his voice to speak. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with the action. Y/N's eyes followed the small lump, distracted for a moment as she admired the veins marking on his neck, before returning her attention to his face. 

When she finished wiping away the blood, she kept her hand on his chin for longer than necessary. Her thumb brushed his lower lip, eager to discover its texture. Despite being injured, the skin of his mouth felt soft against her fingertip and Y/N couldn't help but wonder if it would feel the same while kissing him. 

Luckily she regained control over her body in time and was able to stop herself before she did something she would later regret. Spider-Man was her friend. Someone who protected her on the street and with whom she talked about her day and nothing else. She didn't have a crush on him and she didn't want to kiss him either. Of course not! That was ridiculous. She hadn't even seen his face. Developing feelings for a complete stranger was stupid and irresponsible.

Although he wasn't a complete stranger. Not to her. She knew things about him despite never having seen his face, things that made her feel a certain way. 

"You're all done!" Y/N announced, stepping away from the superhero as far as she could to keep her feelings at bay. She began to pick up the things from the first aid kit scattered on the floor to occupy her mind on something else, taking the opportunity to clean the blood from her hands. 

"Thank you," he mumbled, struggling to get up from the floor. Seeing how hard it was for him to move, she ran to his aid. She took him by the waist, putting his arm around her shoulders to steady him. 

"You need to get some rest," she scolded him.

"I'll be fine."

"You're not planning on going out on the street like that again, are you?"

The disapproval was clear in Y/N's voice. Spider-Man was silent for a moment before repeating: "I'll be fine. The night is young, I'm sure there are plenty of people who need me."

"You can barely walk," she replied as she helped him get into his suit. "Please don't go out again. You'll end up even worse than you already are and as much as I've done a fantastic job healing you now I don't think I can help you if you show up with your guts hanging out. I'm not that good." 

Y/N spoke with humor in her voice to hide the fact that she was terrified of the idea of Spider-Man getting hurt on the street. She was afraid to show him how important he really was to her in case he thought it was strange. Over time they had shared several special moments that assured her that he liked her, but she didn't know exactly how much. She saw him as a friend, probably because he was the only person she had left, but maybe he just saw her as someone he could hang out with. She found it hard to believe that someone like him would be all that interested in someone like her.

However, seeing that he didn't seem to want to change his mind she had to put aside her fear of being exposed and vulnerable. She had to somehow convince him to stay and rest for his sake and hers.

"Wait!" she said, taking him by the hand to prevent him from escaping through the window. "Please don't do this. I'll sleep a lot better knowing you're safe. Maybe this time Spider-Man can go home early."

Peter's eyes flicked over their joined hands, admiring them silently for a few seconds before he looked up to meet Y/N's face. She looked worried, the fear in her eyes almost enough to convince him not to leave. Almost.

The problem was that he couldn't go back to his house. It would be impossible for him to sleep and he would end up staying up all night, tossing and turning as he wailed in the dark. He simply couldn't be alone, he couldn't stand it. He had to do something to distract himself, otherwise he would end up losing whatever little sanity he had left.

"I can't go back home," he muttered without even thinking about what he was saying, his voice cracking. "I don't want to be alone." 

Hearing that confession broke Y/N's heart into a thousand pieces. Spider-Man sounded so devastated, she found it hard to believe it was him. In the time they had known each other, he had always appeared as someone cheerful and fun who did nothing but make her laugh and give her words of encouragement when she needed them. As strange as it sounded, the superhero had become her rock, her support. She found it hard to believe that the same man who kept joking with her was capable of sounding so sad. 

Y/N shortened the distance that separated them by taking a couple of long steps. She took his face in her hands, placing a hand under his lowered chin to force him to look at her. She was only able to see her own face reflected in the eyes of the superhero's mask, but something told her that he had his gaze locked on her. She could feel it through the fabric barrier that separated them.

"You don't have to be alone," she told him in a soft tone. "I'm here. You can stay with me." 

"N-No, I don't want to bother you," he said, embarrassed as he realized what he had said.

"You're not bothering me," she assured him, interrupting him before he could continue. "I want you to stay with me. I want to help you like you helped me. Please." 

Peter wanted to reject her, to swallow his feelings and escape out the window before it was too late. But when he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out. Y/N was looking at him with pleading eyes and he simply couldn't refuse her. He was tired and hurting, and her presence was the only thing that seemed to help him when he was in that state. So he nodded his head and let himself be guided to the bed by her, where they sat side by side 

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked the young woman, a bit unsure. She wanted to help him, but she didn't want to pressure him into doing something he didn't want to do. She was more than willing to spend the whole night hugging him if that was what he preferred, but she thought she would give him the option to talk to her first.

"It's complicated."

"Sometimes it's better to talk about our problems. Putting into words what bothers us helps to understand it, to free us from some of the burden on our backs," she encouraged him to open up, placing a hand over his in support. "I promise I won't judge you. I'll just listen to you if that's what you prefer. Maybe that will help you feel better." 

"There's nothing that can make me feel better," he said, looking down at his hands. "It's a particularly difficult time for me... i-it's... it's the anniversary of the death of someone very close to me... s-someone I loved very much." 

"Oh," said the young woman, not knowing how to react. For some reason that was not what she expected to hear him say. She didn't know exactly what she expected him to say, but those words took her by surprise. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she added, giving his hand a light squeeze.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," he mumbled more to himself than for her to hear. "You know what the worst part of it all is? That it's my fault... I couldn't save her."

"Oh, I'm sure you did everything you could...."

"It wasn't enough!" he exclaimed, raising the tone of his voice. Y/N would have been startled by the sudden change if it weren't for the sheer pain she could hear in his words. "I didn't get to her in time... I couldn't save her."

Spider-Man's voice sounded broken, and Y/N didn't need to look into his eyes to know he was struggling to hold back tears. She could sense it in his posture, in the bitterness in his voice. It broke her heart to see him like this, but she didn't know what to do to make him feel better. She was very good at listening to other people's problems, being the shoulder everyone cried on, but not so good at comforting sad people. Let alone in such extreme situations. She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he was going through. Nothing she could say to him could fill the emptiness in his chest. There were no words to comfort such sadness. So instead of talking she decided to show her support in a physical way.

She approached him quietly and put her arms around him with a bit of shyness. It took Peter a few seconds to react. He held his arms firmly on either side of his body, posture rigid as stone, while his brain processed the situation. He finally gave in to her embrace, melting into the warmth of her body. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his body. She stroked his back in reassurance, her fingers tracing imaginary figures on the fabric of his suit. And it was that simple gesture that pushed him over the edge. 

Peter broke down, hiding in her arms. The emotions he had repressed for so long finally coming to the surface in the form of sobs. He hid his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as he cried, letting her closeness comfort him. 

She hugged him tighter, trusting that he did not find her actions strange. She whispered words of reassurance in his ear, prompting him to cry into her shoulder, assuring him that it would help him feel better. She continued the caresses on his back, moving up his spine, past his neck until she reached his suit-covered head. She let her fingers trace the lines of the mask before moving back down to his back. She repeated that action until she felt his sobs stopped and his breathing normalized. 

"How about I make us some tea, huh?" she asked him without separating from his body. "I have this tea that's supposed to help you relax. I always drink it when I'm stressed and it helps calm my nerves. Then we can keep talking or do something completely different, it's your choice."

"Tea sounds good," he replied, emerging from his hiding place on her shoulder. "Thank you," he added, embarrassed. He hadn't meant to lose control like that. The situation had gotten the better of him. He was so tired of repressing his emotions, of suffering alone and in silence, that when Y/N hugged him he found it impossible to contain himself. With that simple gesture she was able to tear down the walls he had carefully built around his heart. 

"Well," she said, taking him by the face and wiping away the couple of tears that had rolled down his cheeks beyond the part covered by the mask. "I'm going to make the tea. You can go to the bathroom to wash your face or wait here, okay? I'll be right back."

Y/N gave him a smile before disappearing behind the door. Peter stood staring blankly at the wood, his mind overwhelmed by the mix of emotions that haunted him. When he summoned the strength to get up he headed for the bathroom. He locked the door to make sure no one entered before removing his mask, and looking in the mirror he saw that his eyes were red and swollen from crying. He could still feel the path the tears had made as they fell down the skin of his cheeks. Letting out a sigh he took off his gloves and turned on the faucet, bending down to splash water on his face. 

He let the water run for a few seconds as he contemplated what he was doing. He felt sad and somewhat pathetic, but at the same time relieved. He had repressed his feelings for so long that he forgot how good it felt to let them out, to share his pain with someone else. It was as if some of the weight he felt had been ejected from his system through his tears. He felt lighter, calmer, although deep inside he could still sense the pain and guilt that always accompanied him. He could never get rid of them, but at least they were pushed to the background, overshadowed by the support and companionship that Y/N had offered him.

In a better mood, Peter turned off the faucet and dried his face and hands. He adjusted his suit, leaving his mask pulled up over the bridge of his nose, before leaving the bathroom. When he returned to the room he found that Y/N was already there. She had propped a tray with the tea cups on the bedside table and sat on the bed waiting for him. She gave him a smile when she saw him enter and motioned for him to sit down next to her.

"Do you want to talk about it some more?" she asked in a soft tone, handing him a cup of steaming tea. Peter was silent for a moment, contemplating his answer.

"No," he finally said, shaking his head, "I want to forget about it for at least five minutes."

"Are you sure? Because I can listen to you talk for as long as you need." 

Y/N wanted to make sure he wasn't saying that out of embarrassment or fear of making her uncomfortable. She was willing to stay up all night by his side if he asked her to. She would do anything for him, to help him feel better and give him back that cheerful, positive personality he always had when they were together. She wanted more than anything in the world to be able to erase the pain and guilt from him. If she could she would trade places with him in a heartbeat if it meant he could rest for a while. 

However, when the superhero nodded indicating that he didn't want to talk about it any further, she didn't press him. She was worried about him, but she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. So instead, she offered to do something else to distract him. The first thing that came to her mind was to watch a movie because that was exactly what she did when she felt bad. 

"What do you want to watch?" she asked, grabbing the TV remote from the nightstand. "What's the Spider-Man comfort movie?"

"Whatever you want to watch is fine," he replied with a tired smile.

After thinking for a while she decided to put on a couple of episodes of a show that was on the list of titles she used for moments like that. It was simple and entertaining, so it always did a great job of distracting her and making her feel better. She just hoped it would have the same effect on her friend.

By the middle of the first episode they had both finished their cups of tea. Y/N took the empty ceramic pots and placed them on the tray where she had carried them before settling down on the bed. She leaned back on the pillows, making sure she had a good angle to watch TV. Then she motioned for Spider-Man to join her. 

"Doesn't it bother you that I'm lying in your bed with my suit all dirty and bloody?"

If it were anyone else in any other circumstance she would have said yes. Normally it wouldn't even have occurred her to let someone sit on her clean sheets if they were half as dirty as he was. But Spidey was different. He was her friend, the one who had helped her in a time of need. He was the man occupying her thoughts at all times since she had met him. She couldn't deny him anything. 

"I can change the sheets tomorrow," she shrugged in response. "Now come here."

Peter couldn't say no. He settled down beside her, letting her arms wrap around him in a warm embrace. He relaxed under her touch, reveling in her company and the closeness of their bodies. His chest still ached, the guilt clinging inside him refusing to leave him. But despite everything, it was the first time in a long time that he didn't feel alone. 

Y/N was happy to hear him let out a muffled laugh. The sound traveled through her ears and lanced into the center of her heart, quickening her pulse and awakening a familiar tingle in her stomach, the one that always coursed through her body when she heard him laugh. She felt good knowing that she had managed to distract him from the pain that haunted him at least for a little while. After hearing him cry his laughter was music to her ears, the most perfect melody she never wanted to stop listening to. 

However, by the fifth episode of the series, he stopped making sounds. Her first reaction was to panic, thinking he had fallen victim to the negative voices in his head once again. But as she listened more carefully she realized that he was not focused on his pain, but had fallen asleep. Y/N smiled, completely forgetting the show playing on the television to admire the figure lying next to her.

Spider-Man's lips were half-open, exhaling puffs of air with each deep breath he took. Her fingers traveled to his cheek, caressing the soft skin of his face gently so as not to wake him. She brushed the fabric of the mask a couple of times, but held back the urge to move it out of her way. She wasn't going to betray him that way. If she ever saw his face, it would be because he had shown it to her.

Sure, she was dying to know the rest of his features or find out the color of his eyes, but in the end none of that mattered. She loved him even though she didn't know who he was under that suit because she didn't need to know his name to really know him. She knew the kind of person he was and that was more than enough.

Eventually, Y/N fell asleep next to him. The television was forgotten, reduced to mere background noise as she adjusted herself on the bed carefully so as not to wake him. She let his calm, deep breathing relax her, guiding her slowly into the arms of Morpheus.

When she awoke the next morning she couldn't help but be disappointed to notice that she was alone in bed. The open window and the first aid kit on the floor were the only evidence that Spider-Man had been there with her the night before.

A month.

A whole month had passed since the last time Y/N had seen Spider-Man. A month in which she had done nothing but worry about him. She waited for him when she got out of class, at the bus stop, or when she walked the streets of Queens. She had even slept with her bedroom window open, waiting in vain for him to appear in the middle of the night. However, the days passed and she still had no news of him.

The first few days of his absence she thought maybe he was busy. He was a superhero after all. Maybe a new supervillain had appeared or something. But seeing nothing in the news to support her theory she began to think that maybe that wasn't the reason for his sudden disappearance. Her mind continued to come up with increasingly improbable, but terrifying explanations. She felt helpless, frustrated that she couldn't do anything to find out the whereabouts of the superhero. She came to think that something terrible had happened to him and that no one had found out because no one knew who Spider-Man really was.

Though her worries proved to be in vain one morning when she read a news story that mentioned Spider-Man preventing a bank robbery. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw the superhero's picture in the article. He was alive after all. But then, why wasn't he communicating with her? Didn't he realize how worried she was? Didn't he think about how much she missed him?

The realization of the truth hit her with the force of a freight train. Spider-Man was just another person she had trusted who left her. And this was another instance where fate was proving to her that for some reason she was no good at maintaining close lasting bonds. Another moment in which life reminded her that she was destined to live in loneliness, suffering from passing relationships that she was not capable of sustaining. 

Y/N didn't know that Peter was frightened by how much he cared about her. She didn't know about the sense of peace he had felt waking up next to her that morning, with it being the first time in a long time that it wasn't his nightmares forcing him to open his eyes. She didn't know about the sheer terror he had of losing her or the guilt that haunted him for finding someone who gave him hope. She wasn't aware of any of that because instead of telling her Peter had decided to run away like a coward. And now she blamed herself, as she was so used to doing.

Peter told himself it was for her sake, that he was protecting her by walking away, saving her from the terrible fate his Uncle Ben and Gwen had met. He was lying to himself because it was easier than admitting that he was actually protecting himself. What he felt for Y/N frightened him and he would rather run away than face reality. The problem was that it was impossible to hide from his own emotions, but he was willing to try. 

He didn't stay away from her completely. Occasionally he would pass by her house and stare at the lights on in her window, wondering what she was doing. Other times he would wait for her at the bus stop, watching her from a distance to make sure she was safe. She was always looking for him, her eyes scanning the streets thoroughly, desperate to find a sign indicating that he was there. Peter had to fight every instinct inside him that told him to run to her, reminding himself that no matter how much it hurt, things were better this way. She would be safe and he...well, he would be happy knowing she was okay.

However, life was never that simple. Fate was never on his side. And just as expected, it had plans very different from his own. 

Y/N had left class later that night. The teacher had forced everyone to stay after hours to finish the lesson. And as if that hadn't been enough, on her way out she ran into some classmates from another class who delayed her even longer. By the time she managed to leave the building it was 11 PM. The streets, though not deserted, were quite empty and dark. She walked with her backpack close to her chest, keeping alert of her surroundings. 

It was only five blocks from where she studied to the bus stop and she walked them peacefully for most of the time. At least that was until she passed a group of men sitting on the sidewalk as they chatted. They were talking and laughing loudly and Y/N noticed from afar the multiple beer cans surrounding them. If she could have, she would have crossed the street. But the bus stop was only a few feet away from the group of men. 

She thought it would be fine, that they would go about their business while she waited in the street for her ride. She thought maybe she was being paranoid as she walked past them, staring into the horizon, trying hard not to make eye contact. Her body tensed and she held her breath without even realizing it, subconsciously looking for any mechanism that would allow her to go unnoticed. 

She could feel their gazes on her back, but she tried to ignore them. The avid conversation they were having was interrupted and Y/N was unable to hear more than incomprehensible mumbling over the rapid beating of her heart, the sound echoing in her ears loudly.

For a brief moment she thought she was safe. She let out a sigh of relief as she noticed that only a couple of steps separated her from the bus stop. In the distance she could make out the figure of the vehicle, stopped a block away by the traffic light at the corner. She was one step away from complete safety.

But then she heard a whistle coming from behind her. Closing her eyes she cursed to herself and picked up her pace. She ignored the strangers' calls despite their insistence and was ready to run out of there when she felt a hand closing over her wrist.

"Are you deaf, doll?" asked one of the men, tugging on her arm to force her to turn around.

Y/N froze, her mind blank and her heart beating a mile a minute against her chest. The three men surrounded her, blocking all possible exits. They continued to talk, but she was unable to hear anything. Their voices sounded distant, muffled. All she could think about was that she was in danger, but her body did not respond to the commands of her mind, which was screaming at her to run away from there. 

"Let me go," she managed to say in a whisper.

"Oh, come on, doll, you don't have to be like that. We're just talking," exclaimed the man to her right, the alcohol in his breath assaulting her nostrils. 

"Let me go," she repeated louder this time. She tugged on her arm to break free of the stranger's grip, but he only increased the pressure, making her yelp in pain. 

Y/N panicked, her breathing became faster and faster. She tried to break free once more but it was unsuccessful. The men were still talking, she could see them moving their lips but couldn't hear anything. Her mind was moving too fast to be able to process her own thoughts, much less the conversation they were having. The only thing she was able to process was the fear she felt. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. 

Suddenly, an external noise was able to make its way into the bustle that was her mind, gaining her attention. It was the distinct sound of something traveling through the air, cutting through the rushing wind that was heading in the opposite direction. Then her arm was released. She heard a dry thud against the floor before she recognized a familiar voice.

“The lady said no!”

Looking up, Y/N was met with the figure of Spider-Man, who was making use of his webbing to incapacitate one of her attackers. The other two moved away from her to defend their friend from the superhero and she watched as he took them down one by one while her brain struggled to comprehend what was happening. She flinched at the sound of the blows, letting tears roll down her cheeks without realizing it.

"Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?" she heard Spider-Man ask her in horror after dealing with her attackers.She didn't answer him. She didn't even look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the figures of her three attackers, now unconscious and tied up with the spider webs. 

"Please talk to me!" insisted Peter, grabbing her face to force her to look at him.

"I-I'm a-okay," she managed to say, her voice cracking. "They didn't do anything to me... y-you... you... you saved me."

The young woman burst into tears and Peter wrapped her in his arms, holding her close to his body as she had done with him in the past. She sobbed in his arms, her brain finally realizing the gravity of the situation. She was safe, but she might not have been. If Spider-Man hadn't arrived, who knows what would have happened to her.

They stood there, hugging in the middle of the street until she managed to control her crying. When she separated from his body he wiped away her tears with his thumbs while assuring her again and again that she was safe. He was partly doing this to soothe her and partly to soothe his own troubled mind. He offered her a ride home and she accepted before she realized what that entailed. 

Y/N clung to Spider-Man's body tightly as soon as her feet left the ground, hiding her face in his neck so she couldn't see how high up they were. The free-falling sensation of swinging over nothing was strange and unpleasant, but she had so much adrenaline coursing through her veins that she barely noticed it. She concentrated on the words of encouragement that Spider-Man whispered to her from time to time. His voice inspired confidence and reassurance, helping to calm her nerves. 

They reached her building in no time. The superhero helped her get her keys and rode up in the elevator with her. In any other circumstance she would have laughed at the image of Spider-Man standing next to her, leaning against the elevator wall as they waited to get to her floor. They were lucky that no neighbors interrupted their short trip, otherwise Y/N wasn't sure how she would explain the situation.

Once at her apartment he took her backpack and jacket, helping her slide it over her shoulders before hanging it on the coat rack in the entryway. He then guided her to the couch in the living room, inviting her to sit down.

"Are you all right?" he asked her for the thousandth time, the concern still clear in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, clearing her throat to speak. "I'm just a little shaken up, that's all."

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. This is all my fault."

"You saved me," the young woman said, looking at him with confusion.

"But I should have been there to stop it from happening. I'm so sorry."

Y/N didn't blame him for what happened. There was no way he could have foreseen that she was going to be attacked. And it wasn't his duty to save her either. He was Spider-Man, but at the end of the day he was just a man with a suit and powers similar to spiders' abilities. He couldn't be looking out for the needs of an entire city. It was impossible, even with his abilities. However, she took advantage of the situation to get answers about his sudden disappearance.

"Why was that?" she asked a bit shyly, hoping it didn't sound like a complaint. "Why weren't you there with me like you used to?"

Peter stopped pacing nervously around the room to look at Y/N for a moment. He wanted to lie, to make up some story about a top-secret issue that Spider-Man was taking care of. But as he looked into her eyes and noticed the pain and confusion in them he was unable to do anything but let out a long sigh. He couldn't lie. Not to her.

"I thought it was for the best... I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me from what?"

"From me," he blurted out, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I care about you Y/N. A lot. And the last time I felt this way about someone I had to watch them die. That's why I walked away, to protect you. But in the end you ended up in danger anyway, so I don't know what to do."

Spider-Man dropped onto the couch, visibly frustrated. Y/N leaned towards him, admiring his figure as she processed the meaning behind his words. He didn't disappear because she did something wrong. He ran away because he cared for her, and that frightened him. Despite the sad nature of the conversation she couldn't help but feel a tingle spread throughout her body at such a revelation.

"I don't want you to protect me if that means I can't see you again." 

"She said the same thing and I was weak. I let her into my life and now she's gone," he replied with a bitter chuckle, remembering how Gwen wouldn’t listen to him. "I don't know what to do, Y/N. All I know is that staying here is dangerous and it scares me, but I can't bear the thought of walking out that door and never seeing you again."

Y/N could hear the doubt in his voice, a perfect reflection of the conflict within him. A battle between his brain and his heart that seemed to have no end. It crushed her soul to see him like this, haunted by the ghosts of his past. Even though he wasn't crying it was a sadder sight than the last time they had been in a similar situation. That night he had cried because of the pain he felt on the anniversary of the death of someone he loved. But now he was showing her how deep his wounds really were. And as much as she understood that the situation he had gone through was terribly tragic, she never had imagined that it had led him to pause his life in such a way.

"Then stay," she implored him, praying that his heart would win the battle against his mind. "I want you to stay. Please."

Peter knew the rational part of him had lost the war the moment Y/N opened her mouth. There was no way he could walk away from her when she was asking him to stay using that tone. His heart wouldn't let him. He was tired of living a miserable and lonely life. He wanted to be with her and his head would not be able to convince him otherwise.

"If we do this I want to share my whole life with you, not just the Spider-Man stuff," he finally spoke and he could see Y/N's face light up with joy. He brought his hands to his face and began to lift the mask up by his chin. He had barely gotten to uncover his lips when she suddenly stopped him. 

"Wait!" she exclaimed, alerting him. "Are you sure about this?"

Y/N didn't quite know why she stopped him. She supposed it was because she wanted to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. She had dreamed many times of that moment, finally seeing his full face. But as excited as she was about it, she also knew that his identity was a sensitive subject. She didn't want him to feel like he had to reveal who he was to her. She didn't want him to regret it. She needed to make sure he was one hundred percent okay with her seeing his face.

Spider-Man nodded, giving her a smile, the biggest she had seen him form on his face so far. Y/N mirrored him, happy to discover that he did in fact have dimples marked on his cheeks, one on each side of his big grin.

"Can I do it?" she asked him then. He immediately agreed, moving a little closer to her so that she could resume the task he had left incomplete. Y/N's hands traveled up to his face. One caressed his cheek while the other slowly removed the mask. Her heart was racing with every inch of skin she uncovered. When she reached the bridge of his nose, she lost her patience and used both hands to pull the rest of the fabric off. And just like that, the face of the anonymous superhero appeared in front of her eyes.

"Hello," he said in a shy voice. "I'm Peter Parker."

She remained silent, admiring every little detail in his features. He had the biggest, deepest brown eyes she had ever seen. They stood out because of the special sparkle she saw in them. A sparkle that immediately captivated her, making it impossible for her to look away. He was looking at her with puppy dog eyes and his smile looked even more adorable now that she saw it in conjunction with the rest of his features. His brown hair, long and messy from wearing the suit, begged her to bury her fingers in it.

"Hello, Peter Parker," she whispered, testing the way his name felt on her tongue.

Peter blushed, suddenly overwhelmed by the closeness. Y/N's fingers kept providing delicate caresses over his cheeks, slowly moving up to his temples and back down again. It was such an intimate touch that he couldn't help but lean over her hands, closing his eyes so he could enjoy the caress without thinking about the nerves eating him up inside. 

It was different being in front of her without the mask. He felt vulnerable, unprotected. The confidence and outgoing personality he exhibited wearing the Spider-Man suit was almost completely gone. He retreated into his awkward and weird personality, nervous under Y/N's observant gaze. He didn't feel judged, at least not in a bad way. But he wasn't used to seeing the level of admiration that Y/N's eyes showed when someone looked at him without the suit. Peter Parker was a nobody, someone people didn't look twice at. But now that she had him in front of her, mere inches away, she did nothing but focus her attention on him, admiring every little detail of his face. He was flattered, but nervous so he closed his eyes to hopefully keep his face from ending up red as a tomato.

Eventually he opened his eyes again and it was then that he realized how close their faces were. The tips of their noses were brushing against each other and he could feel Y/N's warm breath crashing against his skin. The girl's eyes lowered to his lips for a moment before returning to his gaze. It was a split second, but it was enough to spark courage in Peter, who used the new surge of confidence to close the little distance that separated them. 

It was a short kiss, barely a brush of lips. They were testing the waters, unsure of how to proceed, but curious to discover what it would feel like to meld in such an intimate way. Feeling confident, Peter captured Y/N's lower lip, molding his mouth to hers and sucking on her sweet taste. She let out a whimper of pleasure, relishing in the softness of his lips, the way they caressed hers so delicately, leaving her wanting for more.  

The electricity that coursed through their bodies at the touch and the feeling of euphoria that traveled through their veins even after they separated was all it took for them to understand that they were doing the right thing. They were meant to be together, it was impossible for them to deny it any longer. Y/N rested her forehead on Peter's, catching her breath. She took advantage of the closeness to look into his eyes, searching them for something that told her he felt the same warmth inside. She smiled as she saw them ignite with the flame of happiness.

"It's good to finally meet you."

#tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #the amazing spider man x reader #andrew garfield!spider man x reader #peter parker x reader #spider man x reader #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield #i'm so scared to post this #i'm sorry it's so long #but also i'm not sorry

[oldtvandcomics]

I binged the entire Good Omens season 2 today, and, well. I certainly don’t have anyone in the Real World to talk to about it, so here is my review. Under the cut, because spoilers.

Good Omens 2 was ALWAYS going to be a hard sell, because season 1 was so damn perfect. It was a closed story, based on a book, very faithful to that book, yet still added enough to keep things interesting. Amazing actors, great costumes and set design, it was funny, it had a great theme, and was very layered.

It is also literally the only time that I saw the kind of relationship I feel like I’d want for my self. Ever. Anywhere.

So yeah. I very much would have loved if the show had just left things there. What I was telling myself is that I trust Neil Gaiman, and that whatever happens, he knows what he is doing and why. I’ll get back to this.

The majority of the season was fun, but significantly less good than the first one. As I said, the standard was very high, so no surprise there. What I was surprised by, however, was just how much the characters who are not Crowley or Aziraphale (I wouldn’t even call them side characters, they are just as if not more vital to the plot) added to the whole. They were not in this season, and the show is definitely poorer without them. Gone with them are the fun and whimsical worldbuilding things that made this story so good, like the witches and the prophecies and the children and their way of making sense of the world. It is also a loss not to have any of those very colourful people mentioned again.

The side characters that this season does have are a lot less interesting than the ones in the previous season. They also don’t seem to add as much to the theme as the old ones did. Every character in season 1 revolved around love, love for humanity and love for someone they were supposed to be adversaries with (looking at you Anathema and Newt). Meanwhile in season 2 we get two shopkeepers on the same street who kind of have a crush on each other. It is much lower conflict, and much less relevant to the theme of the story. Ass far as strength of character goes, I feel like none of them live up to, for example, Mme Tracey.

The scope of the story feels smaller, too, possibly because the action is almost all happening on Aziraphale’s street, while season 1 had a significant part be in Tadfield, and Aziraphale and Crowley were moving around much more. We also get fewer, but longer, history flashbacks, and no voiceover narration or animated sequences to illustrate said narration.

A lot of the plot is ideas that I’ve seen online in the fandom. I’m not sure whether it is because we were particularly good in guessing stuff, if said tropes were already known from previous things said by Gaiman and Pratchett, or if Gaiman got inspired by popular headcanons and used them in his work. I also don’t care where the ideas came from. I definitely enjoyed seeing things on screen that I knew from up here, including but not limited to that one crack ship I used to read some fics about back in 2019 because one of the two partners uses genderneutral pronouns.

Ah, talking about. Gender. And general queerness. It’s there, but feels less overwhelming than it did four years ago. Maybe that’s me, but I definitely did miss the parts where Crowley was presenting as female. Most shopkeepers on that street seem queer in some way, and one of them has a visibly nonbinary partner, but it was all very much in the background. I would have liked these things to be a little more prominent. Season 1, I still go back sometimes and rewatch Pollution’s introduction, just to hear God use they/them pronouns. Season 2 didn’t have any moments like this.

Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley and Aziraphale... Oh dear. Please let me repeat again that I am not going to be able to be completely objective about them. (Neither is anyone else in this fandom. At least I’m honest about it.)

So I was very happy with most of the season. Not great, but it was nice and fun. And then the ending hit.

As I said, Neil Gaiman clearly knows what he’s doing. What he is doing, is setting things up for a third season. As far as cliffhangers go, this one was very elaborate, instead of just throwing in a scene at the end, but also, I really, really wish that he hadn’t.

I’m not sure that Neil Gaiman understands just how important Good Omens was to many of us BECAUSE of the happy ending. And obviously he doesn’t owe us anything and is not responsible for my emotional reaction, but this doesn’t change the fact that I am very, very deeply hurt, because it feels like we’d been given the perfect fairy tale, back in 2019, and now it all got ripped away. And for what. Also, I do trust Gaiman, but I do very, very much NOT trust Amazon. If he doesn’t get a third season, then I don’t want the story to be left like this.

There are a lot of deep conversations that we could, and should, have here. About streaming shows and their obsession with cliffhangers, about our cultural inability to conceive of two characters who are just together, without any drama, and also love stories that are not about getting together. We could talk about abusive situations and how difficult is to get away and not be dragged in, and how maybe the show will explore that. About queer representation in particular and how tired many of us are to see our few couples being kept apart again and again, with no promise of a further season to fix things (remember First Kill).

I am not going to have any of these here. Obviously.

What I AM, however, bothered by, is just how out of nowhere it seems to have come? I honestly feel like Aziraphale’s character development had been set back to episode 3 of the first season, where he still believed that Heaven was good and worth trying to work with. After that, he realized that it is very much not the case, openly defied Heaven, was almost killed for it, and then got a happy ending by getting rid of them all and being allowed to stay on Earth. WHY IS AZIRAPHALE EVEN SLIGHTLY INTERESTED IN THE IDEA OF GOING BACK TO HEAVEN AND RUNNING THE PLACE?! I mean, that was the whole point of his character, wasn’t it?? An angel who loves Earth and humanity enough to defy the will of God, just so he can stay and spend more time here. WHY WOULD HE WANT TO DO SOMETHING ELSE NOW??! 

So the thing is, I understand why he would want to go back to an abusive institution. I wanted to go back to school, too, after the first attempt almost killed me. The problem is that I did not see this coming. If you want to change a character’s motivation this much, then you need to set it up very carefully. Throughout the season, we’ve seen Heaven be generally kind of awful, and Aziraphale didn’t show any signs of missing being part of it. There also isn’t anything they can really offer him, because he was already together with Crowley. It’s very weird. Gaiman seems to be setting up a getting-together story, but like, we’ve been through that already in season 1? He actually talked about it multiple times himself how he purposefully structured it as a love story? And like, he IS a very talented and experienced writer. He would be absolutely able to set up some interesting conflict for an already-together Azirapahle and Crowley, that doesn’t feel like setting their arc back half the story??

I don’t understand why he chose to do this. I am always very annoyed if I don’t understand where storytelling choices are coming from. It’s why the Supernatural finale pulled me back in so strongly.

I am also very hurt, but mostly angry. I don’t feel like I really have the right to be, but I am.

#personal #review #good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #IDK this is all BEFORE really looking at the fandom #I don't know if I even want to #but they might change my mind on some things

[mycroftrh]

Whumptober 2023 Masterpost

For the first time ever, I'm a completionist!!! Links to all fics are below the cut. (There are fewer than 31 because I combined a lot of prompts.) All works are General Audiences. Fandoms are Batfamily, Moon Knight, Loki (TV), Thor (MCU), and Avengers (MCU, 2012 era).

Batfamily

Eyes, 1,709 words, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Dick & Bruce

The Batmobile pulled into the Cave accompanied by more of Dick’s happy chatter. Bruce got out first, Dick bounding out the passenger door to his side. Bruce pulled down his cowl. “Good job, today, Dick,” he said, and Dick looked up at him, grinning widely - And froze. He felt like a baby rabbit under the gaze of a wolf, prey looking at a predator, flashing teeth longer than his limbs - there was something wrong with Bruce’s eyes - his eyes, they - And then it was gone.

like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon, 661 words, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters

Tim was 10 when he figured out Batman and Robin’s second secret: they were monsters. It was a secret that wasn’t a secret; everyone said that Batman was a vampire. Few knew it was actually true. Everyone said Robin was fey, was impish. But those were just adjectives, weren’t they? It was when Tim was 12 that he realized that the Second Secret was a problem. Jason was the first human who had ever been a hero in Gotham - Tim didn’t know yet what Batwoman and Batgirl were, but they were certainly not human - and Jason had died. And Batman would never accept another human as Robin.

Mayday, 498 words, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Songfic

“Red Robin to the Justice League. Can anyone hear me? I’m - I’ve been - it’s been five hours, if anyone can hear me, please respond. Please.”

Experience, 779 words, Abuse Recovery, Dick & Tim

Damian fears the consequences of failure. Tim has some experience with that, and tries to help.

Just a Few More Days, 2,668 words, Bipolar Tim Drake, Good Parent Bruce Wayne

Tim can keep this hidden, for just a few more days. It's fine. He's fine. He just needs to keep Batman from noticing anything for a few more days, and then he'll be back in top condition.

These Days, 2,839 words, Bipolar Tim Drake, Dick & Tim

“Are you on something?” Tim froze in place for a moment, then whirled around. “What the fuck?” “I don’t know! You’re acting so off! You just cussed at me twice for no reason, you’re being sloppy - ” “I cussed at you because you’re being an ass, and I’m not sloppy!” (Tim has a hypomanic/mixed episode.)

Getting Better, 1,112 words, Self-Harm, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Dick & Tim

Dick glanced over from where he was warming up on some rings and his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Tim,” he said carefully, “when did you get injured?” Tim’s stomach sank abruptly. He dropped out of the backbend, his shirt falling back down over his side. “Hm? Oh, that’s just from - “ Tim paused and furrowed his eyebrows. He looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. “I was going to lie, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good,” he said. “It’s, um. I did it. It’s fine, I - the cuts aren’t bad.” “Oh, Tim,” Dick sighed. He dropped down to the ground. “Can I see?”

Is There Room For One More Son?, 372 words, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Tim’s always the one left on the edge, left out, left behind.

MCU

Moon Knight

The Broken, The Beaten, & The Damned, 1,241 words, Angst with a Happy Ending, Steven & Marc & Jake

Will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, & the damned? Steven, Marc, and Jake all save each other.

Loki (TV)

Ethical Violations, 1,081 words, Torture

Mobius raised his eyebrows. “Have we been dabbling in ethical violations, Ravonna?” “For far longer than you know,” Ravonna answered, and pushed a button. And Loki screamed.

Avengers (2012 MCU era)

The Flashback Blanket, 1,936 words, Panic Attack/Flashback, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Loki/Tony

Loki was pressed against a wall, green flickering sickeningly around his hands, eyes tinged red. Thor threw himself towards him as Steve grabbed for the shield. “Wait, hang on! Back off!” Tony, armorless, darted in between them, hand held out warningly not to Loki but to Thor and Steve, gesturing them back. “Give him some room, for fuck’s sake - “ he said as he all but shoved them away from Loki. “Stand away, Anthony, he will harm you.”

Thor (MCU)

Pray, 245 words, Canonical Character Death, Suicide

The first time Loki died, he was a young child. He fell into an iced-over pond and froze to death. He was brought back by healers, he was told, although later in life he wondered if that was true.

#whumptober2023 #completionist #batfamily #dc #avengers #moon knight #loki #thor #mcu #marvel #mine

[greens-multiverse]

[after - almost six months, holy fuck - here's part two of my end-of-anniversary-crystal songfic about abe and azure journeying to the bottom of reality/excuse for a lot of expository flashbacks about my season 2 myth arc headcanons. part one, which contains most of the setup, is here. our song being ficced is still the ai girl and the deep heart sea; tonight we're on the first full section, 'reincarnated girl rho.' this... turned out much longer than i expected]

so if you did go diving into the depths of the substructure-sea, what would you find just below the surface? easy: the physical world

you might think we live in the physical world, but that's not entirely true. human bodies exist in the world of atoms and forces, but human minds, like the minds of anything sentient enough to dream, belong to the lower layers of the noos. that's the term for the blanket of ideas and memories and stories we sophonts collectively lay over bare reality, the landscape of thought that gives everything meaning. up here, a piece of stone could be the last remaining artifact of a lost civilisation, or a source of energy that could power a city for generations, or the mark of the one true king. down there, it's just a collection of molecules

still, as stark as it might look with the haze of imagination removed, the topmost portion of the substructure is pretty similar to the world we know. the stars spin and the elements flow and people and animals act just the same, though if you didn't know how our home layers work you'd never guess why. and even if you do, it's hard to impose the framework of narrative over them for very long without the support of the noos. down there, nothing could be or means or implies anything; it just is

which isn't to say travelling through it would be exactly like going for a walk in our home layers - it might, if you were going for a walk across it, but if you're going down through it things get very strange very quickly! the philosophers also say that time is a direction, much like up or forward, and they're fairly close to right. going through the topmost layers of the substructure feels like plunging through entire timelines, events thousands of miles and dozens of years apart all flashing past your eyes at once. it's like experiencing dozens of scenes from the same story all at once, all without any context to tie them together or any subtext to give them meaning. but if it's a story you played a part in, you might be able to follow along, just about

it's pretty easy to find yourself reflecting on it

sunlight zone

Azure, the girl who returned

down here, I can see everything

as we drift downwards, time and distance fall away, and all that ever was blurs together, like disconnected clips of an absurdly long video. it's as if in the final death throes of this tiny shell of a world, the strings holding its timeline together have snapped, and the whole arc of its short history has tumbled into my hands. I feel like I could see anything, anywhere, if only I knew how to sort through the heap. I can even catch a glimpse of its ever-fewer potential futures

the back of my right hand shines a familiar colour I still cannot name. Abe's hand in mine crackles with haze, purple and white chasing each other around his crumbling skin. beneath it, I can just about see the beginning of a vast, eternal structure

the further we descend, the closer everything draws to us. it's becoming hard to distinguish discrete events, everything running into everything else. soon, I realise, the only moments I'll be able to perceive at all are this world's approaching end, and its distant beginning

but I don't need to look to see all the parts that truly matter. ever since IT came, I've remembered everything I've ever witnessed in perfect clarity

IT was far too unstructured to be called an 'entity' there was no one who understood what IT was or why IT had come into existence so they called it 'Missingno' or 'the glitchhaze' or 'OLDEN' some even called IT 'Altair' as if IT were a god

I did not witness ITs entire emergence, of course. the formation of the confluence called OLDEN began before my world was created, before his, perhaps even before the true reality all the worlds of the haze are mere shadows of. whatever ITs source, IT came to impinge on that reality, chewing it up, piece by piece, shredding order and logic and spacetime until only a formless haze of glitches remained. there was nothing anyone could do to stop IT. even the gods could just barely slow IT down

and yet, so I'm told, there was no malice in IT, not then. ITs bites at the edge of the universe were random, almost exploratory, as if IT didn't know what it was, or even what IT was. everything IT touched collapsed into haze, but that haze did not lash to corrupt everything it could reach or sink beneath the surface of reality to poison it from within. most often it disappated, and even when it lingered it reached out tentatively, inquisitively, even playfully. whether IT was curious or hungry or simply lacked enough of a mind to want anything at all, no one knew, but IT wasn't trying to destroy our universe in the beginning

but by the time IT came to my world, IT had changed. IT had learned how to hate

IT came to a world wracked by change and uncertainty and shredded it apart with a brilliant vicious light since no matter what all would someday return to the void why not cut short this farce of a universe and bring an end to ITs own suffering?

my world was nothing. a bubble within a bubble, a tiny simulation created as a last bastion from the corruption. but limited as I knew it was, insignificant as I knew it was, it was mine, and I fought hard to free it from those who would harm its people. I defeated each gym leader, I tore apart Team Rocket, I ascended the Indigo Plateau to claim the title of our world's first champion. ten settlements, twenty-five routes, a hundred and fifty-odd species of pokémon, and I stood above them all, the strongest trainer between the impassable mountains and the waters that trailed off into nothingness. I swore to protect them from whoever and whatever might seek to harm them

I was so young, then. so naïve. so arrogant. despite everything I had already learned, it never occured to me SOMETHING might come that I could not fight

IT came to my world at dawn. by the morning's end the ocean was a writhing mass of corrupted matter, advancing northwards in an unstoppable deluge. by mid-afternoon, the plains were choked with haze, towns and forests collapsing in on themselves faster anything could flee, faster than most could even notice. by nightfall, all that was left of my world was a mountaintop, and a temple, and me

I had begun the day determined to fight IT until the breath left my body, but by this point all I could do was sob. I had lost all my allies, all my pokémon, all my hopes as city after city fell and nothing we could think of so much as made IT flinch. they had relied on me to save what they could not, take revenge where they could not, and I had failed them all. despite everything I promised on the Vermillion dockside, I hadn't been able to protect anyone. all I had left was despair

I'm not sure why I had been allowed to escape. perhaps IT meant to save me for last

IT came slowly up the mountainside, chewing the horizon as if savouring each bite. I watched it from the empty doorway of the temple, unable to muster the energy to flee any further. for the first time, but not the last, I sat and waited for the end

then the space just in front of the doorway flickered, and Abe stepped through a crack in reality and out into the snow. we had known each other for some time now, he who designed my world, I who tracked him down and demanded to know why. I had seen him teleport across the world through his unknown doors many times before, but I was still somewhat surprised to see him alive. so quietly for a moment I didn't know if he heard it, I croaked out his name

he was just as shocked to see me here, I could tell by how quickly he spun around. his breath caught for a second, and he mouthed, "I'm sorry." then he turned to face the approaching chaos, and his shadow blossomed into an infinity of fractals

the beginning of the battle between the last of the fossil gods and IT was, I am told, like nothing ever seen by living eyes. unseen it remains, for I did not watch it. I moved further into the temple, behind enough walls it seemed unlikely I would be impaled by debris, and there I curled up and waited for the storm to pass. there was nothing I could do against IT I had not already tried a thousand times, and besides, what difference could a single powerless human make in a clash of the divine?

all around me, the earth, the walls, even the air shook. I could not even begin to interpret the sounds - the crackling, the tearing, the rattling - erupting from the temple's entrance, but soon enough I saw cracks drive through first the stonework and then the empty air. I knew my world was finally dying, and, despite my youth, despite my pride, despite my fear, I felt strangely relieved. a gash in spacetime snaked through the halls towards me, shedding glitches, leaking a brilliant, terrible light -

and from a direction I was not watching, something pierced the back of my right hand

I instinctively jerked my arm back towards me, but as soon as the impact sight came into view, I froze. there was no blood, no pain beyond the initial shock, not even a wound. there was only a sliver of dark orange stone barely larger than my fingernails burrowed into my skin, faintly humming. I had just enough time to take in the sight before the tear in the universe reached me and glitches overwhelmed everything

everything, that is, except me. the stone walls melted, the air collapsed, the world around me crumbled into a thick morass of swirling, chattering, ever-changing decay, but I remained just as I was. even when the haze lanced out at my body directly, the force I had seen rend through buildings and mountains and people alike in mere seconds slid off my skin like a passing rain. the space (if one were to call it that) around my head shifted rapidly between water and wood and viscera, but I could breathe more easily than I had in hours. through the flickering, crackling haze, for the first time I saw the back of my hand gleam

I did not know, then, that the miniscule stone shard tinting my skin an impossible colour was the last remaining fragment of an entity older than the gods. at the end of the battle I was sheltering in the temple from, IT aimed a dart of pure haze right at the core of the only fossil god still alive, the Dome. but for whatever reason such a being might do such a thing, the Old Amber leapt into its path. the impact made the packed-together rock at the heart of their being burst into a thousand infinitesimal pieces which flew off in all directions, shattering against the mountain or evaporating upon contact with the glitches. but somehow, through a series of coincidences and just-right circumstances, one shard slipped through it all and landed in me

was this planned by the Old Amber, or mere happenstance? I still don't know, and I doubt I ever will. but whether there was a purpose behind it or not, from that moment on the glitches could not touch me. a whole world could dissolve into haze around me, and I would keep my form, and my identity, and my memories. no matter how much time passed, no matter what happened, I remained myself

but all that I discovered later. then and there, curled up in that crumbling temple at the end of everything I'd ever known, I dazedly watched half a dozen tendrils of corruption pass through my body harmlessly before I realised I was not, in fact, dead. I reached out for one of the few remaining patches of wall and slowly got to my feet, and just when I'd found a stable footing my world finally snapped open and I tumbled head over heels into the glitchhaze. I fell for what seemed a thousand years through light and texture and shrieking, repetitive sound, and none of it so much as pulled my hair. the shock had faded from my mind enough I was beginning to wonder why

then my back slammed against solid ground. it knocked the breath out of my body, and when I inhaled I tasted air once again. the surface I was lying on was wet, spongy, and stable, at least as far as my arms could reach. when I pried my gummed-shut eyes open, the first thing I saw was a dazzlingly blue sky

it was a fairly typical early hazeworld fairly early on in its development. no tree was yet tall enough I could not step over it, the largest animals were barely bigger than mice, and the pokémon were still amorphous clouds of spirit, not coherent enough to create physical forms. even once it had fully matured, its sky never changed from that brilliant blue, and its dirt squished like jelly rather than crumbling. the worlds of the haze were only ever so real, and this one was even less so than mine had been

but in that moment, all that mattered was that it was

yet there was one whose existence ITs haze could never erase I was "Vega", lodestar inviolate, she who saw everything

that grassy clearing caught in an eternal morning was not alone in the glitchhaze for long. as some consequence of its battle with IT, the Dome created handfuls, then dozens, then hundreds of these tiny worldlets, little pockets of order billowing in the haze. each new hazeworld was just a touch more real than the last - a sky that dimmed and brightened again, soil that could be broken up to plant whatever fruit you pleased, water that cycled from stream to lake to cloud and back; a little larger, a little more self-sufficient. soon they were detailed enough humans could live there, and they built settlements, then cities, then regions. and then, slowly, step by stumbling step, they began to reach out across the haze to each other

I had long mastered the art of travelling through the haze by then. Abe, who had also survived that last battle, had to travel between worldlets through broken warps and bizarre glitchmancy tricks, his unknown doors writ large, but I could simply walk off the edge of one world and stroll through the glitches to the next one. not that it was ever that simple, of course; navigating the endlessly shifting landscape of the glitchhaze was more art than science and more luck than either, and I seldom arrived in the precise world I was aiming for even when I didn't spend months lost in the wilds of the haze. but it was never dangerous, not for me. out of everyone in existence, I alone travelled the haze without fear

the people of the hazeworlds grew used to Abe and I passing through their regions. we both got into the habit of telling them stories; he of the worlds that lay past their borders and the ways they could be reached, I of the worlds that once were and how they had been destroyed. we taught them what the haze was and that there were others like them beyond it, and they taught themselves how to send things through it; first information, then objects, then living beings. soon the haze was home to a great alliance of worlds, interconnected by hazeships and databeams and a dozen kinds of interworld teleportation, fighting back the glitches wherever they could, always searching for a way to defeat IT forever. Abe and I they revered as gods, the ones who had shown them the nature of reality and bestowed upon them the power to change it. with our teachings, they so fervently believed, they would restore the universe

Abe helped them whenever and however he could, but I seldom did. I could never muster the will to do much more than pass on my stories, never shake the feeling that no matter what anyone did, reality had merely been granted a stay of execution. why, I still cannot say; perhaps my mind was as trapped in that moment of despair as my body, and just as my hair never grew no matter how many decades passed me by, my heart never lifted out of that black pit. or, perhaps, I simply never managed to overcome my grief. all I could bring myself to do was sit on the outside of that glorious dream and half-heartedly hope it would be fulfilled

alas, it was not to be. no matter what they tried, no matter how they struggled, in the end there was nothing we mere humans could do against ITs hate. one after another, the worlds of the alliance were overcome and fell, and the links they'd forged between them became vectors for the very corruption they'd been made to fight against. over the course of its long defeat, the alliance grew desperate and cruel, but even that was not enough, and once it finally broke the surviving worlds of the haze were left completely without protection. once upon a time a world was not considered stable unless it was completely free of glitches, but now even the most substantial were strewn with impossibly stretched landmarks and holes in reality that opened into infinity. even Abe, as immortal as I was but for somewhat different reasons, began to mutate, his form and his memories slipping away a fraction more every time he crossed the haze, until all that was left of him was a barely sentient heap of glitches, marked out from the rest of the corruption only by the occasional flash of purple

but I? I remained. no matter how many worlds crumbled around me, no matter how long I spent lost in the haze, my self was preserved. even in that final barely coherent, violently unstable, utterly corrupted mockery of a world, where no division existed between human and pokémon and language had degraded into loud, garbled noise and time had broken in a way impossible to put into words, I had not changed one bit since the day my world died. in my customary seclusion, I watched the strands that held together this final world quietly fray, and I wondered whether, once all existence had been devoured by IT, I would finally be permitted to cease

isolated as I always was, she nonetheless tracked me down. a girl with blue hair and red scales and a wide, fanged smile, whose eyes were tinged the faintest purple and whose voice carried a muted echo of thousands more. like so many residents of the haze before her, she and her allies had sketched out a wild, one-in-a-million scheme to restore the lost worlds and bring the battle to IT. I didn't believe they could do it - there? then? at the end of everything? - but for the very last time I gave them my stories. I told them everything I knew, fully expecting that it could never make a difference

some time after that (in a manner of speaking) the last world abruptly shattered. the slow rot that had been eating away at it since before time had broken suddenly surged, and pillars of pure corruption burst out of its husk of a sky. as the ground beneath my feet dissolved into glitches for the very last time, the shard in the back of my right hand vibrated so fast it became painful. through the haze and the light, I thought I saw my left hand begin to melt -

and I sat in the Champion's Chamber of the Indigo Plateau, on the same plastic folding chair my world's Lance had taken to calling my throne, so many long years before. the stitching on the jacket I had left dangling on it the day my world had ended pressed into my back

it took me so many long seconds to comprehend where I was. it took me several more to realise I could still move. my heart hammering, my body shaking, half-convinced that if I moved too quickly this dream would burst like a bubble, wholly expecting Koga to burst in at any moment and announce that something was eating the sea, I got to my feet. I took a few dazed steps, and my shoe tapped against something on the floor

I looked down, and I saw pokéballs

what can I say about what happened next? my charizard wrapped my tail around its body and held me close as I cried. his scales rustled, solid and alive, radiating a warmth that drove my grief to the edges of my soul for the first time in an eternity of loneliness. with every pokéball I opened, every old ally I reunited with, every step I took in a world like so many others I had passed through but in its details unmistakably mine, it receded a little further. how it came to pass, I suspect not even the gods could say, but the people of the last world of the glitchhaze had brought back the first. they had brought me home

the story of that reborn world is not one I am equipped to tell. as much as I tried to keep a grasp on events, from the moment we discovered there was a new land beyond the once-impassable western mountains I played at best a peripheral partin the saga of ITs final defeat. but I was once more part of it; so longer a silent, sobbing witness to a fate I could not change, but an active participant in an impossible, glorious miracle. I fought where I could, and I laughed when I could, and though my sorrow never entirely went away it became easy put it aside for a few moments and bask in the beauty of this dream-made-reality

and yet, as wonderful as it was, it was not perfect. there was one person missing. I scoured the world in my search for him, both the tiny region we had grown up in and the new lands blossoming into existence all around it, fully convinced he had to be out there, restored along with everything else. but I never found more than a shadow. there was one time… but that was not him. I have been told over and over again that my best friend still lies at the bottom of the Cinnabar Strait, as dead as this world once was, and will soon be again

but that cannot be. he was a host of the Voices, and even when all of reality was on the verge of being devoured by glitches, they were as immune to the corruption as I. somewhere, somehow, he must still exist, if not in body then in spirit, if not within this universe then without it. and though logically he could be anywhere in the infinite nothingness outside reality, I know - somewhere, I think I always have - where he is. for so long I thought him unreachable, but no longer

wait for me, Evan. I'm coming to save you

and as for THAT which declared everything I had l ever loved and all we dreamed together no more than a useless charade what would I say to IT? … come on we've still a long road ahead

#twitch plays pokemon #mitzi fic #mitzi writing #azure #abe #old amber #and this remains not not about #olden #approaching four thousand words! i was not expecting the sections to get this long #i can't promise the next one will take less time to come out. it's almost certainly gonna be narrated by the voices #and they're always Fun to write #i decided azure talked like she'd swallowed a thesaurus very early on and had a lot of fun writing her #and i have decided who exposition guy is! #layer 2: the stream

[fleetofshippyships-archive]

2018 Fic List

Since I did this for 2019, I wanted to do one for 2018 because I guess I just love mucking around with lists XD

2018 was also the year harassment on my main account drove me to create 2 more separate AO3 accounts so I could continue to post non-drarry fics in peace until the drarry fandom found some chill, so around August/September is when links will start going to other accounts and I was super active there rather than my main. 

(2019 List)

Note: All explicit rated fics on my main AO3 account are behind an account lock, that means only logged in AO3 users can read them. This is for a couple of reasons, but a big one is because those fics are the ones that I find reposted the most frequently. Don’t repost my fics.

Most popular fics of 2018:

(because I’m doing this now, I can’t get completely accurate for most popular within 2018, so it’s more like, which are my most popular fics of 2018 now)

Most Kudosed: ‘In the Ways That Matter’ (HP, Drarry, 1,260 Kudos, posted April) Most Hits: ‘Kinktober 2018′ (VLD, Multiship, 21,764 hits, posted October) Most Commented: ‘In the Ways That Matter’ (HP, Drarry, 83 comments, posted April) 

This is an even longer list than 2019 (182 works linked), milestones, stats, fandom, ship, and fic lists under the cut:

Milestones:

Hit 100k+ words on VLD AO3 account Participated in Shatt Week 2018 (6/7 days done) Submitted a fic for H/D Consent Fest 2018 Submitted a fic for Chubby Neville Fest 2018 Completed Sheith Angst Week 2018  Completed Sapphic September for both HP and VLD on time (totaling 60 works) Completed James and Keith Week 2018 (in Sept, wow I was on fire that month)  Completed Kinktober 2018 for VLD on time (and mostly writing things I’d never written before XD)

Stats:

Total number of fics posted: 182 Total word count posted: 210,601 Total number of fandoms: 4 Total number of ships: 52

Month with the most fics: September (70) Month with the least fics: July, November, December (all 0)

Most written fandom: Voltron (116) Least written fandom: Yuri On Ice (1)

Most written ship: VLD: Matt/Shiro (31)

Longest fic: In Pursuit of Red Wine (HP, Draco/Neville, 28,732 words) Shortest fic: Knowing When to Shut Up (VLD, Matt/Shiro, 88 words)

Fandoms herein: Voltron (116), Harry Potter (62), Star Wars (3), YOI (1)

Ships herein:

VLD: Adashi, Allura/Veronica, Alluracxa, Hance, Heith, Hunk/Keith/Lance, James/Keith/Shiro, James/Lotor, James/Shiro, Jeith, Katt, Keith/Anon, Keith/BOM, Keith/Tentacles, Klance, Kolivan/Shiro, Lancelot, Matt/Hunk, Matt/Keith/Shiro, Matt/Lance/Shiro, Romelle/Veronica, Romellura, Shance, Shatt, Shetih, Shunk, Uliro, Veracxa HP: Blaise/Pansy, Bleville, Dean/Draco, Delachang, Draco/Fred/George, Drarry, Drarryville, Dreville, Flonks, Ginny/Tonks, Ginsy, Hermione/Pansy/Tracey, Linny, Lunsy, Nottbottom, Padma/Pansy, Pansmione, Parvansy, Parvender, Pottbottom, Rarry, Star Wars: Skysolo YOI: Otayuri

And with all that out of the way, the fics:

January (2 fics, 1,993 words):

Made Real by the Speaking of It (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 1,147 words)

Untitled Prompted Work (HP, Neville/Theodore, Teen, 846 words, Ch 22 in ‘Neville/Theo Prompted Drabbles and Ficlets’)

February (10 fics, 34,721 words):

Broken Heating (Close Quarters #1) (Star Wars, Han/Luke, Teen, 435 words)

Decisions (HP, Blaise/Pansy, G rated, 604 words)

Untitled Prompted Work (HP, Blaise/Neville, G rated, 364 words, Ch 4 in ‘Blaise/Neville Prompted Ficlets and Drabbles’)

Banished but Not Alone (HP, Neville/Theodore, Teen, 965 words)

In Pursuit of Red Wine (HP, Draco/Neville, Teen, 28,732 words, for Chubby Neville Fest)

Scars (HP, Draco/Neville, Teen, 366 words)

Stargazing (HP, Neville/Theodore, Teen, 328 words)

Should Have Brought a Bag (Bookmarks and Chocolates and Dates #2) (HP, Hermione/Pansy, G rated, 1,032 words)

One Way or the Other (HP, Draco/Harry/Neville, Teen, 1,194 words)

Caught Singing (HP, Neville/Theodore, Teen, 701 words)

March (6 fics, 8,824 words):

Close Quarters (Close Quarters #2) (Star Wars, Han/Luke, Teen, 2,840 words)

The Perfect Morning (With a Rough Start) (HP, Harry/Neville, Teen, 968 words)

Getting in Late (HP, Neville/Theodore, G rated, 566 words)

Little Surprises (HP, Neville/Theodore, G rated, 555 words)

What Luck! (HP, Draco/Harry/Neville, Teen, 2,466 words)

Cloud Watching (HP, Draco/Neville, Teen, 1,429 words)

April (9 fics, 25,088 words):

Being Brave (HP, Draco/Neville, Teen, 4,053 words)

Just to Watch It Wriggle (HP, Dean/Draco, Teen, 609 words)

In the Ways That Matter (HP, Draco/Harry, Teen, 9,024 words, for H/D Consent Fest 2018)

Always with You, Even When the Dam Breaks (HP, Draco/Neville, Teen, 2,445 words)

To Catch a Ferret (HP, Draco/Fred/George, Teen, 1,271 words)

Dragons and Weasels (HP, Draco/Fred/George, Teen, 2,282 words)

Close Calls and Future Decisions (Otayuri Assassin’s Creed AU #3) (YOI, Otabek/Yuri P, Teen, 3,368 words)

A Delightful Turn of Events (HP, Cho/Fleur, Teen, 777 words)

Until It’s Old and Comfortable (HP, Harry/Ron, Teen, 1,259 words)

May (1 fic, 1,819 words):

A Familiar Ruse (HP, Ginny/Tonks, Teen, 1,819 words)

June (1 fic, 1,328 words):

A Snowy Getaway (Close Quarters #3) (Star Wars, Han/Luke, Teen, 1,328 words)

July: 0

August (48 fics, 54,308 words):

(Note: cross posting spree to a new account after deleting many voltron fics off main due to harassment from drarry readers salty I wasn’t posting their ship that year, all fics were still posted originally within 2018, after the Shatt spam everything else was posted originally in August on the new account)

After Training (VLD, Hunk/Lance, Teen, 1,068 words)

Good Enough (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Teen, 2,524 words)

Again (We’ll Figure It out as We Go #1) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 1,350 words)

Signal (We’ll Figure It out as We Go #2) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 1,021 words)

Problem Solving (We’ll Figure It out as We Go #3) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 1,397 words)

Slacking off Work (We’ll Figure It out as We Go #4) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Explicit, 4,022 words)

Not a Genius About Everything (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 274 words)

Snooping (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 539 words)

Not Very Leader-Like (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 174 words)

That Kind of Picnic (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 206 words)

Knowing When to Shut Up (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 88 words)

Poolside (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 260 words)

Accidentally out Loud (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 135 words)

Staying After (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 195 words)

Breaking the News (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 311 words)

Backseat Driving (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 203 words)

A Quick Dip (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 183 words)

Unauthorised Merchandise (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 112 words)

Finding the Words (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 2,415 words, for Shatt Week 2018)

Different Perspectives (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 960 words, for Shatt Week 2018)

Share the Load (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 1,800 words, for Shatt Week 2018)

Wakey Wakey (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 699 words, for Shatt Week 2018)

Going Back (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 876 words, for Shatt Week 2018)

Lost in Dreams (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 835 words, for Shatt Week 2018)

Staying Ahead (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 196 words)

Boop the Snoot (Matt/Shiro Crochet Verse #1) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 555 words)

Passing the Time (Matt/Shiro Crochet Verse #2) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 1,063 words)

Unlikely to Learn but Happy to Try (Matt/Shiro Crochet Verse #3) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 239 words)

Like a Damn Cat (Matt/Shiro Crochet Verse #4) (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 255 words)

A Teeny Tiny Lie (VLD, Matt/Shiro, G rated, 213 words)

Telling Tall Tales (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 274 words)

Fine Art (VLD, Matt/Shiro, Teen, 98 words)

You Never Beg, Huh? (VLD, Keith/Lance, Explicit, 1,743 words)

Something Else Entirely (VLD, Acxa/Allura, Teen, 1,113 words)

Reaching Out, Not Letting Go (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Teen, 8,635 words)

Finding Time for Rest (Finding Time for Rest #1) (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Teen, 3,146 words)

Chasing Distraction (VLD, James/Keith, Keith/Shiro (one-sided), Mature, 2,864 words)

Making Time (Finding Time for Rest #2) (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Mature, 4,215 words)

A Tear in the Night Sky (VLD, James/Lotor, Teen, 531 words)

Pulled in by the Bond in Our Hearts (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Mature, 842 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

To See Your Face Again (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Teen, 420 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

Better Next Time (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Mature, 483 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

The Soul Knows Before the Mind Does (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Teen, 536 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

When Hard Choices Become Easy Choices (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Mature, 930 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

Focus on the Fire (VLD, one-sided Keith/Shiro, Past Adam/Shiro, Teen, 719 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

Can’t Wait to See Their Faces (HP, Draco/Harry, G rated, 298 words)

Nice Shower? (HP, Draco/Harry, Explicit, 1,871 words)

Is That How You Want It Then? (HP, Neville/Theodore, Explicit, 1,422 words)

September (70 fics, 49,790 words):

(Sapphic September for HP series with prompt list, Sapphic September for VLD series with prompt list)

Just Like Every Other Night (VLD, Keith/Shiro, Teen, 712 words, for Sheith Angst Week 2018)

Breakfast Smoothies (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 301 words)

Worth a Shot (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 628 words)

Waiting for so Long (HP, Ginny/Luna, Teen, 1,210 words)

Alone for Long Enough (VLD, Acxa/Allura, Mature, 254 words)

Nothing More Beautiful (HP, Cho/Fleur, Teen, 1,097 words)

Don’t Mention the Robots (VLD, Allura/Romelle, Mature, 525 words)

Standards (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 701 words)

Wondering (VLD, Acxa/Allura, Teen, 456 words)

Childhood Games (HP, Luna/Pansy, G rated, 805 words)

Yours, Always (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 720 words)

Night Flight (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 389 words)

The Bad Guy (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 406 words)

Latest Acquisition (HP, Pansy/Parvati, G rated, 348 words)

Misplaced Focus (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 435 words)

Pancakes (HP, Cho/Fleur, Teen, 298 words)

Purple Flush (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Explicit, 3,621 words)

Bringing Work Home (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 1,056 words)

A Sign of Affection (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, G rated, 251 words)

A Tough Day (HP, Hermione/Pansy/Tracey, Teen, 817 words)

Lines, and Crossing Them (VLD, James/Keith, Teen, 2,808 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

Sharing Customs (VLD, Allura/Romelle, G rated, 296 words)

Be Careful What You Wish For (HP, Ginny/Pansy, Teen, 770 words, for hpcupminifest September)

Wanting Out (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 1,220 words)

Missing Her (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, G rated, 322 words)

What a Night (VLD, James/Keith, Teen, 2,378 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

Cutting In (HP, Cho/Fleur, G rated, 385 words)

Call It Pilot Solidarity (VLD, James/Keith, Teen, 2,525 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

Teach Me Everything (VLD, Allura/Romelle, Mature, 268 words)

Need More Tea (HP, Hermione/Pansy, G rated, 916 words)

Familiar Souls, Familiar Faces (VLD, Allura/Romelle, G rated, 308 words)

Checking In (VLD, James/Keith, Teen, 2,583 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

Hot Chocolate (HP, Hermione/Pansy, G rated, 792 words)

Trying Chocolate (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, G rated, 410 words)

Late (VLD, James/Keith, Teen, 492 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

It’s Only Goodbye for Now (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 1,241 words)

Agree to Disagree (VLD, Acxa,/Veronica, Teen, 249 words)

If Only Wishing Made It So (VLD, James/Keith, Keith/Shiro (one-sided), Mature, 394 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

Another Kind of Magic (HP, Hermione/Pansy, G rated, 357 words)

Battery Acid (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 315 words)

Setting Out to Win (VLD, James/Keith, Teen, 644 words, for James and Keith Week 2018)

Nothing Is Certain (HP, Padma/Pansy, Teen, 715 words)

Remaining Calm (VLD, Allura/Romelle, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 655 words)

Persuasion (HP, Cho/Fleur, Mature, 259 words)

Fascination (VLD, Allura/Veronica, Teen, 813 words)

Ready? (HP, Ginny/Pansy, Teen, 1,037 words)

Stolen Thunder (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 735 words)

More Than Just Maintaining Cover (HP, Ginny/Tonks, Mature, 1,440 words)

Beginning with Marriage (VLD, Allura/Veronica, Teen, 843 words)

How Convenient (HP, Ginny/Luna, Teen, 548 words)

For as Long as You Need (VLD, Allura/Romelle, G rated, 338 words)

Settling In (HP, Fleur/Tonks, G rated, 532 words)

Home Is with the One You Love (VLD, Acxa/Allura, G rated, 304 words)

Traps and Revelations (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 594 words)

More Than Mercy (VLD, Acxa/Allura, Teen, 1,112 words)

Mistakes Made In Anger (HP, Draco/Harry, Teen, 191 words)

A Rock Big Enough for Two (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 621 words)

Unlike the Bananas? (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, G rated, 232 words)

No Monsters Here (HP, Lavender/Parvati, Teen, 262 words)

Diplomacy (VLD, Allura/Romelle, G rated, 210 words)

Don’t Ever Forget (HP, Ginny/Luna, Teen, 357 words)

Worship (VLD, Acxa/Allura, Teen, 427 words)

If They Only Knew (HP, Hermione/Pansy, Teen, 660 words)

Not So Blind (VLD, Romelle/Veronica, Teen, 556 words)

Don’t Lose the Dream (HP, Ginny/Luna, G rated, 449 words)

A Wrinkle in Her Plans (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, G rated, 418 words)

Loving the Clumsy (HP, Fleur/Tonks, Teen, 276 words)

Should Have Used Blue (VLD, Allura/Veronica, G rated, 272 words)

A Race Just to Ask (HP, Ginny/Pansy, G rated, 277 words)

Veronica and the Beast (HP, Acxa/Veronica, Teen, 254 words)

October (35 fics, 32,730 words):

Kiss Cam (VLD, Allura/Veronica, Teen, 391 words)

Green Means Go (VLD, Acxa/Veronica, Explicit, 1,824 words)

Start the Chase (HP, Draco/Harry, Explicit, 4,015 words)

A Visitor With a Key (HP, Draco/Harry, Teen, 303 words)

+ 31 more works in ‘Kinktober 2018′ (VLD, Keith/Blade of Marmora, Keith/Shiro, James/Keith, Hunk/Keith/Lance, Hunk/Lance, Lance/Lotor, Mat/Shiro, Hunk/Keith, Matt/Keith, James/Shiro, James/Keith/Shiro, Matt/Hunk, Matt/Keith/Shiro, Adam/Shiro, Shiro/Ulaz, Hunk/Shiro, Kolivan/Shiro, Lance/Shiro, Matt/Lance/Shiro, Keith/Lance, Keith/Anonymous Stranger, Keith/Kolivan, Keith/Tentacles, All Explicit, total word count 26,197)

November: 0

December: 0

Notes:

-What the hell was I on in September and how do I get my hands on it again XD I went fucking insane that month doing Sapphic September twice over + a ship week. YIKES. But also like, NEVER AGAIN, I remember I was so burned out halfway through Kinktober after that and struggled to finish kinktober’s list, then I went offline for a few months and didn’t write for just as long, but also some real life shit was going down so it’s all blurred together XD

-Aaaah, look at all them rarepairs, I do so love my rares!

-Still kinda bummed that S8 killed my VLD buzz cos writing for that fandom was so much fun and I miss it, I was gonna try get back into it this year, but then found out that even previously non-toxic corners of the fandom are toxic now and nope, killed my buzz all over again.

-STILL NO BBC MERLIN?!?!?! omg was 2017 really the last time I wrote for that fandom??????? Also no Star Trek, I really thought 2018 was the year I wrote that but I guess my memory is still shit XD must have been 2017 wow, but at least there’s still new fandoms for when I get around to making a 2017/2016 list XD which will luckily be smaller cos I wrote fewer but longer fics in 2016/2017

-Overall, like 2019, 2018 was a bad year for me in terms of word count. I guess it was the beginning of my health really affecting my ability to write and my shift to accommodate for that by writing shorter things instead of trying and failing to write long fics like I used to (altho actually I think that started in 2017 really, guess I need to make the list to see XD). I’m still pretty proud though, cos I always wanted to write more sapphic content and doing sapphic september was something I didn’t think I’d manage but I did it 2x over =) and then off the heels of that success, I did Femslash Feb for HP in 2019 and some of Sapphic Sept 2019 too

-Kinktober was also super fun, even though I was a big ball of anxiety the whole time and burning out pretty badly after September. But I really got outside of my comfort zone to write several things I not only hadn’t written before, but also don’t even personally like XD I wrote a couple of my squicks and that was an interesting experience. I also gained a few new kinks, also an interesting experience XD

#* #my fanfic #2018 master list #what an insane year #this took hours #but better this than stare blindly out my window cos I can't seem to focus on doing anything else #at least a 2017 and 2016 list will take less time #far fewer fics just each a lot longer #if i do lists for those years #not sure yet #kind of want to just so i have a list for each year #but also it's a bit depressing going backwards and seeing my yearly word count go to insane highs i will never reach again #one if not both of 2016/2017 were 500k+ iirc #kinda sad i'll never write that much in a year again

[twirlyeyebrows]

How Could I Have Known?

(A Zosan Fic)

Link to Chapter 13!

Link to Entire Work on ao3!

Ch. 14 - “Cheers.”

The week that followed their last conversation had been interesting, to say the least. Trying to become friends with someone you’ve only ever argued with for as long as you’ve known them was difficult. Despite the little bit of discomfort, progress was being made. Zoro and Sanji could both tell, even the crew was starting to notice. Every small smile at each other here or there and any extra helping hand with a task added to the familiarity of the new bonds they were trying to make. They had even been having fewer fights over seemingly random things and when they did fight, they were a lot more civil with their bickering.

Sanji thought it was wonderful being able to act somewhat normal around the swordsman. He didn’t have to try to avoid Zoro anymore and he didn’t take that for granted. He no longer had to tiptoe around him, pretending to be ignorantly bliss of everything going on. Still, they weren’t in the place Sanji had hoped they would be. After all, his goal was to be friends with the other man, not just acquaintances. He’d concluded that Zoro was not going to make the first move. It drove Sanji a little crazy but he tried to understand things from Zoro’s point of view. In the end, he knew it would have to be himself who initiated any plan-making between them, which was admittedly stressful. Sanji had always gravitated towards women so how the hell was he supposed to build a relationship with Zoro when he had no experience?

He had been thinking about how to approach Zoro the entire time. Not only how to approach him but also what to say. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, let alone what Zoro would want to do. Every idea that came to his mind sounded too romantic or too cheesy. Sanji didn’t see a problem with this; If he was being honest with himself, any way he could spend time with the swordsman sounded like a good idea. He knew Zoro would probably think otherwise. He knew Zoro’s personality and figured he probably wouldn’t want to go get ice cream and walk around a shopping district.

Sanji sat on the edge of his bed, pondering these thoughts as he had been for the past week. He glanced over at the crumpled papers on the floor of his room. Every page detailed a plan for a certain way they could hang out. He had decided that every single one of them was going too far too fast. He knew that Zoro had feelings for him, but should they be doing things that are so… coupley?

He snapped out of his daze and stood up, making sure to pull the blanket out straight to get rid of the wrinkles that had been left. He walked over the corner of the room and picked the papers up one by one, throwing them in the small bin by his bedside table.

“Why am I thinking about this so much?” He asked himself, bending down to pick up the last torn-up page. He made his way over to the trash can and stared down into it. He tossed the ball of paper into the bin and paused. “There has to be something I can do. I can’t keep doing nothing.” Sanji felt like he’d said these words to himself about a thousand times before. He began to pace around his room, taking quick breaths in and out through his cigarette. He maneuvered around the freshly done bin of laundry at the edge of his bed that he had neglected to put away. “I bet that idiot moss isn’t thinking about this at all. When is there ever anything in his brain? I’m sure he’s not even worrying about any of this right now.” He spoke as quickly as he was walking around. “He’s probably just training or thinking about the next time he’ll be able to get his hands on more food and booze.” He sauntered over to the mirror and stared straight into it. He looked at his disheveled expression and chuckled. He couldn’t believe how much this was affecting him. Seeing it in the mirror only made it more real. “Maybe I should make him cook for once so he doesn’t have to wait for me.” He said sarcastically. Zoro had always had a problem with nagging Sanji for food, usually after he trained or took a big nap. The swordsman was always hungry and he tended to make it vocal. This was just one of the many things that had triggered their unending arguments.

Sanji watched his face change suddenly in his reflection. “Wait, that’s not a bad idea.” He said quietly. He talked to himself in the mirror as if it were a completely different person listening. “Cooking isn’t too cheesy right?” He asked, almost waiting for an answer. “If I teach him how to cook something then I’ll at least be in control of some aspect of all this…” He continued to think out loud. “And not only will that open doors between us, it would also mean I can get tomorrow’s lunch prepared a day early!” He laughed and lifted his arms into a shrug. As he kept pondering this idea, he folded his arms against his chest. “Although that would mean I’d have to let someone else in my kitchen, and they’d have to use my utensils.” He sighed at the realization. He never trusted anyone else with his tools and he didn’t want to start. Those appliances were the only things that felt like they were truly his. Anything that means that much to someone has to be hard to give up, even if it is only to one other person. He frowned at his reflection. “I guess that’s what this is all about though- trust.” He decided he’d consider it.

He only stopped staring in the mirror when he heard a huge crash from upstairs on the deck. Surely, it had to have been someone goofing off but he might as well go check it out. It certainly beats staying in his room talking to himself. Still, what could be happening this late at night?

He glanced at the mirror one more time, fixing his hair and pinching out what was leftover from the cigarette he had in his mouth. As he walked up the stairs and onto the deck, he grabbed another from the small box in his pocket, grabbed the lighter, and lit the cigarette in one motion. He puffed a small breath of smoke into the air before stepping out into the view of the rest of his crew.

Sanji’s eyes got wide as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Everyone was sitting around in a circle in the middle of the floor. Zoro was grabbing Usopp by his shirt with his other hand on one of his swords. Usopp’s face displayed confusion and terror as he tried to communicate something to the man inches away from him. Although he wasn’t able to due to his stuttering speech. Zoro looked like he was about to slice Usopp into a hundred pieces. The rest of the circle looked shocked but more than that, they looked intrigued. Luffy sat there with barely a clue of what was happening and the rest of them were on the edge of their seats. None of them had noticed Sanji’s appearance on the deck but he couldn’t stand by quietly, this was far too intriguing.

“I-It was… was just a simple question..” Usopp said, the beads of sweat dripping down his face like the air was boiling. Zoro gripped his shirt tighter and Usopp looked like he was fighting for his life at this very moment. Sanji watched with intent, waiting for the perfect moment to make himself heard. “You- You chose truth, d-don’t blame me!” Usopp had turned his head and closed his eyes as if he were bracing for an impact. Zoro let out a nasty huff and let go of the fabric in his grip. Usopp fell to the ground and picked himself up with his arms, leaning back and catching his breath.

“I did not.” Zoro looked at everyone in the circle. “You assholes made me.” He crossed his arms and broke eye contact. Even in the navy blue of the night sky, Sanji could see his cheeks flush red as the circle went silent.

Sanji had seen enough to pick up on the bigger picture of what was going on. He decided now would be a better time than ever to chime in, whether it was a good time for everyone or just him, he didn’t know, but he was too entertained to be stopped.

“So what was the question then?” Sanji asked as he swaggered over to the small crowd on the deck. Nami, Robin, and Chopper’s snickering stopped, Luffy smiled with a huge grin, Usopp looked about 10x more terrified now, and Zoro’s blush deepened by about 3 shades.

“Good god, what did they ask?” The cook thought to himself as his eyes grew wider.

Zoro looked at Sanji with a desperate look, as if to say “Please take back your question.” Sanji got the message but chose to ignore it.

This time, Luffy chimed in. “We’re playing truth or dare!” He said, throwing his rubber arms in the air. Robin peered up at Sanji from the ground and smiled as well. “We would’ve asked you to join but we didn’t want to interrupt you in case you were doing something important.” She said sweetly. Sanji opened his mouth to say something in response but Zoro cut him off.

“We’re not playing anymore. Game’s over.” Zoro said, standing up and turning away from the crowd. Sanji glanced over at him in utter confusion.

“But Zorooooo” Luffy whined. “You didn’t answer the truth Usopp gave you!” He said with a childish pout. Zoro turned back, shot a dirty look at Usopp (who yelped and shivered at it), and made eye contact with Luffy. “I chose dare, I was never going to answer any “truth” anyone gave me in the first place.” He said through gritted teeth. Nami rolled her eyes and sighed. “You say dare every time! It was getting boring.” She spoke in an annoyed tone, clearly not bothered by Zoro’s attitude. “Whatever. I’m not playing anymore.” Zoro said as he stomped away from the gathering and into the nearest room he could escape to. Sanji took note of that room coincidentally being the kitchen.

Sanji looked back to the group in awe. Since when did Zoro ever act so childish? The rest of them looked at each other with looks of disappointment. They’d obviously just missed out on something huge.

“So does anyone want to answer my question since he obviously won’t?” Sanji said, letting out a small laugh of shock. Sanji turned to Usopp who was still on the floor cowering in fear. “What did you ask him?” He said as he tried to conceal how curious he really was.

“All I asked was if he liked anyone! In terms of truth or dare, isn’t that basically small talk?” He said, his shaky voice finally calming down. “I don’t know what got into him.” He stood up and dusted off his pants.

Chopper stood up as well, adjusting his hat on his head. “I thought he’d just say no and move on…” He said skeptically. Nami hopped to her feet and helped Robin up after doing so. “It is odd how he reacted in such a way, isn’t it?” Robin questioned. Nami grinned from ear to ear.

“Guys! It’s obvious!” Nami chirped. She stuck her arms out at her sides. Everyone looked at her with a deadpan look. Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp tilted their heads to the side like dogs. Nami sighed and put her face into one of her palms. “You guys are hopeless.” She stated, removing the hand from her face. “It’s obvious that Zoro likes someone! Who wants to place bets on who it is?” Nami had an evil smile on her face, a smile of pure greed and willingness to exploit.

Sanji had been unable to process any of this information until now. He had been standing there with a blank stare the entire time but now it was starting to hit him. There was only one thought running through his mind; “This isn’t good.”

“Zoro? Liking someone? Doesn’t that seem… impossible?” Chopper pondered out loud.

“I can't think of a single time I’ve ever seen him act romantic at all. Except maybe around his swords, do you think he’s in love with one of his swords?” Usopp joked.

“I don’t think he’d be able to choose just one.” Robin giggled. Luffy laughed in tandem.

Sanji felt like he was going to throw up. Standing here and listening to everyone talk about this was worse than he’d imagined. That feeling of knowing more than anyone else was back and it sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. He had just gotten rid of that feeling, why did it have to come back?

“Now that you mention it, you’re right Usopp. When has he ever shown interest in anyone?” Nami asked, half-serious and half-rhetorical. Everyone shrugged. She looked as if she just lost the lottery with that one question.

“Why would he act like that though if that isn’t the reason?” Chopper stared up at Nami. Nami responded with a sound of puzzlement. The whole group looked stumped.

Luckily, it seemed that Zoro’s overall grouchy demeanor and vacancy of anything love related had saved both their asses today. Sanji let out an internal sigh of relief. It didn’t help much considering now he knew the thought of Zoro having a crush would be in the back of their minds. He battled within himself on whether to say something or not. He could either make the situation extremely worse or settle the discussion a little bit. Would he be able to steer them in the other direction if he did say something? Would they suspect him if he tried to speak up? The thoughts pooled in his swarmed brain so much that he didn’t even realize everyone was walking away as soon as he came back to reality. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, his body prepared to voice his opinion that would now be worthless. Why would they have cared what he had to say? It’s not like he had been there while they were playing, they probably wouldn’t have listened to him anyway.

As he watched the rest of the Straw Hat crew walk off presumably to bed, he heard them muttering amongst themselves. He tried to pick out keywords but there was nothing he could string together from their mumbles that could be formed into a coherent thought. This worried him beyond belief but as he remembered a certain man who had run into the kitchen a few minutes ago, those worries melted away. Of course, as things had been going so often recently, those worries were replaced with different worries. These new ones, only naturally, are of Zoro.

Sanji figured that it was now or never. All the conditions were perfect: the rest of the crew had just wandered off to bed and Zoro was already in the kitchen. There probably wouldn’t be another opportunity this good for a very long time. And as long as he makes his move now, whoever is on night watch tonight won’t be able to hear them from inside. He took a deep breath, told himself to get it together, and power walked his way to the kitchen.

He burst open the door and he saw exactly what he was expecting. There Zoro was, sitting at the table, his swords against the wall, and his face in his hands. He looked as miserable as he always did. When the swordsman heard the door open and the fumble of Sanji trying to catch his balance after his immediate halt, he lifted his head. He looked both delighted yet unappreciative that Sanji had barged through the door. There was no doubt he had a lot on his mind.

Zoro looked at Sanji with an unphased glare as if to show how used to all this shit he is by now. “So I’m assuming I don’t need to spell out for you what happened?” Zoro said, glumly.

Sanji laughed. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help it. This whole situation felt unbelievable, it was hard to comprehend that it was real. Everything had already been so difficult to work out when it was just between the two of them, but now there was the potential that the rest of their friends could find out? It felt like the universe was playing one huge prank on them.

“Yeah, that won’t be necessary.” Sanji said, reeling in his laughter. He walked over to the table and sat down across from Zoro. “Here we are again, mm? What is it with us and this damn table?” Sanji said lightheartedly, folding his arms against the wood. This elicited a chuckle from Zoro. “No clue.” He responded plainly. Sanji could tell he was still thinking about what had just happened outside. He thought he might as well try to clear the air a little bit.

“If you’re wondering if I told them, I didn’t.” Sanji began. Zoro pulled his stare away from the table and refocused it to Sanji. Sanji could feel Zoro pleading with just his eyes. He was clinging to every word that Sanji said. The cook gulped. “No pressure.” He thought to himself as he mapped out what to say next. “At first, they came to the conclusion that you have feelings for someone but they didn’t discuss who. We have Chopper to thank for that.” Sanji’s eyes wandered away from Zoro. Once again the eye contact had begun to feel like burning. Zoro cocked his head to the side and Sanji continued to explain. “Thanks to your stubbornness and overall lack of emotion, Chopper brought up the fact that you’ve never even acted interested in anyone, so how could you possibly like someone in that way?” Sanji took a deep breath through his cigarette and exhaled. He watched Zoro’s face turn to annoyance in his peripherals. Sanji considered that how he phrased that last sentence might have been a bit insensitive. Whoops, too late now.

“I guess that’s not as bad as it could’ve been.” Zoro said, his complexion returning to normal. Sanji nodded in agreement. He decided not to mention the mumbling he witnessed on his friends’ departure, he didn’t know if Zoro would be able to handle that. Plus, what would he even say about it? He wasn’t able to hear a single word of what any of them said so what would be the point in telling Zoro something that he had no information on?

Zoro cleared his throat and stood up from the table.

“Well, I guess that’s that. I’m gonna go to bed.” He said as he began to trudge towards the door.

Sanji repeated what he had said earlier in his mind once more. “Now or never, now or never.” He couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. As weird and awkward as this may end up, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least give it a shot. He twisted his body to face Zoro.

“Hey, wait-” The words fell out of Sanji’s mouth. He wasn’t in control of his speech anymore. Maybe that was for the best. Zoro stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels. He looked at Sanji with that same look of pleading. If Sanji wasn’t mistaken, Zoro had been hoping he was going to say something more.

The chef cleared his throat. “Would you want to maybe, like, do something?” He nearly whispered. His face started to heat up, that was alright though because so did Zoro’s.

Zoro felt his heart race around in circles. He still wasn’t used to this whole love thing, but moments like this felt incredible.

“Sure.” He countered with no hesitation.

Sanji met his gaze back with a look that urged him to go on. Zoro stared for a few seconds, not knowing what else to say. Suddenly it clicked and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, you mean like now?” The flustered swordsman asked eagerly.

Sanji chuckled softly, closing his eyes. “Yes, “like now”, you idiot.” He said, mockingly. He opened his eyes again to see that Zoro had taken a few steps forward.

“What do you wanna do?” Zoro asked, trying to hide his enthusiasm. The way his eyes practically sparkled was a dead giveaway.

“I was thinking of getting a head start on food prep so I’ll have less work to do tomorrow. It would be nice to have an extra set of hands, if you wouldn’t mind.” Sanji shrugged as if he hadn’t planned this all out earlier today.

Zoro’s eyes were about to pop out of his skull. He felt his heart running marathons as opposed to just circles. His stomach flipped in excitement. He hated how easily Sanji made him feel like this but he decided to worry about that later. Right now, he was just in awe that the other man had offered to let him help with the cooking, he never let anyone help him cook. Zoro’s chest tightened as he realized the amount of trust Sanji was putting in him at this moment. This was a big deal, (even if the chef was trying to make it seem like it wasn’t) and Zoro was going to cherish every second of it.

After receiving no response from Zoro and instead just a blank stare, Sanji decided to speak once more. “I'm not just using you for free labor, by the way. You can have some of the meal if you’re still that hungry.” Sanji paused and puffed his cigarette. “Just don’t bank on this becoming a regular occurrence. I still have to feed five other mouths, y’know.” He was acting as collected as he possibly could. Internally, his mind was going a million miles a minute.

Everything from the thought of someone using his kitchen utensils to the thought of holding Zoro’s hand again crossed his mind. Sanji knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore those thoughts for much longer. He had started to connect the dots within his mind but came up with every reason in the world for them to be false. Until proven otherwise, nothing was going on.

Zoro took a few more steps forward. Sanji stood up from the table and walked over to where he was standing. Sanji stood inches away from Zoro, awaiting an answer to his request. The swordsman looked starstruck, maybe even petrified.

“So…?” Sanji spoke softly, egging Zoro on. Zoro felt a vibration course through his whole body. Why did the cook have to say it like that? This was the worst time for him to be feeling numb with affection.

“Yeah.” Zoro finally spoke. His voice was rough and shallow. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ll help you, Curly.” He said while a small but authentic smile crept onto his lips. Sanji immediately took notice of how contagious it was to see Zoro actually smile. He smiled back.

Sanji clapped his hands together in a pleasant fashion. He grinned widely. “Great! Let’s get started then!” He said, cheerily. The excitement he had hadn’t been fabricated in any amount, it was 100% genuine. Not only was he cooking (his all-time favorite thing to do), he was finally getting to share that experience with someone else. Sure, he’d worked alongside other chefs at Baratie, but this was different. He’d never taught someone how to cook before, let alone someone he… well he didn’t want to think about that right now. What was important was starting on this dish. On his own, he could whip something up in a cinch with no problems. Now, he had to take into account the time it would take to teach, correct, and help the other party. This wasn’t something that bothered Sanji, though, if anything, he was giddy about it.

Zoro put his hands in his haramaki as if it were a set of pockets. He couldn’t stop telling himself in his mind not to fuck this up.

“So, where do we start?” Zoro asked, a small shake of anxiety lining his words.

Sanji laughed, detecting the nervousness. “Well, first you need to relax. I can hear the fear in your voice, it’s weird coming from you.” He said in an almost joking manner. Zoro blushed in embarrassment and looked away. His gaze was caught by the cook again as he began to speak in that gentle tone.

“I’m gonna walk you through everything step-by-step. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let anything happen to my kitchen. Just trust me.” Sanji said as sincerely as he could.

Zoro nodded in agreement. It was going to be difficult to let go of the fear of messing anything up. He knew that this could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Cooking with Sanji almost felt like a dream. Despite his thoughts, he trusted Sanji more than anything or anyone else on the planet. Even more so now that the cook had asked for his trust directly. He was going to try his best, and as long as Sanji knew that, Zoro knew he’d be alright.

“Alrighty! Now since that’s out of the way, we need to actually choose what to make.” The chef said with delight. Zoro smiled to himself. Since when did Sanji say things like “alrighty”? He truly did become a whole different person when he cooks.

Zoro waited for Sanji to continue his thought but he didn’t.

“Did you want me to choose something?” He asked, slightly concerned.

“Why not? I’ve made just about everything I can think of with the ingredients we have. This is your first time so naturally you should get a say in things.” Sanji spoke, still smiling ear to ear.

Zoro choked back a cough as Sanji described this experience as a “first time”. He almost made a joke about being a “virgin in food preparation” but thought best not to mention anything that could lead to “that” conversation. Zoro figured he’d pass away on the spot if things ever got to that point.

“Okay, uhh…” Zoro tried to think back to everything Sanji’s ever made. That was a very difficult task, as one could imagine. “What’s something that’s easy?” He inquired.

Sanji put his hand on his chin and thought.

“Honestly, everything I make is relatively simplistic, with a few exceptions of course. How good a dish can be is a lot more dependent on the skill and care of the cook than it is on the recipe itself. However, if you’re wanting something with minimal steps, we could always start with a basic fried rice.” The way Sanji spoke was clear and concise. Every time he spoke about food, it was clear he knew exactly what he was doing. It was extraordinary. All Zoro could do was nod along and attempt to follow.

“That sounds good-” Zoro cut his sentence short as he watched Sanji waltz over to the cupboards and instantly begin grabbing pans and setting them on the stovetop. Zoro awkwardly followed behind him. He stood there like a statue, watching Sanji get to work.

“Is there uh, anything I can do to help?” Zoro shrugged. He felt useless compared to the man who was feverishly rummaging through the spice drawer. Sanji paused and turned his head back to him. “Yeah, actually!” He exclaimed. Zoro couldn’t believe how Sanji’s entire demeanor changed so fast as soon as he began to work in the kitchen. “If you could go down to my room and grab my apron, that’d be great. There should be another one too in the same laundry bin if you don’t want your shirt to be covered in food by the end of the night.” Sanji quipped back at him. Zoro gave a shallow “Mhm” and headed out of the kitchen promptly.

The fresh nighttime air hit him in an instant. He folded his arms together, trying to get back the warmth he had just lost. The crisp air did feel refreshing, though.

His heart beat faster with each step he took. Anytime he had to go anywhere near Sanji’s room he felt a pang of curiosity. He’d been in Sanji’s room before, of course, but only a few times. There was never any telling whether it would be the same as the last time he was in there or not. He thought about it often. He had the layout completely memorized. From the position of the mirror to where his bed was, he knew that room like the three swords at this waist. He couldn’t hide the fact that he had daydreamed about this room a lot. Before he realized that he had feelings for the man, he never understood why he often hoped Sanji would let him sleep in there one day. Fast forward to after the realization, it was more than painfully obvious. He hated how much he dreamt about waking up next to the cook. He thought about the way his hair would look all messy against the pillowcase, how his voice would be hoarse from a good night’s rest, and how his eyes would have a hazy blue film over them as he woke up. He wanted to see all of these things up close. His heart craved them. It felt impossible to engrain in his head that this was never going to happen.

Zoro felt his heart give one solid beat as he stood outside the entrance of Sanji’s door. He can’t believe the cook was alright with him walking into his private space like this. Zoro didn’t feel like he was worthy to be in here. But Sanji had asked something of him, so there was no way he’d walk away.

Zoro turned the knob of the door and walked in. His senses instantly went wild. He was first hit with the smell of cigarette smoke and a floral fragrance. He turned on the light to reveal the contents of the room. The layout was the same- bed in the same spot, dresser still there, mirror over here. He took note of how Sanji’s room was being kept. The bed was pristine and well made as always. His eyes followed to where his nose was telling him the scent was coming from. His eyes locked onto the dresser and he walked over to it, making sure to take each step as delicately as he could. He peered at all the different bottles and little containers. There were lotions, hair gels, cuticle oil, colognes, and even a couple of perfumes. Zoro smiled to himself. He thought it was girly of Sanji to wear perfume but it’s not as if he could say anything bad about it when the scents always left him entranced.

Zoro looked to the bed, in search of the laundry bin, and let his eyes fall on the heap of crumpled papers in the trash can. He stepped closer to it and realized that they were all covered in writing that was none other than Sanji’s. His interest went through the roof. His brain told him to pick up one of the papers and unfold it but his heart told him that invading someone else’s privacy was a bad move. As badly as he wanted to know what Sanji could’ve possibly written on those pages, he decided not to look. He’d rather be unknowing for the rest of his life than make Sanji upset, especially with how things were looking up.

His eyes scanned along the rest of the bed, finally noticing the laundry bin by the end. He walked over and began to shuffle through the pile of Sanji’s clothes. Zoro used every fiber in his body not to pay close attention to anything he was grabbing as he searched for the aprons. After about half a minute, he was able to locate both of the garments. One is the classic baby pink apron that Sanji always donned while cooking, and the other is a royal blue blank one of the same material. Zoro never thought he’d find himself grabbing an apron for himself, but here he was. Now that his scavenger was complete, there was no reason to continue lingering in the other man’s room. He took one last glance around, trying to take a mental image of the space one last time, and headed out, eager to get back to Sanji.

As Zoro walked back into the kitchen, he was greeted by Sanji’s lovely smile and an entire spread of ingredients laid out on the countertop. Zoro strolled over and handed Sanji the pink apron. He watched with affectionate eyes as Sanji tied the knots around his neck and waist. Zoro had a bad habit of noticing Sanji’s silhouette in everything he wore. The apron was no different. He couldn’t help but stare at the man’s small waist and long legs. He looked so perfect, like someone straight out of a magazine. There was never a day that went by where Zoro didn’t imagine his arms around the chef’s waist, embracing him a warm hug that he knew would be the most ethereal feeling ever. Zoro was brought back down to earth by Sanji’s snicker.

“Something caught your eye, you love-sick swordsman?” Sanji said, taking note of where Zoro’s eyes had wandered.

The apples of Zoro’s cheeks flushed with a terra cotta hue. He’d been caught and he couldn’t defend himself.

“Didn’t I tell you that if you called me that, I’d kill you?” Zoro said, remembering their conversation from the week prior.

“I believe so, yes, but I don’t think you have it in you.” Sanji said suavely.

Zoro couldn’t do anything to protest. Sanji was right, he didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t even begin to think of doing such a thing.

“Just put your apron on, Idiot.” Sanji said in a sarcastic tone and a small giggle. He flashed another sly smile at the swordsman. Zoro put the apron on. Sanji chose not to acknowledge how much he enjoyed seeing Zoro’s broad figure in an apron that was admittedly too small for him. His thoughts were hypocritical and he knew it, but as he said, there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to why he was thinking like that, so what was the harm?

Zoro sighed and attempted to take his mind off of being cornered. “Okay so really, where do we start?” He asked, eager to get on with the cooking.

Sanji slid the cutting board across the counter and away from the sink, making sure to grab a small but sharp knife and set it on top. He whipped around and took the 2 green onion stalks within his grip, also placing them on the cutting board.

“First we need to cut up some vegetables. I put the green onion on here for you to chop.” Sanji paused and caught Zoro’s eye. “I’m assuming you know how to use a knife, right?” Sanji said. He tried his best not to let any of his nerves show. Sharing anything in his kitchen was nerve-wracking, even if it was just a knife and a chopping board.

Zoro smiled in disbelief. He made a gesture over the swords leaning up against the wall near the table. “I think I’ll be able to manage.” He said promptly.

Sanji let out a small breath, releasing a tiny puff of smoke into the air. “Kitchen knives are different from katanas, dumbass… but I’m sure you’re right.” He forced himself to have trust in Zoro. It’s not like he didn’t, but this was foreign to him. Letting someone else touch the tools that were most important to him was something he’d have to get used to if this ever happened again.

Sanji watched closely from behind as Zoro began to chop the onion. He was about to comment on how he was doing it wrong, but he couldn’t. Zoro wasn’t doing anything wrong. His hand was in the right position, the size of the onion coins was perfect, and he was remaining calm and confident as he diced. To say that Sanji was impressed would be an extreme understatement. He watched in awe as the swordsman finished the first green onion and set down the knife on the side of the cutting board.

“Is this good?” Zoro turned around, meeting Sanji’s gaze. He was caught off guard by how open the cook’s eyes were. “Did I do something wrong?” Zoro felt a rush of guilt flow through his body. How could he have already messed this up? How hard was it to cut an onion?

“N-No, you didn’t.” Sanji shoved himself right next to Zoro to look at the cutting board and the chopped vegetable on it. Sanji was too shocked to notice that their shoulders were completely pressed together. Zoro was not. “These are perfect! How did you do that?” Sanji said with a gaping mouth. Zoro let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s almost like I’ve been training with blades my entire life. I know these knives are different from my swords, but you tend to pick up a few things about different blades when it’s kind of your whole life.” Zoro said, nonchalantly. He scooted slightly away from the cook, just enough so that their shoulders were still touching, but not crammed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be bad with a few swords yourself, Cook.” Zoro said with a little more tenderness than he meant to.

This comment snapped Sanji out of his impressed daze. That must’ve been one of the most endearing and sweet things he’s ever heard Zoro say. He felt his mouth get dry. Suddenly the man in front of him was far more interesting than the onion he had just sliced. He couldn’t say anything. Everything that came to mind felt too out of his comfort zone. Too warm. Too affectionate. He cleared his throat and switched back into a cooking mindset.

“Great! Well, uh, clearly you’re great at cutting things so… here. Do these too.” Sanji said, trying to regain his composure as he grabbed ¼ of a red onion and mushrooms. Zoro took the handful of vegetables from Sanji’s palms and set them to the side of the cutting board. He instinctively went back to the second green onion that had yet to be cut.

“When you’re done with the green onion, make sure you slice the mushroom finely and mince the red onion.” Sanji ordered.

“Got it, Chef.” Zoro retorted. He didn’t need to turn around to know the exact face Sanji was making. He knew his curly eyebrows were raised to his hairline.

Zoro was right, Sanji’s expression was one of pure shock. Not only had Zoro taken a command with no argument, but he had also understood the command perfectly. He didn’t need to ask for clarification on the difference between mincing, slicing, and dicing, something Sanji never expected anyone else but other cooks to know. And of course, the cherry on top, Zoro calling him “Chef”.

Zoro referred to Sanji as “Cook” all the time, it was one of his go-to nicknames and it had been for a long time. “Chef” was different. He had never heard Zoro refer to him like that. It felt formal, respectful, maybe even a little seductive. Sanji felt his cheeks flush with a light crimson blush and he desperately returned to his craft, needing something to distract himself from that.

“I’m gonna start on the eggs.” Sanji said with a strained voice. Zoro hummed in response but laughed in his mind. He made sure not to show how amused he was on the outside. Catching Sanji off guard had to be one of his favorite pastimes, he just always wanted to make sure he never went too far.

Sanji cracked both eggs into a bowl and began to beat them. When the eggs were done he set the bowl aside, oiled a pan, and set it on the stovetop. He turned one of the burners on and waited for the pan to heat up.

“You almost done slicin’ and dicin’?” Sanji spoke in a tone that made it sound like he was the lead heartthrob love interest in a terrible rom-com. Zoro loved it. He knew the second that sentence left Sanji’s mouth, he’d be thinking about that for the rest of his life.

Zoro couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Yeah, just about.” Zoro said, mincing the last little section of the red onion and separating it from the other ingredients. “Sliced. And. Diced.” He mimicked the cook’s tone.

Sanji gave him a nod of approval in response and grabbed the cutting board from Zoro’s station. He examined each of the ingredients carefully. Sanji was stunned at how perfectly everything had been tended to. He might’ve just found himself a new cooking helper if he could get that lucky.

He scraped the cutting board clean of the ingredients (keeping the green onions off to the side to be a garnish later), sweeping all of the vegetables into the warmed-up pan. He stirred them around with a spatula and began to fry them. At this moment, something hit him.

“Hold on…” Sanji said, deep in thought.

“Hm?” Zoro questioned as he set the dirty knife down in the sink to be washed later.

“I’m missing an ingredient. How could I have forgotten an ingredient?” Sanji said to himself, nearly in a panic.

“Oh shit, really?” Zoro said, trying to sound more alarmed than he was. He didn’t understand why Sanji would freak out over something like that, it didn’t seem crucial. What difference could one ingredient even make?

“Yeah, I should be adding corned beef immediately after the vegetables. I’ve made this recipe a million times, how could that have slipped my mind?” Sanji said, knowing there was more to it than just a simple slip-up.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine without it, is it that important?” Zoro asked, genuinely. He didn’t think it was that big of a deal but if it was, he wanted to be corrected. He understood the concept of how one thing being out of place can mess up something as a whole, he saw it all the time in his training. If his grip was too loose, a slash was too fast, or his stance was unbalanced, he could risk any one of his moves going awry. He tried to compare Sanji’s art to his own, in hopes of getting a better understanding.

“It wouldn’t be detrimental, but there would be a missing element of flavor, something I try to avoid at all costs.” Sanji couldn't help but be hard on himself.

Zoro made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the meat drawer. “You said corned beef?” Zoro called over to Sanji who was still stirring the vegetables.

“Yeah but I don’t think-” Sanji’s thought was cut short as Zoro smiled and held up an unopened package of corned beef that was presumably hiding in the back of the drawer.

“Here it is!” Zoro said, filled with pride at the simple find.

Sanji felt his heart drop into his stomach. Why was he getting so frazzled? How could he have not seen the container in plain sight? Why did Zoro helping him make him feel so appreciated? Why was his heart beating so rapidly at the swordsman’s tranquil smile?

“Oh. I guess we do have some. Thanks.” Sanji mustered up the ability to say.

“No problem, Twirly.” Zoro’s smile returned to a normal resting face but his facial expression still showed signs of contentment. “I guess I’m better at finding ingredients than I am at finding my way around a town, huh?” Zoro joked about himself. Sanji felt that flip in his stomach again.

Sanji opened the package, removed 2 ounces, and plopped it on top of the ingredients in the pan, letting it fry along with them. Sanji felt his hands shake. He had never felt like this before while cooking. He didn’t like it. He knew something was wrong when he was taking more glances at the moss head behind his back than he was at the food currently simmering on the stovetop. Luckily, the dish was almost done so he’d be able to get out of the situation quickly. Although, for some reason, when he thought about leaving, both his brain and heart yelled at him to stay.

“Oi, do you wanna do this part? You are the one learning, afterall.” Sanji asked Zoro once the concoction in the pan was at the right point.

“Absolutely.” Zoro said simply as he made his way over to the pan. “What do I do?” Zoro asked, kindly.

Sanji was able to calm down as he explained the next steps to the rice. Nothing grounded him more than what he knew best.

“You’re going to move the things in the pan to the side, add a little more oil, and then pour the eggs in.” He guided.

Zoro did exactly as he was told. He fumbled a bit with the eggs, accidentally spilling a little onto the stove, but that was to be expected.

“Okay, now,” Sanjii grabbed the container of rice that he had cooked the day prior. There was more than enough left for this recipe so there was no point in them making more. He popped the lid off the container, grabbed a measuring cup, scooped one cup of rice, and handed it to Zoro. “Since the egg isn’t quite firm yet, add the rice in and then stir it all together.” Sanji instructed.

Zoro emptied the contents of the cup into the pan and repeated this once more with a second cup of rice. Zoro was glad that Sanji hadn’t lied when he said this was an easy recipe. He had realized that cooking was a lot more fun than he thought it was. Even if all he had done was chop some things up and fry them, because of the simplicity of the meal, he was able to enjoy himself.

Sanji handed Zoro the salt, pepper, and soy sauce once everything looked as if it were just about completed.

“We’re almost done, just the finishing touches are left. You should add roughly ½ teaspoon of salt, a pinch of pepper, and 1 ½ teaspoons of soy sauce, that should be good.” The cook continued to detail.

Zoro would be lying if he said he knew those measurements off the top of his head. He didn’t know how much a teaspoon was without using a measuring spoon. He didn’t want to make that clear though, things had been going so well, he didn’t want to sound pathetic by asking for an aid. Luckily, he did know what a pinch was, so he started with that.

When he got to the salt, he did the same thing he did with the pepper, only he continued until Sanji told him to stop. It was a fool-proof plan. As long as he listened to what Sanji was saying, he wouldn’t add too much or too little of anything, and he could avoid asking for a teaspoon.

He felt confident as he grabbed the bottle of soy sauce, feeling like he had a general idea of what a teaspoon was. He began to pour and quickly heard the twirly eyebrowed cook gasp behind him.

“Zoro, that’s way too much!” Sanji laughed, grabbing the bottle out of his hand.

Sanji sounded unbothered but Zoro felt mortified. Of course, he had to fuck up on the very last step. He just prayed he didn’t mess up the entire dish. He was so nervous that he barely even registered Sanji saying his actual name.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Zoro said with remorse. “I hope I didn’t ruin your food.” Zoro felt like he had just killed the good energy completely. He knew how important food was to Sanji, especially the food that he made. If he messed that up, he didn’t know if he’d be able to forgive himself.

“C’mon, you’re being too hard on yourself. It’s just soy sauce, it’s an easy fix, I swear.” Sanji encouraged. Zoro moved out of the way to let Sanji in to fix the dish and within a minute Sanji grabbed a spoonful and exclaimed that it was perfect.

“Even if you would’ve completely messed it up, which you didn’t,” Sanji made sure to emphasize that Zoro hadn’t done anything wrong. “This isn’t my food, it’s ours. We made it together, don’t sell yourself short.” Sanji found himself blushing with these words. Zoro blushed back and avoided eye contact. He recalled when he had accidentally called Sanji “beautiful” out loud when he meant to say it in his head, he didn’t want this to be another one of those moments so he gazed at the floor.

Now that the meal was completed, Sanji didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t want to leave but he didn’t know if his heart could take it if he stayed.

He then remembered that he guaranteed Zoro a portion of the food once it was completed. This could either go surprisingly well or dangerously wrong, but Sanji couldn’t back out of this gamble, not after he had already promised.

Sanji sprinkled the green onion slices over the top of the rice and scooped out a large portion into a container. He snapped the lid on and put it in the fridge, saving it for the next day. He grabbed a spoon and scooped two bowls with the remaining rice dish in the pan. He made sure to add more to the serving he would be giving to Zoro.

The chef put out the cigarette in his mouth and threw the butt into the trash can. He grabbed both of the bowls in a typical waiter fashion and walked over to the table. Zoro followed closely behind him. The swordsman sat down as Sanji placed the dishes on the table.

“Where are you going?” Zoro questioned when Sanji didn’t sit down with him. He sounded like a puppy whose favorite toy had just got taken away.

“No meal is complete without a drink to compliment, I’m surprised that you didn’t bring it up first.” Sanji called back, tauntingly.

Zoro hadn’t thought about alcohol at all. Nothing could compete with Sanji when it came to taking up space in his mind.

Zoro laughed bashfully and waited for Sanji to return.

The cook came back with two glasses and a bottle of alcohol that looked like it had cost a lot.

“Are you sure you wanna drink this? That looks expensive.” Zoro said, pointing at the bottle.

“It is, but what’s the point of having it if it's just going to sit in the cabinet?” Sanji questioned.

“Yeah, but why drink it now? Don’t you want to save it for a special occasion?” Zoro sounded baffled.

“What do you mean? This is a special occasion, you cooked something for the first time!” He reminded Zoro, excitedly. Sanji then lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “And… we did it together.” Sanji said with a shy smile. Zoro bit his tongue so as to not say anything stupid and romantic.

“I guess you’re right, Cook.” Zoro said, watching Sanji pop the cork and pour equal amounts of the liquid into both glasses.

“Cheers.” Sanji cheered, raising his glass in the air.

“Cheers.” Zoro clinked his glass against Sanji’s.

Both men proceeded to take a large sip from their cups, cringing at the alcohol content first, then admiring the flavor a second later. Setting the glasses down, they stared at each other for a moment.

The silence was comfortable. The company of one another felt right. The warmth of the alcohol had flooded both men’s faces and the taste of the rice they had made together was just right. They ate in silence until both men were done.

By the time both of their bowls were cleared, they had become extremely accustomed to each other’s quiet company. Who knew that simply just sitting and listening to the clanking of spoons against bowls and glasses against the table could be so calming? It was so nice, so relaxing. Definitely a moment they both needed after the hurricane of things that had gone on recently.

Now that their food was all gone, the question of “what do we do now?” remained.

The swordsman and the cook were both a little bit tipsy, not enough to make a huge difference in their characters, but enough to elicit an extra boldness they may not have had before.

Due to this, Sanji was the first one to speak after a few minutes of dead silence. He had a certain question he had been dying to ask for weeks now, he just never found the right time to ask it. As he looked at Zoro, more specifically, Zoro’s eyes, he considered this might be the moment.

They'd been having a great time tonight. Cooking had been a blast, the food ended up great, and now they both had traces of liquor flowing through their veins. It felt as if all the hardship before had been leading up to the present. This feeling was so good.

He knew there wouldn't be a better time to ask the question than now, so he grabbed his glass, sipped the last bit of the alcohol still in it, and prepared himself.

“Zoro?” Sanji looked up at the swordsman through hooded eyes. Zoro looked like he was about to collapse. His eyes glinted as the cook said his name. “Can I ask you something?” Sanji asked slightly nervously.

“Of course, anything.” Zoro meant it. He couldn't think of any question that would be off the table at this point. He was on such a high from how good the night had been so far, nothing could bring him down. Especially not when he was alone with his favorite person in the world.

Sanji nodded and stared down into his empty glass, rotating it in his hand and watching the leftover drops swirl in the concave. He looked up once more, making unyielding eye contact with the man in front of him.

“Why did you fall in love with me?”

#zosan #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece #zoro x sanji #one piece fic #sanji x zoro #black leg sanji #twirlyeyebrows

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Paramount War (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

ace’s execution is, in a way, the exception that proves the rule when it comes to one piece’s themes of blood and family. ace is set up to die for the crimes of a father he never knew and never wanted, and he does die here, but in the end he dies for the family he did choose, in the form of luffy, rather than the one he didn’t. 

god do i wish we knew more about ms portgas d. rouge. with ace’s storyline pretty much wrapped it looks unlikely that we’re going to be learning more about her than what we got, which in my opinion is an absolute tragedy, because what little we do know about her is amazing and she’s an absolute badass. oda give us more female ds please.

whitebeard’s power is so cool. it might be one of the visually coolest devil fruits we’ve ever seen, in my opinion. he he causes earthquakes and tsunamis while far past his prime; he pulls the sky apart with his bare hands. this whole arc is world-shaking, and whitebeard’s power is perfectly appropriate for it. 

doflamingo’s speech on justice and rightness is one of the most well-remembered quotes from this whole saga, and rightly so. i’ve always found it fascinating, myself, because he’s right. he dead-on hits how the one piece world works- the world government and the marines rule the world not because of any inherent actual goodness or justice or right, but because they won a war a very long time ago. 

in a way, this reminds me of blackbeard’s line of “people’s dreams never die” from jaya. i like how oda isn’t afraid of letting his villains be right about the themes of the story, sometimes even having better awareness of them than the protagonists. 

man, if i had to pick a single favorite spread out of the whole manga, it might be luffy’s marineford entrance. it’s so epic, and so completely unexpected for everyone else there. absolutely nobody was expecting strawhat luffy to drop out of the sky with a posse including two former warlords. it just makes me grin!! so much!! 

it also gets followed up by a solid two pages of just people’s reactions, from smoker’s “what the HELL is he doing with CROCODILE” to moria’s immediate incoherent rage, and i just love that the world and cast of one piece is so well-established and built up that we know exactly how all of those people know luffy and why they react the way they do. 

going back to what i mentioned in the last post about marineford being luffy’s conflict of interest arc, i’d say it’s also the only time where he isn’t the future king first and foremost. in this arc, before anything else, he’s a little brother.

there are a lot of what-if moments in marineford. moments where you kind of have to ask “what if this specific thing hadn’t happened, had gone differently?” would things have turned out differently? squard’s betrayal is one of them. does this change the outcome? would whitebeard have been able to survive if not for this injury? there’s no way to know. marineford is a lot of little tragedies, and they just pile up and up.

marineford has just so many incredibly striking spreads. all of the momentous moments (and there’s a lot of them, in this arc) are done full justice. this is such an image heavy post just because marineford is such an incredibly visually strong arc. 

conqueror’s haki is so cool and i love the way it’s set up and built up throughout this saga, with luffy’s constant inadvertent uses of it, from duval’s bull to marigold and sandersonia to the wolves in impel down, all leading up to this moment. 

i’ve heard people complain about conqueror’s as kind of a deus ex machina, but i honestly love it, it’s very cool and honestly i think it just seems to fit luffy as a power. if there was ever gonna be a character who turned willpower into a weapon, it would be monkey d. luffy. 

i’m gonna take this chance to talk about garp, because this sequence of panels is heavily implied to be garp’s thoughts just before luffy punches him down, and it hurts. garp is a flawed person who makes some bad choices, and there’s no arguing that, but i think it’s very obvious he really, really cares about his grandsons, even if he never could understand them as people and that they never would have been happy as marines. and that’s just tragic, really. 

the moment ace gets freed and the brief span of time where he and luffy can fight together feel so triumphant, and i think it’s one of the reasons the final tragedy of marineford hits so hard and feels so cruel, because luffy succeeds, here. he saves ace. he gives absolutely everything he had and makes it, and saves ace. the ultimate failure isn’t his. there was nothing more he could have done. 

the first time i was reading one piece, i hit this page (which is also the last in the volume) and had to put the book away, take the bus downtown, wander around for a few hours, and buy myself some candy and some new books before i started feeling okay again.

the thing about ace’s death, i think, is that it’s a tragedy, but it also feels so completely essential to the story going forwards and luffy’s character growth specifically that it’s really, really hard to imagine one piece without it. there are a lot of (really excellent!) fix-fics out there for marineford, and although those are often really good and their authors super talented, i think it’s really hard for them to ever hit the same way canon does with regards to this. 

i always think of this scene specifically in contrast to zoro and mihawk’s fight, back on baratie. zoro and mihawk are both people who believe in honor in battle, true victory or death, and that’s reflected in their fight, in zoro’s refusal to turn and run even in the face of imminent death, and mihawk’s respect for that resolve. whitebeard, too, is an honorable man. he refuses to turn to run, even when facing certain death. 

the blackbeard pirates, however, are not. 

i do enjoy how, just like roger’s, ace’s execution backfires tremendously on the marines. this was entirely a predictable outcome, too! this exact thing happened twenty years ago! the marines don’t learn. they don’t change. they’re so assured of their own rightness and power that they make stupid mistakes like holding a massive public execution after the last one blew up in their faces. 

(this is why they need coby so badly, for the record, and why it’s important that he still decides to become a marine after witnessing their corruption firsthand in shells town. the marines are long overdue for a reformation, one that orients them towards real justice.)

i really, really enjoy crocodile in this saga. mostly because he hasn’t been redeemed at all, he’s still pretty much the exact same kinda awful person he was in alabasta, he’s just on luffy’s side this time, and it lets us see him in a better light, when he gets angry at whitebeard for nearly dying or when he helps luffy and jinbe escape to keep the marines from getting their way. few of one piece’s characters are truly so one-dimensional as they can seem, and i really appreciate that. 

i really really love all the interactions between luffy, ace and sabo as kids. they’re so fun and bounce off of each other so well. even though we only see them together for a brief time, they really feel like siblings. (which of course only makes later events hurt so much more.

i’ve always been a little fascinated by the fact that it takes us this long to get luffy’s full backstory. it’s almost a fakeout, because we get part of his backstory in the very first chapter, and we’re kind of led to believe that’s all there is. it’s not until ace’s introduction nearly two hundred chapters in that we’re given any indication there’s more.

but at the same time, it makes sense. marineford is luffy’s focus arc, as arlong park to nami or thriller bark to brook. he hasn’t had a focal arc that’s really about him before this, while all his other crewmates have. it makes sense that this would be when he finally gets his flashback. 

i think it’s cool that dragon and the revolutionaries show up at the grey terminal fire, because it’s one of the only looks we’ve gotten so far into what their actual regular operations are like. and, of course, they’re saving people. i really like this about the revolutionaries, that helping people in trouble is basically their modus operandi, when pretty much everyone else in one piece’s world mostly does saving on an incidental basis if at all. 

i think a lot about how the last line of sabo’s letter to ace is also both of their last words to the strawhats. 

death in one piece always feels much realer and more impactful to me than in most other series, and i think this is part of the reason why: in one piece, we are always shown the mourning. nami at bellemere’s grave, carrot grieving pedro, ace and whitebeard’s funeral. 

there are fewer deaths, comparatively, than most other series, but they’re given so much room to echo. we’re still feeling the impacts of ace’s life and death in the most recent chapters of wano. it ties into the theme of inherited will and all the way back to hiriluk’s final speech, of men not being dead so long as they’re remembered. 

the picture of luffy at marineford always kind of strikes me. he looks so young and so solemn, and yet much more himself than he did when we last saw him losing his mind on amazon lily. i really like it. 

sometimes i just think about the sheer depth of trust and love the strawhats must have in each other to separate for two years, far longer than they were ever together, to solely dedicate themselves to improving for the sake of crew and captain. none of them even hesitate, and none of them ever doubt that the crew will be reformed at the end of it.

after all, luffy keeps his promises. 

#the voyage so far #one piece #opmeta #not japanese #arc: marineford #arc: post marineford #long post

[xwasted-days]

𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 || 𝖇.𝖍.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

A/N: It’s probably been done before, but I wanted to throw together a little song-fic based on Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars. I’m sappy and I like sad things. Also, this is my first tumblr fic, pls be nice. Requests are open and I have no tag-list, because it’s a new blog. 

Work Count: 2, 276

Complete Story Warnings: Major Character Death, Pure Angst, 10/10 sad. Also, probably language. 

The battle of Starcourt was turning in favor of the party and all therein, but war was never without casualty. 

Billy Hargrove had a questionable character and reputation among most in Hawkins. People wanted him as a friend or a fuck, and those that didn’t wanted him gone. Few succeeded in ever knowing Billy as more than the sad little king of his sad little hill, and even fewer knew the plights he faced at home. A minimal two: Max, the step sister, and Y/N, the girlfriend, who rushed into the center of the mall behind Mike Wheeler, unable to help as Billy threw himself in El’s path. Y/N moved before her mind could register: scrambling forward when Billy caught the mindflayer’s clawed gullet in his hands. Those beautiful, calloused hands with the feather-soft touch. She took another step forward, faltering as a tentacle dug into his left side, the sickening crunch of torn flesh and splintering ribs echoing in the building silence. The second hit came and she rushed forward again, slipping on fragments of broken glass. Y/N’s knees hit the ground hard, the sharp sting barely registering as the hits kept coming, clawing all around his torso. He screamed each time, every cry cutting off in a strangled garble at the sharp shock of another tentacle landing its blows. Billy screamed, daring the monster on, and Y/N screamed, begging it all to stop. 

The final blow landed in the center of Billy’s chest, silencing him. Max’s scream sounded somewhere behind her. 

As the mindflayer pulled away, thrashing, snarling, wailing in defeat, Y/N ran forward, slipping in rapidly pooling blood as she pulled Billy to her chest. 

I remember tears streaming down your face, when I said, “I’ll never let you go.”

The words, even as they left Y/N’s lips, felt like the deepest and most real thing she’d expressed since the moment he was taken by the mindflayer. 

Since the darkness had fallen over Hawkins, she’d felt vacant, plastic, unreal. She supposed the notion came first when Barb had gone missing; when the trio of sub-popular girls was first fractured. Everything seemed to fall apart until Y/N found out what really happened to Barb, what was haunting Will Byers, and what hunted the people of Hawkins.  

Life was a ceaseless ebb and flow of highs and lows; still, she never expected the tide to pull away as it was now. Nothing could compare to this feeling: her boyfriend tucked in her arms, fading away before her, was what would cause the tidal wave to break. 

Cool and fragile, the rapid thundering of his heart beneath Y/N’s palm, the salt of crystalline tears sliding off his angled pale, cheek, his hand gripping her arm as he clung to waning life. Billy opened his mouth, hoping for any words to form. None did. He felt the pain with each blow, but as the creature yanked itself away and Billy fell, there was no sensation. Nothing but an icy numbness. After his mom left, Billy prayed for nothing more than to lose his feeling, and now it was gone he wanted it back. 

He wanted it back because he wanted to stay with her. He’d always known he was a selfish bastard, but this instance wasn’t for himself. It was for her; his Y/N. The only girl he gave a shit about for longer than one night at a time. And now, he was going to lose her. “..I-” he struggled again, shivering in her arms. 

When all those shadows almost killed your light

“Shh,” Y/N cooed, bringing her hand up to brush sweaty, blonde curls off of his forehead, ignoring the scene that played out around them. Billy was never meant to get caught in this crossfire; he was meant to be as he always was: cocky, stupid, young and reckless. Seated atop his lifeguard seat, staring out over the crowds of Hawkins Community Pool as a king surveyed his kingdom. Instead, he was out there, vulnerable to to the upside down, taken as so many others had been.

Y/N glanced down at the gaping, bloody hole that forced the pale colored fabric of the shirt at Billy’s chest to dip inward, the rich, viscous, and sickly stain making her stomach churn. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, a meager attempt at staunching her tears as she played strong for Billy’s sake. She felt his hand at her arm give a squeeze, her attentions drawing back toward the boy in her lap. Y/E/C eyes connecting to Billy’s steely blue ones again, she offered a shaky smile, her thumb smoothing along the arch of his cheek. 

I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone…"

Billy’s voice was soft and hoarse, barely audible as the commotion of the party and the mindflayer fizzled on around them. The fair haired, beautiful boy Y/N had fallen so deeply for let out a soft grunt of protest at the ache, his body twitching involuntarily as pain coursed through him.

“Think you can get rid of me that easily, ya little shit?” Y/N asked with a gentle chuckle, keeping her shaky grin to ease Billy’s worry. Her tears flowed more freely now, slipping down her cheeks as she held him close. “Gotta try a whole helluva lot harder than that, Hargrove. You and me. California, remember?” 

The broken king of Hawkins High put on a woozy, pale-lipped smile and hiccupped on a sob, coughing after. A soft mist of blood peppered his lips and chin, staining his teeth crimson. California, their would-be paradise, far away from Indiana and all their worries. He’d sworn up and down that they would leave one day, go back to his home and flourish in ways unimaginable. His promise now seemed as broken as he was. He was fading. Y/N didn’t have enough time.

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight.

The flutter of Billy’s heart was growing more and more faint, and the beats, which willed themselves with great difficulty, grew slower and slower in their efforts. 

Billy leaned his weight further into Y/N’s body, slack and woozy. All the coherency in his head fading. She had promised that wouldn’t leave, said she wouldn’t let go, but she had. Or hadn’t she? He could hardly tell, his vision fading in and out, gleams of purple and pink, the hazy sound of distant chatter. Billy felt his chest heave with a great gasp, and his jaw open and close with the effort of breath. It happened again, and again. He felt hands on his arms, squeezing, but he couldn’t register the effect of the sensation. He was cold, so cold. He wished so vehemently that he could ask Y/N what was going on, but Billy couldn’t seem to find his tongue. 

That’s a first, he thought, trying to squeeze back the person in his numbed fingers. Every bit of him was so cold, probably frozen from where he had been, lost in darkness with the delicate snowfall. He was sure another erratic breath would leave him in shards. His head lulled to the side, hardly-seeing eyes registering the plume of Y/H/C and a small streak of fiery red. He searched between them, hoping to register on either of the faces that peered down on him, but none came. He coughed, gagging on something oozing in his throat, feeling hands tighten and voices raise. 

Soft curls of blonde hair fell over her his forehead, even as Y/N pushed them away, shifting his weight so Billy’s head was more firmly pressed to her chest. He was growing more and more still, even as she and Max begged him to stay. The girl took a breath, fighting down the body-trembling sob that wedged in her throat. “Billy? Wake up, Billy, please?” She asked, watching a tear of her own fall down to slip against his cheek, rolling down onto his stubbled chin.

Billy took a deep, shuddering breath, so loud he scared himself. He'd forgotten to breathe, and the muted voices he heard in his haze kept him there. Her voice. The voice he listened to in the quiet solitude of a shared bedroom, or in the crowded halls of Hawkins High. The voice he grew to love before he could even remember what love felt like. The voice he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. 

He blinked, trying to clear the tears in his eyes, focusing on Y/N and Max hovering above him.

“....I’m sorry.” Billy shuddered as his eyes glossed over,  a sudden cloud overtaking his vision. The clarity of the world was fading into shapes, then shadows, and careening rapidly into darkness. There was a loud bang somewhere near him and had he retained the strength, he would have jumped. Another bang. And another. One, two. One, two. One. Two. One. Two, each pair of beats getting further and further apart. Billy breathed out, defeated, overcome by the realization that those noises were thuds of his heart stopping. He couldn't see, he couldn't feel, he couldn’t taste anything but the heavy black goop on his tongue, he could only smell the coppery, acrid stink of blood that clogged his sinuses. All that was left was hearing; Billy was caught listening to the terrible, awful rhythm of his once-small heart, stopping. He listened again, hoping to hear the voices, praying they would draw him out of it, but there was no sound. Nothing. Not even the beating of his heart. Just his remaining consciousness, slowly going black. Billy Hargrove was dead, he knew. He wanted to scream, to panic and cry, but nothing was there. 

He didn't see the light that everyone blathered about, he didn't feel the peace. He was the hollow, lifeless shell of a boy who could have been more than a lifeguard with an attitude problem. And he was dead. And he left her behind. 

His beautiful Y/N, whose voice and smiles and touches were forfeit to the darkness that consumed. 

Don't you dare look out your window, darling, everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold onto this lullaby, even when the music's gone. 

Y/N  felt the final, sickening beat of Billy’s heart beneath her hand. Another tear fell onto Billy’s face, then another. And another. Max whispered, begging her step brother to wake, her small hands shaking his bloodied shoulders to no avail. A hard, broken, centuries old sob tore through Y/N’s chest and echoed through the mall; the cry of everyone who had lost someone they loved for good. The cry that begged death to return a loved one to the land of the living that always fell on deaf ears. 

“Billy, please,” she whimpered, trembling fingers soothing the lifeless skin of the boy she loved. Every thought, hope, wish, and dream connected to him was gone, dead as he was. 

Jagged orange patterns began to dance on the ground all around them, and offered the girl nothing but a ghastly illumination along her lost lover’s gaunt, pale face. It made him look hollow, as if no happiness, no mischief, no curiosity had once been lurking behind those coy, gorgeous eyelids. His once tanned, golden flesh was sickly and pale, the adonis within snuffed out forever. Y/N  snarled and sobbed hard, holding Billy closer, hiding him from the sickening yellowed light of the fire that grew.

She heard feet scramble around as the party gathered, their footfalls echoing like hard beat of the drums of war.

Villains never prevailed. Heroes never lived. No one was ever truly saved. Y/N’s shoulders caved and shook as she sobbed, broken and holding onto Billy’s body. Stifling a hiccup, she sighed sadly and started humming and rocking him back and forth; their song mumbled on tear-stained lips. She was chained to her place on the ground, lost. 

She didn’t see the others there, she couldn’t hear their words. She didn’t take notice when Max hid her face in El’s shoulder and sobbed for her lost brother.  

The world around her was crumbling into vacant nothingness and Y/N felt herself heave with another sob. She leaned back, her blood stained fingers gently brushing the infallible, pure flesh of Billy’s cold cheek, smoothing the tears she’d left there away with another broken whimper. “I love you…” She whispered longingly, her voice needy and raspy. 

A hand pressed to Y/N’s shoulder. It didn’t matter whose it was. It wasn’t his. And she hated that it pulled her back. The distant thrum of helicopters rattling in the skies, the sobs that left Max as she cried, the soft sniffles that sounded from El as she sat in mourning solidarity with her friend. Steve’s voice low as sirens began to wail in the streets. 

“Y/N. We gotta go,” Steve said, joined at her flank by Robin, whose thin hand came to rest on Y/N’s arm. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave him. Another sob leaving her, Robin leaned forward to rest her head on Y/N’s shoulder, rubbing her arm gently as she could, tears flooding her own eyes as she looked across to Steve’s battered face. 

Harrington hated Hargrove with all he had, but he didn’t deserve this. Y/N didn’t deserve this. Nostrils quivering as he fought to keep strong, he gave Robin a solemn nod. Together, they helped place Billy on the ground where he fell and pull Y/N back, consoling her as she cried. 

Just close your eyes. The sun is going down You'll be alright.  No one can hurt you now Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound.

#bh. #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove #st3 #stranger things #oneshot #billy hargrove oneshot #stranger things billy #stranger things fanfiction #fan fiction #song fic

[rosiesared]

time, mystical time, cuttin' me open then healin' me fine

a fic i wrote for @ladrienjune :D read on ao3:

Summary: Another letter. Each item was accompanied by a short message, handwritten in a font that was common yet simultaneously unique because it came from her.

In them he learned that she was an apprentice to a seamstress in the city, and the small shop where she spends most of her days was typically where she writes her messages, in short breaks interspersed throughout a laborious workday. Her favourite thing to eat was the pastries from the bakery across the road from where she lived, and that that was why the pages always had the aroma of macarons or croissants.

...

Or the time when, following the removal of Gabriel Agreste as king, his son, Prince Adrien, is locked away, in fear of him having been in on the plan, and a girl who goes by Ladybug tries to convince him that there are still people out there who love him.

(full work under the cut) @miraculousfanworks

... There it was again. Her insignia, woven in a bright crimson thread. A little ladybug, its wings spread, as if preparing to fly. As if preparing to take him far away from the prison that bound him.

Sometimes he would say that he was not fond of the fact that during his time in his cell, he was permitted free correspondence from people in the community. Some wrote saying they hated him, saying he was no better than his father, that he should’ve been executed just like the former. Some wrote to say that they still support his father’s rule, and that, if he permits, they are fully willing to break him out of prison and reinstate an Agreste monarchy.

But yet, there were the ‘good’ letters. The ones that felt like a flicker of sunshine brightening up the darkness that was his evenings. The ones that gave hope that not everyone in the kingdom saw him as a willing accomplice of his father. The ones that remembered his, albeit irregular, visits to the town,  his meeting with the townsfolk, and the positive image he left on them.

The same visits his father made sure to stop as soon as he could, in favour of a marriage to a foreign princess.

Adrien rubbed his fingers along the red stitching, taking a few seconds to admire the intricacy of the ladybug’s wings, the detailed patterns encompassing the spots, each one special, each one unique, before slightly turning the black hat inside out, watching as a scrap of tea-stained paper fluttered down to the dirt-covered floor.

 Another letter.  Each item was accompanied by a short message, handwritten in a font that was common yet simultaneously unique because it came from her .

 In them, he learned that she was an apprentice to a seamstress in the city, and the small shop where she spends most of her days was typically where she writes her messages, in short breaks interspersed throughout a laborious workday. Her favourite thing to eat was the pastries from the bakery across the road from where she lived, and that that was why the pages always had the aroma of macarons or croissants. 

Even though he was never able to reply; the guards wouldn’t have permitted it; he greatly looked forward to her correspondence, wondering who was such a nice person to offer someone who was essentially a stranger handwritten words and gifts crafted by her own fingertips. 

Sometimes, he even foolishly let himself imagine the possibility of the two of them meeting, and him being able to tell her how much happier he was because of her, and how grateful he is. 

...

The gifts continued to come, even after what has to be at least a year into his incarceration. She had been getting more reckless, lately. Instead of the clothing items, she was leaving freshly made goods, which she promised were baked by her own hands, on the sill of the poor excuse for a window in his cell. Although he had to get, inventive, for a lack of a better word, in how he acquired such items, he drastically preferred her cookies to the stale bread or cold drink he got given each night.

Sometimes he thought he could hear a satisfied hum from outside as he ate his latest present, smiling as the taste of good food, something he had lived so long without, ran down his mouth like a stream, drying up far too fast for Adrien to salvage the feeling. 

Still, the letters continued. She told him that her apprenticeship was about to end, and she, along with her family, was looking to buy a small storefront for her to start up her own place. She said this on a page filled with roughly-sketched flowers, a beauty in a way that was hardly ever found within the gaol walls. 

She told him that, even though her parents weren’t forcing it too much, the topic of finding her a suitable partner has been brought up far too many times for her to count, and that she didn’t see much appeal in any of the young men hoping to court her. That, foolishly, she was holding hope out for an old friend to whisk her away.

A part of him- even though there was no way it was possible, a part of Adrien stupidly wished that the old friend was him. 

 ...

 One evening she left him a hand-drawn sketch. He immediately recognised the younger version of himself, all bright eyes filled with an innocent wonder life has dimmed with him, hair messed in the way it would get after his mother took him with her during her town visits. He remembered being allowed to play with some of the young children that lived under his father’s rule, and this photograph hoped to capture a moment from that. Next to him stood a young girl, her hair tied into pigtails, freckles obviously darkened by the summer sun splattered over her nose. He remembered her, the bakers’ daughter. She was one of his favourite people to play with, and he remembered thinking of her as a good friend. 

Was this her way of telling him who she was?

Try as he might, he could not recall her name, however, the years following too much of a toll on his growing mind. 

Behind them was what, if the drawing was coloured in, he would expect to be a luscious green garden. He could almost hear the soft gurgle of the Silver Stream behind him, its waters ebbing and flowing from its source on a peak near the palace, bringing prosperity to all the land with its path it touched. 

 Until his father exploited the connection it created, adding an extract from the leaves of nightshade plants to end the lives of all the kingdom’s livestock, forcing increased reliability on imports sanctioned by him. This was the start of a disastrous food shortage, and a merciless famine.

 Remembering King Gabriel’s actions, Adrien felt his hold on the sketch tightening, squeezing, compressing,  suffocating the memory, until, once he returned to himself, the picture and the happy memory it sought to encapture was no longer recognisable, the pencil marks blurred.

 He didn’t look at it again that night, or for many nights following.

...

The gifts stopped for a while, Adrien would, just after the sun went down, look up to the little slit in the wall, or watch the guards making their evening rounds, hoping, praying, begging to someone who would listen that she hadn’t forgotten about him.

He could swear he heard someone walking outside, their body crashing through the bushes which lined the prison chamber walls, their voice muttering under their breath. One time he convinced himself he heard his name mixed in with it, but that was just wishful thinking, why would anyone come for him? It had been so long since he had last stepped foot outside, the wall which he began to tally the days on had overfilled long ago.

...

“Whatcha doin’ there, handsome?” A female voice rang out from beyond the slot. 

“Who- who are you?” He asked, standing up and moving towards the wall.

“Some know me as “you,” others as my name, and even fewer as Ladybug.” The voice flew over his head as she rolled into the inner corridor, her face looking up at the bars.

Oh. So she’s even prettier in real life then. 

Her hair was braided, two stems from either side of her head fusing together at the nape of her neck, in a style which he knew to have been in fashion over the past few years, and she was wearing a work dress traditionally associated with well-established seamstresses. 

“Ladybug? So you’re the one who has been leaving me gifts all this time.”

 “Well, yeah. But I was hoping you remembered me from more than just that.” Her eyes brightened, and she moved to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, stopping once she realised that her hands only met empty air. “But did you like them?”

 “I love them.” He said earnestly, his cheeks warm, sure that she’d be able to see the pink on them were it not for the poor lighting of the complex.

 “Wait, love? As in, the present tense?” 

 He moved to a corner of the room, peeling away an old jacket hastily thrown to reveal a pile of hats, scarves, jackets, gloves, and lots and lots of paper. “Yes, love. They were the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.” He turned back to her. “All the gifts I got back when I was in the palace because I was the prince couldn’t even begin to live up to what you’ve given me. I feel like your gifts, Ladybug, they came from the heart, and that means a lot more than you’ll ever know.”

 She looked away then, her voice quieter. “They did. Come from the heart, I mean.”

 “Really?” It was one thing to think it, but to have it confirmed was something else entirely.

 “Mmhm.” She smiled at him, then. “We were friends, once.”

 “Oh yeah! The drawing!” His mind flashed back to the events that had transpired the day he saw it. “I- may have destroyed it, I’m so sorry.”

 “It’s okay. I know a lot has happened since then. If you ever need someone to talk about it to or anything, I’m here.”

 “Thank you.”

“Well, of course. Even though we haven’t properly spoken in a while, I know you’re a good person.” She locked eyes with him then, glare burning with passion. “You are  not  your father, you’re so much better than him, and don’t you dare let anyone convince you otherwise.”

It was then that he truly paid attention to her eyes, they were such a unique shade of blue, vivid and bright, captivating, they made him pay attention to her whenever she spoke.

Only one other person had eyes like that. 

Her name rushed back into his brain, locking into place as if it had never slipped his mind.

Marinette. The daughter of Tom and Sabine, and one of his closest friends growing up. 

Judging by the look on her face, she was aware of his realisation, and happy with it too. 

“I wish I could break you out of here, it’s not fair to you that you’re being punished for a crime you didn’t commit.” She shook at the bars indiscreetly in between them, as if her strength alone was enough to reverse the decision of an entire proxy government.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve kinda given up all hope of magically being let out though.”

 “I’ll tell you what: one day, I’ll come back with everything I need, and I’ll help you escape, and we’ll go live in the mountains together.”

“But, I can’t ask you to do that! It isn’t fair to you.” 

“It’s fine, really. I’ll manage. Besides, this way, I’m keeping my promise to you.”

“Promise-.” Adrien was transported back to the palace gardens.

...

It was the annual festival, the day where Queen Emilie always invited all the local children to come onto castle grounds for a day. Adrien and Marinette were sitting in a corner, surrounded on all sides by leafy green hedges.

  “Marinette, do you think we’ll always be friends?”

  “Yeah, duh. And even if for some reason the world breaks us apart, I  promise  I will always try and find a way back to you.” 

  “And  I  promise I’ll do the same.” 

...

“But- but we were kids then! I couldn’t possibly ask you to still hold yourself to that.”

“But I  want to, Adrien, and I’ll always want to.” She lowers her head, pointedly watching her feet scuffing her shoes against the ground. “And, you’ve read my letters, right?” She peers at him through her lashes. 

He turns away, hand on the back of his neck, fighting a blush that threatens to vividly bloom on his cheeks. 

“Mmhm, I have.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a loud bell rang out, and Adrien could hear the footsteps of guards swapping over their shifts.

“And I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Marinette said, jerking upright and pivoting in the direction of the entrance she came through. “I hope to see you soon, Adrien.”

“Me too. And Marinette?”

She looked back, smiling. 

“Thank you. For tonight, and the letters, and the presents, and just, everything.”

Nodding at him, she left, just as soundlessly as she had come, leaving Adrien clutching onto the promise of a better future, one with her by his side. 

#cookie writes #ladrien june #ladrien june 2021

[malfoys-demigod]

HELLOOOOO!!! I have a request for Draco x Hufflepuff reader post war where they both go back to Hogwarts to finish their studies and she helps DM move on and accept what happened (maybe get Hermione’s forgiveness) and helps him with his career choice (Healer, which obvs Lucius doesn’t accept) and just them being a very fluffy and lovey couple trying to move on from being in a war and help each other 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛 After reading your last fic I HAD to make a request

Acceptance - Draco Malfoy x Reader

There were so many thoughts running in my mind as Draco and I were taking our baby steps back in Hogwarts. It really had been a while since the war happened and I was pretty sure that everyone was still not emotionally settled yet. I felt really refreshed from the small break Draco and I took when we ran away to Malfoy Manor to emotionally, physically, and mentally recover from everything that had happened. 

This traumatic event was an experience that really distressed and made us upset. It aroused powerful and disturbing feelings in us which took a while to settle in time. The massive, ultimate war in Hogwarts might be the most chilling event that will ever happen in our lives and I’d like to keep it that way. I wouldn’t want to be a part of another war because whether it would be concerning Harry and the Dark Lord, everyone would still be somehow a part of it all. 

The whole situation frightened Draco and I. It caused lots of stress as both of us felt extremely helpless in our own ways. With Draco being used as a puppet for the Death Eaters, he was a boy with no choices in his hands. Then there was me, on the opposite team. 

Even if he was on the opposite team, I knew in my heart that the only reason he was with them was that he was choiceless. It wasn’t possible for him to swerve to my side as he was forced to be carried with the most difficult tasks a 17-year-old could ever imagine. I was aware that if he didn’t comply with it, there would be countless serious consequences from the Dark Lord. He and his parent’s lives were at stake. They had to play convincing puppets which was something I couldn’t imagine doing so easily. I had to let these facts slide. This was something Draco loved about me. He called this accepting trait that Hufflepuffs had admirable. 

When the war ended, I wanted to immediately drop on my knees and cry. I was too overwhelmed with the fact that the war was finally over. With the team I stood up for one, there was no jumping for joy seen. It was just too depressing. Seeing the castle damaged and familiar faces passed away as they helped fight for the greater good was a sight nobody wanted to be seen celebrating on. There were just so many lifeless bodies around the castle that sickened me to the bone. 

What stopped me from crying and dropping to the ground was the strong arms of Draco, wrapping tightly around my body from the back. I could only hold onto his arms, back facing his front as I started whimpering. The silent hug we were having lasted five minutes as Draco whispered into my ears soothing messages, telling me that everything is okay now. But how could it be? Everything was just a disaster. There was no possible way that I could emotionally, mentally, and physically recover from the trauma in the place where I got hurt. Fortunately, Draco coincidentally proposed the idea of retreating back with him and his family to Malfoy Manor. He figured that it would be ideal to take a break from academics from Hogwarts and stay at home for a while and sort our emotions out. 

I was still hesitant at first even if a part of me wanted to run away to Malfoy Manor. The feeling of running away from Hogwarts right after the war felt so wrong in many ways. My loyalties were for Hogwarts but walking away from the place I stood up for to go to the home of a person whose loyalties were for the opposite team would have been understood differently, in fact wrongly by others. I was starting to get scared of what they would think of me for doing this. But I had my sense of right and wrong. I knew what was right and wrong but even if they didn’t, I realized that their thoughts couldn’t bother me. 

So I comfortably walked away from Hogwarts, knowing that I would be back. 

It was just a bit difficult for everyone at Malfoy Manor. Of course, it was understandable for us to feel shocked, numb, and unable to accept what has happened. I and Draco had emotionless days and sleepless nights. We attempted trying to comfort each other but were just both stunned and dazed that there were times where we cut off from their feelings and what was going around us. 

While I laid down in bed, looking up at the ceilings above me, trying my best to concentrate on sleeping, there was Draco who actually fell asleep. But with every sleep he could get, he would wake up every night, from the constant terrifying nightmares that felt so real and lifelike. It would give him headaches, giving him a hard time thinking clearly when he was around his parents. 

But when it was time for me and Draco to continue our remaining time in Hogwarts, it was difficult for him to accept that he had to return to school, the place where he left horrible memories. He at first strongly refused to continue his studies. It made his parents, especially his father, enraged. Lucius had to lecture him on why it would be wrong to discontinue his education. For him, it would be seen as a disgrace to the family name if they allowed him to stop. But for me, I wanted him to continue, well for different reasons. I didn’t care if it would be a disgrace. I believed it was for the greater good of everything. I believed that if he wanted to have a clean slate, he would return to Hogwarts and face the music, ready to rebuild himself as he and I continued the remaining time we had there. 

The first few weeks were unimaginable and very hard to forget. Draco was certainly uncomfortable and was so close to facing the ground every time he had to leave his dorms. I was the only person in his life that was able to place his chin up and erase all the looks people gave him in his sight. Helping him transform into a different person through his actions really sparked a change in him. He was willing to be different, it was just challenging for people to see it. I felt like some people had a tricky time figuring if this was temporary or permanent. But when time allowed itself to be apart of Draco’s change, there were more people that believed in his transformation. This made Draco feel so much better in himself. There were fewer stink eyes shooting at him, making Hogwarts feel like a happier and safe environment for everyone to be in. 

There was just one particular person that couldn’t see eye to eye with the new Draco. That was, of course, Hermione Granger. It had to be her. Not Harry, not Ron, but her. Harry and Ron were more forgiving with Draco. Sure, it took a while for them to see the change, but Draco was really surprised that the two were quicker to forgive him compared to Hermione. The damages he’d dropped on Hermione were far worse. That was one of the reasons why it was quicker for Harry and Ron to forgive him and longer for Hermione to understand and let it go. 

Hermione Granger. She was that one person that Draco awfully tortured for years. She was different from Harry and Ron. She was a Muggleborn. A No-Maj. A nonwizard. The kind that purebloods like Draco despised the most. 

But since he wanted to move on, Draco asked me to support him with what he had in mind with Hermione. I without a doubt gladly supported him. He was a little nervous but that was really understandable. He was going to talk to the person he despised for her status! 

I brought Hermione along with Harry and Ron to the Black Lake, where Draco was patiently waiting for us. If I wasn’t second-guessing, I could see how Draco started breathing in and out so quickly as we walked towards him. There was fear in his eyes while there was a glint of anger in Hermione’s. 

She crossed her arms, standing in front of Draco. It was silent at first. I was guessing that she assumed Draco would first speak up but after waiting for a few minutes she was the first.

“Well, what is it, Malfoy?” 

I really wanted to hold Draco’s hand tightly and nudge him in the shoulders but he had to do this on his own. I just needed to be a spectator, merely watching from the sidelines. 

He sighed at first, looking down at the ground. But when he looked up, there was more confidence in his body language. I could feel it. I don’t know what made him feel less nervous about it. I was glad something helped him. 

“Hermione Granger,” he stated clearly as it was the first time in his life to call her by her first name which widened her and Harry and Ron’s eyes, mine too, “It’s about time you heard that… I want to give you my most sincere apology for the actions I have done over the last years. With the bullying, tormenting, slurs, and insults, the damage strokes you painfully in so many different ways, meanings, and levels. I do not have any excuse for all the things that I have done for you. I would have been powerless, scared, and about to give life up if I was in your shoes. I never really had the chance to figure out how life would be if I was in your place. Thinking about it now made me realize how painful life must have been for you. I was deeply ashamed of my actions and I believe that this apology is not enough for everything that has happened the minute I met you. If I could turn back time, I would do it without second-guessing and fix things the minute we all entered our first years. It would be hard convincing my past self to change but for you, Harry, and Ron, I would give my best to start things fresh. Knowing that I can’t before, I hope at the bottom of my heart that today can be the start of a new beginning. A new beginning for friendships and hope. I’d be the luckiest man on earth to start a clean relationship with you all, along with my girlfriend Y/N who has been the most accepting, loyal, and dedicated person that I have ever met in my life.” 

And that speech impacted the lives of the Golden Trio. It was a surprise for me to see Hermione quite moved. Just when Draco ended his speech, he started breaking down slowly. There were tears unhurriedly flowing from his eyes. I started rubbing his back, about to hug him until Hermione slowly walked towards him more, opening her arms to hug him. She patted his back and there was a small smile on her face growing. It was something I wanted to capture in my head for life.

Draco was astonished by her hug. He stopped shedding his tears to look up, looking at me with a hopeful smile. I gave him a reassuring nod as I smiled with happiness. He didn’t hug back at first. Maybe it was because he felt like he didn’t deserve it. But somehow, he changed his mind and hugged her back. 

“Draco,” Hermione said pulling away, “You’re forgiven. Thank you for this.” 

He nodded in respect as Hermione turned to me, now hugging me. She whispered in my ear that I was lucky to have someone who was willing to change for the better and she told me to continue being the light in his eyes. I was really honored by this, it was really nice to hear from someone else’s mouth that I was somewhat an inspiration to Draco. 

With a big accomplishment completed, Draco and I celebrated by spending the entire night ahead of us by wasting ourselves away with stashed liquor that the Slytherins managed to hide in their dorms. We didn’t want to cause a mess in the common room so we stayed in his dorm, dancing, drinking, and talking from the bottom of our hearts. 

The conversations we had were so light and easy. It mainly revolved around how happy he was that Hermione forgave him that he could jump off the Astronomy Tower with the biggest cheer he can do. Me, being the drunkest I’ve ever been, told him that doing a flip would have been better but it would be hard to heal him since Madam Pomfrey would have snitched on us if she knew the real reason to his injury. 

That was when the conversation changed. 

“Speaking of healing,” he spoke, “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, have decided to pursue being a Healer as my career choice after Hogwarts.” he proudly said. 

“Well, Draco LUCIUS Malfoy,” I laughed, “You better owl your father LUCIUS about your decision. We all know how he expects you to take a job in the Ministry, so better start writing him a letter.”

Draco nodded in agreement, trying to get his balance and walk over to his desk to grab a parchment and quill. As he was writing, I walked over to him, watching him write. From what I remembered, I could see him write that he wanted to meet with his parents in Hogsmeade tomorrow. It didn’t say anything much but that he wanted to talk about his future. 

Right after that, he carried me to his bed and we snuggled until we fell asleep. 

We could barely remember what exactly happened the night before. Draco groaned, waking up with a serious headache. That resulted in me waking up right after him. I looked over to him as he was groaning in pain. Hugging him, he placed kisses on my neck as he asked me if I remembered him failing to jump off the Astronomy Tower. Before I could reply, his eyes widened. 

I looked over to where he was looking and we were both looking at the mail that was recently brought in by his owl. Knowing who he sent it to, he jumped off from his bed as he quickly opened it. I hopped off as well, peeking at the letter. Draco started muttering, ‘Oh no’s’ as he read the final phrase at the end of the letter which was ‘We will see you at 11 o’clock in the morning.’ We only had one hour to freshen ourselves. 

Draco told me to run back to my common room as he started looking for his black suit to wear. When I returned to my dorms, all I could feel was nerves, running through my body. I wasn’t the one who was about to meet my intimidating parents but I couldn’t stop thinking about every possible consequence as I started remembering why he wrote the letter. 

Making our way to the Three Broomsticks, all I could do was hold Draco’s hand tightly, trying to squeeze out the tension in his system. He wasn’t exactly prepared with a speech the way he was with Hermione. But I constantly told him on the trip out of the castle that speaking from the heart would be our best and only option. Sometimes it’s a good thing to have that as the only option. That way, you can train yourself to truly speak what you want. 

It was just unfortunate that Lucius and Narcissa arrived earlier than us and reserved our seats. Seeing how uncomfortable they looked considering this was not their choice of the venue wanted to make Draco turn around and forget about the plan. But I twisted him around and gave him a serious look. “Draco,” I said, “We need to get this over with. It’s now or never.” 

Draco thought that he could open up the conversation by conversing about light subjects such as how classes have been going for us and how his grades seemed to be improving as he caught up with most of the things he’s been missing. But Lucius grew impatient from this. He did not leave his Manor to go all the way to Three Broomsticks just for a small chit chat as that could have been done through mailing. 

So he stopped Draco from talking. 

“Son, I believe you have a better reason for calling us here. You should get to it already, time mustn’t be wasted,” he demanded. 

Draco turned to me, looking for the same reassuring eyes I always gave him. I squeezed his thigh under the table, signaling that he could do this. As he felt it, he took a deep breath and looked back at his father.

“Father, when I graduate, I intend on being a healer. This is something I’m not asking from you but-”

“No Malfoy has even been a healer, Draco. You know that. I thought we already discussed you carrying the family name and joining me in the Ministry? Don’t be absurd, Draco. You should know better.” Lucius sneered. 

“Perhaps it’s time for a change, Lucius.” Narcissa pleaded. 

“Father, could you please hear me out?” 

I could feel that Lucius wanted to stand up and leave but he didn’t. Seeing the sadness in Draco’s eyes, he decided to stay where he was sitting and let Draco out. 

“So be it.” 

Draco exhaled in relief as his shoulders started to loosen up. 

“Father, I’m not asking your permission for me to be a healer. This is something that I have been thinking about for so long and I plan on doing it. There’s a deep meaning behind this particular line of work. With everything that has happened recently in our lives, we were all damaged, I was damaged and to be a healer, is something that would make me feel better about everything that we left behind. To heal someone, to restore, to put someone back on their feet, to put someone on the road to recovery, to alleviate the pain and things people have gone through, don’t you think that means something? To me, to Y/N, and to you both? I want to change my, father and to do so is to start something different in our lives. Change is good for everyone and I think you should consider doing the same.” 

“If I may,” I inserted myself, “I agree with Narcissa and Draco. Change can teach us to adapt and help us develop resilience, but only if we understand our own capacity for growth and learning. Luckily for Draco, he completely understands his own capacity for expansion and learning. Change makes us better because we have learned how to turn a challenging situation to our own advantage not merely because change happens. I believe in Draco and I think we should put more faith in him.”

“Are you saying I don’t, Ms. Y/L/N?” Lucius asked. 

“Oh, no-”

“Good, thank you for your input. I suggest you can leave it things from there,” he said, giving a small yet cold smile on his face. 

I didn’t think it was wrong for me to stand up for Draco but I didn’t really have a place in the conversation. So, I stood up, making my way out of the booth. Draco pulled me back with a longing expression on his face but I let go, “It’s okay Draco. I really didn’t really have the right to place myself in the conversation. I’ll be outside.” I turned around and walked away quickly enough for Draco to have no time in replying back. 

It was just unfortunate for me not to hear what would happen next the minute I left. Apparently, there were really good things happening after my leave. Lucius was really amused by what I had to say. He found it really striking of me to defend the person I was loyal to, which was Draco. Despite being in a house he did was not really fond of, he always took a liking in me ever since Draco introduced me as his girlfriend. I didn’t have the cunning and ambitious traits that he wanted for Draco’s girlfriend but he was intrigued by my values in hard work, dedication, and strong moral code. 

“She’s good for you, Draco.” Lucius finally spoke, “I like her.” 

“Then why did you send her out?” Are you mad?” 

“So I could offer you my blessings if you ever planned on asking for her hand in marriage.” he nonchalantly said, turning to a smirking Narcissa. 

“I’ll only take your blessing if you don’t mind me taking a job as a healer. If not, I’m going to marry her without any of you being there.” 

“Very well, son. She’s a keeper after all. Take care of her and don’t let her slip through your hands.” Lucius and Narcissa stood up, signaling for Draco to do the same. He shook Draco’s hands while Narcissa opened for a motherly hug as she whispered, “I love you, Draco.” 

As Lucius and Narcissa walked out of the Three Broomsticks, they bumped into me as I was literally waiting in front of the entrance. Narcissa placed a hand on my shoulder, making me turn around to face them. I didn’t know which expression to wear on my face as they stood in front of me without a word. It was only until Narcissa started smiling warmly as she rubbed my shoulder. 

“I’m excited to be seeing more of you, Y/N,” she said, trying to contain her joy. I was really confused because I left the booth when it was really tense. But they came out really calmly. Lucius looked at Narcissa with a warning look as he saw how confused I was. Then he looked at me and nodded, “Y/N.” I awkwardly nodded back till Draco arrived, wrapping an arm around me as he was surprised to see his parents still there. 

“Mother, father,” he said, “See you soon.” Then they smiled and started walking away. 

I turned to Draco with a puzzled look, “How did the conversation soothe itself with me gone?” 

“Let’s just say I healed the conversation.” I shot my eyes at him with sparks of joy and jumped. “Merlin’s beard! Did you? Did he? He’s okay with it?” 

Draco chuckled as he planted a kiss on my forehead and wrapped his arms on my neck now. “I am so happy for you, love. Why don’t we celebrate?” 

“Anything but drinking.” 

“Okay,” I smirked, “Shall we go and jump off the Astronomy Tower? You know, start practicing your magical healer hands?” 

“I suppose we can do that.” he playfully said as he motioned for the two of you to start walking. “I’ll do whatever you want. As long as I’m with you.”

#Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x Reader #Draco Malfoy Imagine #Draco Malfoy Imagines #Draco Malfoy x Y/n #Draco Malfoy x you #Draco Malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy fanfiction #Draco Lucius Malfoy #Slytherin #Hogwarts #Hogwarts x Reader #Hogwarts Imagines #Hogwarts imagine #Hogwarts oneshots #Draco Malfoy oneshots #Harry Potter #Harry Potter x Reader #Harry Potter Imagines #Harry Potter Imagine #Slytherin oneshots #Tom Felton #Tom Felton x Reader #Tom Felton Imagines #Tom Felton Imagine #Tom Felton Oneshots #Tom Felton x you #Tom Felton x y/n #Tom Felton fanfic #Tom Felton Fanfiction

[mixelation]

i remember reading in one of your fics that shinobi wars are tremendously financially beneficial to the hidden villages but devastating to everyone else. this is very interesting; i think i've seen this take elsewhere as well but not very thoroughly explored. do you mind elaborating on what you think (mechanisms, impacts, etc.)?

Hmm, yeah, anything to do with economics/financials/money is pretty far outside of my wheelhouse, but I’ll take a stab at it. 

So, it makes sense countries allocate more money into their military/defense during wartime, right? (I tried to find some real world data on military spending during wartime but mostly I just got thinkpieces on the US military budget, and I don’t really have the energy to dig deeper lmao.) For Narutoland, this means more money going into ninja villages during wartime. This money isn’t directly for, you know, maintaining the streets of the ninja villages or funding non-military education, but ninja villages are going to want to increase spending in ways that benefits their forces AND they’re one of the few areas getting a budget bump. So you might see more direct benefits for shinobi and their families to incentivize service (i.e., stick your kid in the Academy, get higher rations/a payout as a reward!). You’d also see more spending in areas like R&D, production of certain goods, and general infrastructure to keep your ninja-military improving and also running smoothly. You might also see shinobi themselves spending more in general within the village, compared to civilian towns where fewer people have a steady income, which benefits non-military businesses within villages. Plus shinobi villages are probably better equipped to maintain their supply chains than, say, farming village #3, so they’re better at maintaining “business as usual,” even if there are scarcities of certain things. 

I also think that, during the longer wars, there was probably interest from civilian populations to move into the ninja villages.... like, they seem safer, you know? So if they wanted to, a shinobi village could cherrypick who they let in-- wealthy families, people with important specialized skills, etc. This would definitely benefit the village financially in the long run... but I also think a village letting in lots of refugees would be an interesting thing to explore in fic-land. 

(I also imagine that, during the desperate times of war, shinobi villages could way over-charge for private missions people are still desperate to get done, or have an easier time selling information on other villages, etc.)

On the other hand, since war is expensive, you’re likely to see budget cuts and lack of aide for “less important” areas. That means cuts in social services that benefit civilians (especially in poorer areas) and not being able to send assistance to civilian towns after they’ve been raided or had their supply chain cut off. You’d probably see shortages of certain supplies like medicine as it all gets rerouted to ninja villages and military bases. That means that, on top of regular dangers of ninja war, things like “a flood” could be more devastating for civilians than normal, because there’s no support for recovery. Problems also compound on each other-- flu seasons are more deadly if you don’t have access to medicine and nutritionally diverse food, for example. Not that civilians would be COMPLETELY abandoned-- someone has to grow food for the daimyo and the military campaigns, at the very least, and usually countries do want to support their citizens.... but also in the face of war they’re in perpetual risk of being marked “low priority.”

Again, I don’t really know a lot about economics or like.... war, LOL. So idk how this matches up to real-world patterns.

#drippingmoonwax

[kiatheinsomniac]

I’m the CEO of showing up late to everything. Here’s a modern AU fic I wrote on wattpad for Arno’s birthday last year :)

Bon Anniversaire

(Y/n) looked down at her lover in awe as she balanced the tray in her hands, settling it on the edge of the bed before sitting daintily on the edge and leaning down to cup Arno's face with one of her hands, pressing a soft yet firm kiss to his lips, fingertips caressing his jaw as she peppered the corner of his mouth in kisses and left lingering ones on his soft lips.

He groaned slightly before kissing her back, waking up. His hands went to the sides of her neck, thumbs caressing her jaw as she slowly pulled away and gently brushed some disarrayed hair away from his face.

"Morning, birthday boy." She spoke with a teasing grin as she sat upright. Arno pushed himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard. She placed the tray on his lap and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I made you breakfast."

He smiled warmly at her as she crossed her legs on the mattress. She hadn't dressed yet thus she wore one of his shirts with little else underneath. However, her (h/c) hair was nearly done into a bun with a light grey scrunchie from where she had made his morning meal and didn't want it in the way. He reached for her hand, rubbing circles on the back of her palm with his thumb in an appreciative gesture.

"You're too sweet." He cooed.

"Hey, it's your birthday, I get to spoil you. Now eat up before it gets cold then get dressed, I'm taking you out." She piped up before leaving to get ready herself, knowing that she took a lot longer than he did.

Arno watched as she reached into the wardrobe and picked out an outfit before turning her back to him to dress. He had seen her naked countless times but she was always shy nonetheless.

As she pulled off his shirt, revealing that she wore nothing else underneath, he let out a whistle. She laughed at this and looked over her shoulder to where he was staring and her nude ass.

"Hey, focus on your food else you'll choke." She scolded as she pulled on a pair of pants and clipped a bra into place, a matching set of pale pink lace with tiny little jewels stuck to them that caught the light when she moved. They were very see-through and left little to the imagination.

She pulled on a pair of beige pants and tossed on a thin white shirt to go with it. She tucked this into the trousers before doing up the belt and then pulled on a pair of socks before sitting to do her hair and makeup.

By the time she had finished her eyebrows, Arno was done and walked over to the mirror where he sat down on the floor beside her.

(Y/n) did own a vanity but it got used as more of a desk, a space where she would write or paint and stuffed all her pencils and paints into the drawers that had been intended for makeup alongside skin and hair products. However, she never grew out of the habit of sitting on the floor in front of a full-length mirror.

"You're stealing all the mirror space again." Arno pouted playfully as he kneeled behind her in order to be able to see what he was doing. (Y/n) giggled playfully as she curled her lashes and put a pair of dangling pink heart earrings on. She threw on a pale pink lace choker and a golden floral necklace before tipping her head back to get an upside-down view of her lover.

"Can I do your hair?" She smiled as he looked down at her.

"That depends, are we going out?" He replied with a question.

"Yes."

"Then absolutely not." He glanced down to see her pout and furrow her brows, glossy bottom lip jutting out.

"Please? I'll give you like 20 pretty bonus points." She grinned giddily.

"Bonus points?" Arno quizzed as he took a seat.

"Well, yeah, because you're already a god. This will just add to it." She made her way behind him and took the hairbrush from his hands, gently untangling his long hair.

"A god, huh?" He quoted amusedly.

"Eros wants what you have, chéri (darling). Apollo could never." She hummed as she parted his hair with the end of a comb. She set one half aside to add a twist to the other before gathering it all at the nape of his neck. She put her hand out to signal that she needed a hairband and Arno placed one into her expecting palm. She expertly tied it into his usual ponytail before parting it above the band and slipping it through itself to create another little twist to it. "Ok, I'll let you add your ribbon because I can never get the bow right." She spoke as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head beside his and admiring him in the mirror. "Please don't ever cut your hair short, I adore it." She added with a kiss to his temple before pulling back to grab her purse, keys and phone to throw into her light blue bag. She shoved her feet into a pair of grey trainers while Arno dressed.

He put on a pair of light grey trousers with a Louis Vuitton belt and a white shirt that showed off his defined torso underneath. He tossed a denim jacket onto his shoulders and sat down to put on a pair of black boots.

"Do you want to know where we're going?" (Y/n) hummed as she leaned on the doorframe to their room.

"Sure." He stole a glance in her direction.

"Only your favourite museum." (Y/n) smiled. Arno had taken her there so many times that she had lost count. She adored it but not as much as he did. She delighted in watching his face light up as he told her all his knowledge on the exhibits and related historical topics. Arno was very proud of his country's history and many of the countless books which he owned were dedicated to it. He was a lover of classical culture and Baroque society. He adored music and art and literature and the like, valuing the beauty and knowledge it all had to offer.

That's what really made them click.

"The Louvre. . ." He spoke, drawling out his French accent that lit up a fire in her no matter how many times she heard it. It was a very touristy location but that didn't put him off from the history which it had to offer. "As much as I adore it, my favourite piece of it is in fact not an exhibit but it's a memory."

"And what would that memory be?" She prompted with a knowing smile.

"The first time I saw you, admiring the renaissance art. You looked gorgeous admiring it. Though, I can't remember what the painting was, I can recall you telling me all about Adonis and Aphrodite and red roses." He mused as he made his way towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close in a loving embrace, "And you could tell me something about the context of each painting while I followed you around. I'd never met someone so enthusiastic about historical art before. Especially not someone so adorable. . . Two complete strangers lavishing in the knowledge and company of the other in the closing hours of the museum."

"I was sure I'd half-bored you to death and you'd never call the number that I gave you." She giggled, "I was just as surprised to find someone as interested as I am, let alone someone so handsome." She reached up onto his toes to give him a sweet kiss, her hands running up his chest. "But let's go hop on the train, I've got a lot planned for today."

"Oh? You do?" The Frenchman smiled as she took his hand, intertwining their fingers as she led him outside of their home above Arno's historic café theâtré.

"Indeed, I do." She hummed as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, standing on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. When she fell back into her feet, Arno wrapped an arm around her waist, the two of them making their way to the metro.

Paying their fare, they waited on the platform in the blistering heat of the metro. It was rush hour so it was a difficulty to squeeze in with all the other passengers. Luckily, they managed to get into a carriage with fewer people than most. Arno held onto the support above his head while the other arm made its way around (Y/n)'s waist, holding her close to make sure she didn't lose her balance.

She warmly rested her hands against him as her head leaned on his chest. He pressed little kisses to the top of her head, coaxing her to look up so that he could give her a much more tender kiss on her lips.

She quickly pulled away, hiding her hot cheeks against his neck. Arno cooed at her lovingly and amusedly, giving her (b/t) waist a squeeze. Arno adored showing his affection for her in public but (Y/n) was always shy about it. To begin with, she wouldn't even hold his hand in public but she eventually grew comfortable with his hand holding hers or his arm slung over her shoulders or around her waist. He had been trying to warm her up to kisses in public too but it was a process and, clearly, she was still far too shy.

A few stops later, they were getting off at the nearest station. As soon as they had climbed the stairs, the whoosh of cold air was a relief in comparison to the hot, humid and stuffy air that was underground. It was enough to make one feel lightheaded, especially in the August heat.

The next few minutes were a blur as all (Y/n) could focus on was Arno's smile. That smile was so rare that she couldn't help but stare whenever it came out, she couldn't bear to miss a second of its presence on his handsome features.

She was only snapped out of her daze once they were inside and admiring all the exhibits they had seen before and many which were new.

The entire time, Arno kept an arm around her waist. They paused in front of a baroque painting, (Y/n) snuggling against Arno's chest as they admired the art together. He looked down at her briefly, smiling at the contact, before turning back to the painting.

"I can imagine you modelling for a painting." Arno hummed, the two of them enjoying having the particular room to themselves.

"Really?" (Y/n) questioned, amusement in her tone.

"Oui (yes). . . But it would do you no justice. The painting would be breathtaking but nowhere near your true beauty. It wouldn't be able to capture you well enough and you cannot convey such intellect and personality into a picture."

"What's with the flattery, hmm?" She teased. "All the same could apply to you, why am I getting the spotlight on your birthday? Let me spoil you for once." She poked his chest almost accusingly as she smiled up at him.

"Mon ange (my angel). . ." He sighed with a tone of 'you-should-know-this-by-now' in his voice, "You cannot expect me to simply turn off my adoration for a day, can you?"

"Stop it! I'm treating you today!" She pouted, making Arno laugh heartily, hand trailing to the back of her head and gently tangling in her hair, caressing the silky locks there.

They continued around the museum, telling each other things they both already knew but told one another anyway, delighting in hearing the enjoyment of the other sharing what they knew.

♡♡♡

A few hours later, they were thoroughly done with the museum and all its exhibits, therefore, (Y/n) led him outside and back down to the metro.

"Where are we heading to now then, mon amour (my love)?" He quizzed as he watched her body sway with the train.

"I'm treating you to lunch." She winked, adoring the ghost of a smile that he flashed her. He knew that she wasn't too keen on leaving the house so the fact that she had arranged everything for today just meant all the more to him.

"Oh? Where?" He prompted.

"That fancy place where you took me for our fifth date." She stood up proudly as his face dropped.

"(Y/n), that's far too expensive!" He exclaimed.

"Not for someone who's been saving since New Year's and certainly not for a couple with a reservation in half an hour." She spoke cheekily. Arno wasn't sure what to think: on one hand, he was flattered that she'd gone to such an extent but on the other, he felt a little bad that she was spending so much money on him.

"Fine. As long as the presents aren't too expensive." He said.

"No promises there, love." The (e/c)-eyed female muttered under her breath.

Arno was about to protest when the train stopped and a group of guys got on, standing between them. (Y/n) averted her eyes away from them, looking up at the adverts inside the carriage instead.

After one stop, one of them was standing too close for (Y/n)'s comfort. He had more than enough room, so why was he brushing shoulders with her? She shied away, not wanting to fuel him by giving him any form of her attention. It only took another thirty seconds for her breath to hitch in her throat as an unfamiliar hand rested on her hip and glided down to her ass.

She was so shocked and scared that she lost her words altogether, shooting Arno a distressed look instead. As soon as he caught her gaze, he knew something was wrong and pushed his way through the group of men to wrap his arm around (Y/n), pushing her behind him.

"Hey, what's going on here?" He narrowed his honey-brown eyes at the man who had been standing far too close for comfort. He had a thick brown beard and wore a blue and white striped shirt.

"Nothing. Is something happening that I'm not aware of?" He retorted, depending on (Y/n)'s obvious quiet nature to enforce his lie.

"Arno, come on, there's no need to make a big deal out of it. I'm used to stuff like this happening." She spoke softly, hoping to ease his clearly growing anger.

"All the more reason to make a big deal out of it." He never once took his eyes off the man, "Keep your hands to yourself." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Fine, fine, I didn't know she had a boyfriend." He held up his hands in defence. By now, other people on the train were watching the scene unfold.

"That's no excuse!" Arno exclaimed, "You can't just go around-" the doors opened and (Y/n) tugged on his sleeve strongly.

"Arno, come on. Let's get the next train. Please, for my sake." She negotiated. Arno shot a hateful glare towards the man as he stepped onto the platform and the train went off.

"We'll catch the next train, love." (Y/n) rubbed her hand up his arm to ease him but he remained tense.

"Does this happen often?" He furrowed his brows.

"That's a talk for tomorrow, don't let this ruin your day." She soothed, him agreeing that it should be left for later and letting go of it, storing it away to be dealt with at a later time.

♡♡♡

Fully satisfied with their meal and a day of roaming Paris's parks, Arno and (Y/n) returned back to the café theâtré.

She was a mess of excited smiles and giggles as she dragged him up to their shared bedroom which was illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. She grabbed his shoulders and playfully forced him down onto the thick, fluffy rug in front of the fireplace which had been lit by a maid (him having a lot of money came with its perks).

He watched his lover, both curious and excited as she reached into the wardrobe to collect a few wrapped gifts, sitting down opposite him with the presents in the middle.

"(Y/n). . ." He looked up to meet her eyes gratefully yet guiltily, "How much did you spend on today?"

"I spent my money on what I wanted to. . . And that happened to be you so: enjoy." She smiled adoringly as she placed the first gift in his hands. He looked up at her, wanting to scold her for splashing all her money on him and yet he couldn't deny her that smile or the spark of delight in her eyes. "Come on!" She exclaimed, bouncing on the spot impatiently, her grin widening. The Frenchman gave in, reflecting her smile as he opened the first gift, pulling the ribbon on the gift bag in order to get inside.

He reached inside it and pulled out a black trench coat, peering at the label to spot the designer branding. He looked over it and shot his smiling girlfriend an appreciative glance, letting it fall to his lap so that he could reach out for her hand.

"You know exactly what I like, don't you?" He spoke.

"You spoke about wanting it in the store around two months ago. . ." She shrugged, "So I ordered it online and hid it in the loft until now." He raised a brow as he picked up the next gift, a wrapped box. He tore off the shiny teal paper to reveal a box of his favourite cologne. That was something they both had done since they started to date: she bought his colognes and he bought her perfumes. He smiled at her again, placing it beside him on top of his coat.

"I'm going to have to go broke by the time your birthday comes around." He joked.

"Hey, stop thinking about the money." She poked his leg as she leaned towards him.

"Ok, ok," he gave in, holding up his hands in surrender, "I just feel bad because—"

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed, her smile not faltering, "I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!" She got up onto her knees to lean into him, over the small pile of gifts, "I don't care how much money I spend on you! I adore you! I adore the way you smile when you open them." A kiss was planted on his cheek while her hand cupped his jaw. "C'mon, next one." She placed it in his hands.

It was a small gift and when he tore off the paper, he was holding a velvet drawstring bag in his hands. He gave (Y/n) a curious look before opening it up and tipping out the contents inside.

A beaded bracelet fell onto his palm — all-black beads with one red bead. It seemed somewhat familiar and he glanced to her left wrist where she wore an identical one.

"The card explains what they are." She said, "Dedication bracelets. It's kind of silly, I know. But. . ." She shrugged, "I thought that the idea of it was sweet." He slipped it onto his wrist and leaned forward to cup her face in his large hands, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

"It's not silly." He hummed when he pulled away, keeping their faces close, "It's cute of you." She let out a little giggle, cheeks heating with a blush, and ran her hands over his shoulders.

"Ok. For the last gift, you have to close your eyes." She chuckled. Arno, albeit suspiciously, closed his eyes and relied on his hearing to piece together what was going on. He could hear shuffling in front of him before he felt a warmth and weight on his lap. Her hands caressed his chest as he hovered her lips by his ear. "Open." She whispered.

He opened his eyes and his hands found her waist. She wore only the pale pink undergarments that he had so briefly spotted that morning. He admired the way the softly coloured lace complimented her (s/t) skin tone and the way it hugged her beautiful (b/t) figure. It had little gems that shone in the light of the fire with the rise and fall of her chest.

Her lips grazed his when she spoke:

"Let me spoil you one last time before the day's over."

#arno dorian #Arno Victor Dorian #arno dorian x reader #arno dorian imagine #modern arno dorian #arno dorian/reader #modern au #assassins creed unity #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed/reader #happy birthday arno

[lyranova]

Writing Requests Open!

Hello everyone! After a bit of a hiatus (which I’m still sorry about 😭) I’m slowly trying to get back into the swing of writing so I’m opening my requests again 🥰! I write for Black Clover, Jujutsu Kaisen, Fire Force, and My Hero Academia. Here are my rules please read them before requesting and thank you so much~ 💕!

Rules:

Requests are currently open! If I close them its because i have too many and want to take time to write them all or if I decide to take a hiatus!

I kinda write 18+ but only with adult characters! I don’t think i’ll write full n*fw (i might one day) but it’ll mostly be suggestive content at the most! (More on this toward the end)

Also if you are a minor please block the ‘spicy’ tag! If i find out any minors have ignored this than I will stop writing suggestive content. Period.

I tend to write fem!reader or gn!reader but I can try and write for a male reader if you want!

I admit i do tend to write fluff the most 😅! But I am willing to try other genres (such as angst and that sorta stuff!)

I mostly write scenarios but I will also write Headcanons!

For my HC’s as far as a character limit i would probably say 3 at the most! Mostly because i try to write 10 HC’s per character so I don’t want to have soo many characters that it kinds get to be a lot to read (if that makes sense 😅?)

As far as characters I won’t write for, i don’t really have any tbh 😅! If i know very little about a character i try to read a bit about them so that way I can accurately portray them in my HC’s or fics!

You won’t get fewer HC’s if you request more than one character! I try to keep it at 10 a piece so I’ll do 10 for each character that you request (it may take me a bit longer to write though 😅!)

I will write CCxreader and CCxCC! Even if its a character i ship you’re more than welcome to request for that character and a reader if you want! I have a list of ships that I’ll write for down below!

I will also write OC interactions if you guys have an OC that you’d like to interact with mine ☺️!

If I don’t like a request or it makes me uncomfortable personally I will not answer it or write it I’m sorry!

What I Will Not Write:

I will not write any suggestive content for underage characters! At All!

I will not accept any 18+ requests from minors!

If you want an 18+ you must be off anon! If you don’t want your username shown please let me know and I’ll take a screenshot and just show the ask not your username or anything!

I don’t write Pedophilia, degradation, rape, non-con, dub-con, incest, that kind of stuff. (If there is a request for a kink i don’t like i will not do it!)

Again, I write mostly suggestive content not full smut or anything at the moment!

Fandoms I Write For:

Black Clover (anime only, but i do know manga spoilers)

Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime Only but I know of a few spoilers)

My Hero Academia (anime only)

Fire Force (anime only)

List of Ships I Write For:

Yami X Charlotte (Yamichar)

Grey x Gauche (Greyche)

Asta x Noelle

Nebra x Zora

#writing requests open again! #black clover #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fire force #enn enn no shouboutai #my hero academia #mha

[muselin]

Hi! Another lurking anon! About that “I don't quite see how interactivity governs the preference for heterosexually-oriented vs homosexually-oriented content on each site though.” There is actually a connection, and it’s social acceptability! Tumblr is a social media, which is geared towards “family friendliness” and social acceptability, and AO3 is an archive, which was set up with the explicit purpose of archiving everything that anyone ever could find objectionable. And guess what has been VERY not socially acceptable in the US in the past, is still stigmatized today, and is illegal in a lot of other countries? Homosexuality.

Before you say this is homophobia, please remember the purges of ff.net that you also lived through - they censored MUCH more heavily any m/m content than het. Fics that contained as much as a kiss between men were deleted together with the most graphic het rape/torture. And it’s always been like that! Young users today seem to think that non-het content is Ok today and treated exactly the same as het, but that’s just not true.

So anyone who has been on the fic writing scene for longer than the last big purge knows that non-het content isn’t safe on mainstream social media sites, even if it seems “chaste” or “wholesome” by the standards of today (and boy do they change quickly!) Such older authors take their work to AO3 precisely to shield it from future purges, thus creating a community and “culture” there as THE place for such fic. Not to mention that older and more experienced authors typically produce higher-quality work, on the whole, and that attracts more fans, too.

By comparison, tumblr is a social media and ideal to reach as wide an audience as possible with mostly unobjectionable het content, since het is seen as “socially acceptable,” which is not likely to change. Sure, once in a while someone will start screaming that trope A is toxic or ship B is abusive, but the fads come and go as fast as the turnover of content. That is, in short, what drive the separation of het on mainstream and non-het on AO3.^^

Those are some excellent points, lurking anon #2! (I gotta start giving my lurking anons numbers lol. Or you guys can give yourselves anon names or emojis) And I definitely agree with most of your points, historically non-het content has been purged and been considered unacceptable for most spaces. Wattpad and Lifejournal were once havens for that kind of thing, along with adultfanfiction.net and later on, AO3.

The only thing I would say is that my point stands about how the user demographic of tumblr has changed, but is not reflecting LGBTQI+ friendly attitudes towards fanfiction as we would expect. As I mentioned, tumblr have stated that 50% of their user base is Gen Z (age 22-23 and under), and as you rightly pointed out, this demographic is more LGBTQI+ supportive in general and also, has more young people identifying as part of those groups themselves in the ideological West in general, but also around the world. So in light of that, I would expect that this massive het and non-het fiction difference between tumblr and AO3 would have diminished by now, but that isn't the reality. Maybe things are happening too slowly for other reasons, regardless of how quickly the shift in attitudes is occurring in general society.

It could also be that we have no idea what percentage of tumblr users use the platform for fanfiction. Even though tumblr users far outnumber AO3 users as we saw in the user statistics, AO3's only purpose is fanfiction whereas tumblr is all sorts. It is theoretically possible that the users who come to tumblr for fanfiction specifically are fewer than those who go to AO3, and this is why we are not seeing a change in the het and non-het fiction divide - maybe their footprint is still too small to see.

[princess-rosie]

Underneath The Spotlight- A Sanders Sides Fic

Taglist: @sophiexteresa

Ask if you would like to be added!

Chapter 12- The Most Stressful Twenty Seconds of Patton’s Life So Far

(Read chapter 1 here!)

(Read here on ao3!)

Warnings: Nausea, anxiety, stress, mentions of food, cursing, caps

A/N: this is it folks! Everyone wish Patton good luck, he’s gonna need it

Patton swore he was about to be sick. Waiting in the wings for the first of his back-to-back dances, wearing his next costume underneath his current one, not even Janus’ arms around his waist and soothing voice in his ears could calm his nerves. His breathing became erratic as he felt tears well in his eyes. Janus took his face in his hands.

“Here now, it’s ok. Don’t cry, your makeup will run.”

Patton violently shook his head. “Janus I can’t do this. It’s gonna fail, and I’m gonna miss my next dance, and all that hard work will be for nothing-“

“Patton Hart, you listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. I am here, and I will get you through this.”

Patton nodded but didn’t seem convinced, but it was too late for Janus to try and comfort him any further as suddenly the sound of applause filled Patton’s ears. Janus hugged him tight.

“I’ll meet you round the other side of the stage. Good luck, darling.”

Patton nodded as Janus left him. He truly was in this alone now. This had to go perfectly. It was now or never.

Patton pushed all his fears and anxieties down as the music began, plastering on a big smile as he walked on stage, ready to attack this energetic and fast-tempo dance with everything he had. He’d always enjoyed the more upbeat dance styles, they were much easier for someone of his short stature. Because he was so small, he struggled with the more lyrical and graceful styles- he only really enjoyed ballroom due to being partnered with Janus, he had no idea how dancers like Roman made it look so easy. This routine, however, was more up Patton’s street- it was extremely fast-paced and incorporated elements of jive with lots of kicks and leaps- it was probably one of Patton’s favourites he had ever danced... it would be great if all this impending anxiety and dread could just give it a rest. Patton’s stamina had significantly improved since he started rehearsing this routine, although it still wasn’t anywhere near on the level of Roman’s, Patton knew that wasn’t the real reason his heart rate began steadily climbing towards the second half of the routine. He performed the final steps and beamed out to the audience as he struck the final pose, taking in the sound of applause with pride. But as soon as the lights fell all of that collapsed, and he sprinted off stage faster than he’d ever ran in his life.

Janus, Remus, Virgil and a few others were gathered around a chair waiting for him, each holding an accessory for his next costume. Patton dove into the seat, holding out his arms and legs as about six people swarmed his vision, and he felt his shoelaces loosen and his shoes fall off.

“Virgil, take off his bowtie!”

“Who’s got his hat?!”

“Put on that other shoe!”

“Careful with his makeup!”

“Tie it faster!”

“Hurry up!”

“We can’t stall the music much longer-“

“Five seconds!”

The only coherent thought Patton managed to have throughout this process was “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone tie shoes so fast in my life...” When he was in it to help one of his friends, Remus always pulled it out of the bag. Tying dance shoes at hyperspeed was apparently one of his hidden talents.

A tap on the shoulder from Janus signalled to Patton that he was ready to go, and as he arrived in the wing ready for his next dance, looking himself up and down to give his costume a final check, it dawned upon him that he was actually early. He strolled out onto the stage, beaming with pride, ready to dance his heart out once again. Before arriving in his position on stage, he locked eyes with Roman (also in this dance) for a split second who grinned at him and seemed to say “you made it!” And Patton grinned back. Transforming his outfit in twenty seconds, mastering the art of telepathy, Patton seemed to have achieved it all on that night. What had once seemed impossible, helped by his amazing friends, somehow, he had managed it. And now, once again, he was doing what he loved, performing amazing dance routines on a grand stage. Patton had never felt more on top of the world...

Upon return to the dressing room, Patton launched himself at Janus, babbling words of thanks into his shoulders. Janus merely said.

“Don’t mention it, Patton. It was my pleasure to help you, my love. I couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner these last few months.”

Patton beamed up at him.

“Me either. I love you too.”

Janus suddenly looked as if struck by an idea.

“You know what you deserve?”

Patton tilted his head to the side, giving that damn innocently curious look he’d given all those months ago when Janus had first taught him the waltz, when he’d first fallen in love with him. He gave the smaller boy a fond smile.

“Pizza.”

Patton’s face lit up in a bright smile and he began clapping his hands together at some impossible frequency. Then his face fell a little.

“Aww, Janus that’s such a sweet idea, and I am a little hungry but I don’t think we’re allowed to-“

But it was too late, Janus was already phoning the pizza place.

“Hello, can I place an order please?... could I have two margaritas, two vegetarians, one with ham and pineapple... for the tasteless gremlin over here,” Janus mumbled, giving Remus a derogatory glance, “and...” Janus placed his hand over the microphone to call across the dressing room

“Hey Roman what kind of pizza do you want?”

There was currently a full-scale operation going on across the room to get both twins ready for a dance, Roman turned away from the mirror for a second to shout “Pepperoni please!” before bolting it out of the dressing room towards the stage.

Janus picked up the phone again. “And one with pepperoni please. Oh, delivery address... uhm... you can just bring it to the theatre foyer. Yes, the theatre. Yeah, the big one in the town square. No, this isn’t a prank! I just want pizza!”

Patton chuckled into his sleeve as Janus began to look frustrated.

“Thank you, have a nice evening.” Janus hung up. “Should be here in just over twenty minutes... that should be basically straight after the show finishes.”

“We’ll have to get to the foyer quickly, then.”

“We’ll work something out-“

“LOGAN HELP I CAN’T GET MY SHOE ON!”

“Remus what the hell do you mean?”

“I CAN’T TIE IT UP THE LACE HAS SNAPPED!”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S SNAPPED?!”

“I MEANT WHAT I SAID! LO YOU’VE GOTTA HELP!”

“REMUS KINGSLEY I FUCKING SWEAR TO GOD-“

Patton and Janus watched the commotion unfold as Logan took the lace out of Remus’ shoe that was indeed completely snapped in half, while Virgil watched helplessly.

“How the fuck have you done that?!” Virgil asked.

“Lecture me later, this is kinda time sensitive!” Remus yelled. He was somehow never ready for his dances in time, despite him having much fewer of them compared to Roman.

“We’re about the same size, just bloody take mine,” said Janus, throwing his left shoe across the room while Patton swore he heard Virgil say “yeet” under his breath. Logan caught it and gave it to Remus, before going to sit in his chair and lean his head against the mirror while pinching the bridge of his nose and taking deep breaths. Janus couldn’t help but laugh at this while Virgil helped Remus tie his laces before he raced out of the room, now wearing one of his own shoes and one of Janus’. Patton laughed out loud because now he could rest easy, with only a couple more dances to go and the promise of pizza afterwards, and the knowledge that he just did something he once thought to be impossible.

Next chapter

#moceit #romantic moceit #sanders sides #patton angst #platonic intrulogical #underneath the spotlight #sanders sides dance school au #my writing #patton x deceit #deceit x patton #platonic dukeceit #platonic royality #ts sides #tss #thomas sanders #patton sanders #ts patton #janus sanders #ts janus #logan sanders #ts logan #Virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #ts remus #remus sanders #ts human au #sanders sides human au #sanders sides fic

[omgkalyppso]

Honeyed Words

How many fics have this title? Probably a million. I wrote something featuring @esaari‘s tes breton oc Philip, and my imperial oc Oretia. Enjoy!

.

The grass was cold and wet from vestiges of the midnight frost puddling under the weight of the midday sun. Summer at Winterhold. The worst possible time to be a tome, or scroll, or a visitor. Inside the College, papers were kept magically dry and well kept, but as soon as you stepped one foot into the city, everything wilted with the humidity, including the people.

The citizenry was more amenable to the mages and their initiates since the reconstruction, after the civil war, but that did not forestall all of their prejudices, Philip had noticed. They phrased their suspicions of foreigners, of which he was no longer considered, as warnings of unstable mountaintops, roads that were thin with ice and awaiting unwary travelers, and beasts that roamed beyond their hibernal caves, but he heard the truth behind every bitter courtesy. ‘You are as unwelcome by the land as by our hospitality,’ they cried.

It was why they still lacked a dedicated blacksmith, a tanner, a wheelwright, fishermen — and Nine help that poor dentist who’d tried to move in four months past.

There were new bodies to fill the houses that had been built — carpenters and farmhands, tailors and midwives, but it was no wonder they still had to rely so heavily on the summer caravans.

The largest of the year was present now, the one that circled from Windhelm to Whiterun and Dawnstar, leaving Winterhold with both the last selection from Windhelm and the benefit of what the caravan had collected on its journey, just before they finished their circle and headed back home. The gamut of their venture was nearly complete, and so Philip felt triply insulted by the price being demanded of him to carry scroll and missive — which included a painstaking transcription of an extremely valuable book — to the new astrologer in Windhelm.

“Thirty gold is more than fair,” he insisted. “Twenty would cover a gold a day for the service, and fourteen was the cost last year.”

“Thirty might be fair,” replied the nord man, who was clearly dealing with other problems — but none of them were Philip’s, “but eighty is the cost.”

“Set by you, unreasonably.”

“Are you calling me unreasonable, my lord?” The title had been wrong, but Philip’s choice of words had been fumbling. He needed this, it was important.

“I misspoke. Surely, you are a man who knows his worth and his services, and so, you must know, that it is not up to the College to champion the losses of your caravan. You are headed to Windhelm anyway. I will offer forty, far more than you’d require.”

The nord nodded to someone standing outside of Philip’s periphery, and his shoulders tensed. The temptation to invoke others to grant weight to his title and his person was present, for he was on good terms with his Thane and his Jarl, and Skyrim’s champion of the war; but so too was he Archmage now, and whatever his personal insecurities, knew that he demanded his own respect. He shrugged his elbow towards the person who approached from his side, striking them, if lightly.

“I am not some common miscreant. Do not look to demean me. There are other couriers.”

“Then find one,” replied the nord.

Philip looked to the imperial woman at his side as she spoke and frowned in surprise. She was hobbling a little, unsteady on her feet, and not the manner of muscle he’d expected the nord to be summoning.

“And I wasn’t hired to help with customer service, Herknir. This doesn’t look like a case of banditry.” Her accent was thick and southern, and Philip flinched to look at her more directly as despite her words she still laid a hand upon him — but it was gentle, so much so that he couldn’t even feel it through his robes, on his upper arm, a signal to wait and not a reprimand. Philip took a step away from her anyway, disinterested in her reassurance.

“Take the illustrious Archmage for a walk, Oretia. I can smell the enchantments on him, and I won’t risk the safety of our men to the whims of secret, magical documents without collateral.” Philip blanched, he hadn’t expected Herknir to be thinking of anything beyond what he could get with the money. Herknir pointed a finger at him, to further cement his point, “If it were a message from one of your initiates back to their parents or their sweetheart in Windhelm, then that is one service; but you should know that your time is worth more, and you should be prepared to pay more in the future. Cool your head. Try Tilly’s honey-pops, and come back to me when you’re willing to talk business.”

“Sorry about him,” Oretia sounded exasperated, and Philip had to wonder if she had felt suitably chastised by Herknir over the course of her time with the man, as he did now, sent for a walkabout like a petulant child — though one who had been flirting with the crackle of magic on the edge of his fingers. “And me, I had assumed you were a nobleman. I should not have placed my hand upon you.”

“It is nothing,” Philip assured her, dismissing the perceived insult with a smile — tickled by the idea that she would more readily lay her hands on a Thane. They wove their way through a crowd, where the locals parted naturally by his presence. There was nowhere for Oretia to hide her stumbling.

“But perhaps I owe you an apology? Did I set you so off-balance?”

“Oh!” she laughed. “No, I— My legs are sore. I’d spent the last four days climbing up and down your mountains.”

Philip snorted, infected by his companion’s good humor. “Whatever for?”

She sighed, smiling, wistful. “To see my sister. It had been a few years and she’s settled up there. I thought that, seeing her would make it easier to accept, but now I’m less sure than ever about leaving; but you don’t need to hear about that. What was Herknir so upset about? Do you really have secret, magical documents?”

The way she exaggerated the word was light, teasing, and free of ill-will Herknir had managed to fit into the word.

“I—” Philip scoffed, “I suppose I do. The documents themselves aren’t magical, but few things that leave the College can be described otherwise.”

“Secretive?” Oretia prompted.

“For certain,” Philip assured her.

She seemed to take a measure of him then, a once over with suspicious eyes. Philip wondered what she saw.

“I could leave you now,” she suggested, tilting her head. “I rather doubt you need my company.”

Philip thought of the trader and patrons, and wondered whether for the moment she might need his. He wondered if she was asking for the freedom of privacy or to socialize with a friend from the caravan, but outside the College and inside Winterhold, his friends felt ever fewer, and Oretia had been friendly enough as to prove distracting from his other worries.

“There are a great many things I don’t need, but enjoy regardless. Of course, you’re free to go, and I’ll make my way back to Herknir in due time, but if you’d like to point me towards those honey-pops…?”

Philip felt any lingering stress melt off his shoulders when Oretia brightened.

“They’re very sweet, but delicious,” she insisted, directing them now with purpose. “There are some with raspberries caked in which are wonderful in tea, but they’re just as fine as a little delight.”

Philip bought ten for a gold piece, a strange assortment of things to pocket, even wrapped in wax paper as they were, but Oretia was right, they were good, as the two of them found a bench shielded by the cold of the sea, but still hidden by the warmth of the sun, as they each enjoyed one of the candies for a few silent seconds.

There was something about the way others seemed to have more time for trysts, and he wondered whether another person might take this time to proposition their companion. The pair of them with lips flush and spit slick from their choice in dessert, people might even think they had done something elicit when they returned to the main road. The air was thick and the blossoms were sweet, and Philip wondered whether he’d simply been surrounded by familiar faces for too long, that the blush upon a stranger’s cheeks would send his mind so far from his original intentions. He pat himself down, confirming the location of his missives, before plucking the honey-pop from his lips and assuring Oretia, “Thought I’d dropped something.”

He sighed, resting his hands on his knees. “Tell me about your sister? Might I know her?”

“No,” Oretia answered quickly. “Wylla Cosmotius — err, Wylla Ienith now, I suppose. She might have spent some time here, but wouldn’t have made a name for herself. Found the Shrine of Azura by accident, and then spent a few years “adventuring,” or whatever you might call it, with the priestess, to whom she’s now married.”

“Cosmotius?” Philip echoed. “‘Of the stars?’”

“Mm,” Oretia hummed in agreement. “A name I imagine Wylla was glad to be rid of. Pretentious ancestors. Not that the title of Archmage is any less assuming.”

“I?” Philip hesitated. “I didn’t choose that. And it’s practical, the position is what the title says, I oversee other mages, and am one myself.”

“I didn’t say it was wrong, I said—”

“You implied it was pretentious.”

“And you became defensive,” Oretia observed, amused. “Is my good opinion so important?”

“As important as any other,” Philip said, dismissive, shrugging. “There are a lot of things said about The Archmage, meaning both myself and my predecessors. I do my best to improve those rounds of gossip.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

Oretia bumped a knee against him. She went on, “My sister went through a lot, as a mercenary and … well as an imperial in Skyrim during the civil war. When I was a child I would think of how one day marriage might separate us, but I hadn’t expected to be lost to her when she needed me before that. To be treated as a guest, and not as family, when I would see her again. I worry that she could die on that mountain, and if I were to be in Windhelm, I should never know.”

“And so you’re thinking of staying?” Philip remembered. “Do you ply a craft? There are still incentives to settle in Winterhold.”

“The city is known for surviving winters without me. I don’t know how useful I could be, or how interested people would be in buying leathers, or how abundant the game is year round for the purpose of gathering supplies. I feel I don’t know much of anything lately.”

“If it’s any consolation I find that to be more true with each passing year.”

“Even for the Archmage?”

“Especially for the Archmage,” Philip groaned. “There’s much to learn and more to discover. That’s why I need to see my post sent to Windhelm.”

“I could take it,” Oretia suggested.

“As a reason not to stay?” Philip inquired, furrowing his brow.

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t just stay all at once. I have employment and friends and possessions. But I might come back. Settle. It wouldn’t hurt to be owed a favor by the Archmage.”

He hesitated, surprised and unsure. Philip wondered whether he could get her in trouble with Herknir, and whether she was even trustworthy to begin with.

“I couldn’t make a pact like that,” he said quickly, in regret.

“I’ll take the fourteen gold?” Oretia offered. “And no favor.”

“Thirty then,” Philip suggested. “And maybe dinner, if you return?”

#tes #skyrim #oc tag: oretia #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #bless esaari's approval and excellent oc's #i'll probably write more of these two sometime #<3333333 #esaari's oc: philip