#maybe its reflective of the company i keep but idk man

[vasiktomis]

TripAdvisor's Top 10 Things To Do In Volterra, Tuscany (18+)

Part 1 | Next Part

Pairing: Aro/F!Reader(No use of y/n). Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~3000. Warnings: Pretty tame beginnings tbh but future warnings for Stalking, Toxic relationships and power imbalances, Blood and gore, Devious little fruity men, and Reader-insert being a terrible enough person that it sort of balances it all out?? Idk. Yes there will be weird vampire sex. Read it on Ao3 Here!

__________________________________

It’s in early Summer that you meet him for the first time. 

One sentence typed and re-written with two pages to fill and three proseccos nursed over some amount of hours. A hot afternoon is well on its way to becoming a balmy night, and daytime family shoppers along the tight, sloping roads in Volterra have condensed into young adults seeking whatever might come close to resembling nightlife amidst alfresco dining areas and tall views of rolling hills and old brick- oh, that’s not a bad line.

Rapping the enter key, you make room for the statement. 

Whatever might come close to resembling nightlife amidst alfresco dining areas and tall views of-

A pang of revulsion hits.

Fuck it. It’s shit. 

You slam on the backspace, offsetting just a little of the temptation to hurl your laptop over the retaining wall and onto the road below. 

“Top-up?”

Panic jolts down your spine at the black suit of a hospitality worker in your periphery. You haven’t bought anything since the sun was up. Not since the first prosecco, and the complimentary bread basket, and the second prosecco, and the complimentary bread basket, and the third prosecco, and the humiliating explanation that a family-run business simply cannot keep giving you any more of Nonna’s war-time era bread baskets.

It’s not your fault that no one’s come along to pick up the tab of a pretty tourist tonight. Alcohol’s usually pretty cheap when some cashed-up slob in linen intends to use it to leverage against you later in the night. It’s getting ridiculous out here. It’s been hours, and not only have you gotten a solid zero words into your article — you’ve been squatting here with the nicest view in Volterra for long enough that you fear the staff and your fellow patrons have begun to make assumptions about you. 

You have no money left.

They can’t know you have no money left.

You offer up a smile. “Just water, please.”

You’re met with a pained reflection of the look. Maybe yours is just as sad. They leave with a hurried nod, too busy serving every other table to have time to bother with your bullshit. Maybe you should just order something. Drop a precious thirty on a four-ingredient carbonara that’ll either have you hungry again in an hour or shitting your guts out for the next twenty-four. Wasteful spending, either way. There’s only a few hundred euros left, and you can’t afford to keep doing this.

Rolling hills. Just write something about rolling fucking hills and go back to the airbnb. 

Your fingers poise over the keyboard. 

“Mi scusi—“

“Just water’s fine.” You nearly snap. 

“Oh, you speak English.”

Another black suit in your periphery. Another wave of shame. You look up again, and the well-pressed suit standing before you smiles a mildly manic, overly familiar smile. “Good evening. I’m dreadfully sorry to ask, but would you mind moving on?”

He’s exceptionally pale, you observe. Perfect teeth. Wonderful hair that reminds you of some kind of animal.  

Your brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“Yes. That’s fine. No harm done.” The man’s already turned away from you, clicking at the boy who had yet to fetch your water. “Un'altra sedia. Per favore-“

“I’m not done sitting here.” You say.

That smile on his face strains. Just a little. 

“Well, you see,” He offers, “I like to sit here — as well as my company, and you’ve been here for—“ the smile tightens further, and you rejoice in your judgement. He feels entitled to this spot. This is his seat you’re in. 

He’s just as much of a dick about this as you are. 

“Four hours — and this is an exceptional spot to view the end of the sunset at this time of year.”

What a fucking prick. What sweet vindication. 

“Yeah.” You agree, not budging. “It seems like it.”

“Is she gone, yet?” 

Another suit approaches. This time blonde. Younger. Early-twenties perhaps, as opposed to your original assailant’s early-forties. There’s a scowl fixed to his face, exacerbated by a scoff when his gaze finds you still seated. 

 You don’t even give him the time of day, turning back to the brunette. “I’m working. You’re distracting me. I might’ve been gone already if you weren’t bothering me.”

“Oh please.” He lets out a breath of laughter. “You haven’t made a keystroke in over twenty minutes.”

“It’s called incubating.”

“A charming term for a nothing activity. Please move.”

“No.”

“You’re drawing attention.” Now it’s a hiss. 

“Good. Let me finish my article.”

Maybe if you act distressed enough, you’ll get a free pity meal.

“God.” The blonde snarls, snapping his attention behind him, to where a small pod of similarly dressed, similarly toneless people have arrived. “Forget it, Aro. We’re missing it.”

The brunette’s head whips around, as does yours, to catch the last sliver of sun disappearing behind the hills, only the reddest of remnants remaining of its aura on the horizon. Your argument carried you through the entirety of a sunset, and the man — Aro — purses his lips into that same tight smile. Over his shoulder, the blonde retreats, muttering under his breath and merging with the herd.

Seemingly victorious, your fingers hover over the keyboard again, and Aro leans down, not quite in your space. Just close enough for you to find yourself captivated by those filed-straight teeth again.

“A word to the wise —“ He says, tone hushed, pressing a hand to the table. Fingers inches from yours. “That was the Summer solstice drawing to a close, and you made us miss it-“

“I think you took care of that one yourself, actually."

He leans closer. “You’ve drawn enough eyes to protect yourself until the locals forget this, but some of us — my friend Caius, especially — are very fond of our evening routine; and some of us can hold a grudge. You’d do well to move on before the week’s end.”

You’d be happy to punch him if you weren’t thinking so hard about that free meal, so instead, you opt to flash a smile of your own. “You’d do well to eat my ass.”

There’s a pause. A tick of his brow. A tiny twitch at a corner of his mouth. Filmy eyes bore into yours, flickering minutely to your throat.

“Buonanotte. Do try to become at least conversational in Italian.” Aro’s gaze flits to the bare centimetres between your hands. He makes a point to withdraw it across the table, slowly. Like it would simply be beneath him to touch you. “What’s the saying? When in Rome?”

Then, he’s turning. Taking his leave. Shrouded in black cloth the moment he passes into his crowd of gothic friends.

Your gaze lingers on the retreating group. A subtle glance is afforded in your direction from one of the men in his company. Tall. Far too solemn for such an exciting night. 

A young man at a neighbouring table leans over to you, and you’ve spent so long looking at milky white faces at you’re nearly blinded by the hue of his sunburned face. “Ravers.” He comments. American. “Don’t mind ‘em. Probably gonna go take horse tranqs in some warehouse.”

Horse. That’s what you were trying to think of. His hair reminded you of a horse. 

“I am sorry for the commotion.” The hospitality worker returns. A glass of tap water is set down before you. “Could I offer you dinner on the house?”

…

Victory. 

You crack a grin up at your server. “Hey, what’s buonanotte mean?”

__________________________________

For such a compact place, you do not run into Aro again. Nor any of the grimly dressed people that had been in his company. 

Over the weeks spanning your stay, tourists come and go, but many of the faces in Volterra remain the same. Permanent residents remain static and likely have been so for generations. Mornings, recently, have held you in increasingly high regard; your refusal to leave their cramped community with each new brief wave of visitors bringing familiarity usually only reserved for years-old neighbours. Now you're no less annoying than a particularly entitled local.

None of whom, curiously, show any traits of albinism. Funny, considering you’d had a run in with at least half a dozen in a single night. 

“Are you now living here?” A busboy asks in the evening, passing your table (god, you love claiming that) on his way to clean another. You like this one. He’s gotten into a habit of sneaking an extra biscotti onto your saucer when you order. “How is your article?”

“It’s…” The look on your face tells enough to warrant a laugh.

“I have a cousin in Florence. Single.” He explains. “He would take one look at you and fall in love. You can marry him. Take his money. His car? Three wheels. Loser. You can do what ever you want if you marry him.”

“I’ll think about it.” You assure him, turning back to your laptop.

Huh.

Odd.

There’s a smear of black in your periphery again. 

That hasn’t happened since-

Your gaze snaps upward, meeting the eye of the rude bastard who’d made a martyr of you in front of the restaurant. Same phoney smile still plastered on his face. Something surges in your chest — fight instinct activating, readying you rip out a hunk of his hair should the situation call for it. 

You open your mouth. Preparing a scathing slew of words.

“Oh, hi.”

Aro — you recall — doesn’t reply. Not until he plucks a chair from a nearby table and sets it down across from you. At your table. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t apologise. He just sits and watches you with his pleasant expression and his milky eyes and his horse hair. His wake wafts old paper and lint; like community library, or a darkroom, or a basement. 

Your skin runs cold. Oh fuck, is he actually making good on that threat from the other night?

“Buona—“ A gesture is extended to you. 

“—sera?”

“Very good.” He affirms with a too-animated grin. Like you’re a toddler. Bit patronising. “Going native, are you?”

“How do you mean?”

“Caffè in the evening, just like the locals do it. And you’ve been here every night for the better part of three weeks. One might say you were squatting.”

He’s been watching you. 

He’s wearing an identical suit to the one he wore last you’d encountered him. 

He’s a weirdo. You should find another stranger to cling to. Pretend to go home with them to discourage him from following more of your routine—

“Funny. I haven’t seen you.” You reply, bluntly. 

A micro expression must give your thoughts away, because his eyebrows shoot up in mock-surprise. “Oh? Oh. My friends have mentioned seeing you. I hope you don’t mind — we tend to keep an eye out for people who cross our paths. Small circles and what have you.” 

“That’s fair. You did threaten me last time we met.”

“Water under the bridge.” Aro dismisses. “Gossip gets around. People notice you staying.”

Your caution doesn’t dissipate. “Insular but curious?”

His smile widens. “Exactly! I’m Aro."

“I know. I heard one of your friends say it.” You reply, before giving your own name.

“I know.” Aro mirrors, and then fails to follow-up. Then, he moves to stand from his seat, pausing to consider something. “Care to walk with me?” 

“Give me a minute. I’m working.” 

An outright lie. You commit to typing gibberish for several minutes before closing the device and packing it away. All the while, he watches you like he’s watching a fish in a bowl.

“Upfront?” You say, standing, and he follows suit. “I carry a box cutter.”

“Wonderful.”

“Also, I choose where we go.”

He tips steepled fingers in a mockery of a bow. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Cramped as the little city may be, it’s surprisingly much harder to navigate when you’re trying to remain in the most well-lit spots. Conversation speeds up and slows with your meandering and Aro’s occasional interjection, all the while keeping a good bit of distance between you while you walk. His hands remain clasped in front of him, where you can see them. Making a show that he means you no harm. 

He probably won’t murder you tonight, you decide. 

You learn that he’s quite fond of history. That his friends are much the same. Even the ones that are very clearly children have a passion for preserving the arts and maintaining what Aro defines as ’cultural customs’.

It all sounds vague enough to be a little fucking hinky, but there’s a degree of relief that washes over you when Aro assures you they’re not funded by the Catholic church. 

He’s also a bit pretty, and you’re humble enough to admit that your brain goes smooth when you’re confronted with pretty. 

“So what is it you’ve been trying to write all week?” He eventually asks, gaze flickering to the laptop folded under your arms.

“That’s the issue.” You admit. “I haven’t really found my muse.”

“You just write about anything?” He presses.

You snort. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Right now I’m giving travel writing a whirl. Saved up a while after I finished my degree, but the longer I’m out here, the more I’m starting to realise student loans can’t really be paid off in stories.”

“Is it the stories upsetting you?” Aro frowns. “Or the loans?”

“It’s kind of fucking hard to feel inspired when all you’ve got in savings is the plane ticket home.”

“That explains all those free meals you’ve been charming everyone into.”

The heat returns to your face. He’s really been keeping an eye on you.

“Yeah — I’ve, uh—“ You keep your gaze front and centre on the road. “Sort of run out of money.”

Aro considers that for a moment. His steps slow. Then stop.

“Then, would you like a job?” He asks. 

Your brow furrows, thoughts already flicking through every possible trafficking scenario and how to stage a rebuttal, and his hand raises in defence just as you open your mouth. “You would be working with a few young friends of mine.”

You think about that. “Oh, yeah. Very…varied sense of fashion.”

“Heidi’s dress sense is the most modern of us, I assure you. She leads our public outreach, but she’s a single point of contact.” Aro explains, trailing off into thoughtful contemplation. “I like to pride myself on the diversity of our group, but things don’t move as slowly as they once did, and the internet is becoming too big a sandbox for just one voice to be heard so much lately. Perhaps you could lend a hand.”

All of Aro’s words up until that pitch have sounded pretty organic in comparison. That whole thing was rehearsed, for certain. 

“I don’t buy it.”

“Would you, if you had an allowance?”

”Well, yeah. That’s sort of what a job is.” You frown. For an apparently wealthy man, he's not great with employment terminology.

“You’d be compensated more than fairly.” He persists. “Most of us are volunteers, but if it helps put food on our tables, I’d be curious to see how successful you might be.”

He’s got you by the balls with this whole money thing, you won’t lie. It makes it hard to say no.

“What do you and those other two do, then?” You ask, referring to the men he had stuck to his side on your last meeting. Scraping through whatever you can amidst the glamour of his offer just to find something to poke holes in.

“We boss everyone around.”

Once it’s adequately clear that you’re not amused, Aro pivots, resuming his pace. “Marcus is in charge of relations. Caius keeps everyone in line, and I oversee the structure of everything we do.” He expands. “I do a lot of travelling. Talent scouting, recruitment. We’re globally spread. It’s…busy work, keeping track of everyone.”

“Sounds like you don’t have middle management.” You comment. “Why not hire me for that?”

That earns you a chuckle.

”It’s not perfect, but it’s preferable that olive branches are extended personally.”

”So you’re middle management.”

“In less grand terms, you could say I’m intuitive.” Aro explains, lingering for you for fall back into step. When you stop again, he does too. “I’m quite good at reading people.”

“An empath, are we?” You ask drily, turning your attention over the retaining wall at blackened country hills.

He doesn’t pick up on it. “How kind of you to say. No —“ He extends a well-manicured hand to you, keeping respectable distance. Just enough to demonstrate that this is an offer. Not an order. 

He’d look like kind of a jerk if you left him hanging, so you relent and offer your own.

“If I touch you, I can see your thoughts.”

Your hand stops just short of his, pulling away just as he reaches for you. “Sorry. I’m not into the whole street art thing.”

“Not to worry.” Aro assures, outstretching his fingers until the tendons flex over his knuckles. “I’d never commit such an act without your consent.”

“Yeah. I already fell for a a bracelet scam in Barcelona.” You insist. “Once bitten, twice shy. Maybe another time.”

Aro observes you for a long moment. He’s been doing a lot of that, tonight. 

“Perhaps another time.” He agrees, and the beat he takes doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s not used to being denied.

“You’re not rescinding the job offer for that, are you?” You frown.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re friends now.” Aro replies. “Besides; if anything, if you’re sitting in my office I won’t have to worry about you taking my favourite seat outside.”

You squint at him. Unblinking. He only gives you patience in return.

“I’ll get you in contact with one of my colleagues, and one day, you’ll let me perform my party trick for you. Sound agreement?”

It’s all just a little too good to be true, and a little too weird to be charming. You attempt a sympathetic look, but it feels more like an outright wince. “I’m sorry, it’s gonna have to be a no.”

Aro’s lips purse. His fingers lock together at his front, knuckles pressing while he thinks. 

Then, he regards you with a split-second point of his finger. A final bid.

”I’ll pay for your dinner tonight.”

…

Sold.

#to everyone who heard i was writing a oneshot: im sorry #aro volturi #twilight fanfiction #aro x reader #further tagged as: #TTTVT #oh yeah if you're new here and you see a typo #no you didn't

[princesssmars]

something new

a monet de haan x reader

your first gala in the upper east side, and a certain princess catches your eye...

first | previous | next

a/n: need her bad idk.

warnings: maybe a little bit of monet being ooc? idk ill set it up in the future 😭. neglectful or just kinda a hole parents bc all these kids are messed up. enjoy .

wc: 1.731

when you're parents told you they were moving the company's main office (and essentially your whole life) to new york city, its safe to say you were more than just a little upset. like, upset enough to crash one of your dads cars, but you managed to hold yourself back from doing that. barely.

granted youre family had moved around a bit when you were younger, but youd been in maine for 3 years now and had finally settled in and made actual friends. and the scenery wasnt half bad either.

but as you ride in your parents limo down the streets of manhattan, you cant help but feel isolated. cold. like the citys skyscrapers are mocking you. and dear old dad lecturing you on proper gala etiquette is not helping.

"and remember, everything you do and say reflects on us and the company. be smart about your actions and choose your words wisely. especially to your new peers. none of that sarcasm you oh so love."

ah, yes. the students of constance billiard. the children of the powerful and rich, the next great minds of our future...

a glorified description instead of calling them all a bunch of annoying privileged assholes. granted you were also privileged, but you knew how to at least act like a decent person.

the limo eventually rolls to a stop outside of a grand building, the flashes of paparazzi cameras slightly blinding you. you put on a fake smile anyway.

once inside your parents leave you to mingle with potential new business partners. or a new social circle. same thing.

so here you are, wandering the halls and rooms of the museum, eventually making youre way to the open bar and grabbing yourself a drink. non-alcoholic of course, wouldnt want drunken you causing a scandal and ending up in the gossip blogs by the morning.

"sure you dont want something stronger?" a voice sounds from your right. it comes from a man, or a boy rather, probably around your age. hes tall with pale skin, tired eyes, and sunken cheeks. "trust me, around these...vultures, youre gonna need it."

you laugh through your nose, tipping your head and glass torwards the stranger. "believe me i would if could but uh...expectations and all that. you know how it is."

"hm, sounds familiar. but uh, no, my dads are more the "we'll always support you and ignore the stupid shit you do" type. which i guess works out great for me." he says, taking a long sip of his drink.

he seemed a bit troubled, but then again, every kid here was. comes with the cash.

"try having your parents be both overbearing and absent at the same time. mindfuck isnt even the word." you sigh, smiling when he chuckles after you.

sharing this much with a stranger isnt the smartest move, you know. but youre feeling reckless.

as you both continue witty conversation, you feel eyes burning into your side. you glance to your right, and you luckily manage to keep your eyes from widening as a pretty pair of brown eyes connect to yours.

the boy (whos named you learned is max) follows your line of sight. his eyebrows raise and he wears a sly smile.

"ah, see you've caught monets eye. wish i could say shes harmless but..."

monet. you repeat the name a few times in your head. you like it.

you're brought back to attention when you feel a cold hand on your shoulder. max smiles at you and nods torwards the other side of the room.

"cmon, let me introduce you"

.

.

.

"who is that?"

"hm?" luna hums, too busy on her phone to pay much attention to what her best friend is speaking. she needs to pick the best pictures of julien tonight to post, after all.

monet sighs, tapping the dark-haired girl aggressively on the shoulder and pointing to where max sits at the bar, indulging in what seems like a pleasant conversation with an attractive stranger.

luna squints her eyes and hums. "hm...they do look familiar... let me check." she goes back on her phone, quickly tapping before showing the screen to her best friend.

"her name is y/n l/n, daughter of edmund and marianne l/n, renowned for their investments in colleges and college funding. family is in between old and new money. only recently moved here to new york. she's most likely going to go to constance so we should see her around..."

the girl trails off her sentence as she notices the other still staring contemplatively in your direction. she realizes and laughs lightly. "i see youve picked your next prey."

she tries not to laugh louder as monet's head whips torwards her, an unconvincing scowl on her face. "no, its because shes new and already talking to max. we need to make sure shes not a threat. thats all."

"whatever you say, hun." luna sighs, texting a blunt message to the afromentioned boy.

come over. bring that girl with you.

.

.

.

there werent many times in your life you were nervous - enough that you could count them on one hand. but now, being led over to some of the hottest most intimidating people you've seen tonight by a boy youve know for 10 minutes, its safe to say youre a little on edge.

"y/n, i, regretfully and against my will," he starts, whispering the last part under his breath making you purse your lips trying not to smile, "introduce you to my group of friends."

the next few seconds of silence makes you feel like a 7-year-old introducing themselves to their new class. luckily, one of the girls, with light brown skin and buzzed down hair gives you what seems like a genuine smile. "hi there, y/n, im julien. this is obie, luna, and monet. its nice to meet you."

she introduces herself and her friends that sit to her right; a boy with curly brown hair and an abnormally large forehead, a tall girl who wears a pretty but almost...scheming? smile, and then the most gorgeous girl youve seen tonight with brown skin and brown twists.

you meet the gaze of the last one. monet. shes staring you down with lidded brown eyes that watch your every move like a hawk. you stare back challengingly. the corner of her mouth raises with a smile.

"sit down. we dont bite." there was a glint in monets eyes as she spoke, hoping you pick up on what she wants to say. unless you want me too.

you unwillingly break eye contact when you sit down across rom her and next to max. he slightly nudges you, and laughs when you see his expression and roll your eyes.

"so y/n, are you new around here? how are you liking ney york so far?" the one called obie asks.

you squint your eyes as you think over your answer. "yeah, my parents just moved here for their business. and the city is fine. a little...duller than what i had in mind."

"maybe you just arent looking in the right places." monet speaks up, moving her hand from propping up her face to reaching over her leg.

"really?" you ask, resuming the charged eye contact between you two.

"really."

"shes right, most generic tourist shit is worn out by now," max speaks up, lifting his drink up in the air to you. "us natives would be happy to show you around to all the truly unique spots."

you dont show it but his enthusiasm to include you makes you feel warm inside.

"i'd...really appreciate that. thanks. but only if its alright with the rest of you. wouldnt wanna intrude in your little social circle."

you turn towards the other four, waiting for their responses. julien and obie look inviting enough, luna looks indifferent yet intrigued. monet is wearing a blank expression.

luna whispers into her ear.

she smiles.

"we'd be happy too."

max smiles and claps his hands.

"fantastic. welcome to your own little circle of hell."

.

.

.

the night continues and so do the conversations. occasionally throughout the night you go back into the habit of observing people and direct it to your new acquaintances.

how obie doesnt look quite that comfortable around his so called friends since childhood.

how luna and monet stick together like the creepy ass twins from the shining.

how juliens side of the conversations sometimes go stale.

how max drinks and drinks.

rich kids with rich kid problems.

.

.

.

eventually the night ends and you say your goodbyes after exchanging information. you smile and laugh with max, whos not quite hammered but does have the slurred speech and looseness in his body of someone who does, who is glad to have a friend who "doesn't have a pogo stick far up their ass" and eager to show you around the city in the forthcoming weeks before school starts up again.

as you wait outside on the curb waiting for the valet to bring your car back around and parents to stop smooching up to the other business people that went to the gala, you spot a figure slowly coming up to your left.

"ive gotta say, youve made quite the little introduction tonight, l/n" her smooth voice directs to you, staring out ahead of her before she looks to you at your slight chuckle.

"i barely did or said anything, max was the one to introduce and talk for me most of the night."

"you didnt need to. you're fresh meat. everyones going to be intrested in you regardless."

you smirk. "is that why you were staring holes into me all night?"

she moves her mouth to speak before who you assume to be her mother walks up beside her and tells her their car is here, the girl nodding as her mother leaves yet again.

"you're lucky you met us tonight, l/n. we'll knock you into shape soon enough." she tells you before walking after her mother. it sounds like a promise and a threat wrapped into one.

you meet eyes before she gets inside her car.

you feel the tap of fathers hand on your shoulder, urging you to get inside your vehicle.

as you sit inside the car, your parents conversation dulls as you watch the city streets pass you by.

they all seem a bit brighter, you think.

.

.

.

.

ooo the way i had to force myself down and finish this. i feel like the way i wrote this and y/n in general flip flopped but idk i'll fix it. thinking of making this a series but dont wanna get ahead of myself. sorry this took so long 😭😭

#aki menzies #audrey hope #gossip girl reboot #gossip girl reboot x reader #gossip girl x reader #julien calloway #luna la #monet de haan #obie bergmann #monet x reader #monet de haan x reader #black reader in my mind but applies to all #need her bad

[maebymaedayidk]

I've been reading a lot of OFMD fanfiction lately and it's been really interesting to see peoples perceptions of Ed and Stedes relationship.

It's odd because, on one hand, we've gotten to see so much of their relationship. Edwards immediate fascination-turned-adoration for Stede, and Stedes slow fall into love for Ed. But we see this mostly as two independent arcs.

We never actually got to see Stede be in love with Ed, he realised it a little too late. We got to see them mostly just,, connect with eachother. In a vulnerable, love-in-its-infancy kind of way. And I feel like that sort of disconnect that Ed and Stede are experiencing in the nether world between season 1 and season 2 (🤞) is also being experienced for us - the fans, reflected within the discourse and fanfiction.

Blackbeard is a bit of a wildcard. Idk about you guys but I did not see *****spoilers***** him abandoning most of the crew on a tiny ass island coming. Within perceived rejection, he turns to murder, tyranny, and the Kraken.

The season closed with Stede inches away from knowing what happened. And it's sort of his fault, and the rocky relationship he was having with his crew in the opening episode I think will be paralleled in the opening of season 2.

It's a leap, but not THAT huge of one. But as fans of this show, we're skipping over all of these juicy bits. Theres collective agreement in some ways- we've all seen the beautiful fan art of stede and Ed having their tearful showdown, mid-battle.

But we seem to be starting our stories after this agreed-upon battle. We've fallen in love with Stede caring for Ed's bad knee, Ed saving stede once again from another pissed-off navy ship, stede feeding Ed the finest things. We're skipping into the meat of their relationship, but by doing that, we're losing Ed's adoration, and we're losing stede trying to navigate something so foreign to him. (Can someone give me 1 single character that really loved stede from his past? His wife maybe liked him, and his kids enjoyed his company. But wheres the love?)

And also there are the inevitable people reducing their relationship into a fetish thing for mlm relationships (cool ur jets pls, let's not ruin a good thing)

So long as season 2 stays without renewal, discourse and rewatching and fanfiction is lifeblood right now. And there's nothing wrong with skipping over the angst and pain that we will inevitably be seeing in season 2, and only focusing on content that keeps these 2 middle aged idiots in love happy is sometimes just what you need. But my main thing is, let's try not to boil these two down too much. Let's not ignore that Stede has never before felt real love, let's not ignore Ed's identity as a biracial man in the 1700s, and let's not ignore the crew. Without those silly guys, the show just wouldn't be the same.

#blackbonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #queer #ed teach #ed x stede #stede bonnet #renew our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd crew

[babybatscreationsv2]

if you’re taking prompts;

so; tony is the devil. Or hades? Although hades isn’t technically “evil” so idk. And peter’s very literally made a deal with the devil. Only he couldn’t keep up with his end of the deal and now his soul he belongs to tony. aND THEN, tony kinda likes pities him and it turns into a beauty and the beast sorta thing where tony has his undead servants make feasts n all that sorta stuff so peter feels comfortable. And then they fall in love. And then they screw 😌

Thank you for this because I've been looking for an excuse to write a Hades and Persephone story. This ended up so tender and romantic that you can't call it smut. These beeches be making love. Also this ended up full fic sized so here's the details.

Eat the Fruit

Summary: When Peter's lover dies in an accident, he offers his soul to the God of the Underworld to save him, but when he is unable to fulfill his end of the deal he finds himself in the Underworld. Now Peter is left tending to the pomegranate grove where the only balm for his loneliness is Hades (aka Tony), a god with a prickly edge.

Rating: Explicit

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed with gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

You must love him to offer your soul to me this way.

Please, you are lord of the dead. If anyone has this power, it's you.

I am not cruel, Peter. I will restore your lover's soul. In return, you must stay with him in life until he dies a natural death.

I promise.

So be it.

----------

The agony of heartbreak still echoed in his mind. His mind replayed the moment as Harry told him goodbye and turned away, closing the door as he went. He wished he could try again. Despite how he had pleaded with Harry not to leave, had promised him whatever he wished, he felt that maybe there was something he could have done. Harry did not love him anymore. He left him.

And so Peter fainted... and he awoke in a vast orchard.

He sat up in the grass and looked around at the low trees each baring heavy red fruit. Pomegranates. They looked beautiful, delicious. Peter stood and brushed himself off. He looked around feeling unsure how he had gotten here. Then he remembered and a sob escaped him. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he had broken his deal with Hades. This beautiful grove must have been a part of the Underworld.

"So soon," said a voice. Peter turned to catch sight of a man. He was handsome, a bit older than Peter, with wrinkles around his eyes, yet those eyes shined with livelihood. When he last saw Hades it had been a shadow of his true form, something massive and hulking and terrible. He seemed almost kind now. He had been kind enough to him then.

"Please, Lord Hades, send me back. Let me try again."

The god plucked a fruit from a tree and examined it. "Sorry, kid. That was a one time offer. No take backs." He looked Peter over, then he placed the pomegranate in his hands. He walked past him and Peter followed along, afraid to be left alone in such a place.

"Please. I'll give you anything. Lord Hades-"

The god huffed and turned on the spot. He held up a finger. "First of all, there's no need to call me that. Hades is more of a title and I'm over it. Call me Tony."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony. Now, listen up because I've got a short temper." Tony looked him in the eye. His hand held Peter's chin. "You will never leave the Underworld. Do you understand? Your soul belongs to me. You belong to me. This is where you will stay. Forever."

"Forever," Peter repeated. Not a question, but a realization. He had given everything for Harry. Everything.

The god took hold of his arm and turned him to look across the orchard. "Do you see the river there? You are never to attempt to cross it. If you try, its current will drag you under and you will drown in its waters until I see fit to retrieve you. The river Styx will not allow a soul to leave so easily."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I get it. Don't cross the river." It sure didn't sound fun to drown in a river until this oddly blase god decided to have mercy on him. "What happens now?"

Tony shrugged. "Tend the orchard or something. What do I care?"

Peter looked at him like he had grown a second head, which maybe he did have two heads, this probably wasn't his true form. "You let me sell my soul to you so I could just hang out?"

Tony's face shifted and Peter shrank back. His sudden anger was sharp and cold like a dagger made of ice. He encroached on Peter's space and with a clenched jaw he tried not to back away further. "Listen up, kid. You made the deal you wanted to make. You wanted to sacrifice yourself for what your heart desired and I gave you the opportunity. Life isn't the fairy tale you thought it was. Now, tend the trees and keep out of my hair."

Peter watched him go. He stared off in the direction that he went a while longer. Then cold began to seep into his bones. He sat down under a pomegranate tree. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Then he cried, wet tears staining the clothes he had died in. It could have been a lifetime that he cried, but when he finally got up he was numb.

Harry was gone and his life was over, but there was no going back. Peter turned in a circle, looking at the orchard. It was beautiful. If he had to spend the rest of eternity here it certainly wasn't the worst place to be. Sometimes when a breeze kicked up, he thought he heard screaming off in the direction he had decided to call south. There were certainly worse places to be even in the Underworld.

Peter walked to the edge of the pomegranate grove. Several feet from the edge, the ground began to slope down until it reached the edge of the Styx. A boat floated along the water. A man with a scraggly goatee and messy, curly, hair rowed along while a woman with red rimmed eyes sat in the seat. When she looked up, she looked right through him as if he were glass. A chill went through him. Once the feeling passed, he tried to wave at her, but she didn't respond. Was she in shock? Did she know yet that she was dead? Where was she being taken, he wondered. He hoped it was somewhere nice like his pomegranate grove and not the place where the screaming came from.

He kept walking, following the tree line, never passing the trees on the very edge. The orchard was vast, but not endless. On one side was the river Styx. On the next, the river Lethe. Or he assumed it was as the mist that came off of it made his head feel hazy. When he reached the third side is when the screaming grew louder. He walked faster until it grew distant again.

The fourth edge of the orchard stretched on into a garden. Peter stopped himself at the edge of the trees. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the orchard or not. He hadn't been explicitly told not to. So he did.

He followed along low hedges and passed through clusters of hydrangea. Then the ground began to change from grass and plant life to cold gray stone. Peter looked back at the garden and the orchard beyond it. Was this allowed? He couldn't tend the trees without any tools. He'd need baskets if he were to collect the fruit and if they got sick he'd need medicines. He wasn't sure what else one could possibly do for trees. Perhaps Tony could tell him.

He found the god in question sitting a top a throne of slate. He looked far larger than he had before, but he still took the same form. He seemed bored, or perhaps indifferent was the word, as souls lined up at his feet. One soul grovelled on his knees.

"Please, my lord. I am meant for Elysium. I was a good man in life. An excellent one. I always gave to charity, I swear!"

Hades, for that's what he was a top this throne, waved his hand. "That does not make you special nor important by any means. You are not exceptional by any measure. To the fields with you." He snapped his fingers and two souls, each with hollow, black eyes and wrists wrapped in cuffs of slate, came forward and dragged the pleading soul away.

Another stepped forward and their plea was the same. They wished for Elysium and Hades waved them off.

"Won't you even listen to their stories?" Peter asked.

The god looked down at him. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was meant to do."

"The trees will tell you when they need," he said, but Peter noticed that he did not wave him away as he did the pleading soul so he assumed he was allowed to stay.

The next soul pleaded not for Elysium, but for their lover. They begged to be reunited with them in Asphodel.

"It is not my job to see that lovers unite. If you are soul mates you will find one another," Tony said with a terribly bored voice.

"Please, my lord. I has been a hundred years-"

"Be grateful I do not drop you in the River Lethe before you are returned!" he snapped. "Be gone with you."

"You are too harsh," Peter said as the soul was dragged away

Tony glared down at him. "You don't have to listen to the same nonsense for eternity."

"You are a god. You should be grateful for that."

"You should be grateful I don't sick my hound on you," Tony growled. "Now go."

Peter hesitated, not wishing to be alone again, but the look on Tony's face was far from kind. With a deep frown, Peter turned and walked back to the orchard.

The trees weren't much for company. Peter walked through the boughs, lonely and with too much time to reflect. He thought about the life he had lost and all of the things he had given up. He thought about Harry. Did he regret leaving him now that he was dead? Did he miss him? He wondered if Harry would go to his funeral and if he would ever bring flowers. After a long while of wandering, he couldn't take it any longer. He made his way back to the place where the grass died and became stone.

There were no souls there now, only a massive dog which sat at the foot of the throne. It opened one big eye as Peter came near. When he didn't stop it raised its head only for Peter to realize that it had not one, but three. A growl rumbled in its throat.

"Sorry to bother you, big guy. I was just looking for the other big guy." Peter reached out a hand inviting the dog to smell it. It lowered its heads suspiciously. Then it sniffed.

"It's okay. I'm not up to any mischief, I promise. I was just lonely. You look like you might be lonely, too."

Peter smiled as the dog allowed him to pet his hairy nose. It watched him curiously as he came closer so he could scratch behind his ears.

"You're sweet aren't you?" Peter cooed. "Sweet boy."

"Peter?" Tony's voice called. He turned his head to see him coming up the path. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"He seems to like me," Peter shrugged. "I was just looking for some company."

Tony stopped and looked at them both. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching silently while Peter pet the happy dog. His giant tail wagged into the gray dirt.

"You were lonely?" Tony finally asked.

"Trees aren't the best company as it turns out. I'm not used to be alone. Harry and I..." Peter took a breath. Just mentioning his name made his chest burn. "Well, we were always together."

"I see..." Tony stared off toward the orchard. "Come and see me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It doesn't always get dark here, but night will fall in a few hours. Come back here then, but not before."

Peter looked at the man, but he didn't seem likely to divulge what he was up to. "Alright... I will see you then."

He gave the dog, Cerberus, one last pet. Then he turned away and walked back to the orchard.

As promised the sky above began to darken. Peter watched it with fascination for a moment. There were no stars in the Underworld. The sky was a deep navy, almost black. Yet, Peter could see perfectly fine. He walked back through the trees to where the ground became stone and there he found a grand table set with candles and silver platters.

"Peter, glad you could join me," Tony greeted. The look on his face was almost a smile.

"What is all this?"

"You said you were lonely so I thought we could share a meal together. If you'd like."

Peter smiled. "Of course! That sounds great."

Tony looked relived. He pulled out a chair for him. "I don't know what you like, but I had nearly everything I could think of prepared."

Peter sat down, offering his thanks as Tony pushed his seat up. He sat down on Peter's right. He flinched as Tony's dead soldiers melted from the shadows and began to serve him from the many plates and platters. When his plate and cup were full, they took a step back waiting to serve him again.

"This all looks amazing. I thought you couldn't eat the food in the Underworld."

Tony picked up his glass, the only thing in front of him. "If it is grown here, then it is true. Eating food grown in the Underworld can have undesired effects." He stared into his wine. Then he looked up and gave Peter a smile. "Eat," he said.

Every bite was divine. Sitting together with Tony helped chase the loneliness away. They talked about Peter's happy memories in life, his time in college, holidays with his Aunt May, being Uncle Peter to Gwen's twins. Harry wasn't there for most of the good parts. Peter couldn't help but find that strange. Harry had felt like such a big part of his life, but had he? Maybe the Underworld was making him forgetful.

After dinner, they stood together and watched the light return. Tony's odd little soldiers cleared everything away.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony said. He gave him a smile. Peter admired the way it made his eyes shine.

"No, thank you. That was a lovely dinner. I'm feeling a lot better, too."

"I'm glad." He paused for a moment and they stood simply looking at each other as the sky changed above them. "You're welcome to return here whenever you please."

Peter's smile widened. "Are you saying you enjoyed my company as well?"

Tony shrugged. "It's wasn't the worst dinner I've been to."

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked away. He returned to the orchard where the boughs were heavy with fruit. He spent hours, maybe days, picking the fruit and collecting it into baskets that he couldn't recalling seeing before. There was a pail and some tools as well.

He stuck to picking fruit for now. That is until his arms grew tired from reaching and legs grew tried from carrying him. He left the orchard to return to the throne. There was Hades, sat atop, looking terribly bored as he dealt with the unending line of souls.

"Please, Lord Hades-"

"Shoo," the god wave the soul away and they were dragged off. Peter went and took a seat, cross legged on the ground beside him. Tony spared him a glance.

"Come to watch the show?"

"I like being with you."

Tony stiffened, but said nothing in answer. Another soul stepped forward. A sort of gray tone clouded not only their skin, but their clothes as well. Peter wondered why he wasn't the same way. Was it because he Tony's soul, belonging to the orchard, while this soul belonged somewhere else? The souls from the Fields were all a bit gray.

"Please, Lord Hades, it has been one hundred and fifty years since my death. I wish to be united with my daughter. I walk the Fields endlessly and never find her," the soul pleaded.

Tony sighed. "Fine," he said. Peter blinked, sitting more upright. "When you return to the Fields, your daughter will await you at the gate."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed wjth gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

"That was kind of you," Peter said.

Tony huffed in response, but he continued this way. Whenever a soul made, what seemed to Peter, a reasonable request Tony honored it. Souls were united with family, friends, and lovers so long as they walked the fields together. And when it was done, Tony walked with Peter back to the orchard.

They walked beneath the trees, the smell of pomegranate in the air.

"What changed your mind about the souls?"

Tony stood and examined one of the trees. He ignored Peter's question. "They seem happy with you here," he said.

"You were right. They do tell me what they need."

Tony smiled. "Of course I was." He turned and took Peter's hand. His heart fluttered. They kept walking until the Styx came into view. They watched the river pass by in silence. Then after a long while Tony said, "I have to go." Then he disappeared.

Peter turned in a circle, but the god was truly gone. He smiled to himself and turned back to watch the river pass. Tony left him feeling warm. He missed his company already, but he was glad to have had it in the first place.

He went back to his trees, tending them with a smile. Time as usual, without measure other than a weariness in his legs from standing. Then the trees began to ask for water.

It made sense. It never seemed to rain in the Underworld. Certainly trees would need water. He had a pail he could collect it in, but where would he get it from? The only water source nearby was the Styx. He looked around for Tony, but the god was not nearby. So he took it upon himself to get the water.

Peter carried his pail down to the riverside. He placed his feet carefully to keep from slipping into the water. Then he leaned out and scooped some water up with the pail. He set the full pail up on the bank, but its weight unbalanced him. His feet slid in the rocks and he was pulled under the water's surface.

While the Styx looked steady and calm, there was a current beneath its surface. It claimed him easy, dragging him under and pulling him far far away from the orchard. Peter tried to swim up, sometimes his hands breached the surface, but never his head. His lungs burned with lack of air, then with water. Then he was drowning. Drowning without dying.

There was never any telling how much time passed in the Underworld. But finally, finally... he was pulled from the river.

He vomited what felt like gallons of water, coughing the rest from his lungs. The pain faded quickly. Peter laid on his back and blinked wet eyes at the man standing over him. He was a shadow, blocking out the light above.

"Tony?" he rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall in. The trees needed water and I slipped."

Tony knelt beside him. "I know. I saw the water pail by the river." He scooped Peter up and pulled him to his chest. Instantly, he was dry. "You're safe now."

"Thank you." Peter's body shook in fear and relief. "That was horrible."

Tony pet his hair and held him close. "Come and get me next time the trees need water. I will call the rain to water them."

Tony helped him stand. With slow steps they walked back together to the orchard. Tony seemed far more quiet than usual. Peter couldn't place just what was wrong. He'd been warned not to try to cross the river. Was he not allowed to go near it at all? Or did Tony think he had tried to leave. Why would it bother him so much if he did?

They passed under the first branches of the orchard. Without thinking, Peter plucked the first pomegranate he saw. He stopped and admired the round, red, fruit in his hands. Tony stopped and turned, looking back at him.

"I've never tasted one of these." Peter laughed softly. "All this time picking them and caring for them, but I never eat them."

"If you eat the fruit in the Underworld, you can never leave," Tony reminded him.

"You wouldn't let me leave anyway."

"Maybe I would." There was a vulnerable honesty there in his eyes. He was right, wasn't he? This time he was right. Harry had never loved him. He had been young and foolish and naive. Tony didn't just show him desire and adoration in the way that Harry had, no. From Tony he received respect, admiration, trust. Because Tony loved him, truly.

"You thought, even if it was only for a moment, that I had tried to cross the river. Were you relieved when you realized it was an accident?" Peter looked at his face. He said nothing, gave nothing away with his expression.

Peter looked at the fruit in his hand. He dug his thumbs into the skin and pulled it apart. It bled pink onto his skin. Tony watched him in silence, seeming to hold his breath. Peter examined his face searching for one last reassure that he was truly wanted. Then he brought the fruit to his lips and bit into its seeds.

It was perfectly sweet. The taste of it coated his tongue. Juice dripped down his chin. When he swallowed, it was heavy in his stomach. He dropped the fruit and looked at the god.

His gaze was adoring, worshipful.

"Allow me a taste," Tony said. He reached for him, pulling him in. Their lips met and Peter moaned at a taste that was far sweeter than the fruit.

His hands held Tony's face, staining his cheeks pink. Strong hands held his back, guiding him to press in closer until they were flush. Peter moaned as a tongue slipped over his own, exploring and claiming his mouth. He felt high on him, willing and receptive to any of Tony's desires.

They stopped, only for a moment, and gazed at each other's faces. Then Tony took him and laid him back in the soft grass beneath the trees.

Tony stripped away his clothes. Each article was removed with gentle care and hot kisses pressed to his newly exposed skin. Every inch of him felt sensitive to the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard. When he was naked, Tony returned above him to kiss his lips again. Peter let his hands roam over his chest and found that his clothes were gone, revealing a muscular and scarred chest. Tony caught his hand, holding it above his heart.

"Do you mind?" he said. His eyes shined.

Peter shook his head. "You're beautiful, Tony," he said. Tony caught his mouth in a kiss that was ripe with need.

Peter spread his legs apart and Tony settled between them. His kiss were soft and tender as he pushed slowly inside him. His mouth captured the high pitch whined that escaped Peter's lips. Slowly he was filled until Tony was fully inside him. His hands clung to Tony's shoulders and he stared up into gleaming brown eyes.

He dragged his fingers over his skin to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," Peter whispered.

Tony's smile was joyous. "I love you, Peter."

Peter gasped, head falling back into the grass as Tony moved inside him. The friction felt so intense that he could form words but that didn't stop him from whining and babbling. Tony kissed his lips, his bared neck, his chest. His lips sucked his nipples, tongue flicking and teasing over them. Peter's nails dug into Tony's shoulders. All he could do was hold on as his cock dragged over his prostate and Tony fucked him fast and deep. Frantic, like he was starving. When his mouth returned to Peter's, he held him tight, kissing his lips as if they dripped ambrosia. He refused to let, kissing him deeply and desperately until he could hold on no longer. His nails cut scratches into Tony's back as his body ached and shivered beneath him. His cum splattered, sticky and warm on his skin.

He panted hard, looking up at Tony again with nothing but adoration and love. He held Tony's beautiful face.

"Cum in me, please," Peter begged.

"Anything you want is yours," Tony pledged.

He moved him again, cock deep inside, body screaming with sensitivity. A tear rolled down Peter's cheek and he whimpered painfully, but he was euphoric. Tony kissed away his tears. Peter tasted the salt on his lips. Then Tony moaned, holding him tight. Peter covered his face in kisses. He felt him cum, making him sticky and wet inside.

Tony's cheeks were red and his smile was bright. Peter couldn't help but smile, too, and pulled him down into a deep unending kiss.

#marvel #starker #prompt fill #hades and persephone #fluff #romance #nff

[takahero]

some descriptions of Basta in Inkheart if you’re interested!! spoiler warning just to be on the safe side, in case u haven’t read it. and my unsolicited commentary here and there

“‘Naturally I recognised them at once. Capricorn had sent his best men. Even Basta was with them.’” — pg.99

“Rasping cat’s-tongue voice” pg.125

“(Basta’s face) was thin, sharply angular, with close-set eyes…Basta was not a tall man, and his shoulders were almost as narrow as a boy’s, but Meggie held her breath when he took a step towards her…He had an aura of fury about him, or something keen and biting—” pg.126

“Only Basta wore a snow-white shirt, just as Dustfinger had said, with a red flower in the buttonhole of his jacket, a red flower like a warning.” pg.131

“He caught her eye, and with a twisted smile kissed the blade of his knife.” — pg.173 (I JUST HAD TO ADD THIS)

“‘Oh, Basta can’t write,’ replied Capricorn calmly. ‘None of my men can either read or write. I’ve forbidden them to learn.’” — pg.176 (literacy rights for Basta 2k21)

“She could see the trepidation even on Basta’s face, although he was doing his best to hide it by assuming a particularly bored expression.” — pg.185

“‘Abduction!’ Basta savoured the word. ‘Sounds good to me. Really good.’” — pg.192 (ok but if u read it a certain way. unofficial evidence that basta would enjoy reading if he could LMAO)

“‘Where’s our luggage?’ she asked.

“Dustfinger looked at her with amusement. ‘I expect Basta’s divided it out among Capricorn’s maids. He likes to ingratiate himself with them.’” — pg.213 LMAOOOOOOO OH MY GOD

“Basta was still standing in the road. His face was sharply outlined when he lit a cigarette with a lighter.” — pg.215

“And he bent down to cut through the leather thong that Basta wore around his neck. It had a little bag tied with a red drawstring hanging from it.” — pg. 231

“‘Ah, Basta!’ Fenoglio smiled. Each of his separate wrinkles expressed self-satisfaction. ‘One of the best villains I ever thought up. A rabid dog, but not half as bad as my other dark hero, Capricorn. Basta would let his heart be torn out for Capricorn, but his master is a stranger to such loyalty.’” — pg.264

“‘You know, if you were to ask me which of those two I was prouder of, Basta or Capricorn, I couldn’t tell you! Even though some critics said they were just too nasty!’” — pg.265

“Basta emphasised the word, putting his foxy face so close to Meggie’s she could see herself reflected in his eyes.” — pg.301

“‘You’ll do no such thing!’ he spat at Flatnose, as the grey cat disappeared under the wardrobe. ‘Killing cats is unlucky. How often do I have to tell you?’” — pg.303 (friendly reminder that the last time he appeared, he kicked a dog in the ribs 😐)

“Basta was walking just behind her, and she heard him quietly cursing the rain.” — pg.304 (irrelevant but i kind of hc basta to like the rain, since it would dampen dustfinger’s showbiz LMAO)

“Basta’s eyes always narrowed when he smiled.” — pg.305

“‘You wear long sleeves,’ Fenoglio continued very slowly, as if giving Basta time to take in every single word, ‘because your master likes playing with fire. You burned both arms right up to the shoulders when you obeyed his orders and set fire to the house of a man who had dared to refuse his daughter to Capricorn. Ever since then, someone else has laid the fire, and you confine yourself to playing games with knives.’” — pg.308

“‘Oh, I know all about you, Basta,’ he said. ‘I know you’d give your life for Capricorn any day, and you’re always hungry for his praise. I know you were younger than Meggie when his men picked you up, and ever since you’ve loved him like a father. But shall I tell you something? Capricorn thinks you’re stupid, and despises you for it. He despises you all, his devoted black-clad sons, although it’s his own doing that you’re still so ignorant. And he wouldn’t hesitate to set the police on to any one of you if it was to his advantage. Are you quite clear about that?’” — pg.308 (FENOGLIO…..RUTHLESS)

“Basta winked at Meggie.” — pg.310 (wink 1)

“Every cruel deed with which he had ever credited Basta was probably going through his head. Basta relished the fear on his face for a few delicious minutes.” — pg.312

“Basta’s car had not been in the car park at all since they’d come here. It was unusual for it to be gone so long, because Basta didn’t like to be away from the village for any length of time.” — pg.318 basta is a homebody guys

“‘Save your tongue for later, scribbler!” Basta interrupted. ‘I don’t like whispering.’” — pg.324

“Almost all the women in the village kept away from Basta, but he didn’t keep away from them.” — pg.337

“‘Take him, for instance,’ he said, pointing to Basta. ‘I always knew he was a very unhappy boy before you picked him up. As it says in another very fine book, it’s terribly easy to persuade children that they are worthless. Basta was convinced of it. Not that you taught him any better, oh no! Why would you? But suddenly here was someone to whom he could devote himself, someone who told him what to do — he’d found a god, Capricorn, and if you treated him badly, well, who says that all gods are kindly? Most of them are stern and cruel, wouldn’t you agree? I didn’t write all this in the book. I knew it, that was enough.’” — pg.345 (this is really the part that made my stance toward basta change. like PHEW. that’s a lot to unpack)

“Basta was notorious for his silent tread.” — pg.363

“Basta’s breath smelled of mint, fresh and sharp. Apparently a girl he’d once wanted to kiss had told him he had bad breath. The girl had regretted it, but ever since then Basta chewed peppermint leaves from morning to night.” — pg.364

“He whistled softly through his teeth, then held the book close to Meggie’s face.”— pg.374 (i was rendered speechless)

“Basta’s lips quivered with annoyance, but he bit back his reply and, without a word, put his hand under the black cloth.” — pg.377 (ugh I loved this. like we know he worships capricorn like a dog, but earlier fenoglio flat out told him capricorn couldn’t care less about what happened to him. more than that, capricorn asked basta to bring meggie and fenoglio — prisoners — into his home. later dustfinger says that basta would’ve slept on the threshold of capricorn’s room if he could but none of the men sleep there. so with all of this fresh in his mind, you can imagine him feeling quite hurt and betrayed. UGH I wish he had a greater arc surrounding capricorn…like even if we saw a few hints that his loyalty was starting to show cracks…idk what his arc is in inkspell so maybe I’ll sit tight for that)

“He was in a hurry to get back to the light of day, away from the dead and their ghosts. His hand shook as he hung his lantern on a book and opened the grating over the first cell.” — pg.409

“Dustfinger was always surprised to find how easily you could scare the man with a few words.” — pg.409 LMAOOOOO

“‘That notion of burning us isn’t a very new idea, Basta, but then you were never fond of new ideas.’” — pg.422

“His teeth were almost as white as his shirt.” — pg.442

“Meggie saw from his face that everything in him felt revulsion, but he came closer and took the creature. He held the scaly body well away from him as it wound and twisted in the air.

“‘As you see, Basta doesn’t care for my snakes!’ said the Magpie, with a smile. ‘He never did, not that that means much. As far as I know Basta doesn’t like anything but his knife. He also believed that snakes bring bad luck, which of course is pure nonsense.’ Mortola handed Basta the second snake. Meggie saw the viper’s tiny poison fangs when it opened its mouth. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for Basta.” — pg.446

“‘Basta likes to use snakes to scare women who reject his advances. It didn’t work with Resa. How did it go exactly — didn’t she finally put the snake outside your door, Basta?’” — pg.446 (10/10 resa & snake well-deserved)

“Basta did not want neighbours. Indeed, he wanted no other company but Capricorn’s. Dustfinger knew Basta would have slept on the threshold of Capricorn’s room if he had been allowed to, but none of the men lived in the main house.” — pg.478

“Basta was probably the only man in Capricorn’s village who locked his front door.” — pg.480

“They said in the village that whenever Capricorn had a house set on fire Basta took away a brick or stone, even though he feared fire at other times, and clearly that story was true.” — pg.480

“(Everything in Basta’s house was scrubbed clean, as spotless as his snow-white shirt.)” — pg.481

“Once or twice, footsteps approached, but each time they passed by the house. What a good thing Basta had no friends.” — pg.482

“Basta was not in a good way. Whenever they looked at him they saw his hands clinging to the bars, knuckles white under his sun-tanned skin.” — pg.503 (BASTA’S SUNTANNED?!?!)

“Basta in particular was the object of enough scorn and derision for ten men, and from his failure to react at all one could only guess at the depths of his despair.” — pg.503

“For the fraction of a second life came back into Basta as his former lord and master stopped by the bars; he raised his head, his eyes pleading silently, like a dog begging for forgiveness…Basta only bowed his head and stared at the floor. Elinor thought he looked like an oyster with the flesh and life sucked out of it.” — pg.504 (i honestly still can’t wrap my head around his behaviour in this chap. i mean yes, the gladiator-style death sentence looming over his head can’t be understated. but i think for me it was how rapidly his spirits deteriorated from screaming for help in the cell to becoming a husk of a man before he even saw capricorn again? how?? was it all because of dustfinger spooking him so bad in the crypt?? 🤔🤔)

#the list nobody asked for #im gonna keep adding and editing for personal reasons #it’ll be interesting to see if any of my thoughts change after inkspell tho I’m kinda scared #basta #i could’ve sworn there was another wink!!!!!!!!! I SWEAR #basta: don’t swear oaths u can’t keep #inkheart

[hearts-hunger]

ciryc ca'tra (cold night sky): chapter three || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two

Series Summary: When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe under the cold night sky. || Part One of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: You panic when the baby goes missing, only to find him trying to help his daddy fix the ship. You panic when the frog lady goes missing, only to find her trying to warm her eggs. You panic when there’s suddenly spiders all over the place. You’re really not having a good time on this frozen planet.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader 

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst | Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Maybe old fashioned ideas about marriage? Idk, I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to tag!

A/N: I’ve been writing this fic nonstop for the past few days and it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I’m thoroughly enjoying it, and I hope you are too! Also, I think it’s actually very sexy of me to post each chapter less than 24 hours apart. Enjoy! ♡

You couldn’t get back to sleep.

You tried - your whole body ached with exhaustion, and you knew you should rest - but you were too rattled by the scare with the droid and too worried about Din out in the cold. You tried to find something more productive to do than fret, but the baby had slept through everything, and there was very little to do when you weren’t chasing him around the ship. You’d already organized and cleaned everything you could; there really was nothing to do but wait.

For the sake of your sanity - and Din’s, as you knew an anxious wife was absolutely the last thing he needed right now - you decided on a shower. The refresher was outfitted with a regular shower as well as a sonic; you’d be using the latter, considering the fact that there was no heat on the Crest at the moment. Neatly folding Din’s spare cloak and putting the rest of your clothes in the laundry basket in the refresher, you stepped into the sonic and let the thing work its magic.

The state of the refresher when you’d first come aboard the Crest was... abysmal, to put it honestly. It told you all you needed to know about the Mandalorian bounty hunter you’d met when he arrived in your small town deep in the hills of Naboo: he was used to being alone, and very unfamiliar with a woman’s company. When you started working for him and living on the ship - he’d needed your help finding a man who used to live in your town - you’d asked if there was any way to at least have a door on the blasted thing. He readily complied, and with the help of a few of the handyman types in your community, the Crest’s refresher was sorted out in no time, and more elaborately than you’d hoped for. 

The sonic was made to be used with or without water, and warm lights adorned the new mirror above the sink. Best of all, there was a sliding door - much like the one on the bunk, which had been expanded slightly in all the renovation. Until you were married - only a short while after you came to work for him, as you’d both fallen head over heels in a matter of weeks - Din had slept on the reclining passenger seat in the cockpit. You’d always considered that likely miserable sleeping arrangement and the new refresher his very first love-gifts to you, and you knew you would always cherish his selflessness and generosity.

Clean and a little less wired after the sonic, you quickly put on new clothes and wrapped yourself back in Din’s cloak. You went to check on the baby, sure he was still sleeping; to your dismay and instant panic, your little foundling was nowhere to be found among the blankets you’d nestled him in earlier.

“Ad’ika!” you called, searching through the ship like Din had earlier. Your little one was an escape artist, that much you’d known from the very beginning. Usually it was of little consequence - there were only so many places he could go on the ship, and you or Din found him contentedly playing with his silver ball or some other toy he’d fashioned. But here, with the temperature dropping and the wreckage everywhere and only the tarp between the ship and the icy world outside - you had to find him.

Your panic grew to a fever pitch as you searched the ship high and low, calling for him with an increasingly desperate tone. Finally, positive he wasn’t anywhere on the Crest, you ventured outside; snowdrifts piled across the rocky ground, and the air was bitterly cold. Heedless of your own safety, you searched around the wreckage of the ship, calling for him as you felt the sting of tears.

“Cyar’ika!”

You heard Din’s voice calling you from the other side of the ship, and you made your way to him as quickly as you could. Surely Din would know where your baby was, and if he didn’t, he would know where to look. As you rounded the corner, you almost couldn’t make him out as tears blurred your vision. You tried to collect yourself before you told him - what, that you’d lost your son? That you’d had one job and couldn’t even keep your toddler safe?

Your distress must have shown on your face, because Din reached a consoling hand out to you and met you halfway as you walked through the snow towards him. You prepared to tell him, to beg for his forgiveness and help - 

Then, wrapped in the corner of Din’s cloak and nestled snugly in the crook of his arm, your baby peeked out at you and gave a babble of greeting.

“Oh, Maker,” you gasped, the words coming out like a sob. You reached out for him and Din gave him to you; you held him tight as tears streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you said, shoulders shaking as you tried to get a hold of yourself. You felt Din’s hand on your back, drawing you close against him; you let him hold you, the baby pressed safely between you.

“It’s ok, cyare,” Din soothed, running his hand up and down your back. 

You gave a hitching breath. “It’s not ok, Din,” you insisted. “I thought he was - ”

You couldn’t make yourself say it, and felt a flash of anger at your husband that you knew was misdirected, but you didn’t know what to do with the guilt and fear that still ran through you.

“You knew where he was this whole time?” you snapped, looking up at his visor. Your tears were cold on your cheeks, and you angrily brushed them away. “How long was he out here with you, while I was worried sick looking for him?”

Din held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “No, I didn’t know he was out here,” he said, determinedly calm and patient. “I only just found him, and I’d just finished getting onto him when I heard you calling for him. I was coming to take him to you, cyare.”

You knew he was telling you the truth - he’d never do something like that to you. You didn’t know what to say, ashamed that you’d accused him of letting you worry needlessly when he’d actually been doing all he could to prevent that.

“S-sorry,” you managed brokenly. You could see your vague reflection in the planes of his helmet, tearful and small and overrun with emotion.

He sighed and drew you close to him again. “I know,” he said gently. “You don’t have to apologize. I know that scared you.”

You shook your head as you leaned against his chest. “He was asleep,” you tried to explain. “I closed the door on the bunk and I just went to take a shower - I didn’t mean to - ”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “He knew better than to wander off like that, especially outside.”

Din looked down at the small bundle in your arms, wrapped now in the cloak you wore.

“It was very naughty to make your mama worry like that,” Din said firmly, raising a finger for emphasis. “Don’t do that again.”

The baby gave a babble that sounded somewhat affirmative and apologetic, looking up at you with those big eyes for good measure. You were so relieved that he was alright that you couldn’t stay upset with him; you covered his ears with your cloak and held him close.

“You ought to get back inside, cyar’ika,” Din said. “Try and get warmed up.”

You looked up at him, intending to say that he should come in as well, and felt a wave of guilt that you’d only just realized how his beskar was completely frosted over. The usually shiny metal was dull and white, and you knew he had to be freezing.

“Oh, Din,” you said, reached a hand up to touch the icy side of his helmet. He took your hand in a gentle grip before you could, saving you from touching the cold metal and warming your fingers with his touch.

“Please come inside,” you said, already trying to think of ways to warm him up without any heat on the ship. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m alright,” he soothed, though you knew he was probably more uncomfortable than he let on. “I need to keep working on the repairs. You and the baby shouldn’t be out in this.”

“Neither should you,” you said. “You’re - I mean, you’re covered in frost.”

He nodded. “Beskar clouds pretty quickly in the cold. It’s nothing to worry about.”

You sighed, realizing you weren’t going to get anywhere with him, but you weren’t annoyed. Since the frog lady had urged him to begin repairs sooner, he’d been single-mindedly working on the major parts of the ship that were damaged; he was going to work until he couldn’t feel his fingers any more, and then probably a little bit longer before he came inside. You admired his determination and hard work as much as you worried for him, and you wouldn't have had him any other way.

You were hesitant to leave him, but knew you should get the baby inside.

“At least kiss me before I go,” you said, knowing it was a lot to ask. “That way I can see for myself if you’re turning into an ice block under that helmet.”

He chuckled and lifted the bottom of his helmet just enough to oblige you, giving you a gentle, chaste kiss.

“There,” he said, once his helmet had been replaced. “Warm enough for you?”

You hummed in agreement. “For now.” You lightly tapped your boot against his. “Don’t stay out too long, my love.”

He shook his head. “Ne baatir, cyare.” He’d said that to you enough times over the years that you didn’t have to ask what it meant: don’t worry, beloved.

You gave him one last smile before heading back around the ship, bundling the baby close against the temperature that had started to drop steadily as the sun went down. Minding your steps lest you stumble over a snow-covered rock or bit of debris, you noticed something odd; it looked like there were another set of footprints in the snow, bigger than either yours or Din’s. You stopped and followed them with your gaze, trying not to let fear get the better of you; they led away from the ship towards the jagged side of the cavern, around a corner that seemed to lead into a different cave.

The baby started to babble excitedly, his little clawed hand pointing in the direction of the cave. Goodness, had he followed something out here? Come to think of it, where was your passenger?

You looked back over your shoulder and saw your husband diligently working on a smoking part near the back of the ship.

“Din!” you called. You tried to make your voice carry without any indication of panic, but he looked up and zeroed in on you all the same.

He cocked his head in question, as you weren’t in any obvious danger, and you waved him over. He set his tools aside and started towards you, and you hoped you hadn’t annoyed him by interrupting his work.

“What is it?” he asked, not unkindly, and you knew he hadn’t minded coming over. You gestured to the footprints.

“Do you think it’s the frog lady?” you asked.

He studied the path of the footprints, most likely through his HUD, and sighed.

“She’s not in the ship?” he asked.

“No,” you answered. Recalling your frantic search for the baby, you realized that you hadn’t seen her anywhere. “Why would she leave?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I need to go find her. There’s no telling what’s in those caves.”

You suppressed a shudder at the thought. “Should we go with you?”

He considered that, looking over you and the baby for a moment. “I guess. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, but - do you think you’ll be warm enough?”

You drew his cloak closer around you and your baby. “I think so. I’d feel better going with you.”

He put a hand on your back as you followed the path of the footprints, his touch steadying and safe. “Just stick close to me, cyare. Don’t wander.”

“Din,” you said, affectionate and a little exasperated. You’d been married to a bounty hunter long enough to know that right by his side was the safest place to be. “When have you ever known me to wander?”

He chuckled. “I know, I know. You’re very good about it.” He looked around as you walked through the mouth of the cave, and you knew he was making himself aware of every possible danger. 

“I don’t have any idea what to look out for,” he said honestly. You could tell how much he hated not knowing what you were up against, not being as prepared to protect you as he would have liked. 

You had never made a habit of questioning his authority - he knew much better than you how to keep you safe, and if he gave you an order in a dangerous situation, you complied. It was the least you could do, considering how often he was called on to protect his wife and child. With your marriage vows, Din had sworn to kar'taylir bal cabuor, to hold you in his heart and to protect you; you had vowed your love and trust in return.

You reached out to put a hand on his arm. “I trust you, Din,” you said simply.

He nodded. “I know, cyare. Thank you.”

You stayed close to your husband's side as the cave darkened and threaded through the columns of ice that loomed on every side; it was eerily quiet except for the sound of your footsteps through the snow. Din scanned the area constantly through his HUD; you trusted him to lead you, as you couldn’t make out the footprints in the dim light. He paused for a moment at a fork in the path.

“There’s a heat signature through there,” he said, nodding to the leftmost path. You held onto the edge of his cloak, hoping to settle both of you a little, and followed as he cautiously made his way down the path.

After a bit of a tricky slope that Din offered his hand to help you over, the path opened up into a cavern that was noticeably warmer than the rest of the cave had been. Steam rose from a wide, shallow pool in the middle of the space that you guessed came from a hot spring. The frog lady was swimming in the pool, her eggs spread out around her like little jewels on the water’s surface.

“There you are,” Din said, his voice echoing around the cavern as he walked over to her. He sounded understandably frustrated; you watched as he got a sense of his surroundings and assessed any threats, undoubtedly coming to the conclusion more quickly than you had that it was too big of a space with too many shadowed corners for him to be at any sort of defensive advantage if the need arose.

“You can’t leave the ship,” he told her, rounding the pool to the side where the egg chamber sat full of liquid but without any of the eggs. “It’s not safe out here.”

You followed and knelt with him beside the pool, putting the baby between you.

“Let’s gather these up,” Din said, gesturing to the eggs bobbing in the warm water. The frog lady croaked in dismay as she cradled a few.

“I know it’s warm,” Din said, a gentle sympathy coloring his voice. He scooped up a handful of the eggs, paying no mind to wetting his gloves, and put them back in the chamber. “But night’s coming fast, and I can’t protect you out here.”

You helped take the eggs out of the water, careful of their seemingly thin protective skin; the water was delightfully warm, and you couldn’t help a fleeting wish to be swimming in it too. You handed the eggs to Din to put back into the chamber.

In your periphery, you saw your baby’s little hand inching towards an egg floating close to the edge of the pool; you and Din both noticed it at the same time, and both of you held an admonishing finger between your son and the tempting egg.

“No,” you said at the same time, in the tone you reserved for scolding. The baby looked from you to Din with a pleading expression, but Din wasn’t fazed.

“No,” he repeated firmly. He went back to gathering the eggs as the baby gave a squeak of protest, and you made a mental note to find your son something to eat when you got back to the ship.

The eggs were more slippery than you’d expected, and rounding them up took all three of you working together. You knew Din was trying to be careful and  quick at the same time; being away from the ship made him wary, and there were a lot of you to protect in such a large space. You helped as best you could, holding out handfuls of eggs for him to put back into the chamber and quickly going back to gather more.

From behind you, you heard the distinctive, fearful cry of your baby; you whirled around, looking everywhere for him, and found him running over from between rows of little white eggs that seemed to be twisting in a sickly, grotesque sort of way.

You felt an icy wash of uncanny terror and needlessly called your husband’s name, abandoning the pool to rush over to your son and pick him up. You saw with a sudden wave of nauseated horror that things were coming from the eggs, chittering things with long, spindly legs. You stumbled backwards and would have lost your footing if Din hadn’t caught you, immediately pulling you back towards the pool.

You couldn't have spurred yourself to move, so horrifically entranced were you by the loathsome creatures as they swarmed over the far side of the cavern floor, but you wondered why your husband didn’t seem any more inclined to action. You felt a little faint.

“Din,” you said uncertainly. You vaguely wondered how often you called your husband’s name like a plea for help, and if it ever wore on him.

“Right here,” he said, and it sounded so unlike him, so dreamy and faint, that it snapped you back to awareness like a slap in the face.

“Din,” you said again, more firmly. You turned and looked at him; he was watching the spider-like creatures start to climb the walls, his posture slack. That alone scared you badly enough to smack a hand against his chestplate in panic.

“Din!” you said again, sharp and loud. The spiders were inching closer, their chittering growing louder with each passing second - 

Your hand on his chest and the sound of your voice seemed to snap him out of it, and his whole body tensed up immediately.

“Kriff,” he bit out, anger and panic tightening his voice even through the vocoder. He shut the canister of eggs and slung it onto his shoulder, taking your upper arm in a firm grip with his free hand.

“Go,” he ordered, and you couldn’t have disobeyed him if you wanted to. He released you and you started to run towards the cave entrance you’d come through earlier, your baby pressed close to your chest - 

You only made it a few feet from the pool when a terrible roar shook the cavern, stopping you dead in your tracks. A giant, eldritch spider was crawling from behind the outcropping at the far side of the cavern, and it was all you could do to hold onto consciousness as you saw it take another step towards you.

Read chapter four!

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekchic​​, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​​, @stardust-galaxies​​ ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven​​, @sarahjkl82-blog​​, @remmysbounty​​ ♡

let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

#reader is so stressed in this one...... and girl she is only gonna get more stressed #nice #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian chapter 10 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #chapter 10: the passenger #ciryc ca'tra #flashing gif tw

[flying-nightwing]

Double Cross (Jason Todd)

Hi people! So this is my little project I was talking about. A sudden blurb of inspiration led me to this and uh. Here it is! Once again, this is super experimental so yeah idk about its potential. You’ll be the judge of that I guess

This time I worked on time jumps back and forth and perspectives, so let me know how it turned out!

Masterlist in bio/pinned!

Pairing: Jason Todd x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 6937

Warnings: swearing, uhhh idk it’s dc so you know what you’re into 

-- 36 hours ago --

Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage as you flew down Washington DC's streets. Your motorcycle was burning under you, and you had a feeling you were on the clock to get off of this ticking time bomb before it exploded and brought you down with it. The bullet holes broke the black paint, decorating your bike in a way that flagged unwanted attention. About six blocks ago, unmarked cars had joined your fast paced parade across the city.

A terrible mistake, all of this was. That was certain. 

You took a sharp right, your knee scraping on the asphalt on the way. An infernal noise came out of your bike, but you still willed it to accelerate on the straight alley. You shot back on the main roads like a bullet, swerving around the black police car that had tried to cut you off. But soon enough, you saw the blockade on the street in front of you. You could never jump it with your bike so in disarray, and there were no viable alleys to sneak into. You shut your eyes tight for a moment, then exhaled.

"I'm sorry Jason" You muttered to yourself. "But you left me no choice"

With a firm grip, you pressed the brakes and came to a stop a fair distance from the blockade. You turned off your bike and kicked the foot to hold it up, slowly getting off and pulling your hands up. Shouts erupted around you as the police mobilised themselves in tight formations, guns up and ready to shoot. With one hand up, you undid your tinted black helmet and let it fall to the ground. 

"On your knees!" An officer shouted as he approached. "Keep your hands where I can see them"

You complied.

-- Now --

The white of the neons glaring down on you made your already tired eyes hurt, saturating your vision with a harsh and constant flash of light. You were left alone with a room temperature glass of water on your left and your own reflection on your right. You couldn’t hear them, but you knew they were there, observing you. Instead, all you could see was the dark bags under your eyes and your messy greasy hair. 

You perked up when two men in suits came in by the door in front of you, thin files in their hands and calculating glances. They were nicely dressed, one with a gray suit and the other, black. Both suits were obviously tailored to them. They sat down in front of you and observed you before the one in the gray suit spoke. Dark hair, blue eyes, taller than the other, maybe around six feet.

“Good morning, Agent”

You only nodded, looking down to the table. 

“My name is Agent Baker,” He said. “My colleague here is Agent Tanev. We will proceed to your debriefing”

“Sure” You nodded again.

Agent Baker set a recording device on the desk and turned it on. “Please tell us again why you are here today”

“I am--” You paused, clearing your throat. “I am here today to deliver crucial information on a wanted criminal in exchange for a pardon” 

“Which wanted criminal should that be?”

“The Red Hood” You said, meeting his eyes. “I have names of associates, safe houses locations, frequent territories of operation as well as his specific m.o.”

“How come you know all of this?” He asked, his voice neutral. “No seasoned agent has ever managed to get this close to him, let alone a rookie. We want to know how you gained his trust, start from the beginning, spare no details. Leave nothing out”

“I met the Red Hood during operation 7381 in northern Lithuania” You began as Agent Tanev started to take notes. “I was in the back up team for the extraction of General Kradiev from a local opposant group. I wasn’t supposed to even see action, as it should have been simple enough against an untrained mob, but when is it ever…”

They had known you were coming. A whole grab and go operation had been compromised by the feeling of invincibility of the CIA, that looked down so much on whoever they went against that they never stopped to think that maybe--maybe--they were prepared.

So when the Alpha team stormed the country house where the General was supposed to be kept and found it empty, all action plans were thrown out the window. The Beta team was mobilised to close off all the roads surrounding the area and to search for the hostage. You were ordered to search a single decaying house in between two pine trees because the structure was so old, so  nobody could have ever been hiding in its debris. However, as you were leaving, you heard whimpers coming from the cellar a few feet away from the foundations. Carefully, you made your way to the wooden doors on the ground, and after making sure your magazine was full and the safe of your semi automatic off, you kicked the doors open and raced down the stairs.

“Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off” You yelled, pointing your gun at the first person you saw. It was clearly a man, wearing a bright red helmet that shone under the single lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling. He slowly held up his hands, but he didn’t seem so bothered. Your eyes found another man next, tied to a chair and wearing a bag on his head. The military uniform was a dead giveaway of his identity, so you returned your full attention to the red helmet guy. “You’re going to back up and face the wall now”

“Or what?” He challenged. “You’ll ‘blow my head off’?”

“Shut up!” You barked, taking a step forward. Your firearm was ready to shoot. “Do as I fucking say”

“You’re CIA uh?” He changed the subject, looking down at your marked bulletproof vest and not listening to you. In fact, he didn’t seem worried at all by the situation he was in. “Should have known. You guys have never cared who lived or died. What fucking difference does it make, as long as they’re good pals with the good ol’ US of A right?”

“God would you just fucking shut up and back up” You were getting impatient, but also nervous. You were alone without backup, with a guy in a red helmet who was clearly taunting you, and you had never shot anyone before. It was your first oversea mission, and already it was fucking catastrophic.

“See, that’s the thing” He held a finger up. “You’re pointing a gun at me like I’m the bad guy, while you are trying to rescue the scum of humanity. You’re going to extract him, give him a nice long life on Florida’s golf courses with the taxpayers' money and wipe out from History the mass graves in the woods two miles away”

You remained silent.

“Oh, did you not know about the mass graves?” He asked rhetorically in a mocking tone. “Your friend here decided he wanted to test the new shipment of automatic weapons, because their bullets per minute capacity had been expanded. And what better targets than the group of students that opposed the american military presence in the country? The youngest was 16 and her name was Vera Beliskava. Isn’t that right, Kradiev?”

He pulled the hood from the general to reveal his bloodied and bruised face. He had been gagged and beaten, that was obvious. He looked at you, pleading. 

“You’re the only one who saw” The man in red said, softer this time. “You don’t have to save that piece of trash. Just say your search came up empty and I’ll make him disappear from the Earth's face permanently without leaving so much as a trace. Nobody else will know, and you will go to sleep knowing you made the world a better place”

You took a breath, a million thoughts running into your head. Who was that guy? Why was he here? Why did he not attack you, while he clearly had a handgun strapped on his thigh? Could he be right about Kradiev? You knew he didn’t have the cleanest record concerning human rights, but mass graves? 

“Beta team, report”

You both froze as your comm broke the silence. He gave you a challenging look as you were still debating. You wanted to do good, that’s why you went into the secret services. Being complicit in mass murder wasn’t something you signed up on. 

“Nothing to report on the north road”

“Clear in the valley”

“Farmer’s house empty”

“No traffic on the south road”

You knew it was your turn now. Slowly, you reached for your comm, not breaking eye contact.

“Pinetree house’s clear” You spoke in a flat line, decided and direct as you lowered your gun. You shut down your comm and glanced at Kradiev, whose relief morphed into fear once again as your decision registered. You averted your eyes. 

“You made the right choice”

“I hope so, or I’m dead” You mumbled. “I’m going back now. Don’t make me regret my decision”

“You won’t”

“So just to be clear,” Agent Baker frowned. “You just… Believed him? And you let General Kradiev in his hands?”

“When I left, I went to check, and the graves were there. Kradiev was guilty”

“That was not your decision to make” He pointed out.

“I know” You sighed. “That was my first mistake. I-- I lost it for a moment. He mentioned the graves and the victims and there were so many people the same age as them I could think about and I decided with my feelings rather than my judgement. And I’m paying the price today”

“Alright” He mumbled, passing a hand on his face like he was already done with this debriefing. “When did you cross paths with him again?”

“We were back in America” You continued. “By that time, I was no longer on training wheels. It was a little more than a year later, in Newport Oregon during operation 9004. We were busting a trans pacific drug dealer on the docks when we got unexpected company…”

You were running as well as you could through the maze of freight containers on the docks, trying to push back the pain of the bullet in your leg. You had drawn the fire of the hired gang so your colleagues could proceed, but things went down the drain when you were met with heavier fire than the briefing stated. Outnumbered and outran, you stopped in your tracks and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You wouldn’t go out as a coward, that was certain. If you went down, you’d take as many of them as you could with you. 

You reopened your eyes and checked the magazine of your gun, letting it drop on the ground and pushing a full one in. You loaded and clicked the safe off, flexing your fingers on the handle as footsteps surrounded you. You spun around and pulled the trigger, but before the bullet even reached your target, two men dropped on his side. 

You weren’t the only shooter. 

Thinking it was backup from your team, you allowed yourself to back up against a container, trying to stop the bleeding. You were starting to feel light headed, but you still had a bit more fight in you. Soon enough, all hostiles were down, and you were in for a surprise. Instead of the black uniform of your colleagues, you looked up to a red bat, a leather jacket and a familiar red helmet. You squinted your eyes and let out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Do I even wanna know?” You asked.

“I owed you one” He shrugged. “You okay?”

You looked down to your leg, your pants soaked in blood that was already cooling, then back up again. “Peachy” You gave him a thumbs up. “You were right about Kradiev. He was a fucking trash bag”

“It’s often the case” He said as he rested his hands on his hips. 

“You here for Hiko?”

“Yep” He nodded, then snorted derisively. “Any tips?”

Ever since Kradiev, you have developed a habit of researching your target better. Most of the time, it was a capture or an execution on site, so it didn’t matter the extent of their crimes. But there were moments when you were extracting the package without knowing what came next, and those times usually meant they’ll make them disappear under a new identity, without giving them any repercussion for their actions. This one, Hiko, was the later case, without any plan revealed for when you get him back. He was a known drug trafficker, but he was also rumored to smuggle people back and forth between Asia and North America through the docks he owned. The Red Hood’s appearance was well timed, to say the least. 

“Sneak past the squad through the east” You panted. “If you can move on top of the containers without being seen or heard, you’ll cut them off with about two minutes to spare. Make sure you’re gone with Hiko when they bust through the door, or neither of us will ever find him again”

He paused, studying you. “Thanks…” He trailed off. “Why are you telling me this again?”

“Well, you said it yourself” You managed to smirk. “If I can go to sleep knowing I made the world a better place”

He didn’t answer with anything else but a quick nod before he climbed the containers and disappeared from your field of vision. You sighed, then reached for your comm. “Alpha 003 to central, I’m down and need medical attention, Northwest entry of the docks”

“So if I understand correctly, not only you let him go again,” Baker exhaled, looking bewildered. “But you told him how to get there first? You realize those are becoming serious crimes right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” You snapped, before recomposing yourself. Both agents had backed away just a little at your outburst. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry. I’m just tired, it’s been a crazy last two days” 

“Did he offer you any medical help then?” Baker returned on topic. 

“No, I called the medics and I was extracted with the chopper” You replied. “I knew he was there for Hiko, not for me. It was a coincidence we crossed paths, and at that point I thought it was the last time I’d see him. I mean, what are the chances, right? But you see, that here was my second mistake”

“How so?”

“The CIA goes after threats to national security, but so does he, in his own way” You said, locking eyes with Baker. “The guy’s everywhere, even where we don’t go. And he’s at least three steps ahead of us at any turn. He has good funds, good intel and exceptional skills. You don’t find him, he finds you. And that���s what he did”

“He contacted you after the affair on the docks?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We could say that...”

You finished washing your tea cup when you heard a thud coming in from your living room. Slowly, you grabbed the gun hidden in your cupboard and held it up, quietly making your way to the next room. You rounded the corner and pointed your gun to the man standing with his back to you, registering his identity as he turned around. You must have been a sight in your baby pink pajama shorts and mismatching turquoise tank top, pointing your handgun to a man in a shiny red helmet. 

You scoffed and lowered your gun, clicking the safe back on and putting the firearm on the lamp table. “Breaking and entering, really?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst crime I’ve committed” He shrugged, and you could just imagine him rolling his eyes, whoever he was under that helmet. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms against your chest. “How did you find me?”

“Like I find anyone” He answered like it was the simplest of evidence. You waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have no intention to reveal his methods. This time, you rolled your eyes. “And I’m here because I wanted to check on your leg”

“No you’re not” You snorted. He would have come months ago if it was about that, and even then, the little you knew about him told you he was not the kind to just check upon people who didn’t mean anything to him. “But I’m doing fine, thanks”

“You’re welcome” He nodded. “And you’re right. I need something from you”

“Well, go ahead, since you’re already in” You gestured at him to go on.

“Wait wait wait” Baker held his hand up. “He broke into your house and you just let him? You put your gun down and didn’t call anyone?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said” You replied slowly. 

“And it never occured to you that he was dangerous?”

You paused, thinking your answer over. “No, it didn’t. I mean, if he wanted to get rid of me, he would have done it on the docks where I was an easy target”

“Fair point” Tanev muttered under his breath, earning him a glare from Baker. 

“Now do you want to know what happened or not?” You said, annoyed at the interruption.

“Please, go ahead”

He reached inside his jacket and handed you a file. You took it and opened it, staring at the picture and the description beside it. “This is Ian Markstrom, he has been suspected to kidnap young women, mostly tourists, to sell them on the sex trafficking market” He began. “Not only is he friends with your big bosses, but those who were brave enough to try and get him locked up never got anything to stick, and that was the best case scenario. The others either disappeared or ended up dead, so I’m assuming someone in this government does not want Markstrom to stop”

You nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a secret auction strictly reserved for the elite, Markstrom will sell his best teenagers there” He explained, a hint of disgust in his voice. “The CIA chief of operation received an invitation. I want to know what it says on the card”

“I’m not sure I’m good enough to reach anywhere near it” You mumbled. “But sure, I’ll try”

“No, I believe in you” He said, and he seemed pretty sure of himself. You raised an eyebrow to hide your surprise at his compliment. “What I’m wondering though, is why you’re not asking questions”

“Well, you are two in two so far about targeting the bad guy” You said after a moment. “You seem qualified to spot ‘em, and you’d be real twisted to to make up that scenario for a petty revenge, so I’m guessing you’re on the mark again”

“Huh. You might just be the only smart CIA agent I’ve ever met”

You snorted. “Well, the more it goes the more I’m questioning the integrity of my employer”

“You keep impressing me” 

“With what I saw, I believe the bar was pretty low to start with”

“Keep talking like this and I might need a cold shower”

“You’re an ass, you know that?” 

He let out a short bark of laughter. “If only you knew”

“I’ll do my best for the invitation” You brought him back on topic, closing the file and putting it beside your handgun. “How can I contact you if I get it?”

He paused, then took a step forward and grabbed your wrist. He fetched a pen from his jacket and wrote a number. “This is a burner phone, which I will destroy after this whole deal. Don’t try and trace me with that, it won’t end well for you”

“Yeah yeah” You rolled your eyes, pulling back your arm when he was done. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore his overwhelming proximity. “I gave you two fast passes just to trick you into seeking my help to finally bag you, I’m busted”

“Hey, listen” He backed up, holding his hand in surrender. “I make that threat to everyone. It’s only a disclosure thing, I didn’t doubt your motivation”

“To each their own I guess” You shrugged. “Alright. If this is all, please get out of my apartment”

“Oop, sure”

Baker blinked slowly. “And did you? Communicate him the details?”

“Yeah” You nodded. “I managed to get into the chief of operation’s office, break into his safe, memorize the date, time and place of the auction and communicate it to Red”

“Red?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Short for Red Hood” Tanev clarified, and judging by yet another glare from Baker, he wouldn’t speak anytime soon.  

“He kept it on the quiet, but after that the chief of operation did seem a changed man” You smirked, before dropping it instantly. “And I didn’t hear anything from Markstrom, it was like he disappeared for good, which he most likely did. So I guess the Red Hood succeeded in taking him down”

“Jesus Christ” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have the feeling it wasn’t the last law you broke?”

“Because it wasn’t”

“Are you going to make a habit out of dropping out of nowhere to ask me for favors?”

This time, you knew who had broken into your property without even looking. You put the keys into your car and turned the engine on, trying to warm yourself. The Red Hood pulled himself upright from your backseat, shaking his head.

“Your car is very comfortable,” He declared. “You have good taste”

“So that means yes”

“Back at it again with your superior deduction skills” 

“What do you want?” You went straight to the point, but you were just a little amused. You could have a worst stalker. 

“I’ve been thinking this through,” He began, moved his legs so he was properly seated on the backseat. “You are skilled and you’ve got balls of steel. I could use your help more often. A partnership, if you might”

“Why do I have the feeling it took a lot to admit that and reach out?” 

“Because I don’t just trust people” He said plainly. “They disappoint me, among other things”

“So why me?”

“Like I said, skills and balls of steel” He repeated. “You went against the fucking CIA not once, not twice but thrice to do the right thing. That’s enough of a test of will for me. And besides, your job would be an advantage that is hard to turn away”

“Makes sense” You mumbled as you put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. He buckled his belt like it was a reflex. “Will this partnership imply me shooting bad guys?”

“If that’s what you wish for” He shrugged, leaning forward in the space between the two front seats. “I won’t be the one to limit you”

“Okay, yeah” You nodded. “Where do we start?”

Baker was looking into nothing, processing your words. He shook his head slowly in disbelief before he met your glance. “I shouldn’t be surprised” He spoke after a moment. “But this is Everest high levels of stupid”

“At that time it did seem like a good idea” 

“Yeah, might as well jump off of a bridge…” He trailed off, eying you suspiciously. “Did you do that too?”

“Well, if we consider the time when--”

“You know what, don’t tell me” He cut you off. “Please go on”

“Alright” You held your hands up in surrender. “So, where was I?”

You and the Red Hood operated on the field like a well oiled machine. Your expertise and contacts with the CIA helped him get into places way more easily than alone, and your somewhat reckless ways were compatible with his mode of operation. You knew who he was as well, you found out after he nonchalantly took off his helmet after a stakeout. You had not been prepared for what you saw then, when you were faced with what you could qualify with the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

“Hey, you okay?” He waved a hand in your face, making you snap out your daze. You blinked a few times, shaking it off.

“Yeah” You replied. “I just wasn’t expecting this”

“Expecting what?”

“I mean, the helmet did give disfiguration vibes… Obviously I was wrong” 

“So you think I’m hot then?” He snorted derisively.

“I do” 

His head did a whiplash. “Huh?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” You backed away. “Sometimes my filter doesn’t work”

“No it’s--” He tried to find his words, then sighed. “I’m just not used to that, I guess”

“What’s the point of this?” Baker groaned, his head in his hands. 

“It’s a turning point that brought me here today” You explained, turning your palm up briefly. “You asked for details, I’m giving you details”

“I kinda wanna know what went down, to be honest” Tanev added sheepishly.

“Tanev, I’m going to drive you through the mirror if you do not shut up”

“Jeez sorry” He mumbled.

“As I was saying”

That day was the moment things changed in your relationship. There was this tension that hadn’t been there before, the little brushes of hands when you were side by side, the staring at the other while they weren’t looking, the unspoken invitations to stay a moment longer after a mission for a cigarette and a good conversation. He was one of a kind, you had to give that to him. He was passionate, driven, smart in a way that told you he never really had it easy but always made it work somehow; the way he always thought of the less obvious way to do things, how even his messes seemed calculated. 

It was raining in Chicago and the air was crisp. Your muscles ached from the fight in that warehouse against drug lords that enrolled kids in their schemes, that and from the unforgiving cold of January. You had one too many whiskeys back in that little studio flat he rented under a false name, and it led you straight to his bed. Trying to find warmth, trying to find a connection, it didn’t matter why, as long as you were as close as humanly possible to him. 

And it didn’t stop there. The night after, and the night after that, always in his company past the business hours. Your chemistry translated way beyond the field, for you found him in a partner in more ways than one. You grew quickly to feel love for him, more than you had ever felt for anyone. The number of times you woke up naked and tangled with him--

“Okay I don’t need to know this-- I do NOT need to know this” Baker yelled. If he could have flipped shit from the table, you’re sure he would have. 

“You told me to spare no details!” You argued. “This is a detail. I’m being as thorough as I can”

“You know what-- Forget it” He brushed his hand in the air aggressively. “Just get to the part we have interest in, for God’s sake please just skip to that”

“Okay, okay” You muttered, rolled your eyes. “It went well for the first months or so, it was great. Nothing to say on that front, I was happy and fulfilled in this new englobing partnership we had going on. That was my third mistake, to get into that kind of involvement with him. Because then, like all good things must come to an end, mine slowly began crumbling down in my hands”

“Okay” He sighed, half in relief. “Tell me more about that”

“Well, he started to show his true colors” You admitted, pulling your hands under the table. “Sometimes, he became something else. Something dark. And sometimes became most of the time, but I was too in love to see it. He became manipulative, controlling. He was everywhere, in everything I did. It’s like I didn’t even have control on my life anymore…”

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You looked away from the car window, your feet comfortably up on the dash. You took a deep breath and shrugged. “Dunno, where do you wanna eat?”

“Don’t really care” He shrugged too. “You decide”

“What about chipotle?”

“Sure” He nodded. “Chipotle sounds good”

Tanev shook his head sympathetically. “He wouldn’t even let you choose a restaurant?”

“Never” You looked down, sadness weighing your voice. 

“I’m so sorry you had to live through that”

“Thank you” 

“Alright, moving on” Baker broke the moment. “What happened next?”

“Next? Next came what comes every time in screwed up relationships” You answered, returning your hands on the table and crossing your fingers. “We burned like a meteorite as it tears through the atmosphere, falling to our demise to high velocity and taking everything in our wake”

“That was poetic” He pointed out sarcastically. “What the fuck does it mean?”

You raised an eyebrow. “We got dangerous for real, Agent Baker” You paused to take a reserved sip of the water. “If you thought I was reckless before, you’ll need to reevaluate your scale. I was in for real. I was his battle horse, his wildcard, his whatever that he needed to succeed. And I was good at it. The worst was, I didn’t even realize he used me as a smoke screen. He put me more and more often in fucked up situations that were way more dangerous for me than him, and I was naive enough to think it was love”

“No. This is not up for discussion”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You said you would let me choose--”

“I said I would let you choose, not let yourself get killed” He interrupted, slightly raising his voice. “This plan of yours is stupid dangerous. If it backfires, you are almost guaranteed of not making it out free, or alive for that matter. I’m not allowing you to take that risk. Not for me.”

“Again, ‘if’ being the keyword” You insisted, following him as he stomped out of the storage room. “I am capable of executing it flawlessly. I know I am, you’ve always told me I am”

He halted his steps, hesitantly turning to face you. His eyes softened as he sighed, taking your hand. “I know you can, it’s not about that” His voice was back down, even lower than his usual volume. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you for something I dragged you into in the first place, I would never forgive myself”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead on his. “Okay” You finally said, nodding lightly. “We’ll find another way. Another plan. But we’re hitting that ball out of the park either way, I won’t let Preston get away with it”

He smiled. “Oh no, we won't indeed” He kissed the top of your head. “We’ll get him one way or another, I promise”

“I almost feel sorry for you now, Agent” Baker gulped. “I cannot begin to imagine what terrible things the Red Hood forced you to do under his manipulation. We however must continue this debriefing”

“Of course” You nodded quickly, breathing deeply. “So we planned our next move, but he wouldn’t tell me the final target. I found it weird, he always told me the targets. I don’t know, maybe he sensed I was trying to find a way out”

“And that plan was…”

“Yes” You didn’t have to let him finish his trailing thoughts, you knew what he was getting at. “So this brings us to 36 hours ago”

“Be as thorough as you can” 

“So the Red Hood gave me those instructions to follow” You began. “I was to draw the attention of the authorities to me in a city wide chase. Now, I am rather good with a bike, that I won’t hide, but outrunning police and secret services? That was impossible. I still don’t know how they got there, but it saved me. He would have never dared to come into the melee to get me back, and risk getting caught”

“Was he not afraid you’d talk to us?” Baker asked. “That was a pretty big gamble”

“He thought I wouldn’t talk I guess, probably for the same reasons I stayed with him for all this time” You said, biting the inside of your cheek until it bled. You hated to think about these words. “Because I believed I loved him”

“I guess that wouldn’t be too far fetched” He hummed. “Wouldn’t be the first time we saw it happen”

You nodded, remaining silent. Baker made eye contact with Tanev, then looked into the reflecting glass. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to you. 

“We are going to get you back to the holding cell while we process this information” He said. “But once we do that, you’ll be free, and with a new identity if you wish, as your agreement states”

“Thank you” 

“Just one more thing before we wrap this debriefing” He leaned forward. “You must know his name"

“Of course” 

“Then what is it?” He asked. “What is the Red Hood’s name?”

You looked down, taking a deep breath, then back again, locking eyes with Baker. Then, you spoke. 

-- 36 hours later --

The sunset over the valley was gorgeous. The mixes of pink and orange on the yellowed sky was straight out of a fantasy world, and Jason couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery. It was soothing, like it could swallow up his anxiety at least for a minute or two. He leaned on the wooden ramp, the sightseeing roadside station seeming not so cheesy at the moment.

He only tore his eyes from the burning sun when he heard a motorcycle approach from behind. He pushed himself off the ramp and faced the sleek black bike--the lack of use on it showing him it was brand new--then, the driver with a black tinted visor. 

You took off your helmet and smiled at Jason’s stern expression, whose eyes showed relief anyway. You turned off your bike and parked it, then got off and walked to him. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

You walked past him and leaned on the ramp he had been on moments ago, and he joined you. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered you one. He lit up both with his lighter, and you took a long draft before speaking. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice” You smirked, bumping your shoulder to his. “I did save your sweet ass, after all”

“I thought we agreed not to do that” He glanced at you sideways. His annoyance was also mixed with playful disbelief, like he both wanted to throw you off the cliff you were admiring the view from and do celebratory shots with you. 

“We did” You nodded, chuckling. “But circumstances changed. You weren’t out by the time I reached the monument, so I had to draw them away from you, or we would not be having this conversation. ”

“Still” He tilted his head to the side, before his head snapped in your direction. “Wait, did you call the secret services after yourself?”

You shrugged half heartedly. “Mayhaps” Your lips curved upward, while he shook his head. “I mean, it kinda was my fault too. I misplaced the bomb and it barely detonated. I had to flip to plan B, then they shot my bike. They had me surrounded, and my it was running low on life, so I skipped directly to plan fuck this”

“So you gave yourself up”

"Played the victim, pretended I wanted to exchange information on you for my freedom” You sighed, taking a drag of your cigarette. “None of which was relevant enough for them to even get close to you, worry not”

“They must have asked for a name” He hummed, now turning his full body toward you. “What did you tell them?”

“My grandpa’s name” You snorted. “He died two decades ago. Let me tell you, when they found out the last update on him was in the necrology of the 2001 Sunday paper, they were not happy campers”

“Then how did you get out?” He squinted his eyes.

“Oh, do not underestimate me, sweetheart” You grinned. “I’ve spent my whole career getting to know the buildings and the procedures for people like me. It was a piece of cake”

You were escorted out the interrogation room and into the small, yet cozy holding cell. You were on the clock, because the lies you’ve slipped into your story would unravel pretty quickly once they discovered that the name you gave them was a farce. Then, you wouldn’t be put in a minimal security room, but probably somewhere way less fun. 

“Hey wait” You called after the guard before he could close the cell door behind you. He paused his actions, waiting for you to speak up. “This wasn’t there last time”

He frowned and took a few steps into the cell, trying to spot over your shoulder whatever you were talking about. When he didn’t see it, he got closer and closer until he was all the way into the cell. “What wasn’t there before?” He asked, annoyed. 

You smiled. “You” 

With a quick jab of your elbow behind his head, he fell down unconscious on the floor. You grabbed his keycard and exited the cell, locking the guard in. You winked at the camera on the upper left corner of the hallway and made your way down to the garages as the alarms blared through the whole building. That meant it entered lockdown, closing all the escape routes. But you had your own fool proof plan.

Agent Baker began swearing when the hallway was plunged into the red glow of the lockdown alert. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out you had led them in circles, and he had appeared a fool in front of his colleagues when he proudly revealed the name of a long deceased old man instead of anything tangible. He had been on his way to your cell when he realized the depth of this foolery, understanding you had been stalling them for this opportunity. 

“Sir, we are reporting engine noises in the garages”

“Fuck” Baker shouted, pushing the other man aside. Tanev was a step behind, his weapon drawn. They had stored your bike there, you must have gone back for it. “All units report to the garage, we’re having a break out. I repeat, all units to the garages”

They all flocked to the lower levels, ready to enforce the barrages at the doors and trap you with no exit. It was an excellent execution of emergency measures, but they definitely weren’t prepared for what came next. As they kicked the storage unit of your motorcycle, they came face to face with the bullet ridden bike with no driver in sight. Baker lowered his gun, squinting his eyes. Then, they widened comically as the dark smoke coming out of it and the strong smell of gasoline registered in his brain.

“Motherfucker” He spat. “Everybody out!” 

Seconds later, it exploded.

“You’re unbelievable” Jason scoffed, shaking his head. However, he now had a full blown grin to match yours. “I gotta give it to you though, blowing up your bike as a distraction was smart. Balls of fucking steel”

“Of course it was!” You replied, then reached in your pocket for your phone. “And it’s not even the best part, look”

You unlocked your phone and passed it to him, showing him your most recent picture of the CIA’s chief of operation dead with a letter opener through his neck. His eyes widened. “You got Preston?”

You turned around from your position, now leaning back on the ramp with your elbows resting on it. “The bike opened a window big enough for me to get the target” You said, finishing your cigarette and disposing of it in the ash bin on your right. “And with all those idiots guarding an empty garage, t’was easy enough”

“After all this time, you’re still impressing me” He nodded, holding up his fist. “Good fucking job”

You bumped your fist sideway with his, laughing at his baffled expression. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, but the air was still warm. You could hear the crickets in the high grass, and the silence was a peaceful one. You could admit that you had cut it close this time, that this gamble could have very well turned to shit, so you just took a moment to let the pressure slip away from your muscles, at least for now. You had the time to smoke another cigarette before you spoke.

“So now what?” You hummed, looking up to the bright stars above your head. “Markstrom’s ring is no more, and I’m pretty sure I not only lost my job by pulling that stunt, but also bought myself a ticket on at least three intelligence services’ most wanted list”

“Well, that’s nothing a good ol’ fake death can’t fix” He shrugged. “But until we find the right moment for your tragic public demise, I’m sure we can manage to find on our own some domestic assholes to beat up. What do you say?”

You met eyes with him, then raised your eyebrows. “I say let’s get to it”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #jason todd x you #outlaws

[copperpieceharlot]

Bud I’m sorry to swing into your inbox uninvited like this but my soul is having an OOTS renaissance thanks to your content in the tag and did you say Leverage AU

haha holy SHIT this got Long. but yes. i’ve been. Thinking. (also literally Never feel like you have to apologize for sending me messages. i was Hoping someone would ask me about this. now i have an Excuse to share EVERYTHING ive written abt it :3)

Obviously, Roy is the leader/brains of the outfit. He grew up having some Strong Opinions abt what’s Legal versus what’s Right due to tragic backstory involving the death of his little brother which was definitely SOMEONE’S fault for negligence but since there technically wasn’t any illegal behavior, there were no consequences for it. Also he’s still angry at his dad bc he thinks his dad is also partly culpable (and also also just a dick). He’s the Moral Backbone of the team (alongside Durkon, more on that later) in basically the same way Nate was in og Leverage. He’s actually not the best at figuring out what people want (that’s Haley and, shockingly, occasionally Elan), but once he has that info, he is the absolute best at figuring out the ideal plan of attack to use in any given case.

Haley is still a thief. I mean she maps to Parker almost PERFECTLY. Her dad was a thief & a conman, her mom wasn’t but knew about it and mostly accepted it, but she died tragically in a mugging gone wrong or smth, which made Ian crank the paranoia WAY up and taught Haley to do the same in the name of “safety”. Let’s keep the “Ian is in Trouble and Haley needs money, Fast” which is why she signs on to the first job in the first place. She’s less acrobatic than Parker, tending towards finding (or making) weak spots in security, but she can still make a tumble check when she needs to.

Elan is the grifter who is somehow an Idiot but also not???? It baffles everyone. When he’s playing a part for a con, he’s FLAWLESS, but then the rest of the time he’s just. No Thoughts Head Empty. He probably gets lured in initially because he’s decided to try his hand at being part of a full team, rather than the two-man cons he’s been running that invariably end w his partner conning him as well and stealing half of his take. Also he likes the idea of being Crime Friends. He’s that tweet where it’s like, Roy: “after the heist is over, we split up and never communicate again” / Elan: [about to unveil his Crime Buddies Forever Friendship Quilt Puppets]: “never?”

Vaarsuvius is the hacker/gadget person. They have a Vaguely Snobby Yet Unidentifiable accent, dyed(?) purple hair (nobody has ever seen their roots) and nobody knows who they “really” are or where they came from, but they’re good at what they do so everyone just accepts the mystery. They probably got suckered into the team by their initial employer (who I’ll get to Eventually, lol) framing it as a challenge to their intellect, like, “oh, I see, you’re not smart enough to make this team work for you...” to which they were like Fucking Watch Me and also melted his computer. Anyways. They are joined (digitally) by their Intrepid Friend And Co-Conspirator (his words, not theirs), a fellow hacker known only as Blackwing, or, on certain forums, Blackwing_Bird. (In the first season, V only occasionally references him when saying they’re “calling in extra help” or smth for a particularly complex hack job. He starts showing up a little more in s2 and eventually by the start of s4 is a regular & established presence, but only appears as actions in a computer interface or output.) Elan is convinced he’s an AI, Belkar doesn’t think he actually exists, Haley pretends she doesn’t think he exists, and Durkon and Roy try not to think about it too hard, as long as B and V still get the job done.

Belkar is the hitter. He is on the team bc their initial employer got him out of jail for it. He doesn’t have a tragic backstory, he just likes doing violent crimes. As the series progresses, he grows some empathy & stuff, but really only for people who actually deserve it. Assholes still get decked. It’s all very touching. (Also he has dwarfism caused by achondroplasia. It doesn’t actually bother him and is useful in fights bc his opponents frequently have no fucking clue how to approach him, but he likes Pretending to take offense at stupid things just to see how far he can go with it.)

Aaaand last but not least, Durkon is the least involved member of the team. He’s actually a career criminal and Roy’s mentor, and wasn’t a member of the initial team that [redacted, I’ll tell you later, PROMISE] put together for a couple of reasons, the main one being that he’s Officially retired in order to spend more time with his family, which consists of his mom, his friend (not girlfriend) Hilgya, baby Kudzu, and a truly stunning number of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Roy frequently calls or visits him for advice and he Occasionally shows up to help out on local jobs, but generally he avoids doing crime if he can (as part of a deal with Hilgya, who is also a career criminal; basically, they’ve both cut back on the crime in order to provide a more stable home environment for Kudzu. But sometimes, you gotta do a little crime, and in those cases, Sigdi enjoys spending time w her grandson.)

NOW. THE BIG REVEAL YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. Who got the team together in the first place?!

The answer: Lord Shojo (or whatever Normal Person Name you want to assign him). Now this is where it gets tricky: he had them do a thing that they thought was good, THEN they thought it was BAD, but then when they confronted him he revealed that it Appearing to be bad was actually a test of character and would they consider working as basically internal investigators for him? But then he had a heart attack, so, rip. But THEN it turned out that he’d left them a bunch of money anyway and they were all feeling kind of Inspired so they formed the Order of the Stick, LLC (which, no, i am not coming up with a new name, actually, because I just don’t care. someone else can come up w a justification for that name, tho, i’m sure it’s possible). Also Miko was there and was unhappy abt their actions, and also their general existence.

Moving on. Villains!

Redcloak is the Sterling replacement, because that DEEPLY amuses me.

Xykon is a season-long main villain, probably one that Redcloak finds himself working for but then “teams up with” (read: blackmails) the Order to bring him down bc even Redcloak finds Xykon distasteful. That’s season 3, let’s say.

Tarquin is another season villain, say season 2. Nale probably shows up pretty early in s1, actually, as another recurring antagonist like Sterling but uh. Less good at it. Anyways the s2 final 3 eps deal with them (accidentally) discovering that Tarquin runs some Evil Empire Company, then trying to outplay him and take him down. Idk if Nale still dies in this version tbh.

Tsukiko is a one-off s1 villain who returns briefly in s4 alongside Miko, who has gone well and truly off the rails.

Season 1 finale has to do w Roy finally getting Vengeance for his little brother.

The vampire squad is the s4 finale villain who do smth terrible to Durkon and then get the Mother Of All Revenge served up to them by the Order.

I envision the show as being 5 seasons (like og Leverage) but I’m not going to sketch out s5 because I think it should be based off whatever happens in the current story arc, possibly involving some legacy of the OotSquiggle.

Other stuff!

The Order of the Squiggle is a legendary criminal team from the 60s who stole a BUNCH of famous shit & then proceeded to legendarily implode. This has no bearing on the plot I’ve sketched out, I just think it’s fun.

The Sapphire Guard members should probably be reworked as FBI. I don’t care about most of them but I do think that Lien and O-Chul could be like, FBI agents who Choose to look the other way while the Order does their very-much-not-legal-but-still-fair Justice Crime, and maybe even help them out on occasion.

So, the Final season-by-season outline, based on everything I’ve written so far:

s1 e1: getting the team together, doing a con for Shojo, then at the end he dies and the gang is like “dang what now?" and intend to split up except then they Don’t.

mid-s1: Nale shows up and tries to trick the Order, but then gets beat like a drum.

late s1: Tsukiko is an underling of the Villain Of The Week, winds up in police custody. But She’ll Be Back.

s1 finale: Roy’s Vengeance: The Vengeaning. also we meet Redcloak as an antagonist.

s2 e1: the truth abt Haley’s father comes out

early s2: The Two Live Crews Job but it’s the Order vs the Linear Guild and the Linear Guild ARE all bad guys.

mid-s2: Redcloak returns. ugh.

late s2: the sapphire guard FBI makes its first appearance, hello O-Chul and Lien.

s2 pre-finale: once again they’re in conflict w Nale over smth, he spends the whole episodes making Cryptic Remarks, they basically beat him (like a drum!) but then the stinger at the end is that Tarquin reveals himself and Elan is like “Dad?!”, roll credits.

s2 finale, part 1: Elan is hanging out w Tarquin bc he’s DEEP in Denial, the Rest of the team tries to take Tarquin down, but it doesn’t work.

s2 finale, part 2: Elan finally gets a clue and they manage to beat Tarquin. still haven’t decided if Nale dies or not, but I’m leaning towards yes. also they rescue Haley’s dad.

s3 e1: fuck dude idk.

early s3: Redcloak shows up, AGAIN, everyone groans. he has blackmail on them, he wants them to take Xykon down.

mid s3: The Rashomon Job but it’s about stealing the Talisman of Dorukan and it turns out that Nale was there too (“oh!” Elan says. “I was wondering why I looked so weird in all those mirrors! But it wasn’t my reflection, it was Nale’s!” “Sweetie, that wasn’t Nale’s reflection,” says Haley. “Huh,” says Elan, “so the mirrors were broken?”, cue eye rolling from everyone else.), and the Successful thief was Hilgya, who’d nabbed it from the owner before it even went on display.

s3 finale: they beat Xykon, actually factually, because he deserves to get his ass Thoroughly kicked, even if only in AU form. Lien and O-Chul are there, so are some other less helpful FBI people. There’s a bit where O-Chul Exact Wordses his way out of telling his superiors about the Order’s less legal activities without technically lying. King shit.

s4 e1: doesn’t really matter. maybe smth to do w some legacy of Tarquin’s company to set up the drama w Malack & Durkon later.

early s4: Durkon gets SENT TO PRISON. Malack approaches the Order abt this because sure they have Different Ethics but they’re still Friends. (Roy is surprised and a little hurt that he’s never heard of Malack, but he ignores that in favor of Let’s Get Whatever Fuckers Did This To Our Friend.)

immediately after that: Miko and Tsukiko return as a Team, preventing the Order from working on the Durkon situation

mid s4: Redcloak makes another unexpected & unwelcome appearance but he’s maybe a little less of a dick? the Order collaborates with Malack & his Crime Buddies (hello, Vector Legion) to pull one over on him tho, because “less of a dick” does not mean “a pleasant or decent person”, and also he was mean abt Durkon being in jail, so he totally deserved it. he still gets whatever he wanted tho, just takes a blow to his pride. also prevents the Order from helping Durkon. they’re having a LOT of setbacks wonder why that could be, not to make sure the season fills its whole length or anything, no sirree

s4 finale: something something taking down the organization, headed by Hel (yes that’s her real name), which framed Durkon for their Big Crime. Durkon goes free and Extra Firmly retires, For Good, He Swears, but says he “met someone new” who might be an asset.

s5 e1: minrah joins the team! and the episode is set in like, somewhere really snowy. that’s all i got.

the rest of s5: don’t know, don’t care, it’s open-ended until the comic finishes up.

#mine #ask #corvidcorgi #order of the stick #oots #leverage #leverage au #oots au #au #outline #haha this thing clocks in at 1.9k words because i am LITERALLY incapable of shutting up #hope u enjoy it bc i spent Way Too Much Mental Effort mapping out how the OotS plotlines might play out in a leverage setting #and then promptly ignored Most of that in favor of making it funnier & dumber & more villain-of-the-week #(bc lbr the comic is Good but it's got an overarching plot form that the Leverage story style does Not jive with) #i'm not tagging all these characters lol

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​

#writeblr #am writing #flash fiction #poetry #wtwcommunity #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #anyway part two probably in a couple days #i still have to start writing them 🤡✌️ #bonfire bonfire

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

A Sky Full Of Stars

Ao3

(((( big thanks to @tinyboop for.... letting me rant at you i guess???? Hahahhaa! Idk!!! ))))

Summary: this is literally the most random little thing about Sam and Bucky and Mother's Day.

They'd been out grabbing some groceries when they walked past the little display in the window of the flower shop. Some big bright thing about mother's day being right around the corner. Bucky goes quiet. Not that he was being overly rowdy or anything. But he'd been relaxed. Having a nice time. He's tense the rest of the way home and Sam doesn't see him for the rest of the night.

The next few days he hardly sees him either. He comes out for food and disappears again. Sam leaves him to it, knows he'll talk when he's ready. Or at least come out of his room. He's never chatty. But Sam gives him space.

He gets up early on Mother's Day, makes himself a small breakfast, and smiles to himself when he hears Bucky "sneak" out the front door. He grabs his jacket, slips his shoes on, and follows him.

Sam knows exactly where they're going as soon as Bucky takes his 3rd left. He watches him go through the gates, shoulders drooped, head down, hood up. And Sam turns around, lets him go.

Bucky just stands there. For a long time. Looking down at his mom's grave. He doesn't know what to say. He used to be good at talking to his ma. But he just can't seem to say anything. His throats all closed up. He hears Sam way before he scuffles up behind him and stops.

They both stand there.

Silent.

Bucky clenches his fists.

"I left her." Bucky finally says, quiet. Sam sighs and closes the space, his hand falls on Bucky's shoulder easy.

"You didn't leave her." Bucky looks up at him, smiles that sad smile he has, and Sam's heart breaks, like it always does.

"I did though." Sam takes a deep breath. There's days Bucky is fine. And then there are days when ghosts show up. Ghosts Sam never would have even thought to think of. And this was one of those days.

"Okay, maybe you left her. In the literal sense. But you didn't abandon her Buck. You got drafted. You wrote her letters yeah?" Bucky doesn't say anything. Sam shakes his shoulder.

"Yeah. I wrote her letters." He finally says. Quiet.

"Bucky." He moves to look him in the eyes. "You didn't leave her. You were taken." He thinks for a moment, eyes moving away from Bucky and then zeroing back in.

"Twice." Bucky looks at his feet.

"Hey" Sam says, quiet like he's trying not spook a skiddish horse. Bucky looks back up at him, with mainly his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault. And i should know, cuz i mean a lot of things are DEFINITELY your fault, but not this." Sam feels relief flood through him when Bucky laughs. It's small. But its there.

"Those for me?" Bucky asks.

"What?" Bucky nods at Sam's hand, he'd forgotten he was holding them, a bundle of flowers.

"You wish. These are for your mother. Obviously." Sam rolls his eyes and sets them gently on the grave in front of them, as he straightens the leaves he doesn't see the look Bucky gives him.

Afterward, Sam drags him away. Tells him he wants to show him something. Bucky is apprehensive at best. But he lets Sam take him god knows where. Turns out god knows where is Sam's family's place. His mother's house to be exact. Bucky is shaking by the time they get to the door.

"Sam I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Hush. It's fine" And then his mom is answering the door and pulling them both inside.

"You're late young man." his mother says. Sam laughs as she pulls him close.

"Sorry mama, we had to stop and visit his mom in The Valley." She lets her son go and looks at Bucky, her eyes are kind like Sam's, and when she gives him a small toothy smile he sees Sam's gap and dimples reflected too. Then she pulls him close too. Doesnt say she's sorry for his loss, doesn't pity him, just squeezes him tight and says,

"Well if there's an exception to the rule, I'd say that qualifies." Then she turns to Sam, looking stern.

"Are you gonna introduce your guest?" And Sam startles and stutters before hurrying through the introductions. Bucky mumbles a small hello, and Sam's mom smiles at him again before telling him he can sit down and keep her company while sam cooks them a nice meal.

Bucky and Sam's mom get along, very well. Sam swears he even hears bucky laugh at one point, but when he peeks in to look at them, both of them are stone faced watching the tv. Sam is immediately suspicious, but he lets it go. They're quiet for awhile before he hears bucky say,

"I'm gonna see if he needs help with anything Mrs. Wilson, I'll be right back

" Sam smiles into the gravy he's stiring and pretends he didn't hear a thing. Bucky doesn't say anything for a long time, and when Sam finally turns around he finds him leaning in the doorway, arms and legs crossed as he watches Sam.

"Whats up Buck?" He asks, moving on to check the boiling potatoes. Bucky shakes his head gently.

"Just seein if you need any help?" He steps forward finally, into the kitchen. Sam looks at him for a second.

"You know how to cook?" He narrows his eyes.

"Of course i know how to cook. Little suprised you do." He says, laying his hands flat on the table, looking over Sam's cooking.

"What? Why are you suprised i can cook?" He sounds offended. And then Bucky is smiling and he just doesn't care.

"Sam, half the time i see you eat you're eating fast food or those weird protein bar things."

"Excuse me!?" Sam's mothers voice calls from the living room.

"Nothin mama!" He glares at Bucky who smiles and moves his eyesbrows on his forhead exactly once.

"Oh you're an asshole." Sam says and turns back to the stove.

"Yeah... i know. But I'm an asshole who's offering a service. You takin it or leavin it?" He turns again, Bucky's hands are at his sides, palms out, questioning. Sam watches him, thinks it over, sees Bucky's foot start to move and says,

"Can you mash potatoes?"

"Can i mash potatoe? Sam is now really the best time to brush up on your dancing?" He says, moving forward and taking the bowl of now strained boiled potatoes from Sam. Sam swears he hears his mother snort in the other room.

"You- what?"

"The mash potatoe. It's a dance. Was a dance? Is a dance." He decides, taking the mixer off the counter, dodging around Sam as he's frozen in confusion.

"Oh right, yeah. Good one." He says, sounding far away. He'd gotten the joke. He KNEW what the dance was. But Bucky joking had... knocked him off balance.

He watched as he began to get the potatoes going, saw that small smile on his face, and had to shake his head. A joking, smiling, Bucky Barnes, was helping him make his mother dinner for mother's day. He cleared his throat and got back to work.

Dinner was amazing. Bucky and his mother both praised the food he'd made. She gushed over the mashed potatoes for an overly long time, sharing little glances with Bucky that made Sam suspicious again. The fact that she kept looking between them, smiling and shaking her head was not helping.

They headed out late. His mom giving Bucky a very long hug before waving him out the door. Bucky went to stand by the car while Sam said goodbye to his mother. She stood looking up at him for a moment.

"What?" He asked, she had a look in her eyes.

"That boy." She nodded to Bucky.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, head tilting as he glanced at Bucky and then back to her.

"He's a good one. Nice manners. And funny." She said, inclining her head and swatting at Sam's chest.

"Funny? He's funny?" Sam asked, skepticism pressed into his voice hard, to keep up appearances. His mother looked at him, her hip cocking to the side.

"Yes. Funny. Charming too. And a bit sad." She said, looking out at Bucky, who had the decency to pretend to be looking at the stars.

"Yeah. I guess he's-"

"But not around you."

"Huh?"

"He's not sad around you."

"Mama how could you know that?"

"He has these little lines around his eyes when he's around you. Like he's smilin even when he isn't."

"He-"

"Just cuz he isn't smiling doesn't mean he isn't happy to be there." She said, cryptic as always when important things are being said.

"Happy to be where?" Sam asked, though he was pretty sure he knew her answer.

"Whereever you are." She smiled up at him once more and then pulled him close, and thanked him for a lovely meal, same as every year.

Sam walked to the car slowly, Bucky was still looking at the sky. Sam unlocked it and Bucky looked at him finally, nodding before sliding into the passenger seat.

They drive in silence for awhile before bucky sighs and relaxes farther in his seat. "There's so many stars out here." Sam glances at him, his eyes are still fixed on the sky. So he hadn't been pretending, he was genuinely transfixed by the sky.

"That was one of the best things about Wakanda. Besides the quiet. At night you'd look up, and it was just a sky full of stars." Bucky hadn't mentioned much about his time in Wakanda, to anyone. Sam was pretty sure he just wanted to have something to himself. He glanced at bucky again.

"There are places around here like that. Places you could go. You could probably buy a house in a place like that." Sam said, they'd never talked much about that either. Bucky having a place of his own. Sam could see him nodding, could see that small smile on his lips. "That'd be nice." He said, sighing again as the warm air blew over his skin. Sam cleared his throat and forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.

"So, where to next?" He said, for something to say really. He knew they were heading home. He felt Bucky shrug heavily next to him. And then felt Bucky's eyes on him. Sam turned to look at him, cautiously.

"Wherever you want, it's good with me."

And Sam saw it. What his mother had been talking about, the little lines around Bucky's eyes. He was smiling, without smiling. And he was looking at Sam. And he knew, just then, for that moment, he'd go anywhere with Bucky, do anything for him, as long he kept looking at him like that.

Sam smiled then, and huffed out a laugh as he moved his eyes back to the road. He heard Bucky do the same, saw a flash of white in his peripheral vision that ment  Bucky was full on smiling, before he turned to look out the window once more. Sam took a deep breath, letting the warm air whisper agaisnt his skin as he drove them back to the city, hands twitching on the wheel when Bucky shifted in his seat and let his hand rest loosely on the console between them.

Sam almost reached out. He suddenly longed to touch him, and though the hand lying there was metal, it was still Bucky's. He glanced at Bucky again and made himself a promise.

Soon.

Soon he'd reach out. He'd touch him. He'd reach out and change things. The next time Bucky smiled. Under a sky full of stars.

#my writing #sambucky #winter falcon #sambucky fic #winter falcon fic

[throwaninkpot]

There were so many better things I could have done with my time instead of doing a targeted relisten of all episodes that feature Mikaele Salesa, but here we are.

Some notes!

MAG014 - Piecemeal

there's not much here. a victim of The Flesh is losing parts of their body, and tries to strike a deal with Salesa for...something...presumably an artifact that he thinks will save or protect him. but he can't afford it, and is killed by the statement giver shortly after.

MAG038 - Lost and Found

"several crates packed to the brim full of heavy looking volumes" Leitners?

statement giver is struck by Salesa's laugh and isn't sure why; this is a Spiral episode.

thank God Salesa is no longer in possession of the vase, bc I swear, I swear, if it so much as sat on an end table in the same room as Martin or Jon, I would have crawled through my phone to drop the ding dang thing off a building and let it shatter below.

it's in his post-statement notes, while discussing Salesa and how he sells a large amount of artifacts to the Institute, that Jon spots the spider that he smashes, causing him to accidentally break through the wall and discover Jane Prentiss's worms as they prepare to invade the building. which feels significant, given the spider-filled company he seems to be keeping now.

MAG045 - Blood Bag

here's where things get interesting. the statement giver works in a lab studying mosquitos to find a preventative measure against them spreading malaria. the statement giver's boss is distantly related to a doctor who helped stop a cholera pandemic way back when. the boss owns an antique syringe case that belonged to that doctor, and then sells that item to Salesa to help fund this project. it's only after the syringe is sold that things start to go Wrong, and the mosquitos obviously become agents of The Corruption.

why is that interesting? when a statement features an artifact, usually The Fears only show up when that item enters the story, not when the artefact leaves it. The Corruption only starts to infect the mosquitos after the boss no longer has the syringe. especially with its connection to a man who stopped the spread of a disease, the syringe almost plays the part of a talismen against evil in this story, and with it gone, they have lost that protection. which is a curious flip for Salesa (known Cursed Artifact Dealer) to have bought something that might ward off The Fears rather than something that works for them.

MAG066 - Held in Customs

when the statement giver opens the box in Salesa's cargo (an artifact probably equal parts Buried and Lonely), and finds it empty, Salesa looks concerned. I always interpret that as he used to have someone in the box, but the box ate them already.

he warns the statement giver not to fall asleep (as a precaution against waking up to find himself in the box? as a survival tip for when he finds himself in the box?) which reminds me of Gerry trying to help various people survive the Fears, but he also placed a bet with Peter Lukas on whether or not the statement giver would survive, bc might as well get some fun out of it. Salesa contains multitudes.

"whatever this grand game is, Salesa is definitely involved. I just wish I knew whether he was a player or a pawn, or something else entirely." HMMM.

MAG115 - Taking Stock

statement from Salesa himself!

I relistened to Leitner's statement to double-check, and I'm pretty sure Salesa is the only surviving assistant from Leitner's library.

I don't have a lot of thoughts for this one, but get you a man who is so good to his crew that they help him cover up a spooky death without batting an eye.

MAG141 - Doomed Voyage

"he always used to say, he needed a crew to follow him out of trust, not fear" I don't know if this is just the fact I see this same sentiment over and over in Web!Martin fics, but, this reminds me of The Web.

"I don’t know exactly what was different but the whole mood of the ship was off. Kind of sour, somehow. I think it must have been Salesa. Everything always kind of… reflected him. You know people like that? When he was happy, satisfied, everything seemed to run smooth. When he was angry, everyone would be on edge, irritable." hmmm, again: The Web? maybe?

"Once found [Salesa] poring over an old photo album. The ship was there in the pictures, but a different captain, different crew. I asked him who they were, and he just looked at me, eyes sunken like hadn’t slept, and for a second I felt like he was seeing someone else, not me. But then he just shrugged. 'Dead now,' he said, 'doesn’t really matter.' " Hmmmm. what happened to your old crew, mister Salesa, sir?

I wonder if there is a connection between the photo album of his old crew, the final job which is procurring an old camera with a cracked lense, and the fact Salesa's ship is called The Dorian (as in, "The Picture of Dorian Gray").

speaking of the camera. We see the same thing here that happened in MAG045. Salesa and a handful of crew members go to an island to retrieve an artifact. they come back with the aforementioned old camera with a cracked lense, having lost two of the crew members that went with him. and, now the camera is out of its former owner's possession, a storm starts brewing over the island. lightning strikes the trees, and the statement giver can see some vast (nudge nudge) creature below the water surrounding the island, beginning to break the surface. the statement giver falls to the deck of the ship as they sail away, and when he looks back, the island and storm are gone.

just like how The Corruption began to infest the mosquitos once Salesa bought the syringe, The Vast goes after this island once Salesa takes the camera off of it.

CoincidenceIThinkNot.Meme

idk. this is probably me reading too much into it. but it's not entirely impossible that Salesa has been collecting artifacts that ward against The Fears somehow. and if he is, I wonder if that has something to do with how seemingly untouched his manor house has been by the Fearpocalypse.

anyway. when Salesa supposedly dies in an explosion, we only have the captain's word for it (who dies soon after himself). so he might have faked his death.

(and you know what they say. if one cool tank-top-wearing man survived the explosion that supposedly killed him, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibilities that another cool tank-top-wearing man may return from his relaxing kayaking trip. 👀) (I don't really think Tim will come back, but it's nice to dream.)

#tma spoilers #mikaele salesa #the magnus archives #theories #this has been a post

[wrens-aviary]

Trust Me Chapter 2

Hello. Welcome to chapter 2. I hate making websites with html. School is not fun idk why I do this to myself. Sorry that’s unrelated. Here is the next chapter. I am making this like the same time as the movie.

Playlist for chapter 2: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_WXTMoBYYTO0edlpRY4Gr_EeEvnQ-RzS

I open my eyes and stare at the wood ceiling above me drenched in darkness. I’m not sure if I was really asleep or if my eyes were simply closed as my mind wandered. I am not home, but is there really a place for me to call home? Maybe this is the closest I have. The Couffaines seem nice, and Anarka knew my mom. They were friends. Mom. As I think of her my hand reaches to the chain around my neck. This ring is all I have of her. I’ll never take it off.

As I shift in the bed I feel quite... stale is the best word to describe it. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days. I didn’t have time to change after going to the hospital and after the plane ride and nap I just took I feel gross. I stand up and move toward the door unsure of the time. I quietly slide my door open and move toward the main deck needing to feel a little less caged.

I breath in deep. The air outside is cool and crisp. It must be late in the night as I can see the stars so clearly. Staring up into the sky I hear the soft strumming of a guitar. I move back toward the stairs and climb past the control deck to the upper deck. Luka is sitting in a chair on the other side of a ping pong (table tennis) table holding a guitar. He looks so peaceful. The music he plays sounds melancholic. It’s beautiful, just like him. What? nope? I didn’t just think that? 

“Did you sleep alright?” He asks without looking away from the water or stopping what he’s playing.

“Not sure,” I respond as I walk to the railing and lean over looking out at the water. The way it reflects the stars is mesmerizing. “Why is it so sad?” I question the tune he’s playing.

“I wouldn’t say its all sad.”

I look back at him and our eyes meet. He smiles softly as my expression remains still. After a moment I turn to look back at the water.

“There’s a girl,” he starts, “she is a friend of my sister, and I like her, but she’s in love with someone else and even if she doesn’t realize it yet I already know that she can’t let him go.”

“And she knows how you feel?”

“Yeah. She’s known for a while. She’s been saying recently she want’s to move on, but I know she’s not ready. I told her to think about things while she’s on her class trip in New York, and I’m afraid that when they get back tomorrow she’s going to tell me what I already know.”

I feel sorry for Luka but it sounds like its best for her to admit things now than string him along only to admit later that she can’t love him the way she loves this other boy. “I hope that she can be as honest about her feelings with you as you were with her. No matter what happens it would be best to make future decisions based on the truth. Even if she can’t let go now she may still want to try and move on with you, and at that point it becomes your decision although...” I pause questioning if I should share my own thoughts or if he’d rather not be swayed in this decision... “I would never want to waste my time loving someone who may never love me back,” I whisper the end, but I am sure he still heard me.

I turn away from the water and move toward the stairs and Luka, “You all wouldn’t happen to have a shower on this boat?” I question lightly hoping to ease the tension in the air.

“Yeah,” he smiles as he moves his guitar and stands from his chair. He’s taller than me. As I look up at him I can’t stop myself from thinking how pretty his eyes are. And in this moment... my stomach growls... yeah... it sounds like a whole ass whale just fucking signaled that I haven’t eaten in over 24 hours. As I look down in embarrassment hoping that my face isn’t completely red I hear him giggle softly. Holy shit. He just giggled and I think it was the cutest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Sorry, I was so nervous on the plane I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything so I’m a little hungry,” I explain smiling at him shyly. Honestly if that giggle hadn’t given me the strength to persevere I probably would have just curled up into a ball on the deck and died right there.

“How about I show you were the bathroom is and heat up some food while you  shower?” Wow he’s so thoughtful and amazing... AND IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE GET A GRIP GIRL HE LITERALLY JUST TOLD YOU HE LIKES HIS SISTER’S FRIEND!

“Yeah, that would be really nice. Thank you so much Luka, but you really don’t need to make anything. If you show me where the kitchen is I can make something for myself after I shower. I wouldn’t want you to have to cook just for me.”

“I was kind of hungry anyways so it’s fine. How do feel about spaghetti?”

“Perfect,” I say smiling at him.

“Great!” He begins to move down towards the lower deck and I follow. We pass by a kitchen that I hadn’t noticed before and move back towards the rooms. Just past the rooms Luka slides open a door and turns on a light. It’s a small, but nice looking bathroom. I’m rather surprised how little clutter there is in the bathroom given the state of the rest of the boat. “There are clean towels under the sink and we all use the same shampoo and bodywash, you can use a small wash rag from under the sink for now and we’ll get you your own loofah tomorrow. There should be an unopened toothbrush in the cabinet above the sink as well. I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you finish.”

-in the shower-

As I wash up I can’t help but admire the soap the Couffaine’s use. Luka must always smell really nice. That may be the creepiest thing I’ve ever thought about another person ohmygod please I need to stop. I am only thinking these things because I’m trying to distract myself from the shit show that is my life in this moment. Yeah. That’s it. It’s not like I could actually like this guy. I barely know him he’s just being nice and I’m feeling lonely that’s it.

As soon as I step out of the shower and begin to dry off I realize I didn’t grab any clean clothes from my room.

“Crap,” not even a second later I hear a soft nock at the bathroom door. “Hello?”

“Hey y/n, I realized after I started cooking you may not have anything to change into so I grabbed one of my tee-shirts and some sweatpants for you if you want them.” 

Ohmygod is he a saint? wtf this boy is not even real I swear.

“Yeah, I’ll take you up on that,” I respond as I wrap my towel around me and slide the door open half way hiding most of my body behind it and leaning a bit to see Luka holding a small pile of neatly folded clothing... is he... blushing??? Wow that’s fucking adorable.

“Thank you Luka,” I say as I reach out to accept the clothing he’s offered to me. As he gives them to me our hands touch and I swear my entire being got a whole two degree’s warmer.

“I’ll go wait in the kitchen. The pasta’s done so I’ll just split it into two bowls.”

“Yeah I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks again Luka, for the clothes and for cooking, and everything else really. You’ve treated me really well since I got here. It means a lot to me,” I say as I look to the side of the doorway unable to keep eye contact with the boy. As I slowly look back to him I see him smiling at me. He really does have a sweet smile. “Anyways, I’m gonna change now,” I say as I realize that I’m standing before Luka still wrapped in a towel.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the kitchen,” he says as he turns around and I slide the door shut. Is my heart beating fast? I don’t know anymore. As I begin to pull on the clothes he handed me I feel much more comfortable. The tee-shirt is black, soft, and just a little baggy on me, and the sweatpants are the same. 

After towel drying my hair a bit I hang up the towel to dry and exit the bathroom turning the light off as I go. I walk toward the kitchen and find Luka sitting at a kitchen island with a bowl of spaghetti sitting before him. He seems to be writing in some sort of notebook as he waits.

“Hey,” I say as I slide onto the barstool next to him and look at the bowl in front of me. There’s still a bit of steam coming off of it.

“Hey, I hope the clothes aren’t too big,” he responds as he sits the notebook down on the counter. I only saw a bit of the inside, but it looked to be staff paper. He must compose a lot of music he was working in the back of the notebook.

As I look up from the notebook I meet his gaze and realize I hadn’t responded yet, “Oh yeah they’re great actually. I always prefer loungewear to be a bit big on me.” He nods in response and we both begin eating. It’s a comfortable quite as we sit there eating together. 

Before I know it I’ve finished my bowl and I feel quite full. I look up to see that Luka has also finished eating. He’s smiling at me.

“Thank you. It was really good,” I smile back at him.

“No problem. I’m usually hungry so if you ever want to eat with some company just text me.”

“Oh... I don’t have a phone,” I respond and he looks a tiny bit surprised. “My father didn’t like my mother and I having access to people other than him.” At my explanation Luka furrows his brows. He looks concerned. “He’s not a very good man. That’s why I’m here. My mother is dying, and if I stayed there he would have controlled me the same way he did her so she sent me away.” I reach up to stroke the ring on my necklace as I speak. “Apparently our mother’s were friends when they were younger. They were even in a band together.” I smile as I imagine how happy and free my mother must have felt back then.

I sigh as I lean back in my chair and place my hands down on the counter in front of me. Luka slowly moves his own hand over mine and holds it. We look at each other and as he smiles at me and squeezes my hand lightly he speaks, “I’m glad you’re here y/n, and I promise I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy here.”

“Thank you Luka.” I don’t know who this other guy that his crush likes is, but he must be a superhero or something because I don’t think any normal person could outshine Luka Couffaine.

After helping Luka clean up we head back toward our rooms.

“How about I take you out tomorrow to get anything you need?” Luka offers.

“I’d like that. Thank you Luka... I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” I say before sliding open my door and slipping into my room. Just before I close it I hear him respond with a soft goodnight.

As I lay in my bed and drift off to sleep I find myself thinking of the soft sad tune that Luka was playing earlier on the upper deck. It was beautiful, but I hope that it will change. Luka deserves to be happy and I want to hear him play a song that is warm and hopeful because that is how he makes me feel.

#luka couffaine #luka couffaine x reader #mlb fanfic #mlb luka #mlb #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous #miraculous lb #miraculous luka #waptrustme

[mae-gi-writes]

Moonlight Sonata (Part 1) | Kevin Moon (TheBoyz Imagine)

A girl forms an unlikely bond with her neighbour; a young violinist who seems to understand her sad songs.

Genre: angst, idk future fluff? and just me fangirling over how BEAUTIFUL AND ETHEREAL Mr.Moon looked in Quasi Una Fantasia AND I HOPE HE NEVER READS MY STORIES GOD I THINK HE’LL JUST CRINGE AND I JUST SJHFDSLJDLSKGHDJ YEAH. YUP. SORRY. 

Words: 3K 

Part One | Part Two

............

It’s always raining in the space where her heart is supposed to be.

She carries carries it around like a dead weight in her chest, unknown to the world, going about her business in her usual manner so that no one will notice. And she doesn’t want them to, because she fears that allowing the words to float out of her mouth will make the words tangible somehow, threatening her similar to someone pointing a gun at her temple.

No matter how much she tries to comb through her memory, she can’t really pinpoint where everything started going wrong. One minute, she had been the fine, carefree child who smiled and lived life to the best of her ability, and the next, she’s falling off the edge of a cliff and plunging towards a dark hole of misery she now calls her reality.

But it doesn’t really matter now does it? Considering that she can’t seem to crawl back out, fingers slipping every time she tries to hold on to the strands of hope. They are fleeting clouds hanging over her head and barely within her reach, entities that seem so close yet so far away at the same time.

Her days are unsurprisingly monotonous. She ploughs through her usual routine, opening up the small restaurant where she works, a quaint Hawaiian spot named “Banhana” decked with wooden furniture and colourful array of artificial plants that adorn the insides. She takes orders when it gets busy, but usually hides out in the kitchen washing the dishes, leaving it to her co-worker, Jacob, to entertain the customers. It doesn’t seem like he minds though. He’s a literal ray of sunshine that carries happiness around like a drug. Except. even that doesn’t help her. Not really.

In fact, it makes her feel sick.

She usually gets home around ten on weeknights, takes a shower and jumps straight into bed. On this particular night however, she is surprised to hear a soft, unfamiliar melody coming from her small balcony.

Curious, she tiptoes over and pokes her head out. What she sees forms a crease between her eyebrows on the terrace beside hers sits a young man, legs precariously dangling over the edge of the balcony with a violin tucked under his chin. He’s so close to the edge that one wrong move may cause him to plummet to his death.

But his stature, the way he holds himself, with straight shoulders and his chin tilted upwards, exudes full trust and confidence in himself as he keeps on playing, the melody dancing through the night air with a sombre, sad tone that causes something inside her chest to tremble with emotion.

It’s beautiful and poetic, but dark, imprinted with the kind of sorrow that she can’t really explain.

Before she knows it, she steps forward to close the terrace doors behind her. The sound alerts him. He swivels his head around, a look of unsurprising indifference on his face as she takes notes of the way his thin lips purse, eyebrows furrowing and his dainty nose un-scrunching from his earlier concentration. He must not be that much older, she decides as her eyes skim over his white dress shirt, partly untouched, and his dark dress pants that suggest that he’s just come back from a formal outing.

That’s not what really catches her attention though. She wouldn’t have spared him a glance if she hadn’t seen his eyes. Because in those dark feline orbs, she sees the same sadness lingering in his pupils, almost like she’s staring at her own reflection. Sad, lost, tired from life itself.

Something in her heart squeezes tight.

“Hi.”

His voice, the softest of tenors that border on the line of soprano, vibrates through the chilly night air. Impulsively, the girl’s arms weave around her middle, hugging herself as she keeps gazing at him in silence.

That doesn’t seem to bother him, for he continues in a murmur, “Apartment eleven?”

She nods once. He dimly reminds her of an ethereal moonlit prince, what with his curly raven locks and the steel cross earring glinting whenever it catches in the moonlight.

He turns back to lift his violin and, with deft and practised precision, resumes his song. It’s soulful, raw, painted with a sadness that prompts her to sit down at the stray chair she’d forgotten to store inside while she allows the musical notes to wash through her like medicine.

It’s not enough to fill that hollow space in her chest. But it’s enough to dim it to a softer, duller ache. When the melody ends, she finds that she can breathe a little easier, heart a little less tight.

“Why are you so sad?”

His question causes her eyes to fly open. She hasn’t expected him to be so direct.

Sure enough, when her eyes flutter back up to lock with his, he’s already gazing at her, head tilted to examine her features in a way that makes her flinch back on reflex.

It’s like he knows. Like he sees right through her with an insistence to understand the complexity going on behind her dark mahogany eyes.

She shrugs, finding herself to sit a little straighter. He waits a moment before answering, hands busying themselves with his violin, “you have that look in your eyes, you know?”

Oh, she knows all right. Her chest swells with emotion and she feels the lump inside her throat.

“What look?” her question is a murmur. But the man hears her, and his almond probe hers with such intensity that it causes her breath to catch in her throat.

She feels exposed, naked. And she really doesn’t like it.

"I don’t know, like you have this sadness that constantly follows you around that you can’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard you try,” he murmurs.

“How would you know what my sadness looks like? Or feels like? Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Oh no, I know,” his face softens, “because I feel it too. You--You look a lot like me.”

Her hands find purchase in her lap, wringing into the folds of her sweater and ignoring the spark of pain igniting through her chest at the thought of being caught.

He can see it. he sees her, just like she sees him. That thought alone is terrifying.

“You...You see it too, right?” he asks.

She nods.

They lapse into silence for the rest of the night, not that there’s much to be said when two tired souls are roaming through the night sky to keep each other company as they wade through the thick layers of sadness coiled so tight around their hearts that they feel like suffocating. She isn’t really sure when she falls asleep but the next thing she knows, her eyes are fluttering open only to squint at the rays of stark ten-in-the-morning sun.

She throws a hand up to block the light from blinding her, before noticing a yellow post-it note hanging off her side of the railing shared with the said young man.

She picks it up. There’s nothing but a singular smiley face staring back at her and her own lips can’t help but mirror its expression.

............

A week goes by before she sees him again. This time, it’s around mid-afternoon and he’s playing a remixed version of Tchaicovsky’s “Nutcracker”. The notes are playful and light, a warm embrace of musical comfort as she slowly finds herself humming to the tune from her kitchen.

When she pads out to the terrace with two bowls of fresh fruit -- one for him as well -- he only nods in silent appreciation. They eat in silence while watching the sun descend in the horizon like molten lava.

“Something good happen?” she can’t help but ask quietly, so quietly he barely catches her words as they drift through the wind.

He looks at her, curiosity filling his face and she shrugs, “your music. It’s...lighter. Happier.”

His lips curl up in the faintest of smiles, barely there as he mimics her shrug, “it just gets better sometimes. Better days. I like those. It’s easier to breathe. Easier to think and do stuff.”

She nods in understanding. His words resonate with her more than she likes to admit and somehow, it helps to know that she’s understood without being judged, without someone actually knowing her. He doesn’t seem to provide her with solutions, he just listens, keeps her company in her silence.

She appreciates that.

“I wish I could have those more often,” she finds herself saying.

“Don’t we call? They come and go so spontaneously, so quickly. Like fireflies, they slip right through your fingers if you’re not quick enough.”

“I’d like to catch one, one day,” she answers, “a firefly, I mean.”

“They’re not easy to catch, but definitely worth the struggle, worth the extra mile you gotta go to look for them.”

His face, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, is alight with a life, as though his profile is surrounded by a halo. Dark eyes sparkling a lighter caramel and grinning at her like an amused child. She finds his mood contagious and smiles back hesitantly.

“I’ll try my best,” she murmurs in response, and as they admire the sky turning into a blanket full of stars, they both know that she’s not only talking about fireflies.

............

It becomes second nature for her to look out onto her terrace to see whether he’s there or not and while she knows that she shouldn’t be so dependent on his presence, she can’t help herself but find in him so much beauty, so much hope, that she constantly lives for the days when she stumbles into her flat and gets serenaded by his violin that greet her. It’s like she’s actually coming home to something and for a while, it really is the only thing that she looks forward to all day.

His music is deep and classical most of the time, playing over and over again as though he’s constantly practicing until he gets the notes perfectly right, until the rhythm is part of him completely. Then, on a few occasions, his melody would lighten, become upbeat and jazzy. It’s during these times that she’d find herself bobbing her head along, twirling around as she watches over the eggs sizzling in her pan, tapping her feet and swaying her hips when she’d be scrubbing her living room floor.

"Eggs again?” he asks when she settles onto her chair which is now being in constant use.

“Protein,” she mumbles through a mouthful.

“But what about cholesterol?”

"Then so be it, let me die.”

“Death by eggs.”

A snort erupts from her before she can stop it, and he soon joins in on her laughter.

She catches him talking to himself one day during the middle of the night. Or, to be more accurate, in the early hours of the morning.

“Who are you talking to?”

He jumps, turning to her with a guilty look on his face, “what? No one.”

"Don’t lie.”

“Okay, fine. I was talking to my violin. So what?”

“You were talking...to your violin?”

“Why yes, she’s very sensitive. Got into a bit of a mood because I didn’t clean her yesterday and now,” he lifts his chin to show her the bruising as a result, “look what I have.”

“But that’s because you play too much--”

“No no, me and my violin have some unfinished business.”

She isn’t sure what to call this kind of relationship. Sure, they’re neighbours but she won’t go as far as call him a friend, considering that they barely know each other. Heck, she realizes that she doesn’t even know his name!

But then, when she comes home one day to nothing but an impaling silence, she can’t help but feel a flicker of worry coating her stomach. She tries not to think too much about it at first, telling herself that maybe it’s just because he’s tired and went to bed early that night, or that maybe he’s out spending time with his friends.

Her concern keeps growing as more days pass by and still there’s no sign of the said raven-haired young man that looks like he’s just walked out of a fairytale book. She tries not to overthink but even her job isn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering, finding herself conjuring up impossible scenarios while scrubbing the dishes, so much so that she keeps getting reprimanded by the manager for her sloppy work.

She knows she shouldn’t try invading on his privacy. Maybe there’s something that’s going on with him, maybe he’s trying to figure things out on his own. But the worry keeps consuming her, eats at her raw until she has no other choice but to go up to his apartment and knock onto the door.

Not surprised to find that there’s no response, she finds herself desperate enough to jump over her terrace onto his, before knocking onto his terrace doors.

Still, nothing. Cupping her hands around her face to peek inside, she can’t quite make out the room shrouded in darkness. But when she tries opening the door, it slides away with ease, which does nothing to unravel the sudden knot that tightens in her chest.

She takes a few, unsure steps, opening her mouth to call him when it dawns upon her that she still doesn’t know his name. Gosh, she feels like slapping herself. Definitely next time. There is silence in his flat, which has similar arrangements to hers; with the casual black and white kitchenette that gives view to the dinner table, a dark-coloured couch and a tv squished to the other side with a room leading off to his bedroom, and while she expects it to be slightly messy and lived in, it’s surprising at what little she finds of his personal belongings. Everything seems in order -- a little too much in order -- and there’s barely any sign of life. Not even a discarded pair of slippers littering the ground or a forgotten mug onto the table counter. Only a lone, dark jacket had been previously tossed onto the couch.

Then, her ears perk up at the sound of sniffling. She halts in her steps, straining to hear where it’s coming from.

Bedroom, she thinks, almost like there’s someone sick, someone--

someone crying.

Tiptoeing over to the said bedroom and gingerly poking her head in so as not to startle the young man inside, it takes her a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room, before she catches sight of a crumbled figure at the foot of an unmade bed.

It’s him. Her heart twists at the sight. He looks broken, so fragile, swamped in-between layers of his blankets that he’s tucked himself into as if trying to find some semblance of comfort. She can’t help but feel her heart break with every shaky inhale of his shoulders. But before she can say anything, his head whips up in alarm and he throws her a red-rimmed, wide-eyed stare.

“What--” he chokes upon his words, sounding muffled due to his clogged up nose, “what are you doing here?”

His voice is thick with emotion that he tries so hard to restrain, bloodshot eyes casting her small glances before averting them like he’s ashamed of himself. She isn’t really sure what to do at first, surprised at finding him in such a state even when she’s seen the broken pieces of his countenance so vividly at the border of his irises. But she hasn’t imagined that she’d see him like this, looking defeated and lost and like someone has shattered his soul to pieces.

So she does the only thing she can. Approaching him slowly so as not to scare him off, the said young man buries his face back into the cradle of his arms, adamantly avoiding her at all costs if possible. But she only sits down beside him, finds a piece of the blanket before one of her hands reach out to pat his shoulder.

"You’re okay,” she murmurs, although she knows deep down that this is not what he wants to hear, not right now anyway, “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

It takes a few seconds for his shoulders to start shaking. But then, he breaks into full out sobs, body trembling like a newborn fawn as he cries and cries and cries endlessly as the girl does nothing but smooth a hand over his shoulder, down his back, up again in a motion that she hopes is comforting while trying not to focus on how heartbroken he sounds. He cries like he’s in pain, like someone has taken a knife and is continuously plunging it straight into his heart and she’d be lying to say that it doesn’t cause her own heart to clench in sympathy as the room fills up once more with nothing but his tears.

He calms down after a while and falls silent beside her, so silent that she fears he’s tired himself out to sleep. Then, he speaks.

“How?”

“Hm?” she blinks at him, confused.

“How did you--” he hiccups, words still muffled against his arms, “how did you get in?”

“Your terrace door was open.”

A moment of silence stretches between the pair, before he turns his face to her, still leaning against his arms and she tries not to let her shock paint over her face at how utterly fragile he looks in that very moment. Her hand can’t help but reach out and push a stray strand of his raven hair away from his face, chest wound so tight she feels as though she might cry too.

"Feel better?” she murmurs.

He lifts his shoulder into a one-armed shrug, “Yeah,” his lips press into a thin line, thinking for a moment, before he continues, “my family, they’re back in Vancouver. That’s where I come from. They--They sent me here to become a professional violinist, thought that I’d make it here because I already had the scholarship.”

She isn’t really certain why he’s divulging all this personal information and a thought inside her wonders whether he’s drunk. But there’s something about crying that makes one more vulnerable, that allows all defences to go down so that the truth spills out without effort.

“And it’s good, you know? Everything’s going really well. I’m doing great in terms of academics. I’ve made a small group of friends. It could be worse. But,” his voice can’t help but crack, “I--I miss them. I miss home,” another sob croaks out of him, “I--I want to go home.”

The tears are silent this time as they roll down his face, traces of silvery light against his cheekbones, down to his jaw and dripping off his shirt sleeve. Still, she keeps patting his arm, biting her lip to stop herself from tearing up at the way his sadness seems to seep through her, into her bones as sympathy surges through her loins like an ocean swelling against the current of a sudden storm.

“And I--I can’t tell them,” he whispers brokenly, “I can’t, because they’ve done so so much. They did this for me, and I--”

His words are broken up by another silent sob and she notices how he bites his lip in an attempt to stop himself, and her hand squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s totally alright to feel this way,” she murmurs unsurely, not really sure what to say to make him feel better, “it’s definitely not your fault.”

“Yeah but--but they want this for me, right? I don’t want to disappoint them, after everything--”

“You would never disappoint them,” she cuts him off firmly, “if anything, I’m sure they’re proud of how much you’ve achieved already. You’ve done so, so much. They’re all so proud of you, I’m sure. And it’s normal to miss them, or to feel homesick. You’re so far away and yet, here you are, so strong. You’re so strong, okay? Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

While she’s kicking herself for not having anything else other than clichéd lines to tell him to make him feel better, it seems to work for the young man. Slowly but surely, he falls silent as his tears dry up and after some time, leans his head against her shoulder, probably worn out and tired from having cried so much as a peaceful silence falls over the room, with only his soft, steady breaths to keep her company.

-----

Part 2 will be up soon! Stay tuned! 

How are you guys liking it so far? 

- maegi

#kevin #kevin moon #kevin moon imagines #kevin moon scenarios #kevin moon au #kevin au #kevin imagines #kevin scenarios #kevin imagine #kevin fanfic #kevin fanfiction #the boyz #the boyz fanfic #the boyz au #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagine #the boyz drabbles #the boyz fanfiction #theboyz #theboyz au #theboyz scenarios #theboyz imagines #kpop au #fluff #angst #kdrama #sadness #depression #neighbors to lovers au #friends to lovers au

[sinakakyralih]

It had been a good idea. For her, if for no one else. And they didn’t look like they were doing poorly without her - not that she had ever doubted that. She left someone responsible in charge; someone she watched mature and rise and fall and rise again; they’d be fine. They were fine.

The Keeper smiled as she leaned on the bridge’s railing with her chin in the palm of one hand, her grey tail curling up fondly as a Lalafell threw open the doors of the Mare Tranquilitatis -- er, Shady Boughs -- with an armload of gardening implements. The young woman gently kicked the door shut behind her and dodged around the table on the front porch, maneuvered down the stairs, and dropped the lot of tools in a semi-organized manner on the edge of one of the garden plots in the front yard, made a show of rolling up their sleeves, tugging the brim of their hat into place, and diving in to dig out the weeds and tend for whatever crop they had coming in. 

The sunlight felt good. The breeze off the lake and the sound of the little waves upon the shore were relaxing, tranquil, and she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of Lavender Beds, of home, though she made no move towards the house across the waters. This feeling was different than before, where home felt like the night, the wind rushing across the roof, the cacophony of the waterfall behind their little cottage; the shouting, the running, the friends bursting in at all hours. Back when they couldn’t afford their own houses. Then, they were constantly in each others’ hair and business and lives. … but those friends were gone now, moved on with their lives and their own adventures, and she’d been trying that too, lately, hadn’t she?

The first to drift had been Kel; it hadn’t been long after moving into the larger house in a different district - this district - that he had taken up semi-permanent residence in Ishgard, setting in motion what would eventually become the Ishgard Restoration Project. She’d seen him once or twice around the city - they had had tea once, but he was a busy man now and while she had thought his talk a little technical before this undertaking, now it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way - in that… well, that nostalgic Kel sort of way. 

Next had been… Cae. Cae had always been the “mom friend”: strong and driven and organized and strict with her expectations, and welcoming, caring, people-oriented. She was a caretaker and a fierce friend and she missed having her influence in her life, but somewhere along the way they had drifted, and while Cae had continued to count herself part of the Pretty Guardians for a long while after, she felt it was more for nostalgia and loyalty than for that feeling of connectedness. She had moved on - she met new friends, started an amazing and flowery business - she was a full-time healer, now, and wandered to collect the best herbs for both her medicines and her tea; her place was very pretty, very soft and pastel, and very much Cae. She seemed happy, and she was glad for her. And for Kal, and L’uana; she didn’t often have a reason to visit Shirogane these days, but she always made a habit of stopping by when she was there, and when the big-hearted owner wasn’t home, she doodled in her guestbook.

During that time was when their influx of new recruits really started to grow; at first, it was just one or two, like in the old days: just picking up strays that needed a home, like Alannah and Kel; but over time their registered numbers really started to climb as individual members started picking up one or two adventurers that needed an affiliation for safety, even if they didn’t really stick around the house all that often. She had been happy to give that: the Pretty Guardians were there to help, even if it were just to lend their name and a hand to their members when necessary. Some, however, stuck around, getting close with everyone, even as the old guard started fading away…

Alannah got married to that rascal Nine from the neighbourhood around their first Free Company cottage - their story not exactly typical in any way beyond ‘they were somewhat neighbours’, but that was their story; she was happy for their happy ending, even though it was sad to watch her move out of Lavender Beds and into a charming little cottage in La Noscea. She wasn’t around as often after that, not that she could blame her. She had a baby, Ash, that she brought back for meetings and playdates with her “aunties”; the little girl was adorable and was fun to teach things to that Alannah may not have exactly wanted her to learn so quickly, but that’s what she got for their free babysitting services. Alannah was still there, welcoming in new members, keeping track of the day-to-day goings-on, connected to the house through moogle mail and linkshell while not there in person. She entrusted her with everything.

But it had always been Adelpha and her that were the fixtures of the house - its caretakers, trainers of new recruits, calling shots, and organizing FC activities, but…

Adelpha’s retirement had been unexpected. She wasn’t that far away - she was back in Gridania, having taken a steady job as a researcher, going into the family business after her father had suffered a fall. She knew her father - they had met through her father; but what she was doing wasn’t just being noble or making a sacrifice for her family, it was what she wanted to do. They had been friends for nearly a decade; she had dragged Adelpha clear across Eorzea and beyond, had pulled her into the Scions, thrown her into dangerous situations and jumped in right after. They’d had fun; they were each other’s backup. Adelpha was her playmate, her grumpy, easily-aggravated-on-the-outside, clearly-enjoying-acting-that-way-on-the-inside best friend. … but adventuring forever hadn’t been her dream. 

It was Sinaka’s. 

And maybe that was what she needed to realize, and to let go of. All of her original friends had moved on, left their adventuring in their twenties or early twenties, and settled down into the occupation they wanted to have for the rest of their lives: occupations that made them happy and fulfilled, callings that they had found and fought for, and while that didn’t align with the dream they had shared nine years ago, it didn’t make that dream any less real. The time they had spent together had been real, and special, and something she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life, and had to believe that they would never forget, either. 

But still, Adelpha leaving had led to a period of loss for her: the end of an era, and the idea of facing it while still running operations for the new recruits -- a reference she really had to stop making, seeing as how it had been years since most of them had joined now -- left her feeling hollow, unable to give the same lively performance they were used to, so she took time off to travel, to reflect, to see if adventuring was still her calling or if she had been hanging on out of duty and nostalgia and stubborn loyalty to the people of her past… 

It had been five months since she had transferred leadership to Alannah and left in the middle of the night. She had left a letter, sure, but she could just imagine the face the hyur would have had upon reading it. She grinned, taking in a deep breath that smelled of water lilies, and let it out slowly. 

She wasn’t ready to go back just yet, but she would be.

It was good to see the place was still standing, though, and that the symbol above the door still matched the pin she wore on her lapel, even if the house’s face had changed drastically from when she had seen it last. She didn’t know how Alannah was dealing with all the flowers, but it looked nice. 

The Pretty Guardians were okay.

And she was okay. 

She’d be back.

Idk if those mentioned would want to be tagged ^^’ But yeah, feeling nostalgic for the “old days”, of 2012-2016, and when this definition came across my dash this little snippet fell into place and I feel like it explains not only character feelings and development and what’s been going on with Sinaka (wow I haven’t written for her since Heavensward? Waow XD (btw I had headcanoned years ago that her Path Companion, Sol, had traveled not 5 years into the future but to a different shard and man did shadowbringers bring me glee in letting that be a storyline I could wrap up hahahah)) but also give me a little moment to say...

Thank you.

Thank you Cae, and Adelpha, and Kal and Kel and Alannah (♥ still here with me, heehee) and those friends who weren’t part of the FC but were there for me back then (Sieg!). Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for logging so many hours with me doing stupid stuff like racing around zones and playing hide-and-seek and having hours-long hot-tub parties where we did literally nothing productive, just chatted about anything and everything in a basement hot tub through the text chat box. Thank you for the memories and the companionship and the silly stories. 

Thank you for being there.

#ffxiv #writing #pgsm of balmung #cae #adelpha #kal #kel #alannah

[gayregis]

ok i'm like 1000% sure this wasn't anywhere near sapkowskis intention but cahir kinda gave me the having asian parent(s) vibe. like being forced into a career super young because your parents said so, struggling to form your own opinions on whats expected of you until a mental breakdown, subsequently distancing yourself from your past and history (i'm not from nilfgaard i'm from vicovaro damn it). idk maybe i'm projecting lol but parts of cahir's story rly reminded me of my life. pt 1

like he kept a nilfgaardian name while insisting he's not nilfgaardian. now i'm definitely projecting here, but my very japanese name was really the one asian thing about myself i didn't get rid of when i dramatically changed my life's direction. the name just seemed too Me that i couldn't change it. i have a bit less self loathing and internalized racism now, and i wonder that if cahir had lived if he would have been more ok with being nilfgaardian and pt 2

tried to change his future and not his past. like realizing he didn't really have a choice when he was younger and trying to stop that cycle of negativity while keeping the parts of himself he liked intact. ok i'm sorry this is probably completely nonsensical i'm done ok thank you

i’m so glad i’m not the only one who found these similarities... i’m so glad i’m valid to relate to cahir... these asks are so well-thought out, thank you for this...

to anyone reading... of course being asian doesn’t inherently mean your life revolves around career and school, but it’s a common experience... when cahir described how he woke up with ciri gone and immediately just began to cry like a wolf and run around in circles, so hysterical that they had to tie him up... i was like, that’s just my entire high school career right there. i was under so much stress (not only cultural, but social) to succeed, that it blinded me and made me so ill. if i messed up, if i failed, it felt as though it would be the end of me. 

again, it’s not an inherently “asian experience,” it’s just common for asian students to have this experience... and many other asian students at my school felt the same way, i’m sure. put kids in a pressure cooker and they’ll sincerely lose their minds.

it comes at you from all sides, as it did for cahir... cultural, social, familial... everything is egging you on to succeed, succeed, make us proud... and that’s wrong, no one should be treated like a racehorse. i’m so glad sapkowski decided to have cahir as a character, develop him in this way and not just cast him as a throwaway villain

and yes, you’re right too about the name. (ok obviously when the hansa made fun of cahir’s name it’s funny because it’s ironic because it’s dandelion making fun of how long the name is, but also they’re all friends in this situation and it’s not done out of like, racism or malice, but just “your name is long, lol”) but i feel like his name standing out as a very nilfgaardian name , especially when he is travelling through the northern realms, is an experience that a lot of asian people and people from other marginalized cultures can identify with, if their name is quote unquote traditional. it’s something to honor, something you’ve been taught to be proud of (cahir’s name is literally comprised of his mother’s, grandfather’s, and father’s names) but once you’re the odd one out, you feel like you’re wearing a dunce cap on your head... sticking out... and in the midst of his crisis about confronting imperialism, how does he confront his name, the symbol of his entire identity? is his entire identity founded on the culture of an empire that slays for land and power? 

sapkowski never goes into the grand specifics of vicovarian-nilfgaardian relationships, but i assume it’s something akin to how ancient rome had its conquered territories and provinces. hell, vicovaro may have been given to emhyr in its deceased ruler’s will. but it allows for this mix of native and imperial culture, religion, society, etc. of course his identity is vicovarian, no one in an empire from a conquered / taken province will state their nationality as being directly of the empire. but it’s just really interesting how this is such a small facet of his character, some funny recurring joke - and it signifies so much about him.

and yes, i agree. it’s something i’d like to see pursued in fanart or fic, cahir not dwelling on regretting his past but instead working towards a better future for himself. in my mind, he goes to travel the northern realms, learning about everyone he was always taught to fight against, and also trying to trace his lineage from his maternal side back (since mawr was of northern blood...). perhaps his great-aunt assire var anahid helps him in this endeavor, i don’t know. but yes, cahir having an opportunity to grow beyond how he was structured to, finding independence as a young man in his mid-20s, trying to come to a more developed understanding of the continent and its people, reflecting on his past with not bitterness but contemplation... very good stuff. i feel like toussaint isn’t the time or place for most of this, as it was very much a distraction for the company, a happy place where no bad thoughts ever cross one’s mind, as odysseus faced the island of the lotus eaters, geralt of rivia faced a stay in the beauclair palace, library, and kitchen table. but after toussaint, if they had survived stygga... most definitely. this would have been so much more satisfying as an end to chair’s character arc than cahiri of all things

#cahir #anon #ask

[calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt]

Why You? (C.H.)

a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS bby aww yeah its here. this is only the first part, there will be a part two i swear!! (Maybe even part three idk). also, disclaimer: I really, really lover the name gemma!! I think its super pretty!

There were two things in this world that Gemma was certain of. One, that her parents had really fucked her over by naming her Gemma. And two, Ashton Irwin had terrible taste in friends. 

Well, friend.

Calum Hood. The bane of Gemma’s existence. Somehow, when he walked into the room, every rational thought she ever had left. They replaced themselves with the need to make passive-aggressive comments. 

Now, Gemma prided herself on the fact that she was very much not a bitch. Well, as much as possible, she wasn’t. But it was hard to not hate this man. His irritating smirks, the way he smoked, even how he always called her Germ (Gemma, Gem, Germ. Real clever, Cal).

But what ticked her off the most was how he always barged in unannounced. To everything.

This was especially inconvenient now. You know, since Gemma was half drunk and sobbing her eyes out on Ashton’s couch.

“I don’t get it, you know?” It had been a tough day at work. It was always a tough day at work. Gemma watched as her tears plunked into her wine glass, a frown reflected back to her on the maroon surface. “I’m just plain better than him. So why am I always last for promotions?”

“It’s probably the fact you think you’re better than everyone.” Oh, great. If there was one thing this night was missing, it was that ever-present nail on a chalkboard voice.

There were several different types of drunks, as far as Gemma was concerned. Weepy, fun, angry, needy, philosophical, and blackout. Normally, Gemma was a very fun drunk, the life of the party. But she was about to turn into the Incredible Hulk of drunks. 

“Cal, what’s up?” Ashton jumped off the couch, a smile on his face and a hand outstretched to greet his friend.

“Was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by and see if you wanted to hang.” Cal shot daggers at Gemma then, crossing his arms. “Didn’t know you had company.” 

He practically spat out the word.

“Whatever, bitch boy. I was leaving anyway.” Gemma threw the blanket off of her, using more force than necessary and began snatching up her things. She hated acting like this in front of Ashton, but if Gemma didn’t stomp her feet to release anger, well, there was a chance Cal wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future.

“Gem, wait. You’re drunk.” Ashton caught her arm, concern written all over his face. Gemma watched him as he kept glancing over at his keys on the kitchen counter. His concern wasn’t her problem, though. 

“I already called for an Uber. It’ll be here in five.” Gemma made another move for the front door, only to find Ashton’s hand still on her arm, a tight vice grip.

“At least wait inside where you’ll be warm.” She almost said yes. It was right on the tip of her tongue, waiting to spring into the world and agree. And then.

“Nah, let the drunk wait out in the cold. Maybe she’ll sober up a bit, eh?” Calum fucking Hood. The door was slamming shut behind her before Ashton could even blink.

Gemma could see her breath in the desert air. That’s what kept her from screaming into the night sky. Well, that and basic social constructs. But Gemma kept it in. Each time a puff released out into the night sky, she felt a little more tension leave her shoulders. Yeah, she still wanted to feel her hands around Calum’s neck. And yeah, she still wasn't promoted. But at least there was the cold.

--

“Why do you two hate each other?” Ashton stood at his door with his eyes closed and forehead resting on the frame. 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Cal was rummaging through Ash’s fridge, looking for something to drink out of boredom.

“I’m serious. Why? Why are you two constantly at each other’s throats?”  Ashton spun, rubbing his hand roughly over his face. There was always this tension between the two of his friends, and it was torture for Ashton. Every party playing the negotiator, every dinner he was the peacekeeper. Hell, he practically had to put them in a time out the last time they went to the bar together. It wasn’t like he could just not invite them to things. Gemma and Calum were two of his closest friends, and he wanted them at important things. “I mean, on paper, you two should be best friends.”

Cal spat out the kombucha he had found in the depths of the fridge. “What the fuck?”

Calum and Gemma had nothing in common. Nothing. Cal was cool, confident. He was a normal fucking human being.

Gemma Rossi was out of her mind. She was a control freak, and barely tolerable even at her best. Everything that came out her mouth was both petty and passive aggressive.

“First off, I am nothing like that psychopath. Second, what the fuck?” Cal’s voice rose more and more with the second what the fuck. This time it was his turn to slam things, the kombucha splashing out onto the counter as it made contact with the top of the kitchen island. 

“I’m serious. You’re both funny and cool. And know-it-alls.” Ashton was starting to see this. See everything. Calum and Gemma paired perfectly together. They had enough similarities to get along, but plenty of differences to still have stuff to talk about. This was maybe brilliant. 

“You’re out of your mind.” Cal rolled his eyes, hard. The last time he had a full length conversation with Gemma, she told him he was drinking beer wrong. As if that was even a thing. 

Cal was tired of this bullshit spiel Ash was going on. It was hard enough having to interact with her almost daily. He didn’t need Ashton comparing him to her now. It wasn’t that Cal didn’t want to like her. In fact, he tried to see the best in people even at their worst. But the way Gemma was so full of herself, so sure she knew everything. God, it set fire to something deep within his soul. 

When he told Ashton as much, Cal did not enjoy his response. 

“That’s called being horny, mate.” Ash let loose a giggle, rubbing his hands together. The grin stayed on his face. “And that whole sure of herself thing? Confidence.” 

Cal just grumbled and swallowed the rest of his kombucha in lieu of a response. Truth was he didn’t have one. It was hard enough trying to convince himself to be civil with her, much less try and see her as a likable person. 

--

Coffee was a safe space for Gemma. Caffeine had never really had an effect on her, but it was comforting. She didn’t care hot or cold, as long as the coffee was strong. 

So when none other than one Calum Hood sauntered his way into her favorite shop next to the recording studio, she deflated, to say the least. 

All she wanted was one thing. One thing unmarred by the smug jerk that was Calum Hood. She brought her phone to her face and her coffee to her lips, trying to hide as much as her face as possible as she attempted to escape from the shop without speaking to him. Well, walked dignified, not escaped. She wasn’t afraid of speaking to him, of course. She would merely prefer not to. 

“Hello, Gemma.” Ah, there it was. He was leaning with one shoulder on the wall, waiting in the queue. It would have been kind of hot, had it been anyone else. Well, it was still kind of hot. But Gemma would never admit that, not even to herself. Feelings for Calum were like bathing in mud. Disgusting on principle, no matter how good it might feel. 

“Hey, Calum.” She forced a smile onto her face, but it greatly resembled the smile of the Mona Lisa. Practically non-existent. So much for escaping unnoticed. “I have some papers for you to sign when we get back to the studio.” 

“Ah, look at the little lawyer, ever the professional.” Cal smirked at her, his arms still crossed as he stepped up to the counter to order his drink. “Since you did say ‘we,’ I’m assuming you want me to walk back to the studio with you. Now, while normally I find desperation unattractive, I’d love to accompany you back to the studio. If you’ll so kindly wait as I get my beverage.” 

Gemma had to find a new job. When she signed up to be a legal representative for bands, she thought it would be exciting. Meeting new people, traveling the world. She didn’t know how much of a pain in the ass said bands would be. Maybe at her next job she’d get respect. She could see it now, her own little fantasy keeping her sane as she stood next to her least favorite person in the coffee shop. She didn’t feel inclined to leave the fantasy, that is until Calum started snapping his fingers right under her nose. 

“What.” Her voice was flat. Gemma had recently come upon the decision that no emotion was probably better than anger her voice, so she kept it neutral. 

“I was just asking you what you got.” Gemma looked at him with a blank stare. Got? Got what? She certainly didn’t have anything for him, if that was what he meant. 

Calum must have seen the confusion on her face, judging on how hard he rolled his eyes. “To drink.” 

“Oh. Just a cold brew dark roast.” Gemma started down at her shoes, a small smile playing upon her lips. Who was this man next to her, asking downright civil questions? If it had been anyone else, she could have mistaken it for some twisted form of casual, pleasant conversation. She glanced up at Calum again to make sure that it was, in fact, Calum Hood standing next to her and not some reverse-doppelgänger that was kind instead of evil. 

Then Calum snorted. “Guess that explains why you’re so bitter all the time. The coffee is a reflection of your soul.” 

Ah. There it was. 

---

Calum didn’t know why he said it. They had been having a decent conversation. He had even thought to himself how nice it was to have a talk with her that didn’t include fighting. So why had he gone and ruined it? He had never been the self sabotaging type, even though there was nothing to sabotage. He didn’t want there to be anything to sabotage, either. 

But when Gemma had smiled at him, well, at something he said… It was kind of nice. That’s why he said that. She was about to say something, Cal could just tell. But he turned away from her, going to retrieve his coffee instead. It was hard enough watching her smile and charm the pants off of their bosses every day. He didn’t need her fake attitude with him as well. Although, if there was one person Gemma was never fake with, it was most definitely Cal. She had been up front with her dislike of him right from the start. And she never tried to hide it either. 

Still, as she followed him out of the coffee shop with several exasperated sighs, he couldn’t help but wonder about what it was like for her to smile at him and mean it. He shook his head quickly. It was probably awful. He would never enjoy her smiling at him. It’d be weird… and gross. 

The studio was at most a four minute walk, but god, did it feel like an eternity. So much awkward silence ensued, Cal almost wished they were screaming at each other. Which, she was probably close to doing. 

“Listen, darling, if you want me, you can just say so.” Calum figured it was a good enough ice breaker. Gemma could yell and rant all she wanted, but Cal just wanted her to get it over with before they got to the studio. The studio was his sacred space. 

“All I want from you is silence. And to be left alone, but I’ll settle for silence at the moment.” Gemma was clutching her coffee like her life depended on it. Her Knuckles were practically white, and Calum could swear that there was a vein bulging in her forehead, just like the cartoons. 

“Well, your wish is my command, dollface.” Calum mock-bowed and could hear her practically growling. The smirk that played upon his face was just reflex at this point. Making her angry was so easy these days. He bowed again as he held the door for her when they got to the studio. Just to rub it in. 

---

“I’m done with him. Ashton, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon, I’m telling you.” Gemma dropped her head into her hands and sighed. What was the point of life really? “In fact, I might have to strangle him.”

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t. We kind of need him for the band.” Ashton leaned on the counter adjacent to Gemma, staring hard at her. His brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to make a tough decision. About what, Gemma had no clue. “We should go get drinks tonight.” 

“Um, no? You’re literally a recovering alcoholic. There’s not a chance in Hell I’m putting you in that situation, especially when you’ve come so far.” Gemma picked her head up, studying every inch of Ashton’s face. She could not have been more proud of him, each day her heart swelling more with pride and love in his progress. She would never, ever let herself even think of putting him in a situation that could harm him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ashton chuckled, twisting a ring on his index finger. “Better than ever, actually. I was thinking we could just go to a restaurant, actually.” 

“Oh. Well in that case. Sure.” 

--

Thirty-eight minutes. That’s how long Calum had been sitting alone at the bar of some poorly-lit restaurant waiting for Ashton, without so much as even a text. Ashton had a lot of great qualities, but being reliable wasn’t one of them. 

Minute thirty-nine was when he noticed her. Gemma. 

She, too, was sitting alone at the bar, just a few seats down. Calum was guessing that she hadn’t noticed him yet, since she hadn’t fled the bar like a trapped animal. 

She was furiously typing on her phone, a petulant frown upon her lips. Her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, but there were a few little strands falling out around her face that did nothing to conceal the alcohol induced flush on her cheeks. 

Cal was wondering why she was here. That is, up until a large man came up and put his arm around her shoulders, leaning in until his lips were practically on her face to speak to her. 

Cal almost looked away. He almost left, almost minded his own business. 

Until he saw the look of disgust on Gemma’s face. And the way she tried so hard to get his arm off of her. 

Maybe he hated Gemma, but she didn’t deserve this. No one did. 

“I don’t see a boyfriend anywhere.” God, Calum could smell the stale beer on his breath from here. He didn’t know who this guy was but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Gemma wanted nothing to do with him.  

“How bout now?” As the drunk straightened, Cal sized him up. While the man probably had about fifty pounds on him,  Cal had a solid two inches on the drunk. 

But the drunk just grumbled something about ‘whore’ and ‘not worth it’ and waddled away. 

Gemma, for the most part just looked defeated. Slightly surprised, but again, mostly defeated. 

“Hello Calum.” It came out with a heavy sigh, but Cal still took the seat next to her. 

“Aw, hello to you too babe.” The bartender slid Cal’s half finished drink back down to him, and Cal took a long sip. “Don’t look so happy to see me.”

Gemma snorted. Like actually snorted, as in the sound a pig makes. And then she laughed. Calum was convinced he had broken her. Who knew that was all it took. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just. Why you? Why did you, of all people, have to be here? What god cursed me with having to deal with you constantly? It’s just- why are you here?” Gemma looked incredulous. She stared at Cal, one eyebrow cocked, and a sarcastic smile on her lips. 

“Ashton told me to meet him here and then never showed.” As soon as Cal said Ashton’s name, Gemma fully choked on her drink, coughing and everything. Cal just stared at her, wondering if she was so drunk that she could remember how to swallow. Was that even possible? 

“Okay. I should go.” Once again, Gemma was trying to escape having to have a conversation with Calum. He had half a mind to just let her go. But curiosity got the better of him, so he followed her out into the frigid air. 

“Hang on. What do you know?” He stood next to her on the street. There was something going on for sure, something she knew that he didn’t. 

“According to you, nothing.” She smirked, clearly reveling in the fact that she had something he wanted. 

“Spill.” It was cold, and Cal just wanted to be at home in bed, not here playing games with Gemma. 

“Fine.” Gemma shivered in her sheer top, clearly as cold as Calum. “I think Ashton set us up. I was supposed to meet him here, too.”

“I’m going to strangle him.” Cal closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the sky, exhaling slowly. 

“You and me both.” Cal watched as Gemma turned away from him and began walking down the dark street, her shoulders hunched for warmth. 

Calum really had to learn to bite his tongue. And not stick his nose in other people's business, especially not Gemma’s. Still, it was getting harder and harder for him to convince himself he didn’t care. Even though he didn’t. Care, that is. She could walk home in the cold, all alone in the dark. Wouldn’t matter to him. Not one bit. In fact, it’d probably be good for her. Teach her a lesson about forgetting her coat. 

That reasoning was how he found himself walking her home, his warm leather jacket around her shoulders. 

@rip-lukes-balsamic​

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