#like I’m viscerally sort of uncomfortable seeing him do this

[lakesbian]

alright this one is getting its own post instead of a reblog on a post that is Entirely Not About That. presenting the 'what if we put amy and alec in a room together' manifesto because the thing is that it is interesting but not in the way amy/alec shippers think

Amy shook her head, talking over her, “She’s always been emotional, passionate, unrestrained, and she’s channeling all this new emotion into hate, because it’s the closest equivalent.” “New emotion?” Regent asked.  “You mean you mindraped her.” Amy looked like she’d been slapped across the face.  I wasn’t surprised, but hearing it said out loud was unsettling.

“Nice,” Regent said.  “She could be a human-spider hybrid.  Add some insult to injury with the mindrape thing.” I could see Amy tense.

it is relevant to his character that he's the first person to cut through amy's euphemisms (and everyone else's avoidance of saying the unsettling part out loud) and outright say "you mindraped her." he calls the euphemistic language out and then intentionally repeats it a second time for no other reason than to bug her about it. it's vaguely reminiscent of something he says to sophia during his interlude:

“You and I are more alike than you’d suspect, I think,” he said. “We’re both arrogant assholes, yeah?  Difference is, I admit it, I don’t dress it up and tell myself that I’m a bitch and that that’s a good thing.”  He burned Emma’s face out of another photo.

he has a repeated habit of making people uncomfortable by calling something out for exactly what it is, whether it be "yeah sure cape groupies, my dad's girls, people i used my power on towards the end" or "you mean you mindraped her." he's desensitized enough to really all forms of violence to be unbothered by committing or witnessing them, but he seems to harbor a genuine pet peeve for people who obscure or unreasonably justify what they're actually doing. as uncomfortable as he can make taylor, it's often not that he's doing things worse than the other undersiders, but that he's the person most willing to openly admit what he's doing--or to pettily call out what someone else is doing.

i think it more or less boils down to the fact that he's never gotten to be the person on the peripherals of violence making up neat and tidy ways to talk about it: he spent his entire childhood being hurt in every way imaginable & being coerced into doing the same to others. i think it left him with a sort of genuine distaste for being expected to talk in circles around the viscerally awful things he had done to him or did to others, and subsequently, for people who have done similar things but can't fucking fess up to the reality of it. it's like he's been walking around his entire life just absolutely drenched in blood, witnessing so much else get covered in it, and he's starting to get legitimately bothered over people standing around twiddling their thumbs and pretending it's red paint. he knows it's blood. he's been tasting it since he was 6. he would really like if everyone else could also grow up and admit it's fucking blood.

it's always funny to me that amy/alec shipping is, like, a Thing--a niche thing, but a Thing, because i could not think of a rapist more hand-crafted to piss amy dallon off than alec vasil. he cannot go Three seconds in her presence without going "oh you raped her? you mean you raped her? with your mind? like she doesn't just have new feelings you specifically mean you mindraped her?"

she, on some level, views herself as someone who did harm because she's irrevocably, ontologically evil, and is sort of desperately obsessed with minimalizing or half-justifying her actions to herself so that she can avoid recognizing that she feels like she can't be better. she's clinging to the idea that she can be "redeemed" if she does something of equal measure in the opposite direction (e.g 'spending the rest of her life healing people' as she mentions), but because she can't even directly acknowledge how bad her actions actually were without crumbling under the weight of the idea that she's doomed to be that bad, she's fundamentally incapable of looking directly at what she did at this point in the story.

alec, on the other hand, is really fucking upfront and fairly objective about his actions--he never ties them into some Inarguable Truth About His Soul, and he's pretty honest about whether or not he thinks they're justifiable. in 14.1, he has this dialogue with cherie:

“When daddy had you practicing your powers, you ‘hijacked’ a few people at a time, used their bodies to get high with no consequences for you, you threw orgies for yourself…” “Again.  I was a kid.”

but despite the fact that sophia is, on some level, justified in his mind by his "eye for an eye, this is a favor for taylor" rhetoric--he's fine with admitting that he's also just doing it because, yeah, he's an arrogant asshole and he feels like it. some of it was because he was a kid being groomed, and some of it was because He Felt Like It.*

*sure, he only Felt Like It because he has a comically large cocktail of unpacked psychological issues--but he doesn't know that, he just knows he felt like it.

in other words, he doesn't subscribe to the idea that any of his actions are, like, Ontologically Predetermined By His Inner Being or even necessarily all related. he's like the fuckin' "might do it again, prolly not" dude from the sex offender shuffle. okay, sorry for saying that in my seriouspost. but his philosophies would clash hilariously badly with amy--he insists on accepting his own & others actions for exactly what they are, he's generally very invested in not being his father (being asked if he intends to turn out like his dad is one of the only times something briefly upsets him), and he's actually doing pretty okay at that. he's like...shockingly well-adjusted given the circumstances. his entire arc is more or less a slow upward climb.

i think having to be around someone who both believes and would outright admit "yeah i raped people, no i dunno if i feel that bad, no i'm not raking myself over the coals for it, yeah some of it was because i was a kid, yeah some of the other stuff wasn't, no i'm not Predestined To Suck," would like. clash with her beliefs abt 'ontologically evil' being a real thing, abt punishment as justice, etc. in a way that would really bother her. she spends a lot of her time in her head trying to twist things around until they feel salvageable to her, but alec is 0 amount concerned with rationalizing to make him feel alright--he just does things, some bad, most shitty attempts to be better.

it's, funnily enough, far more functional for improving than what amy has going on--he operates on material actions as opposed to her Self-Flagellating Thought Labyrinths, and the fact that he's busier moving on from things he can't materially change than he is kicking himself in the face means he can actually achieve some form of progress towards more functional approaches wrt human interaction. i think if amy had an extended conversation w/ him about the subject, she'd both be disgusted with him for not thinking thoughtcrime is real and deeply resentful that this fellow ontologically evil villain is doing better at moving forwards as a person than her despite not 24/7 flagellating himself + yearning for "redemption" like she is. it'd throw a disturbingly large wrench in her worldview, and she would not be happy about it.

oh, and alec would think she's weird and mopey and dumb and annoying and "why do it if you can't even admit it." and he would probably tell her as much. which is the point where i unlock the door to the room so alec can sprint out to escape amy's attempt to put tastebuds on his asshole.

#worm spoilers #scarf don't look #hmm. i'll maintag #parahumans #alec vasil #massive massive loss for the reading pact department tonight #sorry blake. im so sorry my pathetic boy i havent met yet #i need someone w more formed opinions abt amy to tell me if i have any idea what i'm talking abt #TURNED OFF REBLOGS BECAUSE PEOPLE WERE STILL REBLOGGING EVEN THOUGH ITS NOT TRUE #SORRY. HAVE TO MAKE A BETTER VERSION

[zalrb]

I still get confused about the difference between erotic and sexy. You once said that shows don’t do much eroticism anymore. I’ve seen episodes of tvd, teen wolf, true blood, Bridgerton, buffy, the borgias, interview with the vampire movie and others. I’m also planning to watch the tv version. But I still don’t get it. I sort of understood of Stefan’s eroticism compared to other characters but it’s quite harder to see in non-vampire shows or movies. Is there a post that I must’ve missed that went in detail about the difference cuz I tried searching for it. Also is eroticism more likely to be shown in historical dramas and movies than modern ones?

Eroticism is definitely a staple of historical romance. I would say more so than modern ones. But when I discuss eroticism vs sexiness a lot of it is about how sensuous/sensual a scene is and the kind of tension that's going on. So for instance and not accounting chemistry let's take a kiss in Red White and Royal Blue.

This would be considered a sexy kiss

the hair grabbing and the leg is hitched and they're pushing into each other etc. etc.

and then you have something like Nick and June

there's that slow burn quality and he's lowering her lip and being gentle but assertive and she's got the shallow breathing and it's hot but it's almost uncomfortably intimate so that's a sort of eroticism

The Handmaiden...the way we focus on the corset being unlaced

and the way the material glides down her skin

and then there's focus on her bare back from the perspective of the woman who is undressing her

the way her hand glides over her back and that shiver

this is erotic af... it's intimate and sensual and sensuous and charged and tactile. that's why people freak out about the pride and prejudice hand scene because it's not even sexual but it's erotic because the mere touch of her hand makes him react in such a visceral way that it becomes sexual even if not in the traditional sense

Personally as I've said I prefer the Atonement water touch where he sees her

and just HAS to touch the water that also touched her skin

that is erotic as SHIT

Buffy and Angel going at it in the kitchen

super hot but not erotic

[gaycey-sketchit]

I’m so curious about the whole thing with Tracey’s mom

Guess it's time for me to elaborate then! (And also probably go on several tangents.)

I have a lot of interest in familial relationships--the good, the bad, and the nuance and complexities within. Probably because of my own messy and complicated family situation, but I digress.

The fact that canon gave us absolutely nothing regarding Tracey's history and family is interesting to me. You'll see a wide variety of takes because it's a total blank slate, and I think that's fun. Even though I have my own I like to see others. My take is that there's a reason he doesn't talk about it and doesn't go home.

Tracey's mom is... decently complex in my brain for an OC who has no name and objectively sucks. She's a single mother, and it's a mystery where Tracey got his optimistic nature from because she's pretty jaded about things. She loves her kid, or at least thinks she does, but she's insistent that the world is a dangerous place and they only have each other, which is... not healthy.

Additionally, in my immense longing as a chronically ill young adult for there to be more young characters who are chronically ill, I've been contemplating the idea of Tracey having PCOS--a condition that's genetic, and could have been inherited from his mother. Part of PCOS is that it makes conception and successfully carrying a fetus to term difficult and risky, with a high chance of miscarriage, so if this was the case it took a lot of luck for Tracey to be born at all. And on top of that, as I mentioned recently, I have another headcanon that he was immunocompromised as a young child, and that gave her one more reason to worry. Like, even later on when he's pretty much fine, she can't help thinking there might be a relapse. Every little cold sets her off worrying.

Tracey is friendly and adventurous and deeply curious about the world, and that worries her for two reasons. One is actual concern for her child's safety--that he's not strong enough, or that people will take advantage of his kind and trusting nature or mistreat him because he's different. The other is that his father left and never came back, and he might do the same if she lets him. She's sort of a worse parallel to Delia, interestingly--the fundamental difference between them is Delia chose to support her son and let him go. Tracey, on the other hand, wasn't let go so much as he finally decided enough was enough and left.

It took a while to get to that point though. The deterioration of their relationship really started when the azurill Tracey befriended evolved, and Tracey realized he was trans. Which also explained why his mother's insistence that men were nothing but trouble, trouble he'd do well to avoid, made him so viscerally uncomfortable. He comes out to her, thinking she's his mom and she loves him and she's always said she would no matter what. She's dismissive. She insists she knows her daughter and she knows a phase when she sees one.

It sort of makes him think. He's too young to fully grasp nuances, but on some level he can tell his mother underestimates his strength and his intelligence, and it hurts. He's always done his best to be understanding, to listen when she says being a single mother is hard, to be a good kid. Her protectiveness feels more smothering with the realization she thinks he's too weak and naive to face the world outside their little island, or even understand who he is.

He tolerates it for a while, but it's a test of even his patience. Finally he gets up early one morning, cuts his hair in the bathroom, writes a note because he can't bring himself to leave without saying goodbye, and takes his backpack and Marill and leaves.

It feels like the most selfish and cruel thing he could possibly do. She'll miss him, he knows. He'll miss her. He can't not look back, but he never goes back and never speaks to her again, refusing to risk letting her talk him into coming home. The guilt eats at him sometimes, but mostly the relief and exhilaration of finally being free to live his life are stronger.

And as we all know, eventually he finds a home with the Oaks, where he's loved and respected. He could never go back after that.

#wow this is long. It turns out I have a lot of Thoughts #Andrew answers #anonymous #Tracey Sketchit

[greentrickster]

Side note, putting my ire with Silvairre to the side for the moment, I’m going to admit, I’m a little disappointed with the storytelling in FFXIV overall so far. I like the game play, and the setting and world building are interesting, but the story telling with the various quests, mainline, side, and guilds, are leaving me feeling a little... I hate to say it, but a little bored. Fantasy is my favorite genre, so I’ve consumed a lot of media for it over the years (including every single cutscene of FFXII, which I enjoyed immensely), and I just... sort of expected more.

(This is a bit of a vent, so putting under a cut. Also, I’m not feeling overly vitriolic, mostly just frustrated in a writerly sort of way with rough dialogue and some clumsy story telling in places. No fault or judgement to anyone who likes the game or its story.)

I get that my character needs to be fairly generic in their actions so that it’s easy for various people to imagine their individual characters reacting as they see fit - I have no qualms with that, it’s a core concept in the genre in many ways. Just... the story telling and dialogue feel very awkward very frequently so far, and I was expecting a bit more from a company that had made a good thirteen games prior to this, and I was told the story in this one was fantastic.

Now, I will fully admit, I’m only on Scions of the Seventh Dawn for the main plot, so maybe everything gets stronger later on. And, like I said, I’m enjoying the heck out of the game play, I can absolutely see myself returning to this game for a long time just to enjoy the loop and mess around with the various classes. But I’m coming here with Dofus and Adventure Quest Worlds as my main previous MMORPG experiences. And, while both of them are deeply flawed games in many ways, Dofus has very strong world-building with a fairly clear tone, and AQW has some phenomenal story telling, especially in the Lords of Chaos arc (Iadoa’s arc messed me up, and the final arc was fantastic). With FFXIV, though... while it has its moments, it often feels disjointed, in a way that it’s hard to describe when I don’t have the cut scenes and dialogue right in front of me right now.

Like... take Silvairre’s story, since I’ve been complaining about him a lot. I get what it’s supposed to presumably be about - it’s a classic ‘twit learns not to be r*cist’ plot. Except it’s left me viscerally uncomfortable the whole time, especially with how they try to justify his behaviour at times with comments along the lines of “Oh, he’s just trying to preserve/honour the traditions of his people” or “He’s a big ol’ tsundere about stuff” and the implication that he’s acting this way at least partially because a woman of another race did him very dirty. I get the story they’re trying to tell, but the whole thing leaves me feeling very icky with how they do it, especially since he’s showing no signs of changing or even acknowledging that what he’s doing is wrong in any way. Especially with it ending with him in a somewhat mentorly position to Leih, when she’s been the one he’s been targeting most the whole time. I’m seeing a lot of this sort of story telling so far, the kind that knows what it wants to do, but is executing it very poorly.

I’m not hating on the game as a whole, I’ll fully admit that I was enjoying the story well enough through to being the emissary in Gridania, and perhaps, as I’ve said, I’m just in a rough patch and/or it gets better again as I get deeper into the game. It’s just... I’m a writer with a special interest in fantasy, and this aspect of the game is really standing out to me at the moment, and it’s disappointing from an entry in a series that I’ve always thought was supposed to have very good stories. :/

#my thoughts #finally a fantasy barding #not putting this in the fandom tag out of respect for the fandom #grumble bumble posts like this don't go in the fandom tag <3 #tw vent

[subatoism]

Cardassia, the Dominion War, and Parashat Ki Tavo

“Some may say we’ve gotten just what we deserved. After all, we’re not entirely innocent, are we?”

I initially looked up the parshah for the week of Julian’s birth out of idle curiosity. Maybe it would come up in conversation, I reasoned. I know there’s no guarantee that it would be the same Torah portion he’d read for his bar mitzvah, but it’s as convenient an assumption as any. So maybe, in some fic at some point in time, he and Garak could have a debate over it, just like any other literary work.

Examining the contents of the text, however, I realized it would be a much messier topic than I had been expecting.

Ki Tavo consists of Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8. I’m setting aside the earlier sections for now to start from Verse 28, which describes the rewards G-d promises to the Jewish people if they faithfully observe His commandments (28:1-14) and, conversely, the punishments for failing to do so (28:15-69).

…The trouble is that the scenarios described sound uncomfortably familiar.

“The skies above your head shall be copper and the earth under you iron.” — While heat and drought are common on Cardassia before the Dominion War, the references to blight, pollution, and disease are… discomfiting in light of the war’s aftermath.

I think this bit is rather self-explanatory.

Possibly the most viscerally horrifying section of this reading. It’s not even a direct parallel to anything that occurs in canon, but it felt necessary to include for sheer awfulness.

I’d like to be clear now that I am not laying out this connection to lend some sort of credence to the idea that the Cardassians “deserved” what happened to them, or that such horrors could ever be “deserved” by anyone. The whole point of this, after all, was meant to be Garak’s response to the text, which is why I opened with his lines from What You Leave Behind.

Because the expectation of punishment, and the rationalization of pain as having been earned, is an element of Garak’s characterization that goes all the way back to The Wire: “Has it ever occurred to you that I might be getting exactly what I deserve?”

In fact, I’d like to point to one last passage from the parshah:

This one I find interesting because, while it’s talking about diaspora more broadly, it most closely parallels exile as we’ve seen it through Garak’s eyes specifically, as an individual. And as such, I can see him reacting strongly to it, particularly because he thinks he deserves it.

But, of course, the truth is as Julian says: No one deserves this.

#ds9 #elim garak #julian bashir #sort of analysis?? not really #cw religion #cw cannibalism

[s1utspeare]

Novoland: Pearl Eclipse is William Chan Off the Shits, and Here’s Why

Hello friends! After months of staring at this man’s face, I am finally able to put my research to good use!! And now you all get to suffer with me! Admittedly I have only watched the first episode, but it’s already got me feral bc my man wills is fucking it up to the max.

Okay so like. I love William. You all know I love William. But for the LIFE of me I could not figure out why they kept casting him in shit bc he’s SUCH A FUCKIN WEIRDO (again I love him) and I thought at first that it was just Him being The Way He Is but Novoland has got me convinced that actually he is The Greatest Actor of Our Time and here is why: his ghost smile is gone.

Let me explain:

The last play I acted in my director was like “GIRL YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP WITH THE GHOST SMILE” and I was like “the fuck you talking about” and she was like “ok. Your resting face? It’s a smile. You Ghost Smile. This character would not do that. So stop.” and then for the rest of the show I had to be fully focused on turning the corners of my mouth down whenever my face was at rest and Let Me Tell You that is Not Comfy. Ghost Smiling is like the opposite of Resting Bitch Face but only in the mouth. Resting Bitch Face involves eyebrows (granted my Neutral Eyebrows are Happy but that’s besides the point).

Now. William’s resting face is also a Ghost Smile. The corners of his mouth are just Up when he’s at neutral. If he’s frowning or acting, they turn down, but when he’s at rest you can catch the corners up just enough to soften his face and give it the classic William Charm. Observe (William):

(Ok I know that last one isn’t exactly resting but it’s a good example of his Ghost Smile bc he’s so focused on the rest of his body that he’s REALLY not schooling his face here. Also I just like this picture)

ANYWAY you can see how, when caught candidly in a resting facial position, his lips are still Up and there’s just a Hint of a smile there. It’s very nice! And if you still don’t believe me, by contrast, here’s Wang Yibo’s neutral:

Now Yibo DOES have a very prominent Turn Down in his mouth, but I digress.

OKAY SO. most of William’s characters ALSO have Ghost Smiles bc that’s just his natural face. If he’s not actively doing facial expressions, it’s just going to end up like that, which is totally fine bc that’s just what faces do!

Lil political dude (I have no idea what drama that’s from) has a ghost smile! So does Liu Ziguang in Age of Legends (remind me to talk about william’s acting choices there some other time)! And Fo-ye (sorry for the terrible ass screenshot but it’s honestly SO hard to find a picture of William In Character as Fo-ye and also At Rest because FUCk does fo-ye emote a lot :/)

Which brings me to why Novoland has got me so freaked out, and why it’s kind of hard to be like “oh yeah that’s a classic William character.” Because he’s played stoic characters like Fang Jiang before! He almost always plays stoic characters! But he has dialed it The Fuck in for this one and it’s bc his Ghost Smile is gone.

FUCJING LOOK AT THAT!!! LOOK AT THE DOWNTURN OF HIS MOUTH!! His face is constantly Passive and Neutral but William’s natural Passive and Neutral still has that smile hint! But here it’s gone. Vanished. Poof! And that means that William has gotten himself SO DEEP into this character that his natural face has changed for him. I’m sure if we see behind the scenes footage at some point the Ghost Smile will be back, but he has MASTERED this character to the point that he has changed his At Rest face to fit him.

That’s not an easy thing to do! And I speak from experience! And I didn’t even do that good a job at it bc I kept getting distracted by other things and forgetting about my mouth so like. William is acting his ass off in this one, and even if it doesn’t seem like it bc he doesn’t really emote, it’s all in the little things. I have no idea how Novoland is going to go but so far it appears to be William’s Finest Acting Work to date (even if that’s not a hard feat bc he has some…….. questionable projects), and I am very proud of him

#thank u for coming to my ted talk #it’s been bugging me for days! #why I’m like ???? about william in this drama #like I’m viscerally sort of uncomfortable seeing him do this #and I finally figured out why #and it murdered me on the spot bc he’s doing SUCH A GOOD JOB #like fuck #as if I needed any more reasons to love this man #anyway enjoy the fruits of me Thinking About William’s Mouth For Too Long #acting meta #william chan #observe william #my meta #novoland pearl eclipse

[hypmicdaydreams]

Hello! This might be a little tough so feel free to cut out any characters that you can't write for! May I request for scenarios (or general hcs if that's easier for you ) of yandere Ramuda, Jakurai and Samatoki? Thank you for your hard work!!

This was def interesting and super fun to write! Always do love me some good yandere characters, though I hope I was able to portray it well! I went with scenarios, and since you didn't give a specific prompt, I went with something different for each if that's fine! Thank you sm for the request anon, and I hope you enjoy 💕

-pairings: samatoki aohitsugi x gn!reader, ramuda amemura x gn!reader, jakurai jinguji x gn!reader

-genre: yandere

-word count (overall): ~2.3k

-content warning: yandere themes. please don't interact if you're uncomfortable with themes of manipulation, obsession, violence, unhealthy relationships, etc.

Samatoki (737 words): when someone interacts(?) with you

samatoki, in all of his aggression and recklessness, was always so impulsive, resorting to such great lengths to “protect” you, or so that’s what he preferred to call it anyway. he did tend to be quite the emotional one, acting on sudden urges without much of a second thought, nor a first thought at that. it was as if he was blinded when it came to your safety, stopping at nothing to ensure that you were still alright, directly by his side. 

and you certainly did appreciate how he was always looking out for you and your safety, at least, that’s what you tried telling yourself. it was…a lot; samatoki always took it too far, all in the name of keeping you safe. no one was allowed near you, much less look or breathe in your direction, that is, without him standing right next to you, to ensure that no one dared to lay a hand on you of course. anyone that ever challenged that rule, gathered the courage to go against the all-powerful yakuza leader of yokohama, surely had what was coming from samatoki. 

“you didn’t have to beat him up!” you cried, trying to argue against the brick wall that was your boyfriend. it was difficult to hold back the emotion in your voice, to calm the way your heart shook. this was the umpteenth time this exact scenario happened, samatoki beating up someone, anyone, that even interacted with you. you were getting sick of it. his bruised fists truly did tell a vile story, the sight ingrained in your memories. and from his connections with the police as well as the power he held being a part of the yakuza, he always got away with it. “all he did was greet me!”

“yeah?” his tone was always so…visceral, so livid. samatoki seemed constantly angry and on edge, and it definitely frightened you to an extent, the way his red eyes seemed to glow with a sort of rage, the frown on his handsome features striking fear at anyone that even looked its way. even around you, when he tended to be more soft and caring, his anger shook you to the core. you never wanted to make him so, even when it wasn’t directed at you in particular. it was simply frightening to see him in such a state. “i didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at ya.’” he took another breath of his cigarette as if nothing had happened. “i’m yer boyfriend after all.”

“but he didn’t do anything!”

when samatoki glared at you, you certainly felt daggers, a cold chill running down your spine. even when you heard him sigh, his gaze softening as he approached you, the adrenaline was still kicking in, your instincts telling you to book it. ah samatoki was always so scary in such moments. 

“‘m doing it to protect you.” samatoki flicked the cigarette, putting out the dwindling flame with his foot. “i know their intentions, always seeming innocent and shit to lure ya in. i’ve dealt with bastards like them plenty of times.” you couldn’t find it in you to reject his embrace; the warmth and comfort you felt as he put a hand on your shoulder, no matter how much the anxiety in your stomach never withered away, did certainly feel good, and you wanted to believe in it. well…samatoki must be right. he was a part of the yakuza after all; only he could spot the signs. he was simply protecting you because he cared for you, loved you. you shouldn’t question him, instead only placing utmost trust in him. “i only want to protect ya.’”

you couldn’t say anything to that. now you felt terrible, knowing that he simply did all that to keep you safe. samatoki hadn’t meant any harm. and his warmth and touch now, oh how it felt amazing! so loving, the way he gazed at you, hearts apparent in his eyes. he truly was just trying to keep you out of harm’s way, and you owed him the world for it. 

“i’ll try not to go…too far next time,” he muttered, stroking your hair, unable to hold back a small smile when he felt you release all that tension you had built up. he always did like you best when you were happy and comfortable right in his arms. 

he never did follow up on those statements, however.

Ramuda (755 words): when you try to “escape”

“aww you’ve gotten so good at hide and seek!”

although ramuda was sounding as playful as ever, whining about how unfair it was that he may begin to lose, even as good as he was at such a game, you only felt a shiver run through your spine, unable to swallow the lump in your throat. you knew that you had angered him when you tried to hide from ramuda, perhaps even plotting a little escape, or at least, that’s what he called it. how could you want to be away from him! ah it was so heartbreaking, seeing as you want to leave him! he childishly cries. even when you assure him that wasn’t the case—you simply wanted to go out for a quick walk around the block—ramuda insists that it must be so, that you wanted to leave. 

it was all a façade he put up, of course, able to hear the seething rage underneath all of it, your primal instinct of fear kicking in when you noticed the darkness in his eyes. gone were the beautiful blue ones that were filled with hearts, lovestruck at the mere sight of you. 

“i won’t be able to find you next time.”

his voice deepened, the anger you were so afraid of leaking out. it never failed to make you regret your choices actually. and although you couldn’t see his face too well right now, unable to move much given that he was taking your measurements for an outfit he was making, you were sure they held that darkness to them. his strength grew as he pulled on the belt he put around your waist (you often were the mannequin used when he made clothes, though he preferred the term ‘doll’), letting up and muttering a playful ‘sorry’ in that usual voice of his when he saw you flinch. 

you couldn’t really say much, opting to remain silent. the anxiety and fear were eating you up on the inside, beginning to feel a tad too nauseous as the pit in your stomach only grew the more you felt ramuda’s cold gaze on you. he truly was a force to be reckoned with when he showed this terrible side of himself, never failing to quiet you down or making you wish that you had never challenged him in the first place. it’s just that…well, ramuda could certainly be suffocating at times. 

“i’m just scared of losing you,” he whined, though this time in a much more chirpy voice, perking up and returning to the character he played so well. ramuda surely didn’t want to startle you too much, maybe only rattle you a little, but only so that you get the message! he truly feared losing you, the only one to ever understand him, to make him feel human. of course ramuda would become clingy and too attached! you were so special and important to him! and he loved you so so much! “you shouldn’t wander shibuya streets alllll alone. i don’t want you to get hurt dummy!” 

ah, now you felt a little bad. you knew how much ramuda relied on you, how much he clung to your side and never let go. you had comforted him many times before, stroking his hair while he lay in your lap, assuring him that he loved him too; you knew all too well how he depended on you, and it was hard to not curse yourself for hurting him in such a way. he was just…a little insecure, yeah, that’s it. you just had to help him work on himself maybe, to help better himself and not be so uh clingy, perhaps? that was what you could tell yourself anyway. 

“done!” ramuda chirped once more, adding the finishing touches to the outfit, smiling all to himself when he saw how you looked. ah, you really were so beautiful, so pretty and adorable! no wonder he was so fascinated and awestruck with you. he really did have the best s/o. 

you looked at yourself in the mirror, only able to stare. well, it definitely was ramuda’s clothes, had his charm to it. they were certainly colorful, perhaps so much so, and they were eccentric in their own way. it may or may not have been your style, though it didn’t matter too much. the anxiety in your gut only worsened when you saw yourself in the mirror after all. 

“you’re such an adorable little doll!” 

at times, you certainly couldn’t help but feel that way as well.  

Jakurai (771 words): when you injure yourself

“oh, i see you’ve gotten hurt.”

jakurai always did seem like the most patient of people, always so calm and never letting his emotions get the better of him. his voice was so low and gentle, as if constantly tending to those that needed it; he was simply a healing person in and out, perfect for a man like jakurai, the best doctor among them all. 

but you knew better than that. 

you could sense the disappointment in his voice, the panic and slight fear. as calm and composed as jakurai may seem on the outside to the untrained eye, you could read him on a much deeper level; and right now, your boyfriend was panicking, his mind certainly in a bit of a frenzy, even when all you saw that even indicated an ounce of that was a small frown on his features. 

jakurai simply despised it when you got hurt, absolutely loathed seeing such injuries, even something as small as a paper cut, on your delicate and perfect self. even the smallest and most insignificant of injuries can quickly turn sour. he was a medical profession after all, and jakurai knew more than anyone how it can become infected and poison you, how it could become life-threatening, how he could lose you from something like this. of course he’d be more than protective when it came to something like this! the world was a dangerous place after all. 

“it’s nothing to fret over!” you tried to reassure, that sense of dread and anxiety you were all too familiar with boiling over as jakurai sat you down, examining the injury with a little too intense of a gaze (you had simply scraped your knee), and preparing the necessary medical supplies. 

it never failed to make you feel worse about yourself, making the person you loved most worry excessively over you. ah you certainly felt bad for jakurai, having to deal with you, someone who didn’t care much for his health, or at least that’s what it seemed like from how overtly cautious he was with you. this was all your fault, surely? well, it’s not like jakurai had ever outright denied it. 

“darling,” jakurai addressed, his gaze clear and sharp as he looked at you, the sincerity in his eyes. it served to make the hairs on your arms and back of your neck to stand up, the goosebumps on your skin becoming more clear. his gaze…it wasn’t as if there was something wrong with it but, well, you couldn’t help but be on alert when you were the subject of it. you weren’t too sure as to why honestly. “you’re hurt. this is something i must take seriously.” 

the isopropyl alcohol he applied certainly stung, a little too much actually, and all he could do was mutter how you must endure it if you wanted to be all good and healthy. it won’t last for too long either way. and the bandage he wrapped around your knee was rather tight, perhaps to the point where you felt as if your blood supply was being cut off for a moment or so, so tight that it was, in fact, painful. he really did take your health seriously, too much actually. 

“you shouldn’t do anything too reckless now,” jakurai mused, though from the tone of his voice, it sounded much more as if he was scolding you, saddened that you had gone out and hurt yourself. you felt it in your chest, his disappointment taking a toll on you. gah, you felt terrible, having made jakurai worry now. all he wanted was to keep you safe and out of harm’s way after all. perhaps it was for the best for you to stay home or areas where he can keep an eye on you; it’d certainly be the safest option, to ensure that you wouldn’t get hurt without medical aid nearby. “you should stay where i can see you.”

jakurai never wanted you to leave your side it seemed like. he always wanted to have an eye on you, y’know, to make sure that you were alright of course. he cared for you and loved you so much. if anything happened to you, well, he didn’t know if he could take it. he’d already lost someone near and dear in the past, someone he considered family. he wanted to prevent such a tragic thing from happening to you now, the one person he loved with all his heart, more than himself even. 

“ok…”

he was simply doing this out of love and care for your being, you tried to tell yourself.

#asks #requests #hypmic #samatoki aohitsugi #samatoki x reader #ramuda amemura #ramuda x reader #jakurai jinguji #jakurai x reader #yandere #yandere cw #gender neutral reader #fics #short fics #hypnosis mic

[nerves-nebula]

hi your "hunter escapes and has a fun little camping moment" au is living rent free in my brain rn, please Please share some more thoughts and rambles about it!

ANON PLEASE- (affectionate)

you gotta understand I was not lying when I said I have 5 pages of a google doc worth of comic ideas. Unfortunately it's still kind of a mess and I'm still sorting out some of the basic dynamics of this AU. I also like the idea of keeping most of my notes and making them into their own comics/posts so idk how I feel about just saying stuff in a list AND YET.

So here's some stuff I think I can say outside of a comic?? I’ll still probably make some of these into comics/doodles, but anyway I hope this is what you were looking for.

Hunter:

Hunter gets very into studying wild magic up close, something he wasn't allowed to do much before. But now he lives in the forest surrounded by wild magic. Because of this I plan for him to discover a few glyphs on his own, like Luz does, mainly the plant one. But you’ll see how that goes later ;)

He's also still trying to cure his uncles curse. He insists he's not going to go back to Belos, but if pressed on why he's searching for a cure for a man he plans to never see again, he'll get very defensive and angry. Sometimes it's not as easy as "I'm leaving and never coming back." sometimes you still wanna help the people who hurt you :P and THAT one is from personal experience

Hunter takes a while to really get into the whole “I’m on my own and can do whatever I want” thing, but I plan for him to mess around with his presentation once he gets more comfortable.

Rascal helps him change his eye bandages! I haven’t decided if his eye is damaged yet or just the area around it tho so stay tuned.

Hunter will often assign himself “missions” to go on because he doesn’t know what else to do with his free time. He knows he doesn’t technically have any deadlines or stuff like that anymore but he gets stressed not having a goal to strive towards so to cope he just.. gives himself arbitrary goals !

Funfact! This is not the first time Hunters pissed Belos off so bad that he’s fled the castle for a moment. But it IS the first time he stays away for this long. 

Home Hunter AU subscribes to the “Hunter is the grimwalker/a clone of Belos’ brother” theory just for extra angst. I kind of like the idea that he wasn’t even a big part of Belos’ plans though, just that Belos saw a chance to “Bring back” his brother and went for it fsdfsfsdf.

Hunter is terrified of relying on someone too much because no matter how much he trusts them, they could always kick him out. And he’d rather kick himself out before they get the chance. Boys still got issues, is what I’m saying. 

Because Hunter lives in the woods he starts to get a bit... Feral. People will not see him for a week only to realize he’s been not showering or changing his clothes. He was never the most normally-socialized kid but now he’s in the habit of hissing at people the way he does at wild animals that encroach on his tent.

Hunter is very possessive of his belongings (he has so few) and will tackle you if you try to take something from him without asking. He also hoards food and has trouble sharing it, but he feels a bit more embarrassed about this habit than others so he tries to hide it.

Luz:

Luz is basically the first person Hunter reaches out to after living in the woods for a few weeks, and she’s the only one he trusts, at first. 

She offers to let Hunter stay at the owl house a LOT, and sometimes he does :D ! But usually only if it’s raining or he has an injury he can’t heal himself, or if they’re just hanging out. 

Luz’s Super Secret Sad Boy plan is to try to trick Hunter into staying at the owl house for extended periods of time, so that he eventually doesn’t want to go back to the forest. She brings it up A LOT. This has yet to work though, because Hunter feels very uncomfortable about not understanding their family dynamic. That and it makes him feel a bit worse about his own. (kind of like when you go to your friends house and their parents are nice, so you cry afterwards. But to the extreme that he has trouble relaxing cause he’s viscerally aware of how much he doesn’t feel like he fits in.)

Luz tried to teach Hunter glyphs but he brushed it off. 1. because he’s still nervous about wild magic lmao but 2. because he didn’t think he needed to learn them since he has Rascal. He only starts looking into them when he personally finds them in nature on his own. After that point he starts eavesdropping on Lillith and Eda’s glyph lessons and hijinks ensue.

Lillith:

I’m actually super down for the idea that Lillith would bond with goldie in some way. They both know what Belos is like so they can bitch about him together!

I’m also a fan of the “Lillith regrets calling Hunter a brat” idea. Idk if she’s canonically seen his face or anything but I like to think that, at least NOW, she sees him for what he really is. A poor little meow meow. 

That being said don’t think that Mom!Eda is out for the count. They’re  ✨ co-parents  ✨ and I like to think they bring different things to the table when it comes to caring about Hunter. Raine might show up eventaully too :D. They still can’t get him to move out of the woods tho.

Belos:

Not much to say about him and his plans yet, but what usually happens when Hunter runs off after upsetting Belos is that he comes back a few hour/days later with something to win back Belos’ favor. So the emperor isn’t concerned at first, but then a week passes, and then another. 

In this AU Belos is very protective of Hunter but in a weird, possessive, fucked up way. Basically, he’s convinced himself that nothing is really a threat to him or Hunter (since he trained Hunter personally and believes in his nephews abilities). He was never afraid of Hunter being killed or leaving him cause he never considered those things as possibilities. So when Hunter doesn’t come back and is seen actively avoiding him, he goes a little apeshit? But like in a subtle way? Like, he’s losing it but quietly lmao. BASICALLY I do have plan for Belos to attempt to do a lot of stuff to catch/coerce Hunter, and maybe he succeeds! We’ll see.

That should be enough for now!

important to note that a lot of this could change on a whim since I’m still thinking about all of it but y e ah these are some things I’ve mused about.

also I hope this makes sense, I’m not really a writer so I just kinda type it how I talk it I guess.

#toh hunter #toh #the owl house #hunter toh #luz noceda #emperor belos #the golden guard #lillith clawthorne #eda clawthorne #home hunter au #ask #nnstuff

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

#i did not proofread this at all so i just kNOW im going to read this back later and find a whole bunch of typos oops #stucky #stucky fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #idiots in love #sad stevie aw

[mymelodyheart]

Save The Date Chapter 11 ~What’s Brewing Claire?~

picture credit

 Previously in Stramash ...

Jamie pulled back to look at her face and tipped her chin up to survey the cut on her lips. "He did this?"

She could only nod as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jamie turned the gun in his hand and marched towards the door, shouting at the police ushering Jack out to wait. Before Claire could scream for him to stop, he brought his forehead down on Jack's nose in a head butt before handing the weapon to a nearby officer. The sound of cartilage crunching echoed in the tiny room, making Claire wince. Jack fell onto his knees with a loud thud, holding his bleeding nose, shouting improprieties muffled by his hands.

"Now, that was uncalled for, Fraser," an officer clucked, but his grin and the amusement in his eyes implied he wasn't too bothered over Jack's injury. "Now go and get some rest. I'll handle the paperwork and delay the statement for tomorrow morning. You both have done enough to save the day."

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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  Jamie studied Claire. She lay relaxed on the examination table, going through her phone and reading messages. She looked untroubled and seemed to have recovered from the ordeal this past weekend. The only tell-tale sign left of that hellish night was the tiny scab on her lower lip and bruising on her right cheek where Jack Randall had struck her. She was whole and safe, and yet here he was, having trouble letting go of that incident.

When he'd helplessly watched Jack shoved a gun against her neck and dragged her away from his sight, he'd felt the full gravity of her vulnerability and his inadequacy to secure her safety. But how Claire had handled the situation was nothing short of mind-blowing, albeit heart-stopping. She'd kept her presence of mind, aptly keeping Geneva talking while the tech specialist monitored the audio listening device. The moment they'd identified the voice on the phone, the administration in Broadmoor had been immediately alerted to make sure Geneva didn't go anywhere until the police arrived.

Geneva and Jack were in jail now, awaiting trial and most likely would stay there for a very long time. He really needed to stop fixating on what could have gone wrong and focus on the matter at hand, like their baby's condition and Claire's health.

He puffed out a breath and sprung onto his feet. "Ye comfy, Sassenach?"

"I'm good," she replied, without looking up from her phone screen.

"Ye ken, we can cancel the baby reveal for another day."

"I know, but I prepared so much food already."

They were having his family and closest friends over for afternoon tea to share the news of their baby. Claire had insisted on a celebration to invalidate the ordeal Geneva had put them through, determined not to allow recent events to cast a shadow over their upcoming nuptials. Jamie had thought it was too soon, but Claire had pressed that the sooner they moved forward from the incident, the better. 

So last night, she'd spent the entire evening preparing shortcrust pastries, scones batter and making Victorian sponge cake. Apparently, she'd taken some lessons in baking and cooking from Mrs Fitz so that she could host parties like Jenny and his ma. It was as if her work, all the travelling she'd been doing, preparing for the wedding and recovering from trauma wasn't enough. She also needed to put up a brave front.

Though the doctor had given Claire an all-clear in London after a routine checkup, Jamie had insisted on another examination when she'd complain of spotting last night. He hadn't a clue what that had meant, but the concerned look on her face was enough for him to push her for another doctor's appointment. To his relief, she'd hardly put up a fight, and he'd immediately arranged a consultation with a private practice to speed things along since the NHS hospitals were notorious for long waits.

"I just want ye to be certain, Sassenach. That's all. I dinnae want this tea party putting a strain on ye."

Claire put her phone down and glanced up at him. "I'm pregnant, Jamie, not incapacitated. I know you're worried about the spotting, but I'm quite certain pregnant women gets them sometimes. I don't feel ill, but here we are, taking precautions."

Sighing, he moved to her side and took her hand in his. "It's just that I'm bothered about that bruise behind yer back. It looks vicious. I ken bruising looks a lot worse than it is, but I cannae help but wonder if the baby has been harmed when ye banged yer behind on those shelving units after Jack pushed ye. I'm concerned about any delayed complications. Or if the doctor in London overlooked something."

She squeezed his hand. "Your worries are valid, Jamie. The odds of miscarriage or complications might be highest in the first trimester, but I haven't had any issues." She shrugged. "Oh, well, except for the tiny spotting last night. I'm sure everything's fine. Try not to worry."

Easier said than done, Jamie thought. How could Claire sit there looking so calm?  Now that she's pregnant, the world was suddenly full of threats: unpasteurised juice and dairy, soft cheeses that she loved so much, fish high in mercury, saunas and hot tubs, secondhand smoke, changing Adso's litterbox. Not to mention aunt Jocasta's bloody stories of baby-abducting fairies. He really needed to stop reading too much pregnancy information; otherwise, he'd go insane.

Claire gave him a look that said she could tell he was overthinking things.

He promptly kissed her on the lips. "Aye, I guess ye're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry for over-reacting."

The door suddenly opened, and in walked a friendly-looking middle-aged female doctor. "Hello, Claire! Dr Fiona Innes. How are we feeling today?"

"I'm good, just a bit nervous about the spotting," Claire breathed. 

"Understandably." Then the doctor turned to Jamie. "And ye're..."

"James Fraser. The one who got her up the duff," he replied, taking the doctor's outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake. 

"Jamie!" Claire gasped, her face crimsoning profusely.

The doctor laughed. "Hah! I like that! A good sense of humour will get ye through anything." She dragged the ultrasound monitor closer to the exam table and pulled up a stool. "So, let's get started so we can put both yer mind at ease, shall we?" She proceeded to put gloves on and prepare the probe that Jamie had the unfortunate luck of knowing already what it was for. "Now, Claire, I want ye to lie back and place yer feet in the stirrups." 

Claire did as she was told while Jamie helped her ease down. He winced when he heard the sound of latex snapping over the probe. He looked away and took Claire's hand in his.

"Is this your first ultrasound visit, Mr Fraser?"

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking the doctor must have noticed the strain on his face. "Aye and no."

Dr Innes arched an eyebrow.

Jamie pointed at the probe and tried not to grimace. "I've seen a doctor used that thing on her when she was hospitalised a few weeks ago. I hadn't known what was going on then, so I walked away and let them get on with it."

"I see." The doctor refocused her attention back to Claire. "Now relax for me and big deep breaths," Dr Innes advised as she put lubricating gel on the blunt tip of the probe. "This will be a tad bit uncomfortable."

Claire shut her eyes and took a deep breath while Jamie whispered all sorts of nonsense in her ear. When her grip clenched into a tight vice, he pressed his lips on the top of her head.

A few seconds passed, and that's when he heard it. He stilled. It was loud, clear and steady. The unmistakable sound of a heartbeat coming from the monitor. It was their baby's. He let out a sharp exhale, realising he'd discovered something powerful in the tiny, vulnerable life form growing in Claire's womb.

His ma once said that the heartbeat was the first music that a child heard and that every bairn was born knowing the rhythm of their mother's song. To Jamie, this was the sound of their child's soul, the unspoken words already speaking volumes. It was as if it was saying, I'm alive and well, can you hear me?

"Weel, that sounds like a strong and healthy heartbeat there," Dr Innes remarked. "See right there?" Jamie and Claire stirred in their positions to take a better look at where the doctor was pointing. "That's yer baby."

Releasing Claire's hand, Jamie stepped closer to the monitor and tipped his head to the side, adjusting his eyes to discern the grainy image on the monitor. When he finally figured out the shape, mixed emotions began to bombard him in all directions. He felt the complexity of love at seeing a piece of himself and Claire on the screen, inspiring fierce protective instinct to kindle within him. Words like elation, joy and sobering responsibility were too meagre terms and did not give justice in describing how visceral all his emotions were.

"T-that ..." Jamie pointed an index finger at the image, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Is that a ..."

"It's not what ye think, Mr Fraser. That's the foot," Dr Innes responded briskly. She shifted the probe at a different angle to capture another image. "As far as I can see, everything seems to be in perfect working order. I can safely say ye have a healthy, strong baby, so ye can both rest easy."

Jamie continued to stare at the monitor, still trying to wrap the idea of impending fatherhood around his head. "The baby is no' missing any parts, is it?"

"The baby has everything it should have at this stage of the pregnancy," the doctor replied, amused. "Though I think we'll need another few weeks to be able to tell the gender."

"Thank you so much, doctor," Claire said gratefully, pushing herself upright. "We were worried about the spotting and thought it might have had to do with the stress and trauma of what happened last weekend. It was mad, really. I nearly got abducted and had a gun pointed at me."

The doctor threw the probe's latex into the waste and began peeling off her gloves, seemingly unaffected by what Claire had just revealed, making Jamie think physicians were used to hearing such stories. The doctor gave them both an understanding look. "Having a gun pointed at ye is quite jarring, so I understand why ye're both concerned. So how are ye coping mentally?" 

"I try not to dwell on it and carry on as usual," Claire shrugged. "So far, I'm dealing with it fine."

The doctor looked at Claire curiously, her expression full of empathy. "Sometimes ignoring it isn't as cut and dried as you think. Try and get some counselling. Ye're going to deal enough with all the hormones impacting yer physiological, physical and mental well being. This is the time to be enjoying this exciting time in yer life, so counselling is just taking a precautionary step to ensure you are in a good place and prepared for what the next few months will throw at ye."

Jamie locked eyes with Claire, and a silent agreement passed between them. They both understood the impact of a traumatising experience, and he wanted to take the doctor's advice on board. 

"I'll make sure she and the baby are well taken care of," he reassured the doctor, patting Claire's thigh.

"I'm sure ye will," the doctor smiled, pressing buttons on the monitor.

"Let's just hope he won't go over the top," Claire added. "He has a tendency to do that."

The doctor pulled out copies of ultrasound images from the printer and glanced up at Jamie. "I can understand the need to protect, but just bear in mind, us women are more resilient and stronger than we look," she pointed out. "And pregnant women aren't as frail as society perceives them to be."

Jamie laughed. "There's no question about that. After all, my wife-to-be here achieved what twenty-four specialist firearms officers could not."

"Oh?" Dr Innes looked surprised. "And what was that?"

"She single-handedly took down a maximum-security prisoner escapee, helped led the police to his psychopathic accomplice and in the process saved an innocent mistakenly imprisoned," Jamie explained. "I ken it was a foolish move with her being pregnant and all ..."

"It might have been foolish, but I happen to believe Claire's response is inherent in all mothers and mothers-to-be, and it's something almost impossible for the human brain to override." 

"Och, aye?"

"It's called maternal instinct, Mr Fraser, and it's as old as life itself." Dr Innes got up and handed him an envelope containing the ultrasound images. "So woe to anyone who dares a mother-to-be or new mother harm because they're utterly more ferocious than any man wielding a gun when it comes to defending their nest." She looked between him and Claire and smiled. "Anyway, congratulations to you both on your coming parenthood." Then she faced Jamie and patted him on the shoulder. "And as for ye, congratulations on yer newly acquired bodyguard. Ye can sleep well tonight." 

..........

Jamie walked in and placed the last of their shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. "Is there anything else ye need, Sassenach, before I go?"

Claire felt him approach and busied herself, placing apples in a large bowl and then lemons in another. "Umm ...I think I have everything I need." She felt his eyes boring into her back but tried her best not to get distracted. "Shall I make a sandwich to take with you?"

"No, I'm no' hungry."

"Oh, alright ...I guess I shall see you later then."

"I have a few minutes to spare. Want to talk?"

"Talk about what?"

"What ye're feeling. Ye haven't said much all morning ...since we left the clinic. And ye hardly talked to me while we went food shopping."

She took out a knife and honing steel from a drawer and went through the motion of sharpening the blade. "Oh ...I guess I must have been preoccupied with my mental to-do list. That's all."

A long silence ensued, and after what felt like an eternity, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Sassenach, can ye stop what ye're doing for a minute and look at me?"

Hot tears suddenly settled behind her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back and breathed deeply, swallowing down conflicting emotions and refusing to let them fall. She didn't want to be the type of woman who cried at the littlest and inconsequential thing. She'd never been a crier before, and she wasn't about to become one if she could help it.

"I'm busy, Jamie."

"Please."

Bracing herself, she placed down her utensils and faced him. "What is it?"

"This ..." Jamie waved his hand at the shopping bags on the counter. "I ken what this is. Ye havenae sat still ever since we came back from our trip. Ye've decluttered our bedroom and cleaned out all the kitchen cupboards. And now an afternoon tea party? I ken what ye're doing. Ye're keeping yersel' busy to forget what happened in London instead of talking about it."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not that."

Jamie impatiently rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Weel, what is up with ye then?"

"Hormones."

"Hormones," Jamie echoed. "Why did you no' just say so?"

She felt her face heat up. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't know it at the time. Or perhaps, because it all seems so silly that I'm getting all worked up for nothing."

Jamie stepped closer and braced her cheeks with both hands, a calloused thumb tenderly swiping her lower lip. "Listen to me very carefully. Whatever ye're feeling or going through, hormonal or not, is never silly. Everything ye have to say is important to me. Trust me on that. I always want to know if something is bothering ye and be able to help ye fix it. Yer body is going through many changes, and it's normal yer emotions are all over the place. So no more self-deprecating thoughts about yer feelings. Am I making myself clear?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, tamping down the urge to cry.

"Very well then, tell me what's going through that mind of yers. At least we can clear the air between us before I go, and my whole family comes and start noticing that something isnae right. Today is supposed to be a celebration of our baby. I dinnae want anything to ruin this day in as much as I think we should delay this for another time."

"Fine." She shut her eyes to search for the right words, but no matter how she formulated them in her head, it didn't sound right. Saying it out loud would only make her appear pathetic. But there was no way around it once Jamie set his mind in extracting something from her. 

"Sassenach?"

Her eyes flew open. "Yes?"

"Yer face is getting redder by the second. I'm beginning to worry."

"Very well, if you must know ..." She blew out a breath. "You haven't touched me since that night in London, that's what," she blurted out. "I feel like you're avoiding me. Every time it was time for us to go to bed, you always had some excuse, like you haven't walked the dog or you need to check the emails." Unable to hold it back any longer, she suddenly burst out crying. "I know it's hormones talking, and I'm acting silly. But I can't help but feel the way I feel because I'm hormonal and horny. That's why I'm keeping myself busy, so I will not overthink things. Because if I did, I'd start believing you don't want me anymore, even if logic says it's not true. Happy now?"

He blinked rapidly as if his brain was short-circuiting. 

"Yeah, just the reaction I knew I was going to get. See what I mean when I said I was acting silly?"

"No," he groaned out loud. "Sweet baby Jesus! Ye cannae say things like horny  when I have to go."

Claire slapped Jamie on the chest. "Jamie! You wanted to know what was wrong! Now that I've said it, you can't blame me for it!"

"Cancel the tea party, and I'll tell Willie I'll be late!"

"No!"

"Why no'?"

"Because!"

With a deep groan, he grabbed her neck from behind and gave her a hard kiss. There was nothing tender or playful about it, just a desperate act of trying to get his fill. He let out a frustrated moan as his tongue swept in her mouth, and a hand cupped her breast, his arousal hard and thick against her belly, letting her know how much he wanted her. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both gasping for air. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing harshly into her face. "How could ye think, even in yer hormonal state, I dinnae want ye any more? Damn it, Sassenach, I've been aching for ye these past few days."

"Then why didn't you touch me?" 

He shook his head as he attempted to even his breath. "That night in London, after I took ye back to the hotel, I wanted to bury myself deep inside ye so I could remind myself that ye're really alive and back in my arms. But when I saw that bruising behind yer back and knowing what ye've just been through in yer pregnant state, I thought if I took ye right there and then, I might cause ye irreparable damage, physically and psychologically. I wanted to make sure ye're properly healed first and that our baby was safe. God, all those nights I was away from our bed, I've been doing push-ups to release all those pent-up frustrations of not being able to make love to ye."

"So you did want me all along ..."

He tapped her nose. "Aye, ye silly goose."

"Oh Jamie," she sighed. "You still don't get it, do you?" She placed a hand against his face and smiled for the first time that morning. 

"Get what?" he asked, looking suddenly confused.

"You should know by now, lovemaking is the best stress reliever. I thought you knew that." 

"Weel ..."

"Remember the times when you were all worked up and conflicted, and how much better you felt after sex?" When he nodded, she pressed on. "Whenever you and I have sex, whether it's fast, hard, long or a quickie, it always came from a place of love. And we've talked about this before ...love heals. The most wonderful thing about our lovemaking, it puts us in that intimate space where we can better connect, heal, open us to those hard conversations, helping us in the process to find closure and release. If sex worked for you to ease your stress, why should it be any different for me? I needed you most after that horrendous night, Jamie. I needed your body to ground me. But I understand now why you didn't touch me that night."

Jamie stared at the ceiling and sighed before looking at her with a mixture of wonderment and torment. He let out a pained laugh. "Weel, right now, I'm under a lot of stress and pressure." He took her hand and placed it on his bulging arousal to make a point. "How about we continue this in the bedroom and let off some steam? I'm stressed, and ye're horny. Ideal combo! Ye can use my body anyway ye want."

Claire clucked her tongue and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Oh, no, you don't, you sneaky, Scot! You're running late as it is." She placed both hands on his chest and began pushing him out of the kitchen. "How about you let me get on with food preparation, and you finish what you need to do so you can come home as soon as you can in time for the tea party?" she proposed.

"How about my stress levels?" he grumbled.

"Your stress levels are fine!" She turned him around and smacked him on the bum. "Now go. Mrs Fitz will be here any minute to bring the Battenberg cake I ordered."

At the mention of Mrs Fitz, Jamie didn't need any more prodding. He gave her another quick kiss and left the cottage, muttering something about getting a new house before slamming the door behind him.

..........

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed by quick, and something in Claire lightened even though she was a nervous wreck hosting her first traditional English tea party.

She looked at the kitchen counter laden with several tiered plates displaying the delicacies she'd meticulously prepared. She was ready, and everything looked perfect. 

She'd made four different tea sandwiches to be on the safe side: pear and stilton, cucumber and cream cheese, egg salad, and smoked salmon and dill. And then there were scones, lemon curd tartlets, fruit tarts, and shortbread and Linzer cookies she was looking forward to gorge on. On the other end of the counter were Mrs Fitz's Battenberg cake and Claire's pièce de résistance, Victoria's sponge filled with jam, berries and double cream. Her teabox was neatly packed with Darjeeling, Earl Grey, and Assam, and the pitchers of lavender and elderflower lemonade were cooling nicely in the fridge. 

Perfection!

She was about to wash the sink when she heard a rap on the window. She looked up and saw Jenny waving at her. Letting her in through the kitchen back door, she was surprised to see her carrying a stack of real estate pamphlets and magazines with its pages tabbed with colourful sticky notes.

"Jen! What's all that?"

Jenny shrugged. "Weel, after what happened to ye in London and with everything going on at the moment, I thought I'd make yer life easier." She plonked down her load on a nearby stool and picked up a magazine, leafing through the pages. "I heard from Willie ye and Jamie are looking for a bigger place. So I decided to grab all these. It has listings of every available property for sale in the surrounding area. Ma and I saved the pages we thought ye and Jamie might like."

"Oh, Jen!" Claire gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Jenny waved a hand. "Think nothing of it!"

Feeling emotional, Claire gave Jenny a big hug. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much." When she finally broke away from their embrace, she noticed deep furrows on Jenny's forehead. "Jen? What's wrong?"

Jenny's usually brilliant blue eyes suddenly looked serious as they landed on the bruising on her cheek. "Does that still hurt?" 

Claire touched her cheek. "Oh, this? No, not at all. It looks worse than it is. Poor Jamie getting all these weird looks when we're out and about. He was even accused by some granny of being an abuser. I can understand why but I had to step in and explain to the old dear."

Jenny wrung her hands and gave her a small smile. "Actually, I -I came early because I wanted to talk with ye. Just us two."

"Oh, do you want a drink first?" Claire offered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the fridge. "I have some lemonade ..."

"No! Please! I need to get this out before anything else."

Claire nodded. "Alright then, I'm all ears."

"I-I want to apologise for ..." Jenny's chin crumpled, seemingly attempting to blink back her tears. " ...for what happened to ye in London."

"Wot? Oh, Jen! Why are you apologising? That wasn't your fault."

Jenny raised a hand, which told Claire to let her talk. "It was in some ways my fault, Claire. Geneva was my friend, and I tried to push Jamie and her together. I shouldn't have told her last year there was a vacancy in the village, and then she wouldn't have come back and pursued her interest in my brother. I honestly had no idea she was capable of such horrid deeds. If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken her into my circle of friends and family."

Claire shook her head. "No one could have known, and no one knew. Even her work colleagues and peers were shocked when they found out what she's done. She's a master manipulator, Jen, and she probably manipulated you too under the guise of friendship."

"Still ..." Jenny insisted. "If it wasn't for my meddling ..."

"Stop right there!" Claire wagged a finger at Jenny. "We've locked horns on the subject before and moved on from that already. Alright? Past is past. We all make mistakes. The most important thing is we learn from it. So no more mention of Geneva."

This time Jenny's smile reached her eyes. "Fine! Just dinnae tell Jamie we talked about this."

"Whyever not?"

"Jamie has given everyone in the family strict orders, not to mention about London today."

"Really?"

Jenny nodded. "He didn't want to ruin today's celebration rehashing what happened. Unfortunately, I had to in order for me to apologise, but enough of that now." She clapped her hands. "So, how about that drink. I'm parched." She whirled around and stopped, her eyes widening when she saw the spread Claire had prepared. Walking over to the kitchen counter, she took in everything with a smile. "Goodness, did ye make all these?"

Claire smiled with pride. "I did. Except for the Battenberg cake. Mrs Fitz made it."

"Ye said, ye didnae know how to bake," Jenny said almost begrudgingly. 

"Now I do, thanks to the wifey Bootcamp I attended, also known as Mrs Fitz's kitchen."

"These all look scrumptious. It's been ages since I had a proper English afternoon tea." Jenny glanced up at her and grinned. "So, what are we celebrating?"

Claire nearly blurted out the baby news, but she quickly caught herself. Sliding an arm around her soon-to-be sister-in-law, she walked Jenny to the end of the counter to show her the sponge cake. "Today, we're celebrating love, friends and family."

Jenny poked a finger into the clotted cream and licked. "I like the sound of that. That'll always be a perfect excuse for a celebration or a proper afternoon tea party."

Claire smiled. "I couldn't agree more, Jen. I couldn't agree more."

..........

Jamie came home from work and noticed all the sandwiches, tarts and cakes laid out on the kitchen counter. He was mildly astonished that Claire had been able to prepare so much in the nick of time. He glanced out the window and spied her and Jenny in the garden, busily arranging tablecloths on the long wooden table. Looking at his watch, he realised he had about fifteen minutes to get ready before their friends and family started arriving. 

But first things first.

Stepping out into the backyard, he snuck behind Claire and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck. "Mmm, ye smell of berries, lemon and lavender," he whispered, running his lips on her bare skin and ignoring Jenny's mumbling about getting a room.

Claire turned in his hold and smiled up at him. "And you reek, mister. You won't be served tea smelling like that."

"Fancy a shower with me then?" he suggested, feeling mischievous. "Jen's here to look out for guests."

"Nice try, but I had a shower already, and Jen is our guest today." 

He leaned down and nibbled her earlobe, making her squeal.

"Jamie, you're going to get my dress dirty. Oh, fiddlesticks ..." She suddenly stilled mid-laughter and made a face, her hand covering her nose. "Urgh ...what's that smell?"

Jamie let her go and took a whiff of his shirt. "Oh, it's just a bit of wood stain I was working with. It'll come off in a wash."

Her face suddenly turned pale. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick. Tell Jen I'll be right back ...and you ...you go have a shower before your parents arrive." With that, she spun around and ran back to the cottage.

Stunned, he watched her disappearing form and whistled under his breath. "What just happened?" he muttered, even though he knew the answer had to do with the dreaded pregnancy sickness. She'd been doing so well so far he almost thought morning sickness was nothing but a myth, even though Claire had revealed, she couldn't stand the smell of aniseed, star anise, fennel, and liquorice.

"Maybe, she's pregnant and suffering from sickness?" Jenny replied, walking past him with an armful of wildflowers to put into the empty vases dotted on the wooden table.

He hadn't realised Jenny had returned from wherever she'd disappeared to. He needed to be careful not to reveal their baby news too soon, or the surprise would be ruined. Jenny was simply someone who couldn't keep a secret. 

"Ach, I should have known chemical smells always make her nauseous," he explained, not wanting to give too much away to his perceptive sister.

Jenny twitched her lips from side to side as she trimmed the bouquet's stems with pruning shears. "Aye, that will be right!" she smirked.

He glared at his sister. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged and gave him a knowing look. "Nothing! Now go have a shower, and I'll take care of things here until Claire feels better."

Jamie was about to say more when he heard the sound of a car parking in the driveway. As Jenny made a move to take a look, he quickly made a beeline back to the cottage before anyone saw him, hoping Claire had already recovered from her bout of sickness.

..........

Jamie leaned back on his chair and glanced around. It was a perfect summer late afternoon, and everyone seemed to be having a great time and enjoying the food Claire had prepared. The sun warmed his face and bathed the garden in dazzling light, making the different shades of green and the profusion of wildflowers more vibrant and alive. The chatter was lively, and funnily enough, no one complained about the lack of alcohol which was highly unusual for a gathering in Scotland. But, he suspected his godfather must have a flask of whisky or something similar tucked away somewhere as he was getting louder and more boisterous as time went by.

He took Claire's hand in his, and she turned his way and smiled. Her face looked pale, but there was an aura of tranquillity radiating from her that told him she was happy and content. Though her plate was full of food, it remained untouched, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything. "How are ye feeling, Sassenach?"

She took a huge deep breath, held it in for a few seconds and then relaxed. "I'm fine," she sighed. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

He knew she was valiantly fighting back the sickness that must be creating havoc in her body but was too stubborn to give in to it. "Shall we tell them about the surprise so you can finally have a rest?" he suggested in a low voice, so no one would hear. "It cannae be comfortable sitting here when ye feel so unwell."

She shook her head as she gulped in more air. "I want to wait for uncle Lamb. He'll be here soon."

Quentin's plane from Athens should have arrived four hours ago but was delayed because of some mechanical issues. Jamie hoped for Claire's sake Quentin was on his way and wasn't dilly-dallying somewhere, like planning a grand entrance. Jamie kissed her cheek, hoping to sweet talk her to giving up this charade of wellness. "I'm pretty sure ye're uncle will understand once he finds out about yer condition."

"I know," Claire murmured. "But I want today to be perfect and complete. I want to see uncle Lamb's face when we announce it."

"But it's already perfect."

"Not without uncle Lamb."

Jamie prayed for patience and tamped down the urge to haul this beautiful but infuriating woman in his arms and carry her to bed. He squeezed her hand and yielded to her request, knowing this get-together was important to her. "Whatever ye say, Sassenach. Just let me know if ye need anything."

"I will," she replied between sharp intakes of breath.

Jamie decided not to press anymore. He knew this was one battle he couldn't win without creating a scene in front of their friends and family. But if Claire thought she was pulling this act off, Jamie was convinced, his perceptive family had already caught on with what was passing. Claire was a terrible actress, and she couldn't even lie to save her life.

Fortunately, their intimate tea party was animated and loud, and it diverted the attention from Claire. Directly opposite them, Tom and Willie were discussing the merits of owning a mini campervan for spontaneous weekend trips around the Highlands. On one end of the table, Murtagh passionately ranted and raved to Brian and uncle Duncan about the Tories and how SNP was the solution to Scotland's political future. Next to Claire, Annalise showed Ellen and aunt Jocasta how to work the Instagram app while Jenny, Mary and Geillis cackled over some celebrity gossip they've probably read somewhere. Grannie Annie had meanwhile fallen asleep in her seat with Adso in her lap and Rollo at her feet. At the far end of the garden, Finlay, Geillis' boyfriend and Ian were having a go at playing badminton but kept hitting the shuttlecock over the hedge to both their frustration. 

Though Jamie was happy the tea party had gone as planned, he couldn't relax, too worried about Claire predicament. If it got to the stage where Claire lost any more colour to her face, he was sure no one would be able to blame him for whatever course of action he would take next.

"Right, does anyone want some fresh cuppa?" Claire suddenly announced, getting up from her seat.

Annalise immediately jumped to her feet. "I can do that."

Willie got up too. "I'll put the kettle on."

"I'll clear up the empty dishes," Geillis offered, already grabbing an empty tiered plate stand. "We dinnae want this stunning antique piece being knocked over, now do we?"

Ellen reached over to Claire from her seat and patted her hand. "Everything was lovely, dear. I couldnae decide which was my favourite. And that lavender lemonade was refreshing."

"Aye," Murtagh piped in as he got up and sat directly opposite Claire. "I bet it will taste even better with gin or vodka."

Brian frowned at Murtagh. "The lavender lemonade tastes good as it is. There's nae need to spoil it with alcohol. Besides, it's good for ye to give yer poor liver a wee break. If ye're no' careful, yer gene pool will soon have a swim-up bar."

"I dinnae drink that much," Murtagh grumbled. 

"Aye ye do," Aunt Jocasta pointed out. "Dinnae think for one minute I didnae notice ye've been spiking yer tea."

Before Murtagh could retort, Geillis came back in time with a steaming mug and placed it in front of Claire.

"Ooh, what's this?" Claire asked, looking into her drink.

"It's ginger and turmeric tea," Geillis declared. "It's good for ye. I brought it with me from Glasgow. It's organic, and thought ye might like it."

Jamie couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew ginger tea or any form of ginger were effective in reducing nausea. Claire probably knew too because her eyes lit up and gave Geillis an appreciative nod. If he wasn't a hundred per cent certain earlier, everyone knew about Claire's condition, now he's more convinced than ever they were playing along. Jamie appreciated the gesture, but this had gone on too far. Where the bloody hell is Quentin?

"I'm back!" boomed a voice, waking grannie Annie up. It was as if Jamie's thoughts had conjured Claire's uncle from thin air, and there he was making a grand entrance as Jamie had expected. "I hope there are some leftovers. I'm famished."

Claire laughed, twisting around on her seat to watch her uncle approaching. Ellen got up and started plating some food for Quentin.

"There's plenty of leftovers," Annalise assured as she placed another platter of sandwiches on the table. "Claire made enough for the entire village."

Quentin gave Claire a quick kiss on the forehead before greeting the rest of the party, who'd gathered back around the table. "Sorry for the delay," he apologised, finally taking a seat next to Claire. "Our plane was stuck on the tarmac without any air conditioning. We had no choice but to sit there and stew in the heat while the engineers fixed the plane."

"Well, I'm glad you're here now," Claire said, looking adoringly at her uncle. 

Quentin stared at the bruising on her cheek. "I don't like the look of that. It looks ..."

Sounds of several throats clearing ensued, a signal to Quentin not to pursue the London topic any further.

"Very well," Quentin nodded in understanding. "I'm glad too that I'm here."

Claire smiled. "Alrighty, so now that everyone's here, Jamie and I have an announcement to ..."

"Hold that thought, sweetheart," Quentin interrupted as he bent down to retrieve the holdall he'd placed at his feet. "I brought a souvenir."

Jamie bit his tongue at the interruption.  

"I hope it's not another ceramic plate," Claire groaned, unaware of Jamie's frustration.

"No. I got something better." Quentin waggled his bushy eyebrows as he unzipped his bag and proceeded to rummage through its contents. "Wait for it! Wait for it!" Suddenly he yanked out a bottle and held it up for everyone to see. "I got Ouzo!" he announced with satisfaction.

"Yesss, ya beauty!" Murtagh cheered happily, banging a hand on the table. "I love Ouzo."

Aunt Jocasta scowled at Murtagh. "Ye like anything alcoholic. Ye'll drink Listerine if it was placed in front of ye."

"What's Ouzo?" Claire asked as she stared curiously at the offering. "I mean, I've heard of it before, but I've forgotten what it is."

Jamie was about to fill in the information and tell her she wouldn't be able to stand the smell of it when Quentin expertly uncapped the bottle and held it under Claire's nose. Oblivious to Jamie's hitch of breath, Claire pressed her nose closer to the opening of the bottle to take a better whiff. Ah, shite!

"It's an anise flavoured liquor," Quentin described. "Mostly served as an aperitif in Greece.."

Jamie watched in awe as Claire's head jerked back and her face contorted when her senses registered the smell, and a low, gurgling sound came from deep down in her belly. He winced, half expecting any moment now a horrific scene of projectile vomiting, and the recipient would be none other than his godfather sat opposite her. But Claire jumped to her feet, startling everyone, and her hand immediately clapped over her mouth, golden eyes bright and tearing up. Quick thinking Jenny, grabbed a sprig of mint she'd put in the vase, macerated it in her hands and offered it to Claire. Everyone gasped and watched in fascination as Claire took the green leaves and stuffed her mouth with them, and began to chew, jaws working overtime, reminding Jamie of a cow feeding in the fields. Nobody said a word, waiting for the next scene to unfold or for someone to offer an explanation.

Swallowing audibly, Claire finally untensed and slumped back down to a loud hearty burp. And as if nothing had happened, she calmly drank a good measure of her ginger tea, put the mug down and then smiled. "Sorry about that. So where were we again?"

Eyes bulging almost out of his head, Quentin sputtered before he managed to string a coherent sentence together. "W-What the bloody hell was that? Was that some kind of weird side effects from what happened in London that I have no idea of?"

Claire looked at Jamie, looking suddenly exhausted. "Can you please tell them?"

"Tell me what?" Quentin bristled.

Jamie dropped his head on his folded arms resting on the table and allowed it to bounce once. Twice. Thrice. God must have taken pity of him because when he glanced up, everyone shouted in chorus. "Claire and Jamie are having a baby!"

   Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the response and feedback I received for my previous chapter. I know it got a bit crazy; therefore, today's update is more subdued to allow everyone's breathing to go back to normal.  Nevertheless, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much I've enjoyed writing it for you.

Anyway, I hope you're all keeping safe and taking care of yourself and mostly taking the time to enjoy the last days of summer. Keep up the good vibes and be well. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #savethedate #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

[momsopposed2theoccult]

It’s come to my attention that a good majority of people on this website have a really poor understanding of the conflict between Toph and Katara in “The Chase.” As somebody who loves both characters and their friendship, this irritates me. Without further ado, let’s unpack that in what is in theory supposed to be a meta but turned out more like a rant. 

“Katara was hostile towards Toph because the fact that she’s a gender non-conforming girl made Katara uncomfortable because Katara is obsessed with gender roles.”

Alright, so right off the bat this is just... completely idiotic and clearly fuelled by an agenda (and likely also a lot of projection). First of all, how is Katara of “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!” fame “obsessed with gender roles?” There’s an entire episode in Book One dedicated to Katara refusing to conform to societal norms for women in the Northern Water Tribe! Katara routinely calls Sokka out on his misogynistic bullshit! (Mind you I adore Sokka but he could be a little twerp at times and Katara was 100% right to challenge him on it) Katara is the feminist icon of ATLA! The fact that people act like Katara is some sort of conservative tradwife who loves gender roles instead of the outspoken feminist and political activist she is makes me incredibly angry.

Second of all, Katara was extremely kind and welcoming towards Toph at first. She gently encouraged her to join in with the group as they all set up camp together as opposed to setting up her own private camp. It’s only when Toph refuses to comply with her that Katara begins to get irritated. Mind you, Toph has her reasons for this, something I’ll get to in a minute, but from Katara’s perspective (key word here is perspective) she’s just being an annoying little stubborn, selfish, lazy, anti-social, entitled brat. Of course we the audience find out later that this isn’t the case at all (or at least in theory we should find out later but apparently some people on here skipped that part), but for all her many talents Katara is not a mind reader and has no way of knowing what’s going on inside Toph’s head, nor does she know her well enough yet to fully grasp the context behind why Toph acts the way she does. Katara is somebody who greatly values community and believes in teamwork, so Toph turning down her warm welcome in favour of “carrying her own weight” likely felt like a slap in the face. Not to mention that she’s already emotionally exhausted from having to constantly mother Aang and Sokka. If I were Katara, I likely would have reacted the same way. 

Oh and I agree that the “the stars look beautiful tonight, too bad you can’t see them, Toph” comment was out of line, but it doesn’t make her a horrible person. It makes her a 14 year old, and 14 year olds can be nasty, especially sleep deprived 14 year olds. Katara is otherwise a very kind and compassionate person. Other characters have said worse than that. Hell, Toph herself has said worse than that. That being said, it was a deeply hurtful comment and I do like to imagine that she apologized for it off-screen. 

“Toph is a lazy, entitled, and classist spoiled rich brat who just didn’t want to do chores and expected other people to wait on her.” 

This is another one that makes me roll my eyes and ask if they even watched the show. First of all, the presumption that Toph is a lazy or entitled person is just... laughable. I feel like people forget that Toph isn’t actually an earthbending prodigy in the way that Azula is a firebending prodigy (I could say more about Azula and how her belief that she was the unshakeable prodigal daughter ultimately caused her downfall and how by the end of the series Zuko is arguably a better firebender than her but this isn’t a meta about Azula and Zuko, now is it?). Nah. Toph was a sheltered kid who discovered she had the ability to earthbend, was told that she could never become great at it because she was blind, and in response said FUCK THAT and decided to work her ass off until she was not only great but the very greatest all thanks to her crazy, stupid, off-the-charts nerve, drive, grit, ambition, and desire to prove people wrong about her. Does that sound like a lazy person to you? Believe me when I say that you do not achieve that kind of skill level by sitting around on your ass and expecting to have things handed to you. And entitled? Don’t make me laugh. Toph hates having things handed to her, that’s one of her defining characteristics. 

As for the implication that she’s classist and enjoys basking in her family’s wealth and being waited on...... are you stupid? Did you even watch the show? Toph absolutely despises everything about her parents’ lifestyle. Growing up like that was traumatizing and restrictive for her. We’re talking about a girl who likes to play around in the mud for fuck’s sake. Toph does not care how much money you have. She never wanted any to begin with. She even says it herself; “I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. They gave me everything I could have wanted. But they never gave me what I actually needed - their love.” Not to mention that she easily could have continued to freeload off her parents wealth but instead chose to sneak out of the house and make her own money doing what she did best; disproving people’s assumptions about her earthbending. Oh and I’ve seen someone point this out before but WWE is generally considered a “low brow” activity that “proper” people frown upon and shouldn’t associate themselves with. Toph fucking loved it. I don’t know how seriously people take the comics, as they often miss the mark when it comes to characterization (Toph’s, however, was generally pretty accurate), but there’s a part in The Rift where Sokka asks her when she’s going to start charging people to learn metalbending and she gets all serious and flat out tells him that she will never do such a thing, because money doesn’t matter to her. Sharing her one true passion with the world is what matters to her. Oh and the part where she basically tells a bunch of rich and sleazy businessmen to fuck off and “stop thinking about money and start thinking about people’s lives” is just... *chef’s kiss* Sorry my thoughts here are so incoherent but this take is so piss poor and makes me so angry that I don’t even know where to start. As for “Toph enjoys being waited on” I just- *sigh* Toph has such a visceral and defensive reaction to any implication that she is unable to take care of herself. Like I said earlier, that’s one of her defining characteristics as well as the reason for her behaviour in “The Chase.” Where are people getting these takes?

You wanna know why Toph acted the way she did in The Chase? Well, first let’s recap her life up to this point. Toph was born the blind daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the Earth Kingdom. From day one her parents treated her like glass due to her disability. She was not allowed to leave her house unsupervised, and even then she was only permitted to walk around the gardens of her home. Every day of her life she was pitied, gaslit, babied, ignored, emotionally neglected, and made to feel ashamed of herself. She was not allowed to make any decisions for herself. She was not allowed to do anything for herself. She was not allowed to talk to other children. She had no friends. Other people didn’t even know she existed on account that her parents kept her locked up in her own home and didn’t tell anybody about her because they were so ashamed to have a blind daughter. Flash forward to “The Chase.” Toph begins to set up her own camp separate from the rest of the Gaang. Considering that she flat out was not socialized as a child and hadn’t even interacted with anybody her own age prior to a few days ago, this is understandable. So then Katara comes up to her and asks her why she isn’t setting up camp with the others as if she’s somehow incapable of taking care of herself (again, this is just what happened from her perspective) like she’s her mom or something and it just angers her because she thought she joined this group to get away from all that and she doesn’t understand how friends work because she’s never had one, all she knows is that apparently this girl thinks she isn’t capable of taking care of herself, and that infuriates her because it’s the exact same bullshit she thought she was running away from.

There’s a lot more I could say about this but I’m sick of typing so yeah in conclusion both of these takes are piss poor and I’m sick of having to read them. Stan Toph, Katara, and their friendship. 

#atla #avatar the last airbender #katara #toph beifong #nora speaks

[anxiouspotatorants]

2.03 wasn’t as visceral to me so I didn’t think I’d need to get my thoughts out but now that I’m replaying it in my head it turns out I do:

I’m kind of starting to wonder if the crew are just full on trying to make is uncomfortable with the amount of nudity on screen. Like there was just so much in Cal’s cold open, plus the dealer in the kitchen, that at this point it feels like they’re taunting us or something. But hey at least we got one episode without full Cassie nudity?

I don’t think I’ve ever internalized just when Cal grew up and how that affected his relationship to his sexuality, so it was nice to get that context onscreen. But like, it still doesn’t justify what he’s done as a grown adult. Also I kind of want his wife’s side of things too now, because him and Nate both seem to villify her in their minds.

With those dancing skills Rue should have auditioned for Lexi’s play, just saying it’s a much healthier hobby.

The first meta commentary was nice but it would not have been as strong if not for the fact that it was introducing the «how to get away with drugs» segment. Which was devastatingly good. Like the addiction plotline is by far the strongest part of the show.

Speaking of meta Lexi’s family show?? The way the entire set revealed itself and the look of the show broke down and got this clean cookie cutter behind the scenes look? Lexi is growing to become one of my favourite parts of the show right now.

Was the Cassie ritual funny in a dark way? Yes. Is the actress showing off her great comedy chops? Definitely. Is her plot understandable and made with a clear intention? Yup. Do I wish Cassie took her own advice and stayed the f**k away from Nate, even if it meant a less exciting storyline? Very much.

Elliot was so close to becoming genuinely likeable to me (like the truth or dare friendship montage was sort of cute) but then he decided to flirt with Jules in the weirdest and slightly neggiest way, so when you put that together with the fact that 90% of the reason he’s even here is to be another source of drugs for Rue, you just get a character I like seeing but don’t actually like personally.

It was kind of quiet on Kat’s end this episode so I wonder how her storyline is going to get more screentime. I very much think her plotline is interesting, but it doesn’t look like the show does at the moment?

What is Ashtray doing. Like, yes Cal is an asshole and Ashtray has grown up in a criminal environment but even Fez is trying to get that kid to calm down this violence is just not looking like it’s going to end well.

Speaking of, Cal metaphorically showing his entire ass to Fez, Ashtray and Faye was honestly a chef’s kiss moment. The fact that he gets to be pathetic shows that he’s not unbeatable which makes me hope that Nate isn’t unbeatable either.

I know it probably isn’t the last time we see Ali but please don’t let this be the last time we see Ali we need Ali keep Ali I am once again begging-

Maddy. Sweetheart. Do not let Nathaniel Jacobs into an expensive house you don’t own with a sleeping child that is bound to wake up and become traumatized by whatever happens between the two of you. I know you at least want some closure moment but not here.

Saw the promo for 2.04 and I am once again scared. It kind of looks like next episode is going to be an overdose episode. And Cassie’s party spiral. And apparently a lot of violence. And I genuinely don’t know who or what Rue is declaring her love to.

#like nudity has gone from ‘uncomfortable but mostly understandable’ in season 1 and the specials #to ‘are you just doing it to MAKE us uncomfortable now??’ #but damn it the plots are still so great #it is only three episodes in and I remember the season’s ethos so I’m holding out hope that something is going to change on that end #the potato live reacts #the potato rants #hbo euphoria #euphoria #euphoria spoilers

[oatmilkovich]

I'd really love if you made a post about Noel's acting this episode! If you still want to

hey!! <3

this episode reminded us (not that we needed the reminder, looks at the writers) what the show is missing out on when they reduce the characters and their storyline’s down to comedy with very little substance. 

this is the first time in a long while that it feels like mickey’s trauma surrounding terry has been giving the time, space and the dialogue it deserves. I’ve been waiting many, many years for this sort of resolution for mickey...

my thoughts on noel’s performance under the cut (it’s a little lengthy!)...

as always, disclaimer: this is all my opinion, but i did go to drama school and have a degree. there’s a pandemic and nothing else to do, i just like talking about it. 

firstly, something I’ve always admired about noel’s work is his ability to tell us a thousand things without saying a single word. we’ve seen it from the very first season – there’s very few other actors on the show that consistently carry that much power with their silence and noel really did the most this week. let’s look at this moment:

mickey doesn’t say anything until prompted by ian and yet because of the intensity in noel’s look and the sheer amount of tension he’s carrying, we’re completely aware of mickey’s feelings in the moment without having to hear any dialogue. his physicality tells us more than any dialogue would. his shoulders are tense, his face is fight – it’s a deep, visceral reaction to seeing his father. noel has clearly thought about mickey’s pov here – not only about terry, but about this moment in general, about the first time he sees him after coming home from the hospital, about watching the man who tortured him for years finally be met with even an ounce of the same pain he was subjected to. immediately, we’re thrown into the heavy weight of the moment and when mickey does speak, it only echoes what we already know from his physicality. the dialogue complements noel’s performance, rather than solely carrying it. he’s managed to tap into the perfect balance of allowing the lines to come from truth — they don’t feel planned out or rehearsed but delivering them in a way we can tell that mickey has thought about it – mickey’s history with terry is lengthy and incredibly complex and that’s completely embodied in how noel delivers each line. It’s important to me that we can feel the history there, but that history is left at the door when it comes to his work in the scene. he’s not displaying the history, he’s existing in it. 

my personal ‘acting theory’ (to avoid sounding like a wanker) is that you don’t act as your character, but that you exist as yourself under those circumstances. mickey’s circumstances in the scene are noel’s circumstances and he reacts — as he would — in the moment. prep work for this is key. noel has said in previous interviews that when approaching mickey in the earlier seasons, he focused on having a secret and lengths he would go to protect it. knowing this, we have a small idea on how he approaches mickey now. he clearly has taken something in his own life and used it to personalise this situation with mickey, he’s thought about how he himself would react in those circumstances, because he is himself in mickey’s circumstances — this is why it feels so personal, this is why his performance is still so consistently nuanced all these years later. this is why he can tell us so much in a simple shift of the eyes. 

take emma’s performance during this episode – in the moments she’s talking about sandy and how upset she is (eg: inside the ambulance with ian and mick) she’s very much really going for the oh my heart is so broken blah blah, but it doesn’t land because you don’t believe her heart is broken. the lines are empty. you compare that to the subtleties noel shows us throughout the episode and it’s almost unfair that they have her scenes next to his. this isn’t to roast her, but just to highlight the differences in nuance and depth. allowing dialogue to carry a performance vs actually living in the performance. 

discomfort played a huge part in noel’s performance in 11x06 too and discomfort in scenes can bring wonders. mickey is uncomfortable — he’s faced with some horribly difficult decisions. we see a stark difference from his easy going ‘just pull the plug on him’ energy vs when he’s actually given the chance to. the stakes in the scene and situation are extremely high – mickey is quite literally battling with an opportunity he’s been waiting his entire life for. the weight of those stakes are heavy on his shoulders and the highlight of the episode for me was the physical journey on noel’s face as he holds the gun to terry's chest. noel gives us mickey’s internal battle – there’s the pent up rage he clearly had been carrying with him on the ride over, then the irritation, the fear, the sadness, the frustration. you can almost see everything mickey has ever had to go through because of terry in the way he looks at him. 

this shot above in particular has really, really stuck with me. the way he doesn’t respond to ian, keeping his eyes firmly planted on terry – he’s lost in his thoughts, in his history and you can feel everything behind noel’s eyes. 

it’s such a fantastically layered performance that he makes it impossible to look away. he allows the moment to play out and live and doesn’t speed run to achieve anything in his performance. he doesn’t push. noel doesn’t walk into the scene and go ‘oh i’m gonna make mickey feel this on this line and this on this line’ – he gives the emotions their time and place to land, we see and feel mickey’s journey without a single word. it all comes from his natural reactions to the circumstances. he doesn’t try and show us what mickey is going through when faced with the option to kill terry — he lives it, he sits in it and he exists in it. 

we also had a great example of noel’s range this ep. he delivered his funny, usual one liners like he has done throughout this season but really hammered home his talent when given dramatic scenes. it was a refreshing balance. 

overall, noel’s performance in this episode is a great example of how a well acted scene doesn’t have to contain screaming or crying or overt, obvious dramatics in order to be categorised as ‘good’. similarly to what I said in my post about ian’s vows, some of the smallest and subtle moments can carry as much as a 5 minute monologue or an intense shouting match. 

this is long and probably a little boring, but I could honestly talk about his work for ages. thanks for the question (and the other anons too!) and please feel free to send me anymore – especially as we now have a 3 week break before the next episode <3

#i lied and got anxious so here it is an hour later #willa's acting thoughts #enjoy though! i hope i didn't ramble too much #but really i just enjoyed this episode so much #pls ask me anything else if you want to have a discussion! #noel fisher #shameless #tw guns #actingasks

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

Oh my gosh so I also headcannon Jack as autistic! But im not comfortable with writing it yet because idk how. Im not autistic; my little sister is and i know a few things jack could have trouble with... but hes a grown ass man so i just dont know. Im definitely taking notes on what you write him as but could you give me some pointers?....maybe?

Im mostly referencing to Bitter with this

aaaa yeah it definitely presents differently in adults who've learned to mask, personally I don't plan to put certain things in specifically to talk about how he's autistic, I write with the background knowledge of what traits he displays, and then express them when relevant, it's relevant a lot with Jack simply due to how much it affects his life

now this is going to get long, so bare with me, because this is a whole lot more complicated than you might expect

there's really no one correct way to write Jack, since there's no one way that autism presents itself, the way I write him is based on a mix of myself and some people in my family, so I can give you a basic idea of what angle I personally come from

for one, I change the way I write about facial expressions and how emotions come across to Jack, in Jazz's chapters I'll write about the exact emotion she can see on their face, with Jack's I'll go with an obvious base emotion, but then if the person is expressing something more complicated, I'll describe their face in physical details

eg;

Jazz POV - Danny was upset, but his face was tight with frustration

Jack POV - Danny looked sad, but his eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was set in a hard line

it's a subtle difference but it's one I try to maintain throughout Bitter, Jack's POV is based on how I have trouble reading non-obvious expressions, although in my case I also have trouble looking people in the face when I talk to them, that's harder to write in an emotion driven POV story, so I made Jack better at that than I am

his interest in machines is quite obvious, since he's an inventor, and he looooves infodumping on people, he gets very excited about his passions very quickly and his mouth runs off with him, something I also have trouble with, it hasn't been a prominent trait for Jack in Bitter, because he's so out of his element he's mostly confused and in a way, almost grieving his own death, so he's been far quieter than he usually is

his special interest is obviously ghosts and machinery, and in Bitter I cover that he's got a degree in engineering, physics and mathematics. He's good at them, I like to look at it as though Jack rolled high in intelligence and low in wisdom, he's book smart, he knows things that are straightforward and have firm rules, he's less comfortable in topics that are more wishy washy and vague, biology is complicated and has too many variables, he finds it difficult to grasp, there's no one standard rule that applies to every body

I also struggle with vague and unclear directions, I need a solid structure and clear instructions, my strength is in sorting, organising, alphabetising and colour coding, I like things to Look Right, I stick to a particular routine with very specific things, and it's viscerally uncomfortable and even distressing for me to have that order disturbed, I nearly had a meltdown at work because someone had done a part of my job incorrectly, and I had to fix it, it made me genuinely upset on a personal level, it was MY system, NOBODY should be touching it, NOBODY should be moving things around, they do anyway, and I spend a portion of my shifts just frustrated and on edge because of it

Jack also has issues socially, he often says or does things that other people find uncomfortable or embarrassing, I reference that in Bitter, where Jack assumes everyone is mad at him because he said or did something stupid, this I have much experience in, while in the middle of a social situation it's easy to just do what comes naturally to you and not realise it's off putting to other people, because people often play polite and you can't tell that they're uncomfortable, even though people around you find it painfully obvious

sometimes it's easy to see in hindsight after you've been told you made something awkward or uncomfortable, but in the moment if nobody says anything about it, you can remain either totally oblivious, or become anxious and second guess every interaction you have

Jack is the oblivious type, he's fortunate to live in a family that is fairly understanding, they might get frustrated with him, or embarrassed by him, but they don't really take it personally, they KNOW he means well, they know he cares, and Jack does care, he cares a lot, he feels things a lot, he's incredibly empathetic

this is a trait that a lot of media likes to ignore in depictions of autism, because I guess it makes people with autism seem 'too normal', when tv shows always want to be like 'hey wow look at this clever asshole! isn't he clever, but also an asshole! but you can't hate him because he's ✨autistic✨ and he can't help it'

that bothers me a lot, I mean some people with autism do have trouble relating and empathising with people, my brother is one of them, but some people with autism really empathise a lot, some of us feel things very strongly, I'm highly empathetic and it's a real struggle to cope with

so yeah, it is a very complicated thing, so you need to go in with an idea of what their character struggles with, how it affects them, and when it's relevant in the story, also autism falls on a very wide spectrum, some people, like myself, are able to mask well, but that creates a big issue with identity, when you start to wonder how much of you is real and how much of you is mask, then you have to decide if you want to lower that mask and accept the social consequences of expressing yourself naturally

I have a friend who presents a little more obviously, he's very rigid in his ways and he talks like he's reading from a script, I have another friend who can socialise just fine, but will go into a total meltdown when a plan gets derailed and she doesn't know what to do next

another friend I have is highly social and incredibly boisterous, she stims with her whole body, dances around a lot, she's chaotic and that can be off-putting to people, she's had to spend a lot of her life holding that back, she's only recently started learning how to be herself shamelessly

my brother was incredibly social when he was younger, and people always really loved him, but most of that is mask, he's socially anxious and just wants to be alone most of the time, and he's a total prick to his immediate family, I don't take that personally any more, since now I understand that he's so blunt and brutally honest because he isn't masking with us, but also he still needs to be called out when he oversteps, autism might be why he has difficulty empathising, but it's not an excuse to be a complete asshole, even people with autism need to be called out on shitty behaviour, it isn't a get out of jail free card, our self expression shouldn't come at the cost of hurting other people, most of us are more than capable of learning to not be an asshole

I know this is like, A LOT, but these are the things that need to be considered when writing about autism, it is an all encompassing thing that permeates your entire life experience, I absolutely welcome people like you to try to write about it! Because I think it shouldn't be a taboo subject, and I appreciate that you asked for advice and that you want to do it respectfully, you've probably seen first hand how difficult living with autism can be, having a family member on the spectrum, so you already have some experience to draw from, I don't know your relationship with your sister or how old she is, or where on the spectrum she falls, but if possible you can ask her about her experiences in particular situations that you're having trouble writing, if that's something you and she are comfortable with

I hope this helps, just remember to keep an open mind and listen to any feedback you might get, it is very VERY easy to misrepresent autism so don't be too hard on yourself if you don't quite get it right, if someone gives you a critique, take it in stride and use it to become better ~ you can even express that in an authors note, that you want to write it accurately and invite anyone with experience to share their opinion, because like I said, it is different for everyone and my experiences are not universal, and you're welcome to run something by me every once in a while if you aren't sure about it ❤️

#asks #autism #danny phantom #bitter #jack fenton #this shit be COMPLICATED y'all

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - Older Dramione

This feels very much like a Part One, and if you’d like more please let me know! (if anyone even sees this!). 

Synopsis:

Draco, eight months after becoming a widower, nearly loses his son too in a vicious attack at Malfoy Manor. In the aftermath, while he’s being questioned by the aurors, there’s no one to look after little Scorpius, who just won’t stop howling. In desperation, and remembering how good Hermione had been with his kids, Harry brings the baby up to her office. In the end, the only thing that will calm the child is the soft hum of Hermione’s voice as she sings to him. Of course, that would be how Draco Malfoy finds her, wouldn’t t it? And then, eleven years later, Hermione meets him again...

(Warnings for past Ron/Hermione, and implied infertility. No explicit Ron-bashing, but it’s implied that their relationship couldn’t take the strain and he looked elsewhere. I may develop it later, but it won’t be a Ron-bashing fic. They’re just ultimately incompatible in this universe).

___

“Hermione…” Harry’s voice cut through her thoughts as she stared at the paperwork in front of her.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, jerking to her feet behind her enormous desk, eyes wide at the sight of Harry’s face. He was ashen, and it took a lot to shake Auror Potter these days. “Is it Ginny? James? Albus? Merlin, Harry, what’s happened?”

“They’re fine,” he said heavily and with a strangely detached intonation. “It’s… It’s Malfoy.”

That drew her up short. “Draco?” she frowned, wondering why he’d be so concerned about his former schoolboy nemesis. They hadn’t seen him in years. No one had. “What about him?”

“He… There was an attack.”

Her world tilted strangely. He’d always been there in the background, though the last time she’d seen him had been years ago at Theo’s wedding. He’d looked so good then, and happy too, with Astoria smiling at his side. She seemed to have softened his sharp edges, though the two had merely nodded when their eyes met across the room while Theo kissed his husband silly in the middle of the dance floor. That had been a good night, but that had been years ago.  

“Harry, what happened? Is… Is he alright?”

“I’m not really here about Draco…. It’s about his son, Scorpius.”  

“I don’t understand.”

Harry stepped into her office and closed the door. With his status as Head Auror, he was the only one who could barge in on the head of the DMLE like this, and she welcomed it. “As I understand it, he left Scorpius in the care of his nanny for the afternoon so that he could go to Gringotts and sort out some business there, and while he was gone… the nanny and Scorpius were attacked. The nanny… she died protecting him. We’ve managed to keep it from the press at the moment.”

“Harry, where’s Draco now?” She scowled, coming around to the side of the desk. “I should have been informed, this is my department, Harry…”

“He’s being questioned.”

“Questioned? By whom? Why? Harry —”

“We need to know all we can about it. There were Dark Arts involved, Hermione. Some really nasty curses. This is Auror stuff for now. If it becomes your department, you can handle it personally if you like but…”  

He sucked in a breath and suddenly looked much older than he was. She was viscerally reminded of Remus Lupin for a heartbeat.  

“Mione, I haven’t got anywhere I can leave Scorpius, and he hasn’t stopped screaming since he got here. You… You were always so good with my lot… is… is there any chance I can leave him with you. I know he’ll be safe here…”

She blinked. “Harry, I —” What was she about to say? That she didn’t have time? That she didn’t have time to take care of a frightened child? What could be more important than that? The stacks of parchments and fluttering memos orbiting her desk would say otherwise, but she was head of the department, dammit. Someone else could handle that. “Of course.”

Harry’s shoulders went slack and he exhaled. “I’ll bring him up.” And with that, he was gone.  

She heard Scorpius long before she saw him, howling like a mandrake. 

When the eight month old child was brought into her office, red-faced and screaming, her heart went out to him. Harry - who had seen his fair share of babies and drama with his own little brood - looked distinctly uncomfortable holding the squirming child in his arms.  

There was a rarely-used sofa in Hermione’s office, and she took the wriggling baby from Harry and sank down onto it. “You can leave me with him,” she said quietly, marvelling at his silver eyes and tiny hands, currently balled into feisty little fists. “Tell Penelope that I am unavailable for the rest of the day and to be disturbed only in absolute emergencies, and even then only by you.”

Harry nodded.  

“Or by Draco, if he’s free and wants to reclaim his gorgeous little howling hellspawn,” she laughed. At the sound of it, Scorpius took a gulping breath, and paused his dramatics, blinking. “Oh, you didn’t like that, hmm?” she chuckled, tapping his tiny little button nose. “Well, if the shoe fits…” she said.  

“I’ll leave you to it,” Harry mumbled. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“Honestly, despite the terrible circumstances, I’m grateful for some time off, Harry. I can’t remember the last time I put something else before work.”

“Probably the last time Albus made a noise like that,” he snorted, hand on the door. “Shout if you need anything. I’ll be down in interrogation with Malfoy.”

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Go easy on him. He’s only been a widower for eight months.”

The comment brought a quiet look to Harry’s green eyes, perhaps imagining himself in the same boat, and he nodded.  

It took a long, long time for Scorpius to settle, but after nearly two hours, she had resorted to letting the boy play with her curls while she sang. He liked the melancholy folk songs, she discovered, so after four renditions of Scarborough Fair, and two of Go Your Way, she settled on Let No Man Steal Your Thyme. That one hurt even more than Go Your Way, but Scorpius was fascinated.  

Hermione wasn’t the best singer, but her husky alto suited that last one so well that she almost forgot to be shy about singing, even for a baby.  

Tears flowed as the words stuck in her throat and she cradled the little one close to her, cupping his head as she rocked him. Pain and heartache welled up in her as she fought down flashes of Ron’s callous betrayal, but she forced her voice to remain steady. 

For when your thyme is past and gone

He'll care no more for you

And in the place your time was waste

Will spread all over with rue

Will spread all over with rue

The door creaked and she jumped. Instinctively turning little Scorpius from the doorway and setting her own body between them, she soon found she need not have been so protective. Draco Malfoy stood on the threshold, his silver eyes wide and full of tears, his lips parted in a gesture of astonishment.  

“Draco,” she said, standing carefully from the sofa. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t say anything for the longest time, but eventually he cleared his throat. “Granger…” he whispered. “I… I mean…”

“Please,” she said, stepping over to him and holding out the tiny child. “Here… Careful, he’s not long been asleep.”

“Potter said he wouldn’t stop screaming. I nearly broke the wards trying to get to him…”

She chuckled. Scorpius still had his little fingers gripped around a curl and Draco was staring at it. “I’m surprised anything stopped you,” she said. “Here,” and handed him over.  

Draco took him so gently that something twisted in her gut and she almost lurched back from him for no good reason. Scorpius grumbled and fussed in his sleep as she pried his strong fingers off her hair and she stroked the back of his smooth, now pale, cheek. “Shh, little mandrake,” she smiled. “It’s alright now. Your father’s here.”

If she’d been told, at the age of eleven, that Draco Malfoy would be cradling his son like he was the most precious thing in the universe, she would have laughed, but seeing it now, it only warmed her heart.  

“Thank you, Granger,” Draco said in a hoarse rasp without taking his eyes off his boy. “I can’t tell you… I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“I think I can hazard a guess,” she said with a wry twist to her lips.  

“You and Weasley have children, Granger?” he asked, still staring at his son.  

Pain lanced through her chest, but she kept her face perfectly schooled. “No, but I’ve seen my fair share of late nights and fussy babies from Harry and Ginny.”

At that, Draco looked up sharply, his piercing eyes searching her face. “I see,” was all he said.

“Harry and his team will do everything they can to figure out who was behind it, Draco. They’ll get them.”

His face darkened. “Azkaban will be too comfortable a place for them after what they did.”

That’s the Malfoy I remember, she nearly said, but instead, she stroked Scorpius silky white hair once and then rolled the tension from her neck while Malfoy crossed to the door, his tiny son held tight to his chest. He looked thinner than she remembered, and more haunted around the eyes, but she supposed that the grief of his wife’s death was still near. Theo - a surprisingly close friend of hers these days - had said Malfoy hadn’t left the manor at all since Astoria died. Perhaps this was his first outing. Oh God, she thought. What a thing to happen on his first day from the Manor.  

“Take care of yourself, Granger,” he said from the doorway, and she realised that she’d been staring at him without really seeing him.  

“You too, Draco,” she said. “I hope perhaps to see you again, though under infinitely better circumstances.”

That clearly surprised him, but he managed a tight-lipped smile, a nod, and then he was gone.  

She sank down on to the sofa, feeling the loss of the little boy’s weight in her arms anew, and with a flick of her fingers, she wandlessly closed and locked the door to her office, and burst into tears.  

___

“Mum!” Albus whined, yanking Ginny along while their younger sister slid her tiny hand into Hermione’s and trotted along at a more sedate pace. “Come on! We’re going to miss the train!”

Ginny shot Hermione a frantic look over her shoulder, and Hermione just rolled her eyes. They still had enough time.  

“I want to go through on my own!” Albus said with a serious little frown on his adorable face when they paused in the main concourse of the station. “Can I?”

Ginny nodded. “Wait right on the other side for us though. Do not go wandering off. It’ll be chaos back there.”

The earnest young boy nodded and turned his trolley towards the barrier. Hermione watched as Ginny as Albus vanished into the brickwork, unseen by muggle eyes. “It’s no easier the second time around, Hermione,” she said.  

James, two years older, just rolled his eyes and slouched through after his little brother with the unimpressed face of a thirteen year old.

“Go on,” Hermione chuckled at Ginny. “I’ll bring Lily through.”

Reunited on the other side, Hermione’s eyebrows rose at the sight that greeted her almost immediately. Amid the bustle and rolling clouds of steam, a tall, slender man stood with his back to them, silver-white hair neatly combed back, and with his hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy who could have been a carbon copy of himself at that age. Hermione’s mind actually slipped a little sideways at the sight of them.

There was a bubble of empty space around them though, as if they carried the plague, and people shot them furtive looks as they scuttled past. Malfoy kept his hand on his son’s shoulder, and Hermione remembered with a jolt that she’d once held the boy who now stood beside him. Scorpius. Malfoy’s little mandrake. That had been in another life, it seemed to her then.  

“That’s Malfoy,” Ginny whispered, sounding scandalised as she half-turned to Hermione. “He hasn’t been seen in public for… years. I heard he’s a complete recluse… I’m surprised he didn’t pack his son off on the train with some governess or something…”

“Don't gossip, Gin,” Hermione chided her best friend. “It’s unkind.”

The guard gave a shrill whistle, and the platform scurried into a maelstrom of last-minute, frenzied activity. Goodbyes from weeping parents, yells and laughter of reuniting students, hooting owls and yowling cats… it was a familiar cacophony and somehow it soothed her. In the chaos, Malfoy and his son disappeared amid the smoke like ghosts.  

Once James had said his goodbyes and scuttled off to be with his friends, a sulking Albus hugged his mother, and she ruffled his black hair. “Your father’s so proud of you, Albus,” she said.  

“Yeah, but he’s not here today is he?” he said in a softly sullen voice as he stepped back.  

“He’s not in the country, Albus. He would have been here if he could, and he’ll be here when you come home for the holidays. He’s booked the time off already,” she said, clearly trying to hold it together.  

“Yeah, til there’s an emergency then as well.”  

“Can I have one last hug before you go?” Ginny asked and reluctantly the boy wound his arms around his mother’s waist again. “Thanks, love. I’m so proud of you.”

Hermione cupped his cheek fondly as he pulled back, and said, “You’ll be fine, Albus. Whatever happens, we’ll all be proud of you, alright? You can always owl us if you need anything.”

“Yes, Aunt Hermione.” The kid nodded and they helped him heave his trunk onto the train and stow it in the luggage area.  

As the engine left in a cloud of steam, Ginny looked at her wristwatch swore softly. “I’ve got to go. Come on, Lily,” she said, taking the quiet young girl’s hand. “Ready to side-along? Mummy’s going to be late.”

“You’re always late,” Lily said innocently and Hermione hid a smirk behind her hand.  

“Not one word, Granger,” Ginny snickered at her. “Thanks love. I’ll see you for dinner on Thursday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hermione smiled, hugging her briefly in an awkward side-hug before they both disapparated, leaving her alone in the swirling steam.  

When it cleared, she found that the only other person on her section of the platform was Draco Malfoy. He stood with his back to her, staring after the train like a statue as the white clouds cleared in the wake of the departing Express.  

Taking a chance, Hermione approached him. He flinched when she appeared in his peripheral vision, but when he saw who it was, he stilled. “Granger…” he said warily. Age had done nothing to his looks except perhaps to enhance them, though he still bore shadows under his eyes and carried a pinched look that reminded her of their sixth year at Hogwarts.  

She smiled openly though. “Draco.”  

His gaze slid inexorably back to the retreating engine as it dragged the carriages behind it, and he blinked a few times, eyes glassy. His throat worked as he swallowed thickly, and then he frowned. “You seeing your own off today?” he asked, still staring.  

The dull pain still made itself known, but she shook her head. “No. I’m… I’m here for Ginny’s younger boy, Albus.”

“I see.”

“Harry was a wreck when James went away.” At Malfoy’s frown, she clarified, “His first born.”  

“He’s not here today?” Malfoy asked with familiar sarcasm lacing his tone and turning to face her. “Couldn’t stand it a second time round?”

She sighed and swept her wild hair back out of her face, watching as Malfoy’s eyes tracked the movement with the intensity of a grey owl. “He’s on assignment and couldn’t get away. He left a letter in Albus’ suitcase, but the kid’s still hurt. How’s Scorpius handling it?” and by extension, you?  

Malfoy managed a weak, lopsided smile that carried none of his previous sneer and sting. In fact, he looked washed out. His cheeks were gaunt in a way that reminded her unsettlingly of Lucius in his latter years among the Death Eaters. Malfoy inhaled sharply through his nose. “Better than I would have done, in his position. He’s… He’s worried about the legacy I’ve left him, I think. Rightly so.”

Hermione nodded, hair still blowing about her head like a dandelion. “Albus too, with Harry.”

Malfoy raised one icy eyebrow and snorted in a very ‘Malfoy’ way. It was almost reassuring. “For different reasons, I imagine.”

“Yes and no,” she said, continuing unflinchingly. “Obviously Scorpius will have to deal with the unsavoury nature of your role in the war, but Harry’s successes weigh heavily on his children too. The pressure they feel is, regrettably, immense. In that respect, I’m almost glad I —” she cut herself off abruptly. “Anyway. All we can do is support them.”

Malfoy was looking at her with the strangest expression on his face. “Indeed,” he finally said. “I should return to the Manor.”

“Have a drink with me,” she blurted, and he turned his head like an owl in surprise. It might have been funny if his face wasn’t so difficult to read.  

“Beg pardon?” he snorted.  

“Sorry. I… I didn’t mean to impose myself on you, Draco. I don’t blame you if you’d rather not. I just… You look like you could use a drink.”

“At elven o’clock in the morning? What kind of degenerate do you take me for?”

Was he joking? She thought she saw a little burnished glint in his silver eyes. “Come to the Leaky with me and find out,” she said. “I’ve got nothing all day.”

He narrowed his eyes. Finally, he whispered, “Merlin’s beard, you’re actually serious.”

“Perfectly, but there’s no pressure. I’ve got some things I need to see to in Diagon Alley first. We could have lunch if you’d rather.”

He opened his mouth, said nothing, closed it, opened it again, and then, to her astonishment, he laughed. It was a bitter, brittle little thing, but still, it touched his eyes. “Alright. Lunch it is, Granger. I’ll see you at twelve thirty at the Leaky.”

Her mouth lifted into a smile and her heart leapt. She felt like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation and the slight elicit feel to it. This was Draco Malfoy after all. But she’d seen him watery eyed and desperately worried for his infant son, and she would never look at him the same way again after that.

___

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m kind of new to being active in the fandom on here, and shy.

If you want more from this AU, let me know too!

You spoke! and PART TWO was written. Find it here, and check my masterlist for more parts in the future!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3 (updated, should work now! Sorry!)

#dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #older dramione #hermione granger x draco malfoy #dramione story #scorpius malfoy #he's now officially 'draco's little mandrake' in hermione's mind and you can't change mine about that either

[beeexx]

A little Tarlos moment fron 2x09

Read on ao3

TK’s headache has moved further down from his forehead, to settle like a blanket of pain wrapped over his eyes instead. It makes sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair all the more worse, the bright light doing nothing other than adding to his growing discomfort and slight nausea. He is tapping his leg, the sound bouncing off the quiet sleepy room, and he thinks that the only reason Marjan hasn’t whacked him to make it stop is because she’s still pitying him over his brief spell in a room similar to the one Judd is in for a concussion that still hasn’t completely gone away. He moves his head between his legs, closes his eyes to try and drown out some of the blinding lights and breathes through his nose. 

He keeps bouncing his leg though.

TK hates hospitals. He has many reasons for disliking them but he’s never had to spend a night on the edge of his seat, worried sick for people he cares about before, not in this capacity at least and it’s making him feel sick.

The worst thoughts rush through to the surface unbidden. What if he never gets to see either one of them again, hear them laugh, joke around with Judd, dinner at their place every other Sunday. What if Judd doesn’t make it? What if Grace dies? What if -

“Hi, you okay?” It’s Carlos of course, back from his coffee run, who gently places a hand on his shoulder. TK tenses for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly ready to bolt right out of his seat. He can’t fully tamper down his reaction and Carlos notices of course. TK thinks he’s probably frowning and it doesn’t take long for Carlos to start to shuffle around until he’s sitting on the ground in front of TK, coffee cup left forgotten on the chair. TK opens his mouth-

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, it’s very obvious that you aren’t.” Carlos chastises making TK look up from the ground he’s been staring holes at. His lip twitches though and he nods.

“Yeah, I won’t.” He promises and it makes Carlos’ worry lines less prominent for a moment. His hair is still a little sleep tussled, a few strands of curls at the back Carlos spends ages on each morning to lie flat are now loose and he looks tired, he is probably as tired as TK feels. 

It’s been just a few days since the kidnapping and TK’s gotten used to having a particularly sort of nasty headache as his daily companion since then, ruining both his days and nights with spells of pain that won’t go away. Well, it’s probably ruined Carlos’ nights too, judging by the growing circles underneath his eyes, and TK’s constant tossing and turning every time they’re in bed. It’s been a few days of bad sleep and lounging around the house with Carlos worrying. It makes TK feel really bad, he hates it when Carlos worries about him. 

Both he and Carlos had however gotten their best night’s sleep in days when the call came through, waking them both and sending TK into a near panic attack when he heard what had happened. He’s strung so ridiculously tight he’s scared he’s going to snap in half and he goes back to bouncing his leg, trying to distract from his discomfort, averting his eyes.

“Hey, no shutting me out.” Carlos gently cups his chin and forces him to meet his eyes, thumb stroking up and down in comforting motions, eyes kind and understanding. TK sighs but he nods.

“Sorry.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to get the lingering thickness away. He looks away for a moment, sees Mateo is asleep with his head resting on Paul’s shoulder while Paul is reading, frowning slightly as his eyes move across the text, flipping pages now and then. Marjan left with Tommy a while back to go do something TK isn’t sure of exactly and he hasn’t seen his dad for a while either. They are all somewhere near of course, lurking, in case something changes.

“I’m scared.” TK keeps his voice down though, just in case. Carlos nods and moves his hands to cover TK’s thighs, pressing gently down on his right leg to stop the movement. It’s an involuntary reaction on TK’s end that he stops, the effect of Carlos’ touch on him, anchoring, calming him down almost immediately. Carlos gently squeezes his knee.

“I know baby, I am too. But the doctors are optimistic and we have to believe them.”

“They are cautiously optimistic and I don’t know what that means in doctor lingo but cautiously sounds like it’s not something to celebrate yet.” He mutters. 

“Maybe not, but it’s not cause for sitting here looking close to fainting either. I don’t think Judd would like it if you ended up in a hospital bed yet again after getting out of one so soon.”

“I would do it if it would make him wake up and bust my balls.” 

Carlos' mouth twitches.

“He’s going to wake up.” Carlos says with such conviction TK believes him.

“But what about Grace?” He whispers, dread filling his stomach. Grace with her kind eyes, easy smiles, never ending patience and generous support TK’s not realised he’s cherished this much until she’s suddenly been hurt, with the outlook not seeming good. He is scared, terrified even that she might not make it. He doesn’t know what it would do to Judd if that was to happen. Carlos grows serious and his eyes travel to the room she is in, sadness passing over his features. With Michelle gone a lot Carlos and Grace had formed an easy friendship to fill up that empty space, and so it wasn’t totally unusual that when TK came home after shifts to find Grace and Carlos out on the patio together, drinking lemonade and chatting away, smiles wide and whatever task they had said they would do, long forgotten. It’s not just TK it pains to see Judd and Grace hurt, it pains Carlos just as much and TK immediately reaches forward, cupping Carlos’ cheek and leaning his forehead on his, offering his comfort up like it’s second nature. They both exhale, breathing through it together. 

“It’s going to be okay, it has to.” Carlos says quietly and gives himself over to the worry for a moment before he pulls himself together, pushing the worry down. TK knows compartmentalising like Carlos can do is something that isn’t always the healtihest of coping mechanisms. Right now though, TK isn’t going to say anything, god knows he has a terrible track record of bad ways to deal with things, and he wishes at this moment that he could do it too, push it down and focus on something else. 

“The doctors say Judd is going to wake up but it will be a few hours until then, so we’re going to have to believe that everything is going to be okay. In the meantime why don’t we go home and shower and change clothes.” He suggests.

“Not to sleep?”

“I’m not aiming that high today, I don’t think either of us will be able to do that. But you don’t look too good right now and it’s worrying me a little, so instead of checking you into this hospital myself I suggest we go back to mine and recharge for a moment and come back with food for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all need it.”

It’s a distraction, probably as much for Carlos as it is for TK, but it’s a distraction born out of kindness and a big heart, the need to do something other than sit here and worry sick. Carlos, TK has learnt during this year, is the kind of person that needs to do something, he’ll feel absolutely useless sitting still. His brain works best when he’s doing things while TK tends to be the other way around, shutting down, unable to do anything other than freezing, standing still in his growing anxiety, until everything boils over and the urge to either get high or do something almost as equally stupid gets too much and he can’t stop it, sending him down bad paths. 

So he takes the opportunity and nods. Carlos gets to his feet and holds his hand out for him. TK takes it and gently and carefully Carlos pulls him to his feet and wraps an arm around him immediately. For a moment TK snuggles close, nosing at Carlos’ neck before he moves his head away, focusing on walking instead.

“How’s your head?”

“Sore.” He admits out loud and Carlos frowns. “It’s feeling more like a migrain though so maybe it’s just stress?”

“Maybe, do you want an ice pack?” TK thinks of saying no but he isn’t looking forward to getting into the car with the raging monster banging against his eyelids so he nods. Carlos gently kisses his forehead, squeezes his hand before he walks away, leaving TK alone in the mostly deserted hallway, with his thoughts again. 

Being a firefighter has made TK somewhat immune to certain high risk situations, gruesome injuries, fright so visceral people become unpredictable, or shock so silent it feels it lasts for days unable to break free of, and death too, to some extent at least. His dad’s cancer, which had been a suffocating presence, expanding each day inside of TK’s ribcage, making it impossible to focus on anything other than it, giving him little room to exist outside of the anxiety and constant worry. Tim more recently, which had been quick and taking the breath out of him, slamming straight into TK like a block of concrete, catching him unaware. 

His own overdose is a reminder that it takes different shapes.

And then this. Relentless, big, sudden. Impossible to escape. Scary.

They all wear their worry on their faces and clinging desperately to hope that feels like it’s dimming with each moment he stands here. 

He twists the string of Carlos’ APD hoodie, the first thing he had gotten his hands on when they were rushing to get here in the middle of the night. It was a few hours ago now and there hasn’t been an update for a while now, other than that they can only wait which anyone knowing him should be aware he’s terrible at. 

Carlos comes back shortly after, holding the promised ice pack, TK looks behind him at a nurse with red cheeks and a bright smile as she watches them. 

“Carlos Reyes did you flirt with a nurse to get me this?” But he accepts it gratefully and presses it to his face, exhaling in relief at the cold seeping onto his clammy skin. 

“I charmed her more likely, by talking about my very cute but bratty boyfriend.”

“Yeah I’ve changed my mind, I don’t care how you got it, I’m just happy that you did.” Carlos snorts and ruffles his hair. 

They drive back and Carlos helps TK up the stairs before he disposes of him gently onto the bed. When he goes to leave, TK tugs him back, holding tightly onto his hand.

“Where are you going?” He sounds small, he feels small right now.

“Just to get some water, I’ll be right back -” But TK shakes his head, moves the pack of ice away and pulls harder on Carlos’ hand until he gets the hint and climbs into the bed. TK pulls him close, arms wounding around his neck and tucks his face into Carlos’ neck. Carlos' hands come to rest on his waist, big and strong, secure around TK. He feels the heath of them through the shirt he is wearing. He can feel Carlos’ heartbeat against his ribcage too, riverbating through him.

Still here. Still alive. 

TK is used to danger. 

But he isn’t used to this kind of danger, when it feels deeply personal, like an attack. 

And it’s all so sudden, after Carlos’s suspension that has luckily been lifted but had given him enough stress and worry making TK wish he could march into Carlos’ precinct and yell at his boss that one of their best officers deserved better. It comes too soon after he was taken hostage and hurt, the wound hasn’t even begun to heal and it’s been roughly torn open again making TK feel so goddamn unsteady, the fear he’s suddenly been slammed with so tangible as it presses down on him from all sides. He feels he’s been edging closer and closer to a panic attack all night and the only thing that hasn’t sent him completely over the edge is having Carlos near. 

But he’s also so goddamn scared suddenly. He’s suddenly terrified of losing Carlos. A car accident, those happen so often and maybe TK’s been naive but this has never felt like such a palpable threat to him before, until now. Until Judd and until Grace. 

“Talk to me?” Carlos whispers, forcing TK out of his thoughts for a moment and TK hugs him closer, biting down the tears that have come unwillingly. 

“You can never leave me.” The words come pouring out of him and his voice breaks, unable to be kept steady. He bites down hard on his lip but an audibly sniff escapes and when Carlos tries to move his head away TK hugs him tighter, not wanting any space left between them.

Carlos is quiet for a moment, but no longer than that. He takes his hands away from TK’s waist and wraps them gently around TK’s wrists to gently tug them away from his neck so he can look at him. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks and takes TK’s hands in his, holding them delicately, stroking his thumbs soothingly across TK’s skin. TK angles them slightly against Carlos’ chest, closer to his ribcage, where he can feel the thumping of Carlos’ heart underneath his shirt. It comforts him, the only steady rhythm to latch onto at the moment, to try and steady his own breathing, copying the unwavering rise and fall of Carlos’ chest. 

“I don’t know…” TK whispers, unable to meet Carlos’ eyes. He focuses on his and Carlos’ tangled hands, trails the blue veins with his eyes, Carlos’ slender and long fingers, trying to find the right words, while also buying some time. 

“No?” Carlos gently pushes and TK shakes his head. “TK.” Carlos sighs before he cups TK’s cheek and angles it up so he can meet his eyes. TK blinks a few times to clear his watery eyes and Carlos wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, expression stricken, like it gets when he wants so badly to help but doesn’t know what to do. 

“When I was taken hostage…” He begins, clears his throat a few times, can’t bear watching Carlos upset. “I didn’t really stop to consider how awful it was for you during those hours, and I haven’t been able to grasp the intent completely behind your worrying these few days and now it makes me feel like such an ass. But I understand it now too, what happened to Judd and Grace, it could happen to us too and it’s so scary, so scary Carlos, what if -” He stops, gulps down more tears and bites his wobbling lip hard. 

“Hey, hey.” Carlos says gently and TK’s eyes snap to him. They are sad, but determined too. “It could, but even so I will always promise to fight to get back to you.”

“I wish you could promise me you won’t leave me or that I could promise that nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Well knowing you, letting you out of my sight has proven to be a massive mistake, I swear you’re the most accident prone person I know.” TK wetly chuckles and Carlos’ mouth twitches, the joke easing the tension between them.

“I get scared too, all the time…” Carlos confesses and TK searches his face, reaches out automatically to smooth over the worryline on his forehead, itching to kiss it away.

“Yeah?” TK asks. Carlos nods.

“Yeah, all the time. Especially where you are concerned. But I do think it’s only normal with our jobs and so on. Just… I don’t know, try and be more careful?” The frown grows into a wry little smile and maybe if TK wasn’t so shook from earlier he would have joked it away, but he nods seriously instead.

“I promise. I will always come back, always. Even if I leave.” It’s a painful reminder of TK walking out on Carlos a few months back, still making TK feel ashamed of how he acted. But things are different between them now and walking away from Carlos and from everything they have built together and are going to continue building, that is not an option anymore. “Good.” Carlos whispers and kisses his nose making TK smile. “I will always come back too. Always. I will fight every day to make that promise true.”

“Me too.” TK promises, takes their intertwined hands and kisses the promise into their hands, hoping that the day will never come where he doubts it, doubts them and their future. 

“We’re going to be okay.” Carlos promises and TK closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Carlos’, slowly starting to accept it. 

“Yeah.” TK whispers. 

“And so is Judd and Grace.” 

TK isn’t fully there yet where he dares believe it to be true, but he isn’t giving up hope that it’s all lost either. 

“So, how about a shower?” 

TK opens his eyes, yawns before he stretches, pops his back and nods.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Carlos helps him to his feet and in the bathroom they undress each other before they get in together. TK hums in content as the hot water washes over him and with it the last doubts he has about the future, down the drain where it belongs. As soon as Carlos joins him inside TK walks close, presses his body to Carlos’. It’s not sexual, but it’s a need, to have him near, to let the calmness of Carlos’ wash over him and bring with it a comfort only Carlos can bring out in him and judging by the harsh breath escaping Carlos’ he craves the contact almost as much as TK does. TK presses a soft kiss to Carlos’ heart and it grows comfortable between them. That’s until Carlos decides to squirt shampoo loudly on top of TK’s head, breaking them out of the moment. TK’s glare turns into a laugh and Carlos’s eyes sparkle, so very much alive and TK’s insides flutter.

They shower for longer than what they had planned and when they do make it back to the hospital, carrying food from a place Carlos knows to be one of Grace’s favourite takeaways he feels better, more hopeful and willing to believe that things will work out. Carlos’ hair is messy from TK running his fingers through it, but his arm is secure around TK’s waist and TK’s leaning on his shoulder, watching their family help unpack the bags.

And then Judd wakes up.

#tarlos #tk x carlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #9-1-1 lone star #missing scene from 2x9 #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic