#like its space!!! But also hacking and friends to lovers to break up to friends to lovers again like tell me that isnt so good

[vegi1]

How to Create Budget-Friendly Raw Vegan Meal Plan?

We will delve into the world of creating a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan that will support your health and well-being and save you some hard-earned cash.

Many people assume that following a raw vegan diet means breaking the bank.

Fear not! In this essay, we will debunk that myth and show you how to create a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan without compromising taste, nutrition, or variety!

Without breaking the bank, we’ll make those nut milk, spreads, dressings, and more right home. So, get ready to unleash your inner kitchen wizard!

Nut milk spreads and dressings can add up when you buy them from the store.

But fear not, my friend! You can whip up your versions with creativity and kitchen magic without spending a fortune.

Nut milk, that creamy, dreamy beverage, can be made easily at home.

All you need are some nuts (like almonds or cashews), water, a blender, and a nut milk bag (which you can find for a reasonable price online).

Soak the nuts overnight, blend them with water, strain through the nut milk bag, and voila! You’ve got delicious homemade nut milk that saves you some serious moolah.

Now you can create a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan, including nut milk. Can you believe it?

A homemade hummus made from chickpeas, tahini, lemon juice, and spices can be a wallet-friendly alternative to store-bought spreads.

And remember dressings! With olive oil, vinegar, herbs, and creativity, you can create tangy dressings that will have your taste buds dancing.

We all know that eating healthy can sometimes be a bit pricey, but fear not, my friend! I’m here to share some tips and tricks on maintaining a raw vegan meal plan without costing much.

It’s essential to focus on ingredients that are not only nutritious but also readily available and affordable. Think of staples like fruits, vegetables, nuts, seeds, and grains.

These are your go-to heroes for crafting delicious and nourishing raw vegan meals. By sticking to these basics, you can ensure your meal plan remains sustainable in the long run.

We all have ups and downs, and being flexible is essential. The great thing about a raw vegan diet is its versatility.

You can get creative and make the most out of the ingredients within your budget.

For instance, if certain fruits or vegetables are too expensive at a given time, you can explore local farmer’s markets or buy in bulk when there are sales.

Creating a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan is doable and sustainable in the long run.

It’s all about being mindful, adaptable, and creative with your ingredients and cooking techniques.

Whether you’re a seasoned cook, a passionate food lover, or someone looking to add some zest to their culinary adventures, building a community of like-minded individuals can make all the difference.

Online forums, social media groups, and recipe-sharing websites are fantastic places to find support, advice, and inspiration!

So, where should you start? Well, forums dedicated to cooking and foodie communities are great spaces to hang out.

You can ask questions, seek recommendations, or share your latest triumphs and occasional kitchen mishaps.

There’s always someone ready to lend a helping hand or offer a kind word of encouragement.

Social media groups are another goldmine for connecting with fellow culinary enthusiasts.

You’ll find people sharing their favorite recipes, offering helpful cooking hacks, and showcasing their delicious creations.

Plus, it’s a fantastic way to make new friends who share your passion for everything edible.

Of course, let’s remember the beauty of real-life connections. Local meetups and cooking classes can be an absolute blast.

They provide an opportunity to meet people face-to-face, exchange tips, and even participate in hands-on cooking experiences.

We know that proud vegans are spreading worldwide, and I am sure many of them can help you create a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan!

Cheers to shared resources, overflowing ideas, and a never-ending feast of deliciousness!

Find out what’s happening in Raw Vegan Meetup groups around the world and start meeting up with the ones near you.

We all know that feeling when we open the fridge and find containers of yesterday’s meal staring back at us.

Instead of seeing them as forgotten remnants, let’s see them as the building blocks of something unique!

Leftovers can be reborn as entirely new dishes with sometimes even better flavors than the original meal.

I know what you might think: “But won’t my leftovers taste boring or repetitive?” Not at all! Reinventing your leftovers can inject excitement and variety into your meal plan.

And let’s not forget that a big reason we are vegan is to help save the planet; by reinventing meals and creating fewer new foods, we once more prove how much we are in love with Earth!

Another best thing about embracing the power of leftovers is the money you’ll save! You can create a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan by maximizing what you already have!

A stash of leftovers in your fridge gives you a quick and easy option for those hectic nights.

Heat them, add some extra seasoning if needed, and voila! Dinner is served in no time.

Let’s get creative, reduce waste, save some hard-earned cash, and enjoy delicious meals that surprise and delight us every single time.

Budget-savvy grocery shopping! It might not sound like the most exciting topic, but trust me; it’s a game-changer when saving severe cash.

First things first, before you even think about setting foot in a grocery store, it’s crucial to make a shopping list. I can’t stress this enough.

Having a list helps you stay organized and prevents impulse buying.

You know those moments when you end up with three jars of pickles because they were on sale? Yeah, we’ve all been there. A good list keeps you focused and on track.

Thanks to the wonders of technology, you can easily compare prices online. There are plenty of apps and websites out there that do the heavy lifting for you.

Just type in the name of the product, and voila! You’ll see a list of prices from various stores. It’s like having your shopping assistant.

Discounts and coupons are other options to create a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan!

These little guys are like hidden treasures, just waiting to be found. Take some time to browse through your local newspaper, magazines, or even online coupon websites.

Sometimes you might find a recipe that looks fantastic but calls for an ingredient you need on hand. No worries! You can get creative and substitute with what you already have in your pantry.

For example, if a recipe calls for cashews but you only have almonds, go ahead and give those almonds a chance to shine.

Feel free to experiment with different veggies, fruits, and grains too. You may have got a bunch of zucchini that need some love.

How about spiralizing them to make a refreshing zucchini noodle salad? Or, if you’ve got a surplus of ripe bananas, you can use them as a base for a delicious raw vegan ice cream.

The possibilities are endless when you let your imagination run wild!

When it comes to creating a budget-friendly raw vegan meal plan with limited resources, it’s all about making the most of what you have.

[alittleemo]

ive been thinking abt the illuminae files again folks it may be time to reread these masterpieces

#like i cannot even describe the sheer euphoria and fukcing span of emotions i experienced reading this book for the first time #its honestly a reading experience ive rarely felt paralleled if ever and i mean that with the utmost sincerity #like the layout itself??? Absolutely fucking stunning like this book is such a treat to read in itself that I’d love it even w a bad plot #but the plots not bad!!! Its so engaging and twisty and fun and hits so many of my favorite tropes and has such good characters #like all of it is j such a masterpiece it really is one of the best things ive ever read #in a completely unrelated note im thinking abt making an illuminae files au for the dsmp bc why not #the Majority of my favorite fanfics fall into two genres: band aus or literally taking a book and using it for another fandom #which is so sexy of me my taste is so good /lh #but fr that would be so cool tho to make an illuminae files au like the idea intrigues me greatly #anyways not me pushing the illuminae files agenda on everyone who follows me <3 ifyou haven’t read it go now you wont regret it #the thought of sapnap being mcnulty also occurred to me and god. You can tell how good this book is by how immediately crushed #i felt at even the thought of it. Like god i miss mcnulty and Ezra and kady they’re all such funky characters i adore them <3 #i Love making the tags longer than the post <3 #lee’s bullshit #the illuminae files #dsmp #(adjacent) #i hope this doesn’t show up in the tag tho #like its space!!! But also hacking and friends to lovers to break up to friends to lovers again like tell me that isnt so good #like imagine the drama of breaking up w your s/o on a pos planet and then having it get invaded the next morning. The comedy!!! The drama!!

[gogglor]

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely.  Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear.  “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel.  I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN.  They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern?  Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09.   You look like shit.  They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way.  Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy.  Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered.   Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram  you sent.  Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

#capimrecweek #tony stark #Steve Rogers #stony #fanfiction #MCU #ficrec

[violintrees]

"The brave, the brash, and boldy idiotic"

3 shot Zadr idiots in love in space

Sometimes they are honestly really brave. Zim has to stand up to the tallest and the empire a few times on his journey. Its never easy. They bring up his most despised memories and defective still hurts and aches to say. But he has to be brave for himself, for his family, for Dib. And sometimes the brave thing you need to do is ask for help, which ZIm does. He is honest about his vulnerability and Dib is able to help support in those times. Its why Zim’s been able to keep moving forward.

Sometimes they are brash. Zim knows his human is pretty resilient, but he needs to STOP RUSHING INTO DANGER. A mission nearly goes wrong and could have ended Dib’s life when Zim finally breaks down and tells Dib he doesn’t know who he would be without Dib and can’t lose him. Dib assures ZIm that he would still be him, that Dib is not his obligation or mission but Zim retorts that thATs NOT THE POINT. The point is he needs to stop worrying Zim. It takes Dib a moment to understand. Partly from his time on Earth and time trying to keep up with Dib he has gotten into the mindset of always putting 100% on the table to get something done. To live and die by getting the task done. But he has something amazing and wonderful to live for and will get better at living for himself and his loved ones.

Sometimes they are boldly idiotic. They are infiltrating an raiders base and have hacked into their comms. They keep mentioning these ‘soul bound’ individuals somewhere in the base, usually not to far from Dib and ZIm. They are cautious to avoid this apparently very strong, very protective fighter unit that are known throughout the system for their loving bond and combat prowess. They corner the raider boss who begs the eternal lovers for mercy and they are like WAIT THATS US??? The boss is like bruh you literally made out on our roof in front of a security camera and then popped down and killed two of my best squads. They are in love but they are also best friends and just never thought about how they must appear to others. To them they are just Dib and ZIM.  And they are both flustered cause they are usually pretty solitary but yeah they have this reputation both wish it was scarier or more badass but hey it kinda is. 

#askjdsaj another long boi #I want to write a rant on idiots to lovers #cause I have thoughts #But this was a cute suggestion #very fitting for the boys in my opinion #writing meme #writing ask #vt writing

[creepypocky]

Hello! If you're still doing match ups, could I get one for who'd be my lover and who'd be my best friend for creepypasta? :)

I'm a hetero, petite 5'3 female, green-brown eyes, long golden-blonde hair with rose-gold highlights.

I'm an INFJ, Virgo, 1w2.

I'm an introvert and need my alone time. I don't like unnecessary attention on myself though I'm not shy in any way.

I love animals, gloomy/rainy weather and anything water/ocean related. I have a dark sense of humor.

I'm the "Mom Friend". I enjoy taking care of others (I'm the personal nurse at home).  I'm kind, well mannered and polite but can be quite stubborn and fiery if I have to be. I usually get along with everyone and enjoy spending time with all sorts of different personalities.

I enjoy inside as well as outside activities like visiting gardens/parks and watching movies but especially swimming, video games and most of all cooking.

Thank you very much and have a nice day!

Hiii! So, I'm guessing you mean to do a separate thing in this one, I do the romantic one first then below it do one for a best friend? I can do that. :)

Romantic:

|| I match you with: Hoodie! ||

A really big reason I've matched you with him, is because you both are introverted yet not shy. Hoodie relates to that a lot and is tired of always being called "shy" "nervous", because hes not. He's actually a really dangerous guy and isn't afraid to hurt people, he just doesn't like to talk much. So he was pretty attracted to you when he found someone who also needed their space and not just because they're shy. Also he thinks your rose-gold highlights are really pretty.

He really likes animals too tbh, he prefers them to people by a million miles. He likes to find ways for Slender to let the two of you keep as many animals as y'all want.

Kind of like Masky, raining kind of reminds him of before everything and brings back bad memories for him, but when you give him a newer perspective on rain and such he slowly warms up to it over time. He only likes listening to it when he's with you, though.

If you two ever go out on a mission to another state y'all will probably end up on a coast eventually so he'd let you take a break and go to the beach if you wanted, just to see the smile on your face.

He loves your dark sense of humor and the things you come up with, since it's really rare for him to ever get offended by something. When you two are alone together y'all like to just joke back and fourth.

He honestly thinks it's really cool that you love taking care of your friends and that you're kind but fiery, because he's sick of the usual trope where everyone just has to be an asshole if they want to be seen as cool. He respects that you're able to stick up for people and yourself by being fiery and stubborn. He's willing you get you out of situations you can't control though.

He also respects how you're able to get along with all sorts of personalities, mainly because he knows he personally can't stand lots of kinds of people and he just wonders how you put up with it.

Hoodie honestly doesn't take care of himself as well as he'd like to admit so it's good that you like cooking because this man most definitely will forget to cook for himself 70% of the time.

Honestly he feels like you're way out of his league and he won't ever admit it but he needs either physical or verbal reassurance that you'll stay with him despite everything.

He really likes nature so he'd more than love to go to a garden or park with you and just walk around holding your hand.

<3

Platonic:

||I match you with: BEN Drowned! ||

I made this chaotic boi your best friend, well, because you two contrast really well while still having similarities.

He's an introvert too, and not because he's shy but because he has a hard time just giving a fuck about people.

I 100% canon that Ben has a cat named Chelsea so when you two hang out he loves watching you play with her as he's just playing games and it's just super wholesome.

Even though he hates water because he y'know, drowned, he still thinks rain is relaxing to listen to especially when its just a quiet night and hes laying in bed on his switch and talking about random shit with you, you two's friendship is honestly super wholesome and way more healthy than the friendships he has with the other creeps.

He vents to you about things a lot and talks about how even games have a hard time fixing how hollow he feels because he doesn't feel like he can talk about that stuff with anyone else.

Ben does not take care of himself so you're most definitely gonna have to watch over this man, not only physically but mentally too because he's not always willing to talk to people so he has so many things pent up in him.

It's always amusing to him seeing you start being fiery to people after being super kind, but he admires that nonetheless.

He loves watching movies with you, especially horror because he likes to prank you and just hack into the movie and make a character say your full name, he just laughs for a hard minute seeing the expression on your face.

<3

I hope I did this right, and I'm sorry if any of this is inaccurate. But regardless, I hope you're having a good day and taking care of yourself, and I hope you enjoyed this matchup :)

#creepypasta fluff #creepypasta #ben drowned #hoodie #brian thomas #anon ask #creepypasta matchups #matchups #platonic #fluff

[bymoonchild]

Sugarplum Elegy (M) [Preview]

[Edit] FULL FIC HERE

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader Genre | Fluff, smut, angst / College!AU, FWB!AU, Soundcloud singer!AU, Idiots to Lovers!AU  Warnings | Explicit language, hopeless and helpless pining, constipated feelings, lots of smut, rimming, cum-eating, blowjobs, face-sitting, fucking sinful please brace yourself though it will... be soft as fuck as well because jungoo and the stars in his eyes demanded it to be soft..!, more to come Summary | There’s no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you, originally a die-hard rap fanatic, are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while.

Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

Est. release date | Mid July 

There’s no greater testament to love than being in love itself. The aching process of it that continues forever, until the end of time and the pure vulnerability of being bound up together with another emotionally and physically. To love in every sense of the word is to offer your entire heart and place it on someone's bare hands, while knowing that there's a chance that they might crush it right in front of your eyes or behind your back.

Maybe love is like a dandelion, pretty in the summer mornings, but when a huge gust of wind hits, its petals will be blown away, leaving its heart barren, abandoned. And given your past relationships, forming a fresh new ache and vulnerability for yet another person frightens the fuck out of you.

So whenever you wake up to a Jeon Jungkook beside you, lulled by the quiet sound of his breathing, your heart fizzles in your chest. It’s really a no-strings-attached agreement that you two have decided on at the beginning of the year, but it still feels weird and surreal, especially when the first thing you see is his peaceful face, unless he’s spooning you, his warm breath tickling against the back of your nape. It’s weird because it feels nice, feels so right.

Though it's been six months since you two started the whole fuckbuddy agreement, you still can't get used to how warm Jungkook is, always so warm that it softens and melts your sharp edges. While his body still sends zaps down your spine, your mind registers that you’ve actually grown to adore the heat of his body when your cold feet are always finding themselves tangled together with his under the sheets. It’s crazy how you relish having his arm wrapped around your waist, as if the sun has chiselled its way into every single pore of your body.

Sometimes, you’d wake up to Jungkook staring at you, caressing every detail of your face with his eyes alone. He’s not much of a morning person, but there are times you’ve woken up to him smiling like a fool (an adorable one at that) at your groggy and sleepy self, as though your crusty morning face turns him on even more because it often leads to the continuation of the previous night’s copulation before scrambling to class.

There’s no bounds nor depth with Jeon Jungkook. If anything, you’ve come to a conclusion that in your entire life, you’ve never met a single person quite like Jungkook before, like the cosmos has moved for this concurrence to be possible.

It seems like you discover a new side to your fuckbuddy as the days go by, which keeps you on your toes and brings a smile to your face, but nothing can ever beat the dorky Jungkook that becomes a freak in the sheets when he pounds into you mercilessly or pulls your hair as he buries himself deep inside the hilt of your throat. Nothing beats the feeling of having his body pressed up against yours as he whispers sweet nothings that caress and fan against your skin like invisible marks that will always be there. Burning from deep within.

Two months into the agreement, you find out that he loves your bed and the dick appointments are always at your place because he claims that your bed is ten folds comfier than his. You can’t seem to fathom why because you find his bed equally comfortable to sleep on and it probably smells much nicer than yours, mixed with the brew of his musky scent and peach shampoo.

When sex becomes a daily thing and a mixture of scents now lingers in your room, Jungkook starts bringing more of his stuff over and that includes his favourite fabric softener, just because he can. He makes sure that he’s over every Saturday to do laundry and even folds your clothes for you because he’s the self-proclaimed Laundry Senpai and all laundry duties are to be entrusted to him.

It’s moments like these where you know that Jungkook has undoubtedly carved himself a permanent space in your place and he does it so effortlessly with his dorky, endearing self and bunny smile. Slotting into your life effortlessly, becoming a constant beyond the late night dick appointments and becoming one of your best friends, someone you text and exchange dank memes with on a daily basis, someone you trust. You adapt to him quickly, and he accepts you unconditionally. In an odd way, it’s like he’s always meant to be by your side. It’s like the cosmos knew.

You hear Jungkook humming from behind you, comfortably settled on his side of the bed, while you’re hacking away at your laptop to finish your paper. You normally can’t work with noise, but his soft humming falls quite sweetly on your ears.

“Hey, you almost done?”

You spin around and spot Jungkook in only a pair of sweatpants, flaunting the ripples of his toned chest and abdomen. You have no idea why he even bothers to put his pants on when both of you know that he’s going to take off them later.

“Getting a little impatient?”

A little pout plays on his lips, “No, it’s just that… You’ve been at it for hours and I’m kind of sleepy.”

“O-Oh, have you been you waiting for me? Why don’t you get ready first?”

“Actually, I thought we could, you know, just sleep tonight,” he smiles sheepishly, the curve of his cheek squished from where he is lying down on his pillow.

“You mean like…?”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“Then hurry finish your work and get your ass here. My arms are kind of lonely here. And it’s cold.”

You can’t deny that he looks so gorgeous, so tempting, waiting patiently for you with that familiar tender gleam in his eyes as he pats down at the empty spot beside him.

“You’re cold? You’re literally my personal heater,” you laugh, tinges of amusement dancing in your orbs, slipping under the sheets beside him.

Chuckling softly, he leans in and makes sure there’s as little space between your bodies as possible from head to toe, until the tip of his nose is brushing against yours and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. He playfully throws a leg over yours, pressing the strong cleave of his chest up against you and his body heat immediately engulfs you, sated and warm. There’s a fire in him, made of soft, satin embers.

Jungkook holds back smiling like the fool he is, busy drinking the sight of you and the closeness of you in, but that roseate flush that blooms over his face betrays his heart’s desire, spreading across the bridge of his nose and then over his cheekbones. The way his long, feather-like eyelashes brush the bone of his structured cheeks doesn’t escape your notice either.

If stars could take human form, they’d look a lot like Jungkook.

“Want to hear a bed pun that Jin-hyung bombed on us today?”

“Sure,” you feel a smile growing steadily across yours too, resembling his.

“Never mind,” he shrugs casually, his eyes crinkling up at the corners “It’s kind of sheety.”

“I fucking hate you!” You let out a whole-hearted laugh, doubling over to shove a pillow at Jungkook’s chest, “Don’t know why I put up with your dumb ass.”

“Because you love my dick!”

bonus

[you] [16:35] hello are you open for business today [16:36] i would like to make a dick appointment

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [16:36] hi yes, welcum [16:36] we have a slot from 8pm all the way till 9am the next morning [16:37] we provide dinner service too. any preference?

[you] [16:37] i would like some nuggets with a Big Dick on the side

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [16:37] okie dokies. your reservation has been confirmed [16:37] n.e ways, want to hear a joke about my dick? [16:37] never mind, it’s too long

[you] [16:38] sorry can i cancel my appointment? i don’t remember asking for a lame willy

hope you enjoyed the preview! i can feel another long ass fic coming,, can just feel it in my left tit. jokes aside, the plot be pretty thick but it’s basically [BREAKING] 70% idiots pining for each other hopelessly, 15% smut, 10% angst and 5% me talking about the stars in jungkook’s eyes. also, did i mention that i want to eat jungkook’s ass? yeah, adding that to my fic 👉👈

i haven’t fully planned out all the scenes but! this will do for now pls give me the strength and motivation to finish writing this by mid july... or else school is going to resume and... i might disappear for another 6 months 🤪🤪🤪

the title is a song by Niki !! pls give it a listen i love her!! and if you liked the preview,, would you be so kind enough to send me your thots... or like/rb it hehe thank you mi lovelies 💗

#bts fics #bangtan fics #bangtan smut #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fics #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts #bangtan #jungkook #bangtan scenarios #jeon jungkook #sugarplum elegy #bts fanfics #bangtan fanfics #bymoonchild #jungkook fanfics #bts soundcloud singer au #bts fwb au #bts college au

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 8: Goodbye

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  Miranda and Artemis doing some catching up in the end of all things.

Notes: Get your tissues ready. Also, making sense of the Synthesis Ending is hard. Hope the result is interesting. 

-*-

Miranda feels strange standing in an Alliance boardroom without her hands in cuffs, but war has a way of making strange bedfellows. Not that Miranda ever really considered the Alliance to be her own personal enemy--she saw them more as red tape in a galaxy full of red tape. She saw herself as a scientist, first a foremost. Sometimes she had to lie or shoot someone to get the materials and conditions she needed for an experiment, but Miranda never saw herself as a criminal, let alone a terrorist. 

The way the eyes of the Alliance officers seated at the table track her every move suggests they feel differently. Military types. Maybe Jacob could explain it in a way that made things less obnoxious. He’d say soldiers, especially their officers, like their banners, and their team loyalties. These people will probably never see Miranda as anything but a Cerberus operative. They probably never will enjoy working with Miranda. But right now, they have no choice. ‘

“Our time is short, so I won’t waste yours.” Miranda pulls out her omni-tool, feeling the eyes of the guard behind her boring into her shoulders. She can feel the steam rising from the heat sink ejectors on his rifle, and part of her wonders why he would’ve had to fire it anywhere near this station. Part of her desperately wants to never find out. 

A chorus of chimes ring out from the omni-tools belonging to the people sitting in front of her, followed by a series of gasps. Each alliance officer looks up at Miranda, all of them wide-eyed, and several with their jaws dropped. 

“You’ve all just received files documenting all known Cerberus facilities, operative locations, sympathizer identities, and supply caches. I’m sure you’ll find them useful.” Miranda braces her hands on the table, leaning forward much like the way Artemis does when outlining a battleplan, and says, “In return I ask for your cooperation and assistance in taking out these targets.”

An old man, a major by the looks of it, “And why would we give these to a former Cerberus spy?”

The middle-aged woman next to him, a colonel, nods. “Why wouldn’t we just arrest you?”

Miranda Lawson’s known for her carefully placed control, but her voice shakes with fury as she replies, “You can’t afford to.”

Only the hum of the space station answers her. 

“You’re already fighting one war against the Reapers, spending far more resources than you can replenish.” Miranda argues. “Do you honestly think you have time to fight one against Cerberus?”

“We already have a spectre--”

“Commander Shepard has her hands full and could use a bloody break.” Colonel Sandberg blanches at the mention of Artemis’s name. Honestly, did they really think the hero’s exploits were secret? She’s probably gone too far, but Miranda isn’t used to being told no. “Send me after them and you’ll win personnel, strategic bases of operations, intel, and resources you won’t find anywhere else.” If only Artemis could see her now. 

“Fine. But one wrong move and we’re sending you to the highest security prison we have to offer.”

Miranda’s omni-tool chimes with the security clearance she requested, regardless, and she smiles. “You wouldn’t be able to catch me.” Her heel clicks echo as she walks out. 

----

The Cerberus assault trooper forgets how to fire. “Miranda?” One of his fellow operatives shouts at him to shoot or to get out of the way. 

“That’s Miss Lawson to you, asshole.” Miranda shoots him in the head. Whoever he was, he drops backward like a felled tree. 

“Friend of yours?” Wong sidesteps the body, eyeing Miranda warily.

“Former coworker. Is this going to be a problem?” Miranda ducks into cover, firing at their remaining enemies. 

“Shooting people? No ma’am.”

“Miss Lawson. And I meant my former association with Cerberus.”

“Can I answer this when we’re not dodging bullets ma--Miss Lawson?”

“Fine, fine.” Miranda leads them deeper into the base, using her biotics and her pistol to clear the way. Per usual, Cerberus has hidden the data in a random corner, meaning they must clear out the goons one by one until the building’s empty. Most of the time, the soldiers have control chips embedded in their brains, aiding the indoctrination (Miranda grimaces at the thought), and preventing them from ever turning on their employer. By the time they’re done Miranda will have too much blood on her uniform and not enough amo.

“No wait! Don’t shoot!” But there are exceptions. 

Underneath a row of desks, Miranda finds a scientist, still in her lab coat, shaking and staring up at her with dark circles under her eyes. Cerberus always pushed its employees hard, but this? “You alright?”

“Don’t hurt me!” The scientist backs up further, but not much, as the desk backing blocks her escape. 

Miranda blinks, wondering at her reaction, then Wong coughs and elbows her side. Oh, right. Pistol--still pointed at her face. Lowering her gun, Miranda kneels, whispering softly. “We’re not here to hurt you. We could use your help. I’m Miranda Lawson.”

Instead of calming at the mention of her name, the scientist’s voice shakes as she replies. “The Illusive Man sent you after me?”

“What? No! I don’t work for him anymore.” The scientist doesn’t move, so Miranda steps back, gesturing at the soldiers accompanying her. “I’m working with the Alliance.”

Studying each of them slowly, the scientist pokes her head out from under the desk. “Dr. Lana Palmer.”

“Alliance Special Forces, 103rd Division, 1st and 2nd Lieutenants Molina and Mendez, at your service, ma’am.”

Dr. Palmer takes Mendez’s hand and stands up, wobbling on her stiff legs. “What on earth do you need my help for?”

“We need the information Cerberus has stored on their servers here. Can you lead us to it?”

She eyes each of them in turn. “Can you get me off this rock?” 

Before the soldiers can answer, Miranda asks “How many of you are there?”

Dr. Palmer rolls her eyes, “Do you see anyone else here?”

Miranda almost comments on her attitude, but then she realizes she’s talking to a mirror of herself two years prior. Of course, Miranda wouldn’t be the one hiding under a desk--too easy to get trapped in there. Apparently, Dr. Palmer doesn’t get much enemy interference in her lab, as she gets in Miranda’s way more often than not. 

“Get down!” Miranda has to stop herself from pulling Dr. Palmer down biotically. It wouldn’t serve to bruise or break her knees. She shoves her down instead, with one hand, while firing her pistol with the other. Whatever this base contains, Cerberus deems it important enough to fill the place with goons. 

Her stomach growls and her muscles ache by the time they reach the terminal they seek. Dr. Palmer keys in her handprint and scans her retinae, murmuring that Cerberus will kill her anyway. Miranda assures her that won’t happen, but she stands behind Palmer and scans her for explosive implants just in case. 

The file’s still encrypted, but Miranda can hack into anything. Wong whistles, his breath on Miranda’s shoulder. 

Cerberus cells operate independently, with no knowledge of each other. Or, at least, they used to. 

But it seems The Reapers have had more influence on the Illusive Man’s operations than he’s willing to admit. 

On the terminal, the three of them see a distress beacon--a signal sent to all connected cells. Of course, the sender wouldn’t know which cells would see it or where, but Miranda and her team can trace it back to the sender. 

The message itself comes as no surprise to Miranda. Nor do the repeated messages from the other cells. 

Shepard’s close to victory. The entire Reaper hive mind can sense it. 

----

It’s when they’re back in the shuttle, on the way back to the frigate that houses them on this mission, that Miranda gets a ping on her omni-tool. This particular tone means only one thing:

A vid call from Commander Artemis Gaia Shepard. 

Artemis never calls Miranda unannounced. As the heads turn around her to watch the flashing light, Miranda does her best to compose herself. You’re overreacting, Miranda. It’s probably nothing. Taking a deep breath, Miranda answers the call. 

Her lover’s grave expression does nothing to sooth her fears. “Miranda.”

“Shepard,” Miranda says quickly. “This isn’t a private call.” A secure channel, the most secure aside from quantum entanglement, but she can’t do anything to block out the listening ears. At least they pretend to look at their own omni tools, clear their weapons, or attend to their wounds. No one is fooled by their charade. “Could I call you back?”

Artemis shakes her head, and Miranda’s poor heart beats that much faster. “There’s no time.”

Miranda’s voice wavers despite itself, and she drops all professional pretense. “Artemis.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shepard’s lips move several times, but no words come out. The look tells Miranda everything she needs to know before Shepard can voice it. “We made it to Earth.”

Heat flares through Miranda’s chest. “Don’t you dare tell me this is goodbye. You’ve survived more than one suicide mission. Hell, Artemis. You beat a reaper on foot.”

It’s hard to tell through the com link, but it looks like water brims at the edge of Artemis’s eyes. “This is different.” Miranda barely hears her over the roar of gun fire and soldiers shouting. “I want you to be prepared.”

Saying goodbye isn’t the worst part--it’s seeing Artemis trying to hold it together and failing horribly. It’s not being able to reach through that projection and give her a hug. The twenty-second century can go to hell--goodbyes weren’t meant to be delivered this way. 

Miranda’s so furious at their circumstances, she can’t say a word. Artemis continues for her. “I need you to be strong, Miranda. Oriana needs you.”

“I love you, Artemis.” Miranda whispers, finally, just as the com link starts to cut out. “Please don’t give up. Not yet.”

----

The silence that follows the green flash fills Miranda with dread. Almost immediately she asks the universe, What did you do, Shepard? As if she already knows Artemis is involved, somehow. Any thoughts as to why Miranda knows? Not possible. Her brain feels like someone shut it down and rebooted it in safe mode. It takes all day just to eat, bathe, and sleep. 

On the third day, Miranda asks herself in the shower, Is this what it feels like to be indoctrinated? 

It’s not just Miranda’s own thoughts that answer her question. It’s the entire galaxy speaking in her mind. 

Miranda’s knees crumble with the brunt of it, and she hits her head on the shower stall on her way down. What in bloody hell. 

You too, huh? 

The voice, male, exhausted, and likely Turian, answers her. It’s not anyone Miranda knows. That’s for certain. She isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or not. 

Get out of my head, she snaps as her body threatens to spew the bile from her empty stomach. 

I’d tell you the same thing, but it’s not possible. 

Then their conversation is drowned out by the sound of a billion midnight alarms--as the power goes out and comes back on all at once. But neither Miranda nor her Turian mind-mate hear them through their ears. The sound comes from within. Miranda hears hours of screams inside her brain, overwhelmed minds with no chance of escape. If only Miranda knew how to shut it off. If only it were a formula she could solve. 

Holy hell. 

The numbers, letters, and symbols unfurl inside Miranda’s mind, as if they’re floating in the air in front of her. She solves the formulas one by one, and the alarms, screams, and other alerts slowly die off. Miranda spends hours solving them until she passes out. 

Days, weeks, if not months, pass like this, and slowly Miranda and some of the others teach themselves binary code. This isn’t strange at all to her, until she realizes she’s communicating with computers, the Geth, the bloody Reapers without a translator. Or maybe she unlocked a translation program?

Do organics not eat? One unit asks her when she heaves in frustration. The geth unit has a point. Miranda can’t remember the last time she’s eaten. Apparently, her body’s been screaming at her for hours, if not days, but who can eat when the entire galaxy is up for the sensing? 

Your sensors are malfunctioning. We recommend caloric intake. Organic lifeforms require caloric intake. After Miranda rummages around in the frigate’s fridge, she finds something that has not rotted in the aftermath of The Green Light. 

Does it taste high in value?

Miranda blinks. It’s yogurt. 

The unit parses the information, still struggling to find the appropriate word. Does it result in positive value?

“You’re asking if the yogurt tastes good?”

Good. The platform, and its neighboring platforms parse over the word good several times in milliseconds, processing this new byte of data. We accept your inquiry. But we do not know the solution. 

Miranda laughs to herself. If only Artemis were here to see this. The pain hits her like a clench in the chest. In all the voices Miranda has heard since The Green Light, she has not heard the one belonging to her lover. 

Given name, Artemis? Surname? 

“Shepard,” Miranda says automatically. 

We have five results. Narrow search?

Miranda’s heart hammers in her chest. Middle name Gaia.

1 result. 

Forgetting how to breath, Miranda whispers. Where?

Error. Platform Artemis Gaia Shepard not available. 

“What do you mean, not available?” Miranda snaps. Wong and the others turn and look at her in annoyance, for the first time since it happened. Apparently, her outburst interfered with whatever they had been silently computing for the past…whatever. Time seems irrelevant when she’s connected to so many minds, except for the mind she wants. 

“Is Artemis Gaia Shepard alive?” Miranda asks, fearing the answer.

Error. 

“What do you mean, ‘error?’ Either she’s alive or she isn’t.”

Her brain doesn’t parse the kilobytes of data that flurry in her brain, but something about the messy pattern suggests the Geth equivalent of profanity. Establish parameters for “life.”

Miranda reels at that notion. Funny, considering defining viability defined much of her work in the Lazarus Project. She seeks the same detachment when she asks her next question, but Miranda can’t help but notice the tremor in her voice. Shepard means so much more to her now. “Does Artemis Gaia Shepard have a pulse?”

Negative.

“Then how in bloody hell is she alive, by any definition of the word?”

Organics and synthetics define life differently, Miranda Lawson.

“So, she’s alive according to a synthetic definition, but not an organic one.” Miranda says the words out loud, but they make carry no meaning. No meaning that makes any sense. 

Affirmative. 

But what is the synthetic definition of life? The answer hits Miranda like a ton of bricks. 

What distinguishes virtual and artificial intelligence? Consciousness. 

Miranda finds it difficult to breathe, but she manages to ask, “And where may I find the consciousness of Artemis Gaia Shepard?”

#mass effect #shawson #shiranda #miranda lawson #femshep #synthesis ending #melody writes #angst #long post #character death

[emotional-support-salad]

soulmates

written for @tyrias-library‘s valentines day event.

afritan/moldark; moldark belongs to @commander-twig. somewhat of a continuation to this. 

.

Afritan leans against the center post of the porch, arms crossed over his chest, watching Moldark demonstrate his axe throwing to a haggle of Norn children. They flocked to him, eager and wide-eyed despite the early hour. 

In the naked light of a Hoelbrak morning, the broad-shouldered sylvari blends in seamlessly with the black pines dotting the mountainside. His movements are slow and controlled; his gaze honed in on the practice dummies lined up a few yards from where they are standing. The children cheer when the axe splits the crudely-painted bullseye in two with a loud hollow thud. Afritan smiles, but the corners of his mouth are aching. 

He shouldn’t be here.

According to Evert Forsberg, one of the lead archivists back at the Priory, the disease will eat away at his lungs and clog his windpipe with wet white flowers until he chokes on petals and blood and bile. Unless he confesses, and the feelings get returned. Asuran scientists first discovered the disease in two of their sylvari test subjects. Other races are immune, in as far anyone can be immune to love. Afritan remembers how gently the box-faced Norn told him this, how his warm hand dwarfed the span of his shoulder and clamped down carefully; a comforting touch. 

It’s masochism, plain and simple. To covet the company of the person who will unwittingly kill him, but the alternative seems somehow worse. It’s possible to have the flowers surgically removed, with as side-effect that the memories of his soulmate will also disappear. Afritan prefers to waste away. He presses a fist to his mouth as the first cough wracks his frame, and ducks into the cabin when it’s apparent the fit won’t stop. Another bullseye accompanies his abrupt departure, and he slams the door shut behind him in afterthought. 

His shoulders are shaking violently as he bends over double, hands on his knees. On the verge of collapse, he retches into the untouched silence of the living room. Wet, scrunched flower petals stick to his tongue, to the roof of his mouth; his throat scraped raw. 

Why isn’t Moldark’s friendship enough? 

The pressure stacks in his chest, and the breath gets snatched from his mouth when he vomits all over the black bear pelt spread out over the cedar floorboards. His vision swims with fresh tears when he witnesses the sight of the flowers strewn over the rug, like teeth on the ground after a back-alley fistfight. Afritan slides down helplessly, sobbing softly into the heel of his hand, legs akimbo. 

The door creaks open, and the onslaught of pale sunlight reveals the absolute mess he’s made of the rug. Moldark stands there like a statue, backlit and beautiful and entirely out of reach. Afritan’s chest aches, simultaneously full and hollow, hurt. 

“What’s going on? Are you--are you alright?” It’s the first time he’s heard a sense of urgency in Moldark’s toneless voice. 

He lifts his head, leans into the sound like a sunflower to the sun. A weak whimper leaves his abused throat when Moldark kneels down at his side and examines his tear-streaked face with hawkish eyes. It takes fistfuls of self-control not to burrow into the crook of Moldark’s neck and cry freely, because it isn’t fair how gently those powerful hands hold him, hands that have killed for the court, that have killed to serve and to protect and to save. Moldark frowns when he dissolves in another bout of tears, but doesn’t leave his side, doesn’t budge an inch.

After the worst of his tremors subsided, Afritan sucks in a deep breath and murmurs softly, “I’m s-sorry about y-your rug.”

“Nevermind that. Do you want to tell me what this is about? Do you.. do you need anything?” He withdraws his touch, and Afritan sniffles petulantly, rubs the snot from the furled bark of his nose.

His gaze flicks between his friend and the blood-stained bear pelt. About five months after he discovered that Moldark was his soulmate, he started hacking up entire flowers: white carnations. A whole sink of them in the Priory dorm’s lavatory. The symptoms were severe enough to diagnose him with third-stage Lover’s Rot, as it’s called in the common tongue. Considering the atrocious state of his lungs, it would be a miracle if Afritan made it to next winter. Moldark cocks his head and narrows his eyes at the lack of response, then slowly turns to look at the flowers. 

“Will you at least tell me who it is?” 

Afritan draws his knees to his chest and rests his chin atop of them; a gesture that makes him look young, small and terrified. A thorny coil of hair slides down his forehead in front of his right eye. 

The facade he painstakingly tried to maintain in Moldark’s company lies in ruins around him, and he can finally allow the pain to show on his features when he speaks.

“It’s you. It’s always been you, I’m so sorry, I. I just couldn’t--” here, the dam breaks. Afritan starts to ramble, his punctuation worsens, and he stutters every other word, voice cracking at the end of a sentence. “I didn’t want you to resent me, to pity me, to.. to treat me any differently, but I can’t help it, that I love you. Because, I do. I really really do.” 

Moldark settles down cross-legged and drops his big hands between his legs, elbows propped up on his thighs. Any other man would’ve come across defeated or weary in this position, but he merely seems self-contained and pensive. His lips are slightly sprung, as if he’s on the cusp of saying something, but he shuts his mouth again before a hush of breath could escape. It’s a lot to take in: the blood and the flowers and the sudden confession and the enormous weight of the knowledge that his feelings decide over life or death. Yet, his posture remains rimrod, his shoulders straight. 

“I’ve never, hhm.” He pauses, looks down at his hands. Back to Afritan. “I’ve never been in a relationship with someone. I don’t, I don’t think I know how to. There’s never been a time and place for it in my life…”

Afritan can hear the petals of a flower unfurling between his ears and despairs. It’s what he deserves, it’s what he deserves for holding onto that one thread of hope that somehow, someway he’d be worthy of Moldark’s love. 

“You’ve sought me out, cared for me. You didn’t--” a shake of the head. “I ran from the Grove and traveled to the other side of Tyria to be accepted as a person and not a former courtier, but you never needed prompting, didn’t need the distance to see me. Really see me.” 

The sunlight recedes to the modest entryway, slides over the gleaming iron-wrought coat rack next to the front door. Afritan hugs his legs tightly, watching the other attentively. Hope rears its ugly head, and he swallows back a bloody cough.

“I’d like to try... I’d like to learn how to--you’ll have to be patient with me but I think, I know, I want to learn how to. How to love you,” Moldark admits softly then, tilting his head as he turns his undivided attention to the other sylvari. His eyes are narrowed to slits, like a drowsy cat’s in the afternoon sun. 

It’s eerily quiet inside the cabin until Afritan slowly moves. The sound of his knees scraping over the floorboards underscores the fragility of the situation. He wraps his arms around Moldark’s neck, tucks his face away against the column of his throat, breathing in his scent and soaking up the comfort of his presence. They stay in this position for a while, not bothering to fill the space with more words. Eventually Afritan breaks away, wiping at his tired eyes and stands upright.

“I’ll clean up,” he offers with a watery smile. By then the smell of blood pervaded the air like a virus. 

Moldark cradles his chin in both hands, fondly staring up at the other. “And I’ll help you.”

.

#tyriaslibraryevent #tyriaslibrary #gw2 #gw2 fic #gw2 fanfic #gw2 sylvari #ship: afrimol

[forever-more-never-again]

In My Dreams (Scene Fifteen/Fifteen - Alternate Ending Two)

Word Count: 2220

Pairing: Slow burn Dean Winchester X Reader

Summary: What happens when you wake up in the Supernatural Universe? And also happen to have a crush on one Dean Winchester! Will you make it back to your normal college life? Slow burn romance. Angsty Fluff.

Warnings: Swearing, angst

Scene One / Scene Two / Scene Three / Scene Four / Scene Five / Scene Six /Scene Seven / Scene Eight  / Scene Nine / Scene Ten / Scene Eleven /Scene Twelve / Scene Thirteen / Scene Fourteen / Alternate Ending One

Masterlist

I yanked on the wetsuit and tucked the ziplocked rock inside against my chest. Meanwhile Sam secured the salt and Dean tucked the blood vials into a chest pocket. We all had an ingredient. That meant we all had to make it to the end.

At least, that was the unspoken promise as we all stared at each other one last time. 

The sun was rising. The seagulls crying as they circled above us.

And with that, we waded into the Ocean.

Sam was the first one under. His long legs making quick work of the distance and he was soon by the Cove entrance, head popping above waves to signal us.

Dean and I shared a look. There was something in his gaze that had my heart beating faster than ever.

One last deep breath, and I sank under the water. Swimming up to Sam, I followed the men as we went deeper into the tunnel.

My eyes stung from the salt water, but I kept them open, not knowing if a Mermaid was lurking.

And then there was light.

Staying quiet, we broke the surface of the water right near the entrance, staying near the rock walls. And what we saw had me stifling a gasp.

Mermaids. Sickly blue in color, faces gaunt with sharp teeth flashing in the pale morning light. Powerful tails slapping each other as about five of the creatures fought over a deer carcass, blood staining the sandy beach on the other side of the Cove.

Quickly, but quietly, I pulled out the Rock, and, with it still in the ziplock, the zipper open, Sam poured in the salt and Dean dropped the blood onto it.

And then Dean took the rock out of my hands.

“Dean!” I hissed. Eyes staring him down. 

He didn’t look back.

So I decided to proceed with the plan. Causing a distraction.

“Hey fuckface!” I shouted, drawing the fighting mermaids attention.

Two of them were obviously male and their teeth were stained red with bits of skin still stuck between the razors.

Blue milky eyes narrowed in on us three. And then one of the females hissed, “It’s you...Hunter.”

And then I was yanked under water.

My gasp of surprise was unlucky as my mouth filled immediately with salt water. I gagged but the water just kept pouring in. My eyes darted around frantically and then caught sight of one of the mermaids hands wrapped around my ankle, keeping me just below surface level. Drowning me.

And then a flash of brown hair and I popped back above water with a desperate cough, hacking up all the water.

Above the water was a battle field as well.

Dean had managed to make it to the beach and was taunting a few of the mermaids to attack, which meant that their huge bodies were on the beach and they had less mobility.

I coughed a few more times and then began strokes to reach the beach as well, hoping Sam didn’t get caught up with the mermaid after rescuing me.

Crawling up onto the sandy beach, I let myself rest for a few minutes. Relying on just this [Y/n]’s memories and skills was taking its toll on me. My mind kept flashing between our lives and I could feel a headache coming on.

“Now is not the time.” I hissed to myself under my breath, dragging my body up and running over to where Dean was caught in a hand to hand struggle with one of the mermaids.

And then Dean managed to strike the mermaid in the chest, the rock piercing it like Butter, the salt causing smoke to rise from the wound.

The mermaids all stopped their attacks to look on in shock, and I was relieved to see Sam surface as his mermaid lost it’s focus.

But then Our looks turned to horror as the mermaids began laughing in glee. The wound was healing! The mermaid wasn’t dead!

Dean swore under his breath and then shouted across the Cove, his voice loud and echoing in the small space, “I thought you said this would kill the bastards, Sammy!”

Sam yelled back, his voice strained as his struggle with the mermaid began anew, “It said it would! Maybe one of the ingredients was wrong!”

Taking stock of the situation, I reached into my open wetsuit and took out my twin pistols that I had tucked in their earlier.

My hands were shaking horribly as I tried to take aim. The pistol called Justice nearly slipped from my hands as a mermaid lunged at me and I jumped backwards.

Dean was muttering under his breath as I took a shot and missed, and then his green eyes flew wide and he stared at me, “[Y/n]! The Blood!”

My hand was shaking as I fired another bullet at the male who had crept closer to me, his claw like nails slashing into my ankle causing white hot pain to flood my body, “What do you mean?”

“The couple weren’t in love! We need new blood!” Dean’s voice was louder as he jumped out of the way of snapping razor jaws and landed next to me.

I jolted. Dean ran up to me and grabbed my hand, causing the shaking to still.

“Do you trust me?”

All I could do was nod.

Dean knelt, dragging a finger through the slash on my ankle, drawing the blood onto the rock and then biting his thumb deep enough that blood welled to the tip.

“Come get some!” And he dove back towards the horde of angry creatures.

This time when he managed to strike a creature, there was smoke once more, but this was followed by an agonized shrill shriek as the mermaid thrashed before turning into foam.

I stared, mesmerized, and feeling slightly ill.

Dean snarled viciously and began jumping and running from Mermaid to mermaid, mindset on kill and destroy.

Seeing it in person and not on the screen of my TV was something new and different. And it scared me a little.

And then, there were no more.

Just three heavy breathing humans, in a cove filled with Ocean foam and blood.

“You took your time. I was almost drowned like twenty times.” Sam whined. He had made it to the sandy beach while Dean had been fighting. His lips jutting into a pout.

I giggled, the whole experience causing a slight bought of mania. I then froze with wide eyes as I slapped a hand over my mouth. My eyes flickering between the two men. And then we all began laughing uncontrollably. The adrenaline from the fight wearing off.

I glanced sideways at Dean but didn’t mention the blood. I knew what it meant. The recipe had called for the blood of lovers, afterall. 

Nearly four hours later, we were all back in the hotel, packing up the duffel bags and making sure we erased all trace that we had ever been at Ocean Shores.

“[Y/n].”

I most definitely did not jump into the air and scream.

“Cas! You’re lucky you didn’t give me a heart attack!” My hands found my chest where my heart once more began to beat after stopping.

Cas tilted his head. 

I felt traitorous tears fill my eyes as I looked at Cas, not Misha. I forced them back though as Dean walked up beside me. His hand twitches by his side, like he was fighting the urge to grab me and keep me by his side.

“What’s up man? We just wrapped up the case, want to get drinks with us?” Dean’s posture was relaxed and casual, but I could detect a hint of unease that was buried in his voice.

Cas faced me, his face not giving anything away, “Are you ready to return home?”

I took a step forward and turned to face Dean.

One glance at his face and I knew that he knew my decision. The tears were back, and this time they fell over the edge and painted river tracks down my cheeks.

“[Y/n]...please..” My heart hurt hearing his broken voice.

I shook my head, “I don’t belong here Dean. Maybe you can find your world’s [Y/n] and find happiness with her...but we were never meant to stay together. I realized that. I will always love you...I will always remember this...but I can’t stay.”

I didn’t wait for his response, I could feel my resolve weakened as a single tear slipped down his face. 

Turning away, I held out my hand to Cas, “Take me home.”

Cas’s eyes were sympathetic as he grabbed my hand and closed his eyes.

As white light began expanding around our bodies, I spared one more look at Dean.

He stood tall, and if you didn’t know what to look for, you wouldn’t know that his heart was breaking.

Before I closed my eyes, I locked them with his green ones and mouthed three little words.

And then I was lost to darkness.

I jolted up with a gasp to a familiar sight.

Rolling over, I saw my alarm clock blaring at me. My boring tan dorm walls seeming to stare me down.

Shutting it off, I climbed from my bed, stretching my hands above my head, “That was a weirdly realistic dream.” I mumbled sleepily as I walked out into the kitchen area to start a pot of coffee.

But as I walked past my mirror, I froze.

Due to my pajamas being shorts, I had a very clear view of the tattoo on my thigh that had most definitely not been there when I had gone to sleep.

My hand fell down to touch it, as if it would disappear if I did. But it stayed.

Suddenly I collapsed, my hands clutching my head, “It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t-” I cut myself off as I gasped and looked up to stare at myself in the mirror, “I really went to their universe. I...I really...I left Dean. I left him. I...what do I do now?” But my reflection stayed silent, not offering any answers.

Extended cut:

It took a couple days, but eventually I got back into the swing of my normal, boring, non monster filled life.

I graduated College and moved back home. 

My family freaked when they saw my tattoo, my cover story being that I went to a party and got it.

They found it strange that I got rid of all my supernatural merchandise and stopped watching the show, but they didn’t press me.

And then one day, almost two years later, my friend got tickets for a meet and greet with the Supernatural cast and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

So I found myself in LA, standing in an air conditioned stadium with my heart pounding and my hands start to sweat. 

The lights dimmed, and the audience of fans grew quiet. The Supernatural logo flashed on the giant screen behind the stage and I could only hear my heart as the announcer spoke.

And then he came on stage. Jensen Ackles. 

My eyes filled with tears. He looked so much like Dean. So much like the man I left behind. It hurt.

My friend of course, thought I was just emotional at seeing a celebrity in person and laughed my tears off.

The intro and talk went by in a blur and before I knew it, it was audience question time.

For some reason, my legs stood up and brought me to the mike standing in the aisle.

My mouth was dry as all eyes turned to me, as those Deep green, familiar eyes smiled down from the stage at me.

“Okay, who are you and what’s your question?” Jensen asked, his voice tearing at my heart.

“My name..” I had to clear my throat as my emotions threatened to choke me, “My name is [Y/n] and I had a question about whether your character Dean would ever find Love.”

Jensen startled and stared at me more intently, causing me to shiver slightly.

“That’s really strange! We’re introducing a new hunter that will be Dean’s love interest in the next season. Can you guess what their name is?”

My jaw dropped. No way.

The crowd buzzed in excitement as Dea- No, Jensen, turned away from me to address his fans, his voice filled with laughter.

“Oops, I guess I just spilled a spoiler. But yes, [Y/n] is going to be a new aspect of the Winchester’s life. Auditions are actually happening here soon for the part.” He turned back to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “You’re going to be sharing a name with a character in the show. That’s crazy.”

I let a soft smile grows on my  lips as I thought back to my time in the Supernatural universe. Dean’s hands around my waist, Sam joking, Cas scaring me, Chuck giving me advice, mermaids trying to kill me. The tear on Dean’s face as he watched me leave. And whispered into the mic, “Not the craziest that has happened to me.”

And as I walked back to my seat, I finally said goodbye to Dean Winchester, and looked towards my future.

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @queenbbarnes @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger @princess-evans-addict @rororo06 @timelordhunterandmysterysolver

Supernatural Taglist:

@hobby27

In My Dreams Series Taglist:

@jadepc @stevieboyharrington @clarinette07 @topthis808 @wolfkg @heythereamigodude @100kindsofblake @animegirlgeeky @thebookisbtr

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural tv show #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader imagine #Sam Winchester #series #alternate ending #actors #jensen ackles #rose writes #please give credit #please give feedback #enjoy

[nordic-breeze]

Curiosity Killed the Cat They Say – but Hardly is it Mentioned That Satisfaction Brought it Back - an ArthurxFemaleReader OneShot

Arthur catches you poking around in his tent. AO3

WC: 1912

Chop-chop-chop. One more. Chop-chop. And another. It never ends. For the last two weeks, you’ve cut, sliced and chopped more than you thought was humanly possible and you wonder if the chop-chop sound is going to haunt you in your sleep. You tip the cutting board to a 45-degree angle, chucking hacked potatoes into the cauldron with the help of the knife. Before moving onto onions, your least favorite vegetable because of how they burn your eyes, you allow yourself a break. You arch your back and stretch your neck, feeling the summer breeze gently caressing your face. You rub your lower back with light circles, a small grunt escaping your lips.

“It’s a glamorous life eh, the life of an outlaw.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you turn to the source of the sardonic but benevolent comment.

“So it seems.”

Despite your short time with the van der Linde gang, Tilly had already become a close friend. The best friend you’ve had to be honest. You’re close to Karen and Mary-Beth as well, but with Tilly, you could share anything.

“At least we’re off that mountain,” the young woman smiles, adding dirty plates to the basin. “For a moment there, I was sure we would all freeze to death.”

You agree. After the hasted escape from Blackwater, for what exact reasons you weren’t entirely sure, and being trapped for days in the mountains up west, at a place called Colter or something thanks to a badly timed snowstorm, arriving at Horseshoe Overlook had felt like entering paradise.

Your gaze wanders the new camp site. It’s quiet today. Little Jack Marston is poking at the ground with a stick on the small patch of grass outside Dr. Strauss’ tent with Abigail watching over him. You feel for the boy and wish he had someone his age to play with. Behind young Marston you see the silhouette of Molly overlooking the canyon, no doubt wondering where Dutch has gone off to, light summer breeze playing with her red hair. The aforementioned doctor is sitting in the shade, jotting down notes in one of his many ledgers. Reverend Swanson is still sleeping off last night’s intoxication. You spot Karen and Mary-Beth across the camp, doing laundry under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Grimshaw. Lenny’s on guard duty again. You wave at him, which he returns. Behind him, the newest surprise member of your little group, Kieran Duffy, is attending to the remaining horses. From the corner of your eye, you see Mr. Morgan mounting his horse, getting ready to leave the camp site. Had it been only a few days ago, the sight would’ve brought you relief. Ever since you joined the van der Lindes a few days before Christmas last year, you’ve been wary of Dutch’s enforcer and right-hand man, seeing him as crude, ruthless and mean. But as of late, you’ve begun to notice things. Like Jack’s liking of the man and the fondness in his voice when he talks to his horse. You have no problem spotting an animal lover when you see one and Mr. Morgan undoubtedly cares deeply for his horse. And when you and the other girls had joined Bill and Mr. Morgan for a visit into town last week, he’d been so kind to the one-armed war veteran when he thought no one saw or heard. Had you been misjudging him all these months? Your eyes remain glued to the person of interest as he disappears in-between the tree tops.

“He ain’t as bad as he seems, , he’s just - he is a good man. Beneath it all.”

Tilly’s comment catches you off-guard. You’d almost forgotten she was there. Had your eye-tracking been that obvious. You feel a slight tingle in your cheeks and mumble something that’s supposed to be brushing the whole thing off as nothing, making it even more obvious it’s anything but.

“Break’s over, ladies. Back to work.”

Pearson’s gruff voice startles you and you cuss yourself for getting lost in our thoughts, making you a target. You roll your eyes at your friend who gives you an acknowledging grin as you pick two onions for the cutting board.

“You still up for Dominoes later?”

“You bet. And this time, it’s my turn to win,” you insist with a cheeky grin as you and pick up the knife, bracing yourself for the inevitable eye-burn.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that if I was you.”

Kitchen duty over and done with, you go to your spot in the girl’s tent for a rest, letting the warm sun kiss your skin. Your mind, and eyes, wanders to Mr. Morgan and his tent. You’d barely spoken to him but as of late, you’ve been thinking about him more than you care to admit. As you’ve come to see a soft and kind side of this gruff and hardened outlaw you find yourself wanting to talk to him but try as you may you can’t seem to find the courage to strike up a conversation, nor do you know what to say. You’ve always been a timid soul, and Morgan’s coarse nature doesn’t exactly help. Recently you’ve asked the others about him. Hosea, Jack, Tilly and Lenny mostly. There was no lack of stories, denoting a complex and possibly conflicted man capable of both cruelty and kindness alike. This did nothing to settle your curiosity, quite the contrary.

Before you know it, you’re on your feet. You tell yourself you’re just going for a stroll to enjoy the view. You just so happen to be passing by Morgan’s tent. You halt, eyes circling the green tarp, remembering Morgan riding off earlier that day. You’re tempted to look around. You know you shouldn’t, but curiosity gets the better of you. Maybe you’ll find something that could give you an excuse to strike up a conversation. So, in an effort to know him better, you enter the tarpaulin to have a look around, thinking he’ll be gone all day. You are wrong.

You start by studying the pictures and horseshoe above his cot. You recognize Dutch and Hosea from many years ago and a man in his late teens or early twenties that’s likely a young Arthur Morgan. You see a mugshot of a man you presume is his father and a picture of a dog. On the counter behind the cot you spot a newspaper clip, which you read, and a picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. On the nightstand you find a small, sealed-up glass container, a picture of his mother, cigarettes and hair pomade. The latter surprises you. The tent’s owner doesn’t strike you as the type who would care for that sort of thing. You pick up the container. Inside is a flower with pinkish-red petals. Mr. Morgan is just full of surprises, isn’t he? You lose track of how long you’re standing there, in the midst of Arthur Morgan’s tent, mesmerized by the flower, pondering its meaning to the owner when you hear a gruff voice behind you.

“Lookin’ for something?”

The unmistakable voice belongs to the last person you wanted to hear from right now, resulting in you dropping the sealed box. The sound it makes as it hits the nightstand and falls to the ground makes you cringe and you’re stuck frozen, not knowing if you should pick it up or just bolt. Choosing the latter would only make the situation worse. You barely dare to look in Morgan’s direction.

Both hands on his gun belt, Arthur shoots you that glare under the rim of his hallmark black hat as he’s waiting for you to speak. The words get stuck in your throat. You have no excuse, absolutely no reason for being in here. And you’re still weighing back and forth whether you should pick up that box or not. Dammit, why couldn’t it just have fallen back on the nightstand. Arthur takes one slow step towards you, effectively blocking your escape route.

“Heard you been askin’ questions ‘bout me,” he confronts in that low, half threatening, low-key growling tone of his. “Something’s on your mind, miss?”

Not knowing how to get out of this predicament and no one coming to bail you out you see no other way than telling him the truth. No way you can come up with a believable lie in your state of mind.

“I deeply apologize, Mr. Morgan.” You start rambling, staring down at your hands, unable to hide the tremors in your voice. “It’s just that I thought, when I-I saw how kind you were to that soldier from the war and I-”

Noticing Arthur further closing the distance between you two, you stop rambling, further lowering your head. Just tell him it like it is, fast.

“I-I think- I thought I may have misjudged you and I –“ feeling your knees about to give in, you pause to take a deep breath, your cheeks a burning red.

“Last few days I have really wanted to talk to you but I-I never knew what to say so I thought I’d just look around here and maybe I learn a little more about you, Mr. Morgan.”

By now, Arthur’s face has softened noticeably but you’re oblivious as you still don’t dare to look at him.

"I didn’t mean to invade your personal space, Mr. Morgan. I mean, I just did and, and for that, I am so sorry. I-I know it was wrong of me. Please, don’t be mad.”

Arthur feels a stab of guilt for making you so uncomfortable - and also more than a little flattered that you show such interest in him though he can’t quite understand why.

“You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“Yes Mister, I know.”

Reassurance has never been his strong suit. He’s thinking of how to best assure you that he’s not mad, but the noticeably softer tone in his voice is all the assurance you need. You both concurrently crouch to pick up the box with the flower, resulting in your heads colliding, making an already tense situation even more awkward. A choir of mutual apologies ensue. Arthur puts his hand on your elbow, lending his support as you both rise.

“Oh, leave her be, Arthur. She didn’t mean no harm.”

Finally someone intervenes! Arthur turns to Tilly, giving you a chance to flee, oblivious to Tilly hinting in a not-so-discreetly manner that Arthur goes after you.

You hide behind dense vegetation and sit down on a log near the cliffside, mentally cussing yourself out. Your hands are trembling. No way you could ever look Mr. Morgan in the eyes after this. A shadow to your left makes you lift your head from your palms, hoping it's Tilly coming to offer her moral support. It's not.

“I, eh, Miss Jackson thought I should - I, um, mind if I sit?”

You shrug, not knowing how else to respond. As Arthur sits down, your heart picks up pace. You realize you’ve never been this close to him before. Save from that head-bump a moment ago that is.

“I wasn’t really mad at ya, miss. Lord knows I go ‘round poking my nose in other people’s personal belongings too.”

You feel a little bit better. No, a whole lot better. You give him a coy smile. How had you not notice before how pretty his eyes are? Your companion returns your gawky beam.

“So, what ya wanna know?”

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur/reader #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/female reader #general audience #cute and awkward #Arthur Morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 6x10 Wrecked

aka going way too hard on your metaphors

Welcome to this dailyish (weekly? bi-weekly?) text post series where I will rewatch an episode of Buffy and go on an impromptu rant about it for an hour. Is it about one hyperspecific thing or twenty observations? 10 or 3k words? You don’t know! I don’t know!!! In this house we don’t know things.

And with today’s episode I wanna talk about... *checks non-existent notes* Buffy and Willow? That can’t be right. Didn’t we just have that talk?

*flips page on the notepad I’d be using if I actually put some effort into these posts* Oh. I’m gonna be talking about Buffy and Willow for every episode this season. Okay then.

When it comes to Wrecked, I think the first and foremost thing we need to address is the out of control drug metaphor of Willow’s magic problems, that’s being hammered into the audience seemingly out of nowhere.

Now, this is a bit of a toughie. Because I can see where the metaphor is coming from, and how it’s actually pretty in character for Willow to fall down this rabbit hole. See, what the magical drug represents here for Willow is an escape from her reality and emotions – and Willow’s affinity to do just that has been well-documented throughout the show.

I pointed this out most with Something Blue. In that case, Willow’s grief over Oz’s departure caused her to eventually turn to a magical solution, that would heal her heartbreak overnight. She didn’t want to go through the pain, she wanted to not feel it altogether. There’s even a weird Bronze scene where we see Willow drinking a light beer (A light beer! Gasp!) that is trying to impart the same impression about escaping her current state.

Lovers Walk has a similar moment, where she’s trying to de-lust herself and Xander with a spell (without his consent at that…). And then we’ve got episodes like Wild at Heart and Tough Love, where big bad emotions lead to her turning to magic to take revenge.

Xander is easily the most emotional character, in the sense that he tends to act upon his emotions rather than questioning them. Willow is pretty much the complete opposite of that, in that she can’t help but over-examine her emotions. But when she feels things – especially something negative – she feels that big. And possibly due to that same over-examination, that might even magnify those emotions, she can barely stand it.

Here, those emotions appear to be mostly about her break-up with Tara. Break-ups seem to hit Willow especially hard, since being loved and seen as special is a bit of a cornerstone of her character motivations. (Of which a lot can be traced back to her mommy issues if we go by Gingerbread.) So yeah, it’s really no wonder that she tried to take a magical shortcut to cut through the pain.

And yet, the moment you start looking at this episode in the context of what came before, and the actual events that led to Tara leaving, things are starting to get less and less straightforward.

See, Willow’s use of magic prior to Wrecked in season 6 was less about escape, and more about power and control. Tara’s concerns were about Willow using her powers to help herself, alter reality to her liking without any consideration for anyone’s choice or consent, and taking magical shortcuts for all of her problems.

You can make the argument that it’s still connected, that power has an addictive nature, that that fear of abandonment and anxiety is what’s behind a lot of Willow’s issues with control, which has a similar effect of her avoiding certain problems and emotions… And certainly, as these actions and inclinations are all in character for Willow, you can lead them back to the same motivations.

Still, when we’re talking about the substance abuse metaphor specifically, applying that to Willow pre-Wrecked is much less straightforward. Which wouldn’t necessarily be that big of a problem, your metaphors don’t always need to be a perfect fit imo, and you can have something mean multiple things at once… except in this case, we are going way too hard on it.

Rack’s entire setup, that whole scene of Amy breaking into the house, trying to steal some herbs(?), Willow’s withdrawal symptoms by the end of the episode… There’s just no space for any wider interpretation, and because of that, I feel like we’re missing a lot of nuance, as many of Willow’s actual issues don’t fit quite as neatly into this metaphor.

It feels like the show is saying that it’s the fault of this ~drug magic~ that Willow altered Tara’s memories, taking away her informed consent. And that would be in itself certainly a complicated discussion, because judging the actions of people struggling with addiction is complicated; but it’s just not really the right discussion in this case. Again, while we can fold this into a greater context of the addictive nature of power and whatnot, it’s still mostly just about Willow’s abuse of that power here.

For Buffy though, at this point in time it’s definitely that sense of escape and addictive self-destructive mechanism where she connects with Willow.

The show is once again drawing a clear parallel between these two characters, but more importantly, Buffy is doing a lot of that work herself. As I mentioned before, this is sort of becoming a problem this season. Like, not to beat the dead horse, but the three main Scoobies have trouble holding each other responsible for their actions all season. And in Buffy’s case, that mostly comes from her being too wrapped up in her own mess, and over-identifying with her friends’ issues instead of looking at them critically.

BUFFY:  “She’s just helping Amy through a transition.” XANDER:  “And making herself a playmate to do magic with. Someone who won’t monitor her like Tara.” BUFFY:  “No, Willow’s a grownup. You know, maybe she doesn’t need to be monitored. You know, she’s going through something, but we’re not her. I mean… maybe she has reasons for acting this way. And, so what if she crossed a line? You know, we all do stuff. Stupid stuff. But, then we learn. And we learn, and we don’t do it again. Okay, so, you know, who are we to get all judgey?”

First of all, let’s address the Xander of it. His culpability here for me is about the fact that he seems more or less aware of the problem, and voices it a couple of times, but we never actually see him do anything about it. He made some passive aggressive comments when Willow used magic to hack something, but that’s it.

On the other hand, I guess that isn’t that far from Xander’s modus operandi. He sees himself as a bit of an outsider in their group. He observes, and as a result, when a character goes to him for advice or support post s4, he can actually be pretty helpful. So maybe it’s really not his style to just show up at Buffy’s house on an afternoon, and try to get through to Willow… but I still think that he should’ve. That’s his best friend since kindergarten, and he clearly sees that there’s a problem.

Then again, Xander has his own set of issues this season that might occupy most of his thoughts, even if they’ll only become more apparent later down the line.

Buffy’s defensiveness regarding Willow however is just a beautiful mess of overtly obvious over-identification.

Now that Buffy actually slept with Spike, he is feeling empowered. Even if he’s only an outlet for Buffy, that in itself can have its own addictive nature.

Buffy hit a low point. Her depression is taking over every aspect of her life, and the only time she feels like she can break out of that numbness is when she’s with Spike. Even if a lot of that is centered around her feelings of self-loathing and shame.

If Spike had a soul, he could probably see that that’s not good, and certainly not the kind of relationship you want to have with someone you’re supposedly in love with… but Spike doesn’t have a soul. So all he sees is the co-dependency aspect of it all. He’s obsessed with Buffy, but Buffy needs him too. That’s a win for him as far as his current limited understanding of love goes.

So he’s being smug, and pays less and less attention to Buffy’s ‘no’s. And yeah… That’s troubling, but it’s also troubling in a way that seems self-aware on the show’s part, especially when you think about where we’re headed.

Circling back to Buffy’s response to Willow, with the outright stated connection, you can see Buffy’s own struggles with her current situation through that. When she slowly hugs Willow after the latter begged for her forgiveness and support as she hit her low point, that feels almost like an act of self-love on Buffy’s part. Or at the very least an admittance of her own predicament.

My question however still remains. Could Buffy really help Willow if all she sees are her own issues reflected back through her, which she’s struggling to deal with in the first place?

(I mean, the answer is no, but that’ll get slightly less obvious before the end of the season.)

Oh yeah, and I can’t believe that Tara is the only one who cares about the teenager in the house enough to try and make her breakfast. At this point, Dawn should just move into Tara’s new place, like, full offense @ Buffy and Willow, but you guys are a mess.

But that’s how I love them.

#buffy rewatch 2k19 #btvs talk #btvs

[masochistic-tendenci3s-blog]

Though the Woeful may Cease from Their Grieving.

[ I like hurting myself. This is based upon Asra’s route in Book XIII. Spoilers lay below, so consider this a warning.  This is the song that Valdemar mentions Aster humming, and what they sing near the end. ]

Characters: Asra the Magician, Julian Devorak, Nadia Satrinava, Count Lucio, Quaestor Valdemar, Aster Graives (Apprentice)  Pairing: Asra/Aster Graives (OC) Rating: Teen Warnings: Talk of death and slight gore. It’s talking about a plague and a crematorium, after all. Word count: 2768

“You can’t be serious.” Asra all but growled out, shaking his head as Aster stubbornly sat upon their bed. “We can’t stay here, Aster. We have to go. We can’t help everyone, not if we end up getting sick, too!”

“We can’t help anyone if we run!” Aster shot back, rising from their seat, arms crossing over their chest in a defensive position. “I’m not leaving. If you want to- then go. Leave. Run, like you always do when things get hard!” They hissed, golden hues dark with anger, voice laced with venom and heart break. Asra stilled, hands hovering over his bag, eyes wide in surprise. He could feel a lump rise up in his throat as the words settled in.

“… Fine,” he murmured, pulling his bag on, Faust’s head peeking out from beneath the flap, “I’ll go.” With that, he turned, quickly making his way down to the main level of the shop. Aster stood, staring at the space he’d occupied just moments before, listening as the door to the shop opened before slamming shut harshly. It took another minute for tears to fill their eyes, and a minute more for them to spill over, falling over freckled cheeks. They didn’t sob, they made no sound. They simply stood and seethed.

If their lover wanted to leave them just like that, then fine.

A week later, they find themselves working beneath Doctor Julian Devorak in the palace. He was nice, had a charming smile, and hair that just screamed for hands to run through. Red, curly, and falling into his eye- he was handsome. If Aster still hadn’t been grieving over the loss of Asra, they would have fallen for his charms, surely. As it stood, however, there was work to be done.

“It doesn’t make sense- there isn’t any sort of pattern.” Julian murmured, leaning back in his chair, the front legs coming up from the ground. “With diseases, there is normally some form of pattern- the elderly, the young, primary victims. But this… It attacks without mercy.” He shook his head, looking over to where Aster sat upon the bed, carefully sketching from memory the way the poor plague victim’s eyes had looked. The sclera had become completely red, blood leaking into the whites of the eyes.

“What we know so far is that it is ruthless, and the beetles have something to do with it. Carriers?” Aster asked, tapping their lip with the feathered end of the quill. “We also know the symptoms… The cough comes first; wet, croupy,” they pause, flicking back in their notebook. “Then comes the fever, and shortly after, the red eyes. The delusions come next, causing the afflicted to act manic. And then…” They trial off, looking up at the doctor with furrowed brows. “Death.”

“Death,” Julian intervened, sighing heavily, “that seems to outweigh life.” Pushing a hand through his hair, he held the maroon strands for a moment before releasing them. “We’re reaching the thousands. If we don’t find a cure soon…”

“All of Vesuvia will be destroyed?” A chilling voice asked, causing the pair to jolt, for Julian’s chair to settle roughly back onto the ground. Valdemar stood in the door way, lab coat splattered with blood, but a fresh mask covered the lower portion of their face. Eyes like rubies studied them intently. “A shame, wouldn’t that be? For an entire port city to be decimated by the Red Plague.” Aster frowned, clearing their throat.

“It’s late. I need to go make sure the shop is still secure,” they murmured, slipping their sketch book into their bag. Jaw clenching, they bid the two doctors goodnight before quickly making her way back above ground, away from the stench of blood, of rot and decay, of the wailing moans, of death. Above ground, they could breathe once more. Arms stretching over their head, they nearly ran into the Count and Countess. “Pardon me!” They exclaimed, tanned cheeks flushing with color.

“Careful now,” Nadia teased lightly, a fond smile curling her lips. “We don’t need you getting injured, do we, Aster?” She asked, though her voice faltered as Lucio tensed beside her. He raised the handkerchief he’d been holding to his mouth, coughing into it, red blooming through the white. Worry danced across Nadia’s face, making Aster pause. “Come, lover. We need to… Get you back to your room.” For once, Lucio didn’t have it in him to complain, nodding in agreement.

“My lady, do you need help?” Aster asked, already handing her bag off to a serving girl. Before Nadia could reply, they had taken up position on Lucio’s right, an arm sliding around his waist to help stabilize him. “You must be more careful with these walks, my lord. You are not in a stable enough condition to-”

“You need not lecture me on stability.” Lucio cut in with a harsh tone, voice rough, eyes scathing as he stared down at the apprentice. Aster straightened up, nodding silently. This had not been the first time they had dealt with Lucio’s anger. Staring ahead, they simply aid the Countess in leading her husband back to his bedchamber. The stairs were the worst part. Each step was a battle for the Count to climb. He paused, reaching for the handkerchief but it was too late. Coughs began to shake his frail form, blood escaping from his mouth with each cough.

Aster moved on instinct, pushing the Countess out of the way, their own face getting hit with blood splatters as they shoved their coat towards the Count, allowing him to cough into it. They were acutely aware of the feeling of blood slowly dripping down their cheek, into the corner of their lips. Reaching up, they quickly wiped their face with the sleeves of the black top, all but scrubbing at their skin. “Go to the baths immediately,” Nadia exclaimed, eyes wide in worry for her friend. “I will have your clothes washed and returned to you tomorrow; I’ll have servants bring you a change you can wear home. Guards!” She called, voice filled with worry.

They nodded, before taking off in a sprint towards the baths. They couldn’t breathe, their skin felt like it was turning to ice. Blood. They’d gotten blood on their face. Infected blood. Tears welled up in their eyes as they skidded to a halt within the bathing room, all but ripping their clothes off of them before quickly submerging themselves into one of the baths. Their breath came quick and harsh as they scrubbed at their face, ignoring the servants that came to collect their clothes and leave a change in their wake. Hands, beneath their nails, up their arms, over their face. Over, over, over, until their cheeks stung raw from the cleaning. It was then that they finally stilled, standing in the center of the bath, shaking. Their arms closed over their breasts, holding onto themselves as they sank to their knees in the warm water. Fear gripped them tight, like a boa constrictor closing in upon its prey. They had gotten blood on their face.

They had gotten infected blood on their face.

It began the next morning, the irritation in their lungs. They paid it no mind, not at first. It was always difficult to breathe during the summer months with the sweltering, unforgiving heat and the damned humidity. They had gone about their day easily, aiding Julian first at his own clinic before the pair moved to the Palace in the afternoon. Chatting easily amongst themselves, joking. It was normal. Julian had left early; an emergency at the clinic. Until… Until the cough suddenly bubbled up, making everyone pause, the sound of a scalpel clattering to the ground making them freeze.

“… Aster?” Valdemar questioned, a brow raising as they studied them.

“Allergies. I’m allergic to cats, and there was a cat at the café earlier,” Aster quickly lied, shaking their head. “I wouldn’t leave me alone.” It seemed like a good enough answer to the other doctors, as they went back to their dissection of the corpse. Aster went back to sketching, though their mind was racing, wheeling. She had no fever, but there was an iron taste in their mouth.

That night, the first droplets appeared.

They spent the entire night coughing, hacking. Bloodied handkerchiefs covered the bedroom as they lay in bed, tears streaming down their cheeks. This was no mere cold, nor was it a simple allergy. Three days, they refused to come in, claiming that allergies were getting the best of them. They continued to work afterwards, figuring out how to cough at the best times, how to hide the blood kerchiefs. Nearly a month, they worked tirelessly, enjoying every moment they could with their friends, with Nadia and Julian.

The morning of the last day of the month, they went straight to Valdemar. Their eyes had begun the change.

“I need to be quarantined,” they admitted though their tears, shoulders slumped. It came as a surprise to the Quaestor, who studied them for a moment. Cold fingers reached out, grasping their jaw, tilting their head upwards.

“Your eyes are bloodshot… A shame, doll. You were rather promising.” Clicking their tongue, they lead the way, giving them the last cell. Aster stepped in, jaw clenching as the door shut. “Fever?”

“Yes.”

“Pain in your chest?”

“Yes.”

“Delusions?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you anything you need to give away?”

“This.” They reached into their pack, withdrawing a sealed envelope. “It needs to go to Julian Devorak.” They slid it through the bars, and Valdemar quickly took it from their hands.

“I’ll see that he gets it. A shame, really. You had such promise…”

“Where are they?” Nadia demanded, lip curled up in a sneer as the guards stood still and tall, looking straight ahead. “Answer me, damn you!” She yelled, drawing Julian’s attention. The doctor quickly approached, a gentle hand coming to rest upon her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” He asked, ignoring the guards.

“They took Aster. I saw them with a group of plague victims,” Nadia explained, shaking her head. “They couldn’t have been…” Her eyes widened, and a soft noise escaped her as she placed a hand to her lips. Julian’s heart stopped beating, his hands turned to ice, as realization dawned upon him as well. “That’s why they haven’t been around…”

“I’ve been… Busy at the clinic, I haven’t had a chance… I thought they were just continuing their studies beneath Valdemar…” Panic surged through him as he turned on his heel and ran towards the library, towards the elevator. The ride down took far too long for his liking, and he stumbled through the door, nearly falling into Valdemar. The Quaestor took a surprised step back, brows raising.

“Doctor number sixty-nine. How nice of you to join us.” Valdemar mused, watching as Julian stormed past them, peering into every cell.

“Where are they? Where’s Aster?” He demanded, voice echoing within the dungeon.

“Gone,” Valdemar began, shrugging, “the songbird is gone. They sang so beautifully their final days, and asked for you. Over and over again, you and another name… Asra. Over and over, wailing and singing. They sang a song from the far north, an old lullaby. It was curious; I didn’t know they came from the north.” Valdemar continued on, even as Julian sank to his knees, brown hues wide in horror. Tears filled his eyes as reality sank in.

“They’re taking them to the Lazaret.” He whispered hoarsely, and Valdemar hummed in confirmation, walking away from the doctor. Tears slipped down pale cheeks, and a cry that belonged more to a wounded animal than a human rang through the dungeon.

Quaestor Valdemar smiled to themselves.

The boat ride was long, but Aster didn’t mind. They studied the sky, the way the colors intermingled with one another as the sun began to set. It was pretty, they thought. Though, nothing compared to the green rolling hills of their home. They began to hum the old lullaby their mother used to sing, a song of longing for home, of long lost love.

Gold and red hues were unfocused as they were lead off the boat. The Lazaret was a looming building, with plumes of black smoke rising from the smoke stacks. The sand beneath their feet was black, mixed with ash and soot. The others around them were quiet as they were lead inside. The stench of death was heavy here. The beds were empty, they noted. A few were taken from their group, lead to the beds. They weren’t as sick as the rest of them. Through the archway, the large beasts lay, their gaping, fiery maws open and hungry for human flesh.

“The wee birdies sing and the wildflowers spring, and in sunshine the waters are sleeping. But the broken heart it kens, nae second spring again, though the waeful may cease frae their grieving.” Aster sang softly as they were lead forward. A smile curled their lips as lavender eyes and white hair greeted them as they stepped closer to the flames.

Julian was the first person he saw when he returned. The news he received had his stomach dropping, and he’d gotten the first boat to the Lazaret that would take him. The island reeked of death, but that didn’t stop him. No, he pulled his scarf over his nose and mouth and ran. He’d tried calling out for them, had asked the guards at the palace before if it was true. That had been over a week ago. The beds were empty for the time being.

“No.” He whispered, turning and running back out, walking on numb legs to the back. His shoulders fell at the sight of the graves. One drew him to it, and he fell to his knees before it, before the crude grave marker. Tears filled his eyes as stared at the name: “Aster Graives”. A sob escaped him as he shook his head. “No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be safe. We were supposed to leave, and I was going to teach you… You were supposed to be safe. And alive. And here with me.” He sobbed, shoulders jerking with each painful breath.

He started digging before he realized it, tearing the earth up with his hands alone. The memory of golden eyes, of a laugh that sounded like pure music to his ears, of black ink on a pale back, of black fluffy hair and cold nights spent in each other’s arms, all flashed before his eyes. His fingers were bleeding, he noted- but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Nails ripped, but he kept digging, until…

Until the bones were unearthed. A desperate sob tore through him as he doubled over, before a scream left his lips. And another. And another. Until it was one long, unending scream of anguish. It was then that he felt a shift in the air, a ripple, as if time had slowed. Sitting up, he stared at the familiar fox face of the Magician, who looked down at him with an air of pity. “Bring them back,” he croaked, tears streaking through the dirt on his cheeks. “Bring them back. Bring them… Back. Please. I can’t… This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t time for them.”

“Is this what you truly want?” The Magician asked, studying the sobbing boy, and the pile of bones. “It comes with a price.”

“I don’t care what the fucking price is!” Asra exclaimed, banging his fist upon the ground. “Bring them back to me,” his voice broke off as another sob tore through his lithe frame.

“The price is but half of your heart. You give me that, and I will bring them back.”

“It’s your’s.” He answered without hesitation, eyes wide in desperation.

“How cruel love can be,” the Magician murmured, a palm coming out to press to Asra’s chest. A scream tore through the boy as the mark was placed. It felt as if his heart were being torn in half, ripped from his chest. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt, aside from finding out what had happened to his beloved. The edges of his vision faded to black as the Magician stepped back.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” Asra murmured, brushing Aster’s hair away from their eyes. They looked up at him in awe, brows furrowing in confusion. Asra smiled, shaking his head as they opened their mouth to speak. “Now is not the time. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra the magician #julian devorak #fan apprentice #nadia satrinava #count lucio #valdemar #my writing #asra x apprentice #tw: blood

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[sleepingwithinkink2-0]

The Rambles of a Gardener.

Driving through the notch

I wonder where I've been

I m here physically

Having conversations with people,

Smiling

And

Laughing,

Feeling the vowels roll off my tongue..

The muscles flex with every action,

Set into reckless action...

Yet I m not there

Trying to find the words,

Frustrates me,

To no end..

There's days were they seem endless,

An

Infinite loop ,

Dull

everything seems repetitive

We wake up,

We work,

We eat

We go to bed

And

even when you try to break the cycle

It's only briefly

And

When you keep trying to be spontaneous

That too becomes a cycle

Perhaps I'm thinking to much,

Lost in the man made stars,

Of my neurons..

Some days I m quiet

Not sad,

Nor unhappy..

Just alive

Content

I see the beauty

The connection

We share as a whole,

How everything is delicately balanced,

To almost perfection..

I can't help but,

think of Albert Cumus

This theory of absurdism

(You would like him)

.how society expects certain out comes

How people should behave

Like If your silent ,

Anti-social that you must be missing a few screws

That you must be harvesting anger .

Who decides these bizarre inquiries

Or

Another example

You don't cry at a parent's funeral,

that you must be heartless..

But,

the thing is what f you already grieved,

That you already came to terms,

That nothing last forever

What if you won't want others to be sad when you die.

Some days

I come back from the darkness

Of my mind,

Hands blistered,

From stargazing

Oxygen deprived,

And

I remember who I m,

I remember what I stand for

I remember my friends care about me,

How rude,

I've been distant

Unintentionally.

Every weekend I see them seems like eons..

I'm not sure any more

Perhaps

Something inside me snapped,

Like a glow stick,

Glowing ,

Sickly against,

The pale demons,

That crawl through my bleach bones..

Telling me I m not worth the dirt I walk on..

I remember,

Sitting on my roof,

Contemplating on telling you,

My secret

My biggest flaw

Or

just let you think I didn't care,

Floating in space,

Lost in the dust...

I ended up told you a part of it,

I couldn't imagine a world,

Where I won't see you losing your shit.

But

there was a time I didn't know you exist,

And

I realize the errors ,

our biggest mistake,

Something that sadness me,

Beyond repair

That people are expendable

In a sense

Yet,

I know that people are also unique,

That you can never met the same person twice

Perhaps that's why I never gave up on you

Even when you disappeared,

In the arms of lovers,

That only left permeant bruises.

I pull over on the side of the road,

Trying to hold back,

The tears

These salted drops,

Aren't because of you,

It's something I can't explain

It runs deeper

Where the roots

Don't touch..

Trying to capture these emotions,

A hack job never the less

Trying to understand,

Why I keep fading in and out .

Terrified,

That one day,

I ll stop trying to come back..

Not in the suicidal attempted

I could never end my life,

I was never a selfish person

Knowing the damage I'll leave behind in my wake,

Only hurt more

I m too curious to see how I go

When everything is in its natural chaotic order..

I step out side my car

Lighting a cherry Talon

Closing my eyes,

As the sun bares down on me.

I'm I grateful to be alive,

To experience

Life

The good and the bad

This is my conundrum.

05.20.21

-Danny Sheehan

5:47 pm

[empresswrites]

Anonymous asked:

oh my god that last drabble!!😭🙏 I’m sad that Marco and Ace are over forever but also Marco deserves this. would you be willing to write a more confrontational addition to this scene, where Marco tries to reconnect but is refused, and Sabo’s involved? its cool if you’re too busy/focused on spideypool, though

Well, since I was still having feels over it too! Here it is and the last of it as this is to end it all. Yes, Marco deserved it for hurting Acey! Ace is now happy with Sabo, who making sure Ace does what he wants! :3 I did this as I haven’t delved into another fic yet, so luckily I was able to set my mind straight for it XD

Ace had been surprised that his time the past few days in Moby have been splendid, feeling as Sabo keeps him grounded while there. It was a little stressful on certain places, but experiencing them with Sabo had turned things to that of ‘we should come by again’ instead of when Ace avoided it all like the plague. It was being washed over gratefully and they took a bunch of pictures together with their phones. Posting to show their friends on social media, Koala happy to see them having a great time as she was housing sitting for them and sending frequent pictures of Kotatsu, for Ace mainly.

A soft giggle leaves Ace as he views over the three pictures sent to him by Koala on what his little baby feline was up to, the mischief he got into as he missed his daddies. sitting on the bench on the docks to overlook the large lake, he was waiting for Sabo to bring along a drink so they could make new memories for him before having some lunch. The water is beautiful as it always has been and he lounged in the bench with a hand adjusting his shorts, the weather feeling great to linger around. Everyone was at work or lunch at this hour, which is why they wanted to linger to get past the rush hour.

“Ace...?” The voice brings a pang into the mention male’s chest with a rolling in his stomach as he pulls eyes away from the picture of Kotatsu standing ignorant to the potted plant on the ground next to him. The smile on him falls into a frown promptly as not too far from where he sits is standing someone he left for good to get himself to stop from drowning in sorrows and anxiety.

Remembering on what Sabo said, Ace immediately turns his head away as even with the years going by it left a pain in him. At some point he had gave this man a piece of his heart and he took that and merely kept a tight clutch on it in the darkest depths out of his reach, like a siren dragging it to drown it. The only way to refill that empty space was when he was with Sabo. Quickly moving, he stands and shoves his phone away after locking the screen and goes to walk away.

“Come on, yoi. Just wait a minute and... and let me explain...” It’s almost a plea in the voice and brings a pull in Ace’s chest of gripping anxiety and light anger. Feet stop as he tries to control himself from trembling as he was weak still, not understanding on why and it was like the anchor was attached to him now, pulling him into the depths again.

“Explain? Explain what?” Ace tries out while turning to face those blue eyes with a scowl on his freckled face, trying to fight that the other looks guilty.

“Look, I was wrong, okay? I thought I was helping you see the reality of the world as most things require education.” Marco starts up with hands out, looking to be on his lunch break from his attire and it was any wonder how he found Ace here.

“It’s not that I am not smart, it’s just I like other aspects than those stupid STEM things that everyone seems to think are so important than the creative side of someone’s brain.” Ace snaps to defend himself, anything about education brought that out of him as Marco did that to him, always defensive on his intelligence as his brain functioned differently and it wasn’t like he couldn’t understand; Ace just didn’t like it.

“I never said you weren’t smart, I just said it was better to have that. Showing places that you are, yoi.” Marco persists with a small frown as if he was scolding a child and that tone, Ace hated it.

“Oh? Then what about all the magazines I help out? All I did was show my pictures and they didn’t care about the school part of things. I even write articles for them about what happens. I even do photos and drawings for books, I’ll have you know.” Arms crossed as he was sure to rub it all in on how much Marco held him back, no matter how much he felt the need to run.

“I know, I noticed your name on them. It took time to get there, which we could have done together and I may have been able to get you there quicker.” The words show how much Marco wanted to control the situation and it was bad for Ace as he was used to that with him specifically.

“I did this myself and the support from my friends and my boyfriend.” Ace grits out, wanting to clarify that he was with someone new and not leaving them no matter what.

“I always supported you, helped by giving you a place to live and not feeling like you were burdening someone else. I gave you love and affection that you wanted, plus made sure to keep you on track, what more was there for me to do? I gave my all and then you started to distance from me, yoi. My words never seemed to sink into you.” The way his tone turns to fully stern has Ace frustrated and arms tightening across his chest.

“They did sink into me like a fucking anchor and drowning me!” Ace snaps back as he holds his ground as much as he can and the other shifts lightly with a tilt of his head.

Oh no...

“Ace, I did everything because I love you. Trying to lead you down a path that would help you and give you a stable outcome. I told you that, every time I held you at night with a hand running along your side with reassurance.” Marco dips his tone softer in a coaxing that always drove Ace back into his arms and he felt his body tremble slightly in anxiety, not wanting to remember the good as there was a fine line when the lines blurred from what was controlling and what was affection. “You started to push me away, but I stayed strong next to you while you figured out everything. I knew it was something that you were feeling overwhelmed and I told you it was fine to come home once you settled down.”

“You said ‘once you are done being a brat then you can come home’.” The new voice has Ace shift and look to behind him, a relief bursts through him as something was sent out to help him stay afloat once again. “Not a very good way to try and get someone to forgive you, Mr. Fennec.” The sharp tone leaves Sabo as he comes up next to Ace with a reassuring smile and lightly rubs his hand to an arm. Those arms uncrossed to immediately have a hand in the other’s, feeling a thumb rub his in comfort.

“Well, when a tantrum is thrown you must be stern, yoi.” Marco remarks, looking displeased of someone joining the conversation.

“A tantrum? Ace was having an argument, unless that’s what you also see it at work? Is that what others at your workplace do? Throw a tantrum? Then I guess it was good my friend never went to work for your company.” Sabo uses his sharp tongue, being someone who went to college in mostly English classes to be a writer. He had been raised in a home where high grades were only acceptable and you had to go to college. The first two years of college had been picked by his parents until he left to pursue what he wanted, staying with Hack at the time.

“No, we have a calm debate to come to an agreement.”

“Oh, good, then this can easily be solved. Stay out of my boyfriend’s life, you have done enough damage to him. Plus, it was ten years ago, so I feel like you should have moved on as well, Mr. Fennec?” Avoiding the first name as he speaks stern with that of a business atmosphere brings comfort that Ace was being defended so firmly. He had been losing himself in anxiety, never turning back to Marco as he loved Sabo, but he felt himself drowning again from his thoughts from before. 

Marco seems to understand the little control of the situation he has no with a third party involved, jaw clenching as he looks to be observing the two of them. Ace is clutching to his boyfriend’s hand, wanting to be anywhere but here. It brings a spiral in him on how he had been having such a great time and it was ruined again from the same person who had done this to him in the first place.

“I think that’s all that needs to be said. Wanna go eat now, babe? We could go to that one you loved?” Sabo already starts distracting him, trying to pull his mind away from drowning too much into the depths and he smiles up.

“Yeah, I love their burgers and promise they have pasta you would love!” Ace almost chirps, feeling comfort as a hand slides along his hip to start directing him away.

“Sounds great, especially as the shack for drinks was busy... Maybe tomorrow have some of those drinks?” Sabo is sure to bring up the conversation while leading his lover on back to shore to be back into that embrace he has established with him. Ace leans into him more as he feels safe and finally complete, the clenching being pushed away by that soothing breeze.

He cuts that rope to separate himself from the anchor and hopes this is the last time he will ever talk with the man.

#established SaboAce #past MarcoAce #Ace #Marco #Sabo #sequel #Both fics I listened to #'I Feel Like I'm Drowning' by Two Feet #its super good #But yes #here we are #confrontation #Marco trying to control the situation #Ace wouldn't leave Sabo #but Marco was digging at him to basically regret leaving him #Sabo to the rescue #Ace needs a hug #Poor baby

[royalrastafariannaynays]

“Hey.” “Hi.”

((thank you for the prompt @notedchampagne! for this davekat soulmate/wedding/enemies to friends to lovers/fake boyfriends au!!))

Your ass was unlucky enough to be saddled with the absolute worst EVER soulmate. Fucker just had to say a normal greeting when he met you. No inflection, no tone, no punctuation, nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Embellishment? Who’s heard of it.

Originality? Ha.

Hints as to which poor and sorry fucker it could be in your life? yeah right.

The only way you would ever know which soulmate was yours, would be if you kissed them right on the mouth. Or shared some other body fluid, but it’s not like you’re gonna be drinking tears or playing blood brothers - how unsanitary.

No. You have to just wait and see, for your entire goddamn life.

And the best part?

You have to show up to Rose’s wedding.

With a literal life partner.

That you told her you have.

And you absolutely, positively, don’t.

Now, of course, is when you’re sitting at the airport, and you’re waiting on your drink to get to your little space on the bar.

It’s almost too late to find a fake soulmate. It was a stupid idea to begin with, but at least you could fake it easily since your mark was so easy to match with… literally anyone. Jesus. Just a nice fake meetcute story and bam. There it is.

And then you could break it off! One of those ‘I thought I met my soulmate but it was actually not them because I’m a dunce’ stories.

No one is going to let it go if you don’t show up with someone, though.

Your soulmate tattoo is located just below your right nipple.

It says “Hi.”

Literally.

Fucking stupid, isn’t it?

The waitress is looking like a pretty good candidate for fake-soulmate. Just a few good lines, a promise of getting her some sweet fat stacks when you get home (not like you couldn’t afford it honestly), and she’d be an Oscar-winning actress.

Or maybe the bartender? He’s pretty fine. Big, burly, redhead. Probably more hair on his chest than you would know what to do with. Pretty much your type, but bears were always more of Dirk’s thing.

You sigh into your martini. Two hours until your flight takes off.

No one even bothered to hit you up on craigslist about your ad, and that almost always worked for like. Black tie events and parties and shit. Usually, then, you were glammed up. But you’d had to leave the ad cryptic so that your sister wouldn’t immediately find it upon trying to uncover your ruse.

Fuck.

And you’re carpooling with some friend of Rose and Kanaya’s that you’e never met, to get to their nice little rented vineyard once you’re there. His name started with a K, right? The only name that comes to mind right now is Karkat. Vantas, to be specific. Your biggest critic.

But no way he’d be Kanaya’s best man of honor or whatever. No way.

The world ain’t that small.

Rose is getting married to Kanaya, her soulmate. Your whole goddamn family will be there, as well as about a billion trolls. It’s gonna be a pretty big and fancy affair. Likely in tabloids.

And you’re already going to have to be putting on a good face for the paps and the fuckin’.....

Ugh.

You really screwed the pooch this time.

Someone sits next to you.

“Can I get something strong?” he asks, and.

Ooh.

Well if you’re gonna get truly and definitively fucked this weekend, you might as well get fucked by someone with that voice. Like ayyyyy, who are you fella.

There’s a short conversation, in which you turn to examine the dude out of the side of your eye. Okay, nice, dark skin, black hair, too much bangs, strong nose, tall, thick as fuck, okay. Damn.

The Jack and Coke is making you feel adventurous, and your normal grace is totally here, which means when your eyes reach his face, he’s glaring at you like you’ve sprung eight cysts and one of them is leaking on his cashmere sweater.

Fuck.

“Hey,” you stammer out at him, and.

For a second, you swear you see him freeze.

Maybe it’s the uh. Maybe it’s the alcohol?

“Hi,” he says.

And you don’t think anything of it.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” the guy growls at you, and ohhhhhh. Oh yeah. That’s a good one right there. His tone sends unruly shivers down your spine and you’re thoroughly embarrassed by how easy you are.

Like seriously, for a guy who spent his entire life like a mule in a horse courtship corral, you’re incredibly easy. Meaning that, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable you are, you will basically take anyone attractive.

Look, touching people is nice, okay?

And it’s usually only makeouts that you go for, maybe a handy or something.

Cuddling is the SHIT.

“I would, but I think a ghoul like you might break my camera,” you reply, instinctively, and. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god what did you just say???? What???????

Luckily, he laughs instead of getting angry and throwing his fruity nonsense drink in your face. And he gives you a look that’s halfway between begrudgingly tolerant and something like a half-assed smolder.

The lemon wedge wouldn’t have felt good on your eyes.

“Okay, what’s your name, pain in the ass?” he asks, and.

Huh.

Somehow that worked.

Weird.

“Dave Strider,” you say, and wink. “Care to get a bat up in my belfry?”

…. What. You were trying for funny again.  

And apparently that was a mistake.

Okay, so it didn’t work.

His face is frozen in a mask of stone so solid you could break a diamond on it.

One of his hands is coming up to his mouth, and his eyes are widening in horror.

That’s when you look down and see his luggage tag.

[Karkat V. Vantas]

Shit.

This fuck.

Is your.

Oh my god.

“I thought she was joking,” he whispers, and you look back up at him. Your shades flip down from the top of your head and onto your nose and he.

He visibly recoils.

Ouch.

“I prayed that she was joking.”

Double ouch.

“Your movies…. They’re terrible.”

You wince, and remove your glasses.

Instant soberity.

“I know. I make them,” you say.

And he.

He gets up, chugs the rest of his drink, and.

He walks the fuck away.

You think you’ve seen the end of him.

That is, until you find your seat on the plane.

And despite it being first class, guess who’s sitting right next to you? Holding an identical invitation to yours in his left hand?

Karkat fucking Vantas.

It’s at this point that you realize that yes.

Rose’s critic friend, and Kanaya’s best man of honor, is indeed, Karkat Vantas.

The critic who hates you the most in the world is going to be a part of Rose’s wedding.

And if you didn’t know better, you would think that Rose married Kanaya just for this exact fucking moment. She orchestrated the entire soulmate thing with Kanaya.

Fuck.

He’s glaring up at you, and you’re trying not to scowl down at him, and the whole thing is so ridiculously inconvenient you could just cry.

“So you’re in this wedding, too?” you try, as you throw your carry-on up into the overhead storage.

The guy sighs so loud, you’re surprised heads don’t turn.

“Yes, idiot, I’m also in the wedding,” he says, and you try not to slump. Okay. Whole flight seated next to him. Maybe you could ignore him, and he could ignore you, and it’ll all be kosher?

“Right,” you mutter, and sink into your seat.

There’s a decent margin between the side of your chair, and his. It’s that kind of cheaper first class seating. The kind that doesn’t have like. Massive partitions, but instead has a little semi-clear divider between your chairs, and then some extra pillows and blankets, and better reclining.

It’s not your usual fare, but what can you say. You reserved the flight… a little late. Definitely not in fear of Rose’s judgey eyes.

Judgey at the fact that you’ll be arriving to her wedding, sans the soulmate you thought you had.

This is going to be a shitshow. You can imagine it now.

Rose, laughing at you per usual, saying that yes, she was correct in assuming you wouldn’t be bringing a plus one, yet again. Dirk, shaking his head very slowly at you. Jade, and Roxy all with identical blank faces destined to turn into glee the moment you turn around. And John. Who will be the only sad sap to actually feed you any sympathy.

;alsdkjf;lakjs.

There’s absolutely no chance at you finding anyone at this very short notice.

Someone knocks your face with their bag as they pass down the aisle of the plaine, and you just sit there and take it. Like a particularly smarmy penis, just slapping you continually, regardless of the fact that you don’t even want to suck his dick. Hhhhhhhg.

“Hey, watch it!” you hear from your left.

And you look over, to see Karkat V. Vantas, your biggest critic, glowering at the dude whose bag is entirely too phallic for its own good.

“Stop hitting random people in the face with your luggage, you careless piece of shit,” Karkat V. Vantas says to that man.

Huh. Defending you.

Maybe he doesn’t think you’re all that bad?

And you get the absolute worst idea.

The absolute best idea.

You wait until the flight has taken off, and they’re walking the little carts up and down the plane with snacks and shit.

“Wanna pretend to be my soulmate?” you blurt out.

And Karkat chokes on his complimentary soda.

“Excuse me?” he asks.

And yeah. This is gonna be a great idea.

From the angle you’re at, his coughing perfectly outlines his jaw, and you wanna get your mouth on it. Attraction from your side won’t be hard to fake, at all.

“I told Rose that I was coming to the wedding with a soulmate, and I don’t have one,” you say, waving one hand, once he’s done hacking his lungs out with enough force to make a flight attendant look pretty concerned.

You take a sip of your own beverage, and give him a look across the space between the two of you.

He looks more disgusted than he did back when he first found out who you are, and that he would have to be staying on the same floor of a hotel with you.

“How tasteless. How do you know I don’t already have one?!” he asks, patting his chest with his fist. He’s still working off the dregs of the coughing, and he waves away the flight attendant with his eyes still glued to you.

Ah yeah. You hadn’t considered that.

“Do you? Have one, that is?” you ask, and his face fills with red.

“No, I don’t, thank you very much,” he says, and you grin.

“Oh no! Don’t you dare give me that shit-eating smile, you nasty little sub-human,” he splutters, and you just grin a little wider. Your chances are increasing. And as he’s getting riled up, you’re getting a rush in your chest. The newfound coloring on his face is great to look at, and highlights his cheeks just so.

In that moment, you understand that you might be attracted to him more than sexually.

See, before, it was just physical.

But with every word, he’s etching out another little crease for himself in your mind.

Maybe after this, you could try to be friends.

He’s talking again. “...because of that, I hate your films anyway, so why would I waste my time on this farce for more than five seconds!”

You’re distracted, and you answer honestly and instinctively.

And for whatever reason, it’s something you’ve never told anyone before.

It sounds cheesy as fuck, and hokey and stupid. But it’s true, somehow.

“You only hate my films,” you tell him, simply, “Because you fail to realize that each and every one of them is an attempt at multi-faceted social and political commentary on the current state of events in Hollywood.”

Shit.

“Your very first review of my work was the most correct one yet,” you add.

And shit. More shit.

And, for the first time in maybe his entire goddamn life if you had to guess, Karkat Vicente Vantas is stunned into gape-mouthed silence.

“And now, you’re the only one who knows it,” you finish.

Something like long-coming realization is dawning on Karkat’s eyes.

His lips purse, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

When you open your mouth again, he puts a finger to your face, and you close it promptly.

“You read all my reviews?” he asks, after a few minutes. “And you remember them?”

You just nod, not sure if you’re allowed to talk again yet.

“God, you’re full of shit,” he says.

And yeah.

You are.

That stunt with wearing a dress made of only recycled avocado skins to the People’s Choice Awards, and then telling a reporter that it was in defense of the avocado-consuming millennials everywhere? Classic Dave Strider.

Using your given name instead of a pseudonym, ridiculous as it sounds? Classic.

Skateboarding into celebration party of your tenth film, not wearing anything except one of those socks they use to strap penises to dudes’ thighs in filming sex scenes? Very you.

“No one is going to believe me,” Karkat V Vantas whispers, seemingly to himself.

“Nah,” you agree.

And he glares at you, then. The realization is still happening. Every little cog is flicking into place, every little moment that you orchestrated in your films, every little theme that you hid in the music scores and named as coincidence to the public.

“I did lie about you being the only one, though,” you say, sighing. “My siblings also know. John knows but doesn’t believe me. Jade doesn’t give a shit.”

“But I’m… holy shit.” he puts his hands on his head.

“You believe me now? Go ahead and ask Rose about it,” you offer, pulling up pesterchum on your phone.

Yeehaw for the in-flight wifi.

Karkat refuses.

“Oh no, I believe you,” he says.

“So will you pretend to be my soulmate?” you ask him, and he glares at you again.

Like, this, ‘how dare you suggest such a thing be done to my fragile countenance’ glare. Like you’ve asked him to shovel shit directly into his own mouth from the anus of a bull with really bad irritable bowel syndrome.

“Fine,” he says.

And you’re ready to beg again, but instead you’re the one leaning back now, surprised.

“What?”

“I’ll do it, but not for you,” Karkat tells you.

And uh.

Okay then.

“Alright, cool,” you say.

“But only to get back at that filthy wizard-fucker for making me wear a lime green suit to her wedding,” he says.

And oh. Okay.

“How would that get back at her exactly?” you ask, dumbly. “I mean I hate our lady-in-waiting attire as much as the next guy, but…”

“Fooling Lalonde is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Dave,” he says.

And. Oh.

Hearing your name come out of his mouth feels really good. For no particular reason.

Like every soulmate romcom ever. Like this is reality.

You ignore that bit with iron blinders on.

“And she did this awful wedding trope just to spite me,” Karkat continues, examining his fingernails. “Because I mentioned the movie ‘27 Dresses’ and she almost creamed herself with bliss at the idea of making a man wear a suit that he could only use for one occasion.”

It hits you, and you groan.

“Like a hideous bridesmaids’ dress,” you sigh, sinking into your seat.

“Exactly,” Karkat says, and you slide your eyes over to look at him.

“So if we do this, what’s our story?” you ask.

And Karkat already has one planned, damn him. He improvises with the skill and speed of a practiced veteran.

Over the process of the next four hours of plane trip, you work it out.

The two of you met at a press party, and ended up kissing over a glass of champagne, and from there it was magic.

No, you weren’t planning on getting married anytime soon.

Yes, you didn’t tell anyone because you’re keeping it under wraps for the press.

Et cetera Et cetera for hours of making details happen. Karkat also takes a bribe with stride, just some extra assurance from you.

He wanted your new car for the bribe.

You bitched and moaned about it, but eventually agreed to sign over the title for him. It was no skin off your bones right now, anyway. You make enough money.

It was going to be an interesting weekend.

So, you were off the plane.

Karkat took your hand as soon as you left the gate, bags over your respective shoulders, and led you down to the baggage claim.

It’s for the press, you have to remind yourself. It’s for the press, and then once you’re in private he won’t have to put on a show anymore.

But his hand feels… nice.

It’s hard not to focus on it as you’re brought down to the baggage carousel, and you stand there, waiting. Your hands are almost always cold, and just from this moment you can tell he runs hot. Something about thermodynamic equilibrium and memes runs across the forehead area of your thoughts, and you snort softly.

Karkat gives you a weird look, and squeezes your hand.

When he tells you to stop giggling like a newborn moron, he leans in close to do it, and you can feel the put-upon smile on his mouth.

You’re getting a few stares, and you can see some press out of the corner of your eye.

They’re waiting for you outside, just a few since you’re not really quite that famous. And you hid your destination pretty well, you think. After one of them got a restraining order, they stay at least thirty feet away from you.

Having Terezi as a friend is fantastic.

“David?” you hear, just barely within earshot.

You turn your head slightly and see Rose, just out of the truly visible range of your periphery.

There are people with her, maybe two or three. One of them would be Dirk, since he insisted on being there to see your ‘new soulmate’. The other either Kanaya, or maybe, Jade?

Who knows.

The point is, before you can fully turn your head to them, the carousel starts up behind you.

The metal creaks and whirs, and the little blaring bell rings, and you can’t even focus on it, or be scared, or remember your little acting role in all of this.

Because Karkat Vantas is kissing you.

His hand is warm on the back of your neck.

His lips are so soft, but not too soft. You feel them, strong and moving against yours.

And his breath is sweet.

And your own air is just taken away.

Because all of a sudden, you feel it.

Galaxies burst into being in your chest, in your soul.

The mark on your chest burns, for a split second. Like the worst itch imaginable. And then it’s gone, and Karkat is panting against your mouth. And you’re leaning down to him, hearing a wolf whistle in the background, and sarcastic clapping from Rose.

And you know.

Holy shit.

There’s so much intent, and there’s so much knowledge and incredible awe in Karkat’s eyes. And you feel like you’re going to throw up, it’s so much.

You know.

He’s yours.

Yours.

He’s your soulmate.  

#soulmate au #davekat fanfiction #my short fics that I write #homestuck #dk #hs