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bluebeetle · 2 years ago

Text

You’re flesh and blood, but what’s underneath?

AO3 Link

15k words.

Summary:

Three years in the life of one Tyki Mikk, from his brother’s Noah awakening to his own.

-- “Do you hate our father, Tyki?” Sheril asked.

Tyki paused, hand lingering over the glass he had been about to clean. “No,” he said, and he found it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps once he had, but that hatred had cooled after the years to indifference--even if a part of him still wanted to paint the walls with that man's blood.

But he felt that way about a lot of people, Sheril included, so their father wasn’t special.

Warning for animal death, blood, gore, abusive themes.

It was uncharastically cold that winter.

Living by the Mediterranean usually guaranteed a warm December, with the weather rarely even approaching freezing. His mother had told him that a cold winter was an ill omen, as frost swept across the country during the worst nights, bringing only death.

Tyki hadn’t thought much of it--his mother was a superstitious woman most of the time. But as he traveled out into the city, bundled up like never before, he sure wasn’t grateful for the chill. At least the snow had held off--unlike some of the inland towns, according to the gossip he overheard from shivering lips.

Cold as it was, while they had been burning more wood and oil than usual, they were doing fine; he didn’t know why his mother worried so much. It was long past harvest time, with Christmas fast approaching.

Which brought him to the market--sheltered in an old church for the winter, where it was just a little warmer than the streets. He frowned at the list, written out in his mother’s too-fancy writing. Why did she have to make it so hard for him to read? But he wouldn’t remember it anyways, and his mother was always scared he’d forget how to read, or something. Better than nothing.

“Tyki! I was worried when I didn’t see you yesterday,” Isabel greeted, as Tyki approached her stand. There wasn’t much available this time of the year--mostly things that kept well, like dried meats, jarred vegetables, and handmade goods. He had already stopped at the general store, but his mother had asked for a few extra things, and with Christmas coming up…

“Something came up with the Kamelots, so we had to deal with it,” Tyki said, watching as she packaged the dried meats for him carefully; she knew his order by heart.

“I see, you’ve become such a busy young man,” Isabel continued, her hand out for Tyki’s money. He gave her the few escudo coins he had left. Money was always tight, but his mother was good at budgeting. They managed. Isabel handed him the meat, a soft smile on her face.

“Um… this is too much,” he said, blinking. He turned the package around in his hands, the paper crinkling as he inspected it.

“Consider it a present,” Isabel replied. “For Christmas, and your birthday.”

Tyki blinked. “Thanks,” he said, giving a casual wave goodbye.

“And tell your mother I said Merry Christmas!”

The Kamelot manor was quiet when Tyki returned. He squeezed past the gates, heading through the dying gardens towards the servants entrance by the kitchen. After dropping off a few things, he headed to the room he shared with his mother, stashing the rest of their shopping away from sticky hands.

He sighed, sitting down for a moment on his bed, staring at his mother’s neatly made one across the room. It wasn’t much of a room, sparsely decorated and much too small now for the two of them, but it was what they had. It was all Tyki had ever known.

But his break was short, as he pulled himself up and out the door. He was sure his mother was busy with her usual housekeeping duties, so he wouldn’t bother her, instead heading to the kitchen once more to clean up, mostly biding his time for the day.

“Tyki,” a scullery maid said--he thought her name was Aurora, maybe--”Can you bring this tray to the sitting room? The Master has some guests over, and I’ve got to get working on helping with dinner.”

Tyki glanced up from the dishes he had been slowly working on, trying to hide his distaste. He hated dealing with the Kamelots; his mother was well aware of his distaste, often sending him off on errands off manor grounds or finding ways for him to avoid being in their presence. It was just for the best, for everyone involved.

But he couldn’t avoid them forever, he knew. And Aurora had probably been told to get him specifically; Lord Kamelot liked to remind Tyki of just where he belonged whenever he could.

“Alright,” he said, giving her a sliver of a smile. It wasn’t her fault.

He dried his hands, movements slow out of pure spite, before he took the tray gently in his hands. The tray was ornate, silver plated, the type of thing Tyki could never afford in his life, even though he was the one who kept it from being tarnished.

He moved through the winding halls of the manor with practiced ease, the building burned into his memory.

Tyki stopped in his tracks at the door to his destination. He could hear voices, light laughter--a mingling of voices familiar and not.

He didn’t want to go in.

It wasn’t fear that kept his feet rooted in place. It was hatred, spite. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to see that man.

He didn’t want to see his father.

Tyki sucked in a deep breath, cooling his nerves. This was a show of power, Tyki knew, or intended to be a way to get a message across to him, though he wasn’t sure what for. He hadn’t done anything to get his father’s ire recently, as far as he was aware; he had long learned to stay out from under the man’s feet and off his toes, as much as he wished to make the old koot suffer.

Tyki entered the sitting room, as silent as a ghost.

Lord Kamelot was in his usual ornate chair, chatting with his wife. He said nothing as Tyki sat the tray down on the table they were gathered around; normally gatherings like this would have been on the terrace, but the cold weather brought everyone huddling inside by the fire.

His father glanced at him, an uncaring look in his eyes as he met Tyki’s. Tyki returned it with a disinterested glance. He wouldn’t be riled up, he wouldn’t give the man an excuse to get rid of him and his mother.

There was a family Tyki was sure he had seen before opposite Lord Kamelot. The blond woman with them, small and pale looking, seemed familiar, but Tyki didn’t bother with remembering who was who in the world of nobility and socialites. It didn't matter to him.

Tyki turned to leave, his job done, and whatever message his father had been trying to send him ignored.

“Ah, before you leave, stoke the fire, well you?”

Tyki stopped, blowing a curl out of his eyes. His expression stayed flat, despite the frown trying to tug its way onto his lips. “Of course,” he said, curt, turning to face the speaker.

Of course it was Sheril . His brother. His half brother. A blood bond neither was all that happy about. Sheril was as bad as nobility got; egotistical, entitled, and easily enraged. Tyki hated the man more than anything, and he knew it was mutual.

It didn’t matter to Sheril that Tyki was a child, being 7 years his junior, nor did it matter that they shared a father--if anything, that made his ire towards Tyki stronger. Sheril did not get along with most of the servants of the Kamelot household, but he had a special hatred for Tyki, like he had any control over the circumstances of his own birth. It wasn’t his fault Sheril’s father had more than a passing interest in some common maid, all while still married to Sheril’s mother.

Lord Kamelot’s infidelity was an open secret. Tyki was sure there was not one person in the household who didn’t know. The obvious nature of Tyki as a bastard was one thing--his mother still unmarried at her age, too focused on her work and raising her son. That was impossible to hide.

Perhaps, in some alternate world, they would have been able to dance around the topic of who Tyki’s father was, but as it stood it was nearly impossible to--not with how much Tyki was cursed to resemble his father, to resemble Sheril, with the same cool eyes, the same curly dark hair, and the same sun-kissed skin.

Everyone knew. Though his mother rarely spoke of his father in anything but the most professional tones, even Tyki had known from a young age. Sheril hadn’t let him live without that knowledge, had made it clear why he hated Tyki so much from the beginning.

Realistically, Tyki knew it was Sheril’s own faults showing through; misplaced anger about his father’s actions, fear about Tyki somehow swooping in and stealing his inheritance (which Tyki knew that would never happen).

He turned towards the fire, the flames hot against his skin as he grabbed the poker, stoking them higher. He glanced towards Sheril, noting the closeness the man had to the daughter of the family visiting. Ah.

“He seems rather young,” the woman said, voice soft.

Tyki busied himself with cleaning up the ashes, but his ears were always open, prying for information around the home.

“He’s about 16, that’s a perfectly fine working age,” Sheril replied. He was wrong; Tyki was pretty sure he was about 14, almost 15, but Sheril got it wrong so often that Tyki was sure he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe he just cared that little, that such a small detail wasn’t worth even trying to remember.

“He’s the son of one of the unmarried maids; father was kind enough to let them stay here. ” Kind? He was the one who caused the “problem” of her having to deal with a young child by herself. Tyki wasn’t even sure if his mother had been seduced or coerced, considering the power his father had over her as her employer.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said softly.

“Yes. You’ll be seeing him around a lot shortly,” Sheril replied. “He’s our errand boy most of the time.”

Ah. This was a courtship. Was this Sheril’s plan, then? To what, remind Tyki he was the bastard son, and Sheril was the heir apparent? He already knew that, but Sheril probably got some sort of joy from rubbing it in his face.

Perhaps, too, it was to make sure his future wife would remember Tyki as a servant first, not Sheril’s brother. He wondered if she’d even notice the resemblance; it was hard to miss.

But Tyki didn’t bother with the Kamelot's mind games and petty drama. He had long since learned to not rise to the bait, even the subtlest of it, if he could.

So he finished tending the fire in silence, before leaving as silently he came, even with Sheril’s glare burning into his back.

People had asked him, before, if he hated having his birthday on Christmas, but to be honest, Tyki preferred it that way. It was less strain on his mother, since she felt the need for things like gifts, even if Tyki didn’t really see the point.

Christmas morning was always a quiet affair. Focus first was on making sure things were ready for the Kamelot family the night before and in the early hours of the morning. However, by noon, the servants were left alone, allowed to celebrate in their quarters with each other. The cooks, despite the work they had put in and would put in for Christmas dinner, would usually help the scullery maids whip up a smaller, less decadent meal for everyone.

It was the same every year; they’d attend midnight Mass, prepare for the coming morning, and then rest in the afternoon.

Tyki stretched out onto his bed like a cat, giving a sigh of content. With the Kamelot's busy for the day, it was nice to just be able to rest.

“Good afternoon, Tyki,” his mother, Dionísia, said. She was pale, her brown hair tied up tight, only the darkness under her eyes betraying the long hours she worked the day before. She headed towards her bed, just across their shared room, and dug around in her chest. “I have a gift for you.”

She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, but that was normal for her these days. Her movements were slow, wracked with coughs as her frail form was. She had been sick for years by that point, probably around three or four. It was tuberculosis; the white plague was a “good death” they said, but it didn’t feel that way to Tyki, watching her slowly wither away.

Despite her illness, she was still expected to work if both her and Tyki were to stay fed and housed. It made Tyki’s blood boil, but at the very least she was often given work where she could be isolated and keep from spreading the disease, as much as one could anyways.

Supposedly some American had found out it wasn’t genetic and could be prevented with good hygiene. So, Tyki often had to wash his hands due to his close proximity to her, to reduce the risk of getting others in the manor ill. She would always remind him to clean under his nails--always worried about him getting sick.

Tyki sat up, bare feet ghosting the cold wood of the floor. His mother turned back around, revealing a glinting object between her hands.

“A pocket watch?” he said, gingerly picking it up. It was rather plain, so unlike the intricate metal work on the ones he saw his father with.��

“Yes. I got a good deal on it. It’s made of brass, and the gears are all nice and cleaned up,” she explained.

He opened it up, greeted with a simple, plain clock face. It ticked away, already wound up by his mother.

“I thought it would be useful; I know you don’t like extravagant gifts,” she said softly. “I was saving up for it all year.”

Tyki nodded, closing it gently. He sat it aside onto his bed, pulling his mother into a hug. She felt cold. He knew, he knew that she had a feeling this could be their last Christmas together. She had been sick for so long, getting so weak… He hadn’t cried in years, but in that moment, he felt like he could sob.

“Thank you.”

“Where’d you get that?”

Tyki sighed, snapping his watch closed. He really did not want to have to deal with Sheril. “Gift. For Christmas.” It was still cold outside, so he had been hoping Sheril wouldn’t come out of the manor. He was wrong, as always.

Sheril quirked an eyebrow at him, looking at his distorted reflection on the watch’s metal. “Did you now?“

“Yes,” Tyki replied, annoyed. “It’s also my birthday, so my mother got me something nice.”

Sheril merely scoffed in disagreement. Whatever. Tyki found Sheril’s watch rather gaudy anyways, with a confusing pattern and an inlaid stone. Ugh.

“She’s probably going to die soon, you know,” Sheril said offhandedly. He wasn’t looking at Tyki.

Tyki gritted his teeth. “I know,” he said. Stay calm, he thought. Don’t rise to the bait.

“Which will be a good thing. I don’t know why we kept her around when she’s coughing blood everywhere,” Sheril continued. Tyki bit back a comment about how Lord Kamelot clearly only did it out of guilt for siring her son and nothing more. “We could all get sick from that filth, and from you too, I bet; Probably got Tricia sick as well.”

“Huh?” Tyki said, glancing over. “Who?” It was a better topic than his mother’s death, even if he really didn’t care. Sheril liked the sound of his own voice. Tyki merely had to play along.

“Tricia. My wife-to-be. Or she was, until he called the whole thing off because she’s apparently seriously ill now,” Sheril hissed, pacing now. Great. Tyki hated it when Sheril decided to rant to him; he had to pretend to care, and it was annoying.

But Sheril was clearly upset, so he had to try. “...I’m sorry. About Tricia,” he ground out.

“Sorry?” Sheril snapped. “It was probably you who got her sick, with your… everything!” he threw his hands up in the air. Sheril was such a child, despite being so much older than Tyki. “And then they called it all off! I couldn’t care less if she dies, that wedding--the power her family has here, all politicians… All of that, lost because she’s a little ill!” Ah. Of course. Why would Tyki expect Sheril to care about anyone but himself?

A sharp sting snapped Tyki out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he said, rubbing his cheek. Sheril had slapped him. Sheril had slapped him?

“Don’t give me that look,” Sheril hissed, grabbing Tyki’s wrist like he was worried Tyki was going to run. “Like you think I’m nothing.” “I wasn’t--”

“This is all your fault!” Sheril snapped, claw-like nails digging into his skin. Tyki hissed, trying to draw away. Blood pooled where they were connected.

Sheril took in a deep breath, cooling his anger. “I don’t have time for filth like you,” he said, pushing Tyki’s arm away. Like he wasn’t the one who had initiated the contact. Then, he left, back to the relative warmth of inside.

Tyki was alone in the gardens. He was the only one out, with even the gardener and groundskeeper preferring the indoors over the evening chill. He sat on the dying grass, knees to his chest as he glared at the decaying opulence; the wilted rose, the browned hedges, the fountains on the edge of freezing.

He hated this place. He hated everything about it. He leaned back, the buildings stucco rough against his back.

Small squeaking reached his ears, and to his surprise he noticed some brown rats to his left, sniffing at damage to the building.

I should kill them, Tyki thought. Part of it was because he knew how Lord Kamelot would react if he knew there may be rats in his home. But there was another part of Tyki, a darker part, that felt visceral glee at the very idea of it--of adding to the death around him.

He stood slowly, not wanting to spook them. They didn’t seem to notice him before it was too late, his hands scooping up the biggest one. Its brethren ran away, disappearing from his sight, as his prisoner struggled against him, worm-like tail whipping around, its overly long teeth trying to dig into his skin. Sheril’s nails had felt worse.

It would be so easy to break its bones , he thought, to snap its neck and take the thing apart--

His mother didn’t question the blood he washed off his hands when he came back into the kitchen. She merely reminded him to clean under his nails.

Perhaps he could ask the cook about getting live traps in the future.

That would be fun.

The rest of the week passed without any affair. Snow fell, glistening in the low light spilling out from the manor windows. Tyki scrubbed at the porcelain dish in his hand, staring off into the window. How dull , he thought.

He heard Sheril and Aurora just outside the kitchen, visible in the corner of his eye. Sheril was holding his weight on the wall, talking with Aurora in harsh, quiet tones. Tyki couldn’t pick up his words, so moved his attention back to the window.

A mistake, really.

“Master Sheril!” Aurora cried, the man’s stance faltering as he stumbled. His hand caught the kitchen door frame, knuckles white, shaking. Her hands hovered over him, unsure of what to do.

Tyki glanced up from his work, a frown on his face. Was the idiot drunk?

Sheril growled, face flushed red. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let go of me--” he hissed, reaching up to wipe sweat off his brow.

His hand came away red with blood.

“Wh-what?” he gasped, staring at his trembling fingers in horror. Sheril put his full weight on the wall, his breathing ragged with fear and fever.

“I--Tyki, go to town, get a doctor, I’ll get Master Sheril to his room, and tell Dionísia to go get Lord Kamelot and inform him that his son has fallen in,” Aurora said, finally taking charge as she ushered Sheril to his room.

He must be in a lot of shock , Tyki thought, to allow himself to be manhandled by a lowly scullery maid so easily.

Tyki ran out the door. Distaste for his half-brother aside, if he didn’t do anything, god knows how his father would react. It was better to bow for them, as much as it killed Tyki to do so, than get him and his mother thrown out onto the streets.

He really hoped the doctor could help.

Sheril seemed so different in his sleep, his face flush with fever, and twisted slightly in pain as opposed to disgust. Staring down at him, Tyki could see himself in the man more than ever. He didn’t like it.

He didn’t want Sheril to die.

It was an odd thought for him to have. Had someone asked him before, perhaps he would have said he’d celebrate if the man died.

But now…? He supposed mostly it was selfishness that made him worry. If Sheril died, their father would probably send Tyki out on the streets out of grief--his face a living reminder of the child lost. Plus, it would keep Tyki from even thinking he was privy to any of the Kamelot fortune.

And it’d be trouble, too, if Sheril died, dealing with the funeral and everyone else’s grief despite how terrible the man was. Ugh. He’d rather die himself than have to praise Sheril, even in death. ‘ He was such a kind master ’--bullshit, he was a bully and a coward through and through.

Then there was always the worry of more things going wrong; death was always a bad omen, and it seemed to only bring more with it whenever it happened.

Or so his mother always said.

He just hoped he wouldn’t get sick with whatever it was Sheril had caught. Was it some sort of plague? God, that would just be what they needed. The fever looked bad enough, leaving his brother twisting and turning in his sleep… But when Sheril did wake, he complained of the pain, of the aches in his body, of the unclosing wounds on his head.

The wounds themselves made Tyki feel sick. He wasn’t sure why-- blood wasn’t new to him. But the shape of the broken skin was odd, too uniform. He had heard someone call them stigmata--but that was stupid. Sure, his mother dragged him to church every Sunday, but he had never considered himself that strong of a believer.

He doubted this was anything to do with God--nor the devil.

He worked slowly, changing Sheril’s bandages, careful of his brother's sweat slicked and overly sensitive skin. Tyki laid a cool cloth down, watching as it soaked up the bright red blood, before removing it and applying new bandages. Sheril sucked in a sharp breath as he worked, feeling the sting from the water and alcohol, but his eyes stayed closed, even with the rapid movement behind them.

Tyki wondered if his mother would outlive his brother.

Someone was touching him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. His back ached, unhappy with the position he had been in, curled up uncomfortably on the chair as he was. He had been having a nice dream, of warmer weather in big open wheatfields and being far, far from the Kamelot Manor.

He cracked open his eyes, blinking sleep out of them as his gaze met with Sherils. His brother's hand was on his shoulder as if to shake him awake.

“...Sheril?” he murmured, mouth dry.

The man seemed better; no longer flushed with his fever seemingly down, and his bandages were browned with old blood as opposed to red with fresh--like it had been despite everything they had tried. He was on his feet, even, without assistance (something Tyki was sure hurt his pride in ways he would never recover from).

Tyki thought that he’d be happy Sheril had recovered, or at least feel relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of his death. Instead, ice settled in his stomach as he continued to lock eyes with his brother.

Sheril was different.

He looked the same, sure, but there was something about his expression, his eyes--like he had a divine experience. Like his life was forever changed.

Tyki felt shivers down his spine. Something was wrong.

“Sheril?” Tyki repeated.

Sheril’s hand cupped Tyki’s cheek, thumb stroking where his mole was. “You helped watch me?” Sheril said.

Tyki felt like he had made a grave error.

Why had he offered to help Sheril out? At the time it had seeed pragmatic; a way to get into the good graces for his father and to make sure Sheril didn’t die lest all of Tyki’s worries about his own fate come to pass.

“...yes,” Tyki replied, glancing at the door. He moved to stand, but found himself rooted in place. “Should I go get Lord Ka--”

“No, no, no, it’s alright. I’m alright. They already know, the doctor and some visitors were already here. I thought it was best if you keep sleeping.” Sheril’s voice was sickeningly sweet; just like it always was before he was about to hurt Tyki.

Tyki stiffened in the chair, frozen. Sheril’s hand on him felt like it was burning. “...I should go--” he started, trying to move away.

He didn’t get far. Sheril’s hand moved, grabbing at his curls. Sheril smiled and Tyki felt like a fly caught in a web, with Sheril as the starving spider. Sheril tugged, uncaring about--or perhaps even reveling in--Tyki’s pain. “Were you planning something?” he asked. “I bet you’d just love to have me gone, wouldn’t you?”

Tyki glared up at him. “I didn’t do anything to you--” he said, wincing as Sheril tugged harder. “I didn’t! I don’t--I didn’t want you to die!” it felt odd to say that outloud, especially with Sheril smiling at him like that. It only reminded him more of why he avoided the man.

Sheril scoffed at Tyki. His free hand cupped Tyki’s face once more, in that faux caring way that made Tyki’s skin crawl.”Oh, Tyki… I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised with how spineless you are.” He clicked his tongue. “Yet you seem to struggle to understand your place, even now, tsk tsk.”

Tyki frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you think you’re better than me?”

“No,” Tyki lied. He kept staring at the door.

Sheril ‘s hand slipped to his chin, using both his hands to force Tyki to meet his eyes. “Oh, Tyki… It occurred to me, how worthless of a person you are,” he said, humming as his hand slipped to Tyki’s throat, but his grip stayed light. Tyki swallowed, his heart hammering in his throat. No one was around, from what he could tell, and if Sheril did try anything, who would believe Tyki over him?

“But,” Sheril continued. “Perhaps I am being too harsh. After all, it’s only natural to worry about your older brother, hrmmm?” Sheril was toying with him, or something--but Tyki didn’t know why.

“...yeah, I guess,” he breathed, voice small.

Sheril let go of him, pulling away. “Don’t come in my room ever again, you understand? I don’t want you around here, or going anywhere that isn’t for the servants without permission.”

“But they said I could--”

“I don’t care about that, you listen to me , alright?” Sheril said, smiling once more, gripping Tyki’s shoulder tight enough to bruise.. “Because of all the people here, I am the only one worth listening to.”

Tyki’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. Sheril squeezed down, his nails digging into Tyki’s skin through his shirt. “Well… I better go, we have an Earl visiting now that I’m better,” Sheril announced, standing up with a flourish as he removed his bandages.

Tyki stayed where he was, unsure of what had just happened. He moved cautiously slow, leaving the room. He could hear voices from the atrium, mostly unfamiliar; the Kamelots and the guests Sheril had mentioned, he supposed. It really did seem like he had slept through Sheril’s awakening.

Odd… he was a light sleeper by nature.

It didn’t matter. He rubbed at his neck, heading towards his room. It didn’t matter, because Sheril saw him as nothing but trash. He was a fool to think anything else.

Sheril’s odd mood continued into the spring. Tyki wished he knew what had changed Sheril--if only to make him stop the cruel streak he had developed, far worse than before.

Or even to make him stop being so cryptic.

“Do you hate our father, Tyki?” Sheril asked.

But he felt that way about a lot of people, Sheril included, so their fathee wasn’t special.

Tyki was sure his mother would have hated him, if she knew about the thoughts he had. Tyki didn’t mind, however. It was almost fun, in a way, having his own little secrets and fantasies no one else was privy to. He was so used to so much of his life being out in the open, spoken in hush tones around the manor, that it was freeing to keep things to himself. It was a fun--a game.

“No?” Sheril repeated.

“Why are you so surprised? I’m not going to bad mouth the man who keeps me fed,” Tyki said, clicking his tongue. He knew he was pushing it with Sheril, but his patience had begun to wear thin since the day his brother had woken up. Sheril hummed. “I see, I suppose that isn’t that odd for a parasite like you,” he replied. Tyki’s grip tightened on the glass, and for a moment he feared it would shatter in his hand. Maybe he could use the shards to slice open Sheril’s neck then--

“I was just curious, I suppose,” Sheril continued. “Seeing as how I fear he may not be in this world for much longer, with his age… I just thought it’d be awfully sad if he were to go with you hating him so.”

Tyki sat the glass down to dry, moving onto his next one. He was silent, just letting Sheril speak as the man cleaned his monocle. He wasn’t sure what Sheril meant; as far as everyone was aware, Lord Kamelot was fit as a fiddle, and the man was only 50. Certainly not young, but ancient either.

“But it’s good to hear that isn’t the case,” Sheril finished, his smile twitching. Had Tyki said something wrong? Probably, considering Sheril always seemed to find some fault with him.

Tyki watched Sheril leave out of the corner of his eye. Odd.

He supposed it shouldn’t’ve been a shock, then, when Lord Kamelot died not half a year later. His wife had grieved heavily, and after the funeral, seemed to go into a near catatonic state, locking herself in her room, and going off on walks late at night. Often, Sheril had Tyki bring her meals--which was stupid, she hated Tyki as much as Sheril did--but he was turned away more than he was not. She wasn’t hungry, she said. Not yet. Her actions seemed so stiff, her voice without emotion. Broken, Sheril lamented, by the tragic death of his father.

But with Lord Kamelot gone, Sheril rose to the role of head of the family, and inherited all the wealth and power that came with the title. His mother was mostly left forgotten in a wing of the house, but she always seemed to be there when every Sheril called for her, listening with a patience to him Tyki had never seen from her before.

Tyki felt nothing. Not even a tear at the man’s death. He knew that Sheril likely had done something, power hungry man as he was, but Tyki could not will himself to care.

Tricia and Sheril began to court each other again not long after. Apparently her illness was no longer of any worry--it seemed perhaps only Lord Kamelot had really cared about it, as it apparently left her infertile. Or so Tyki had heard. But his father had worried often about the prospect of grandchildren and future heirs--from Sheril only, of course.

Now he’d never see any, being six feet under.

“Tyki?”

“What?” he asked, gritting his teeth. It was Sheril, it was always Sheril. When before the man had often avoided him, now it seemed more than ever he sought Tyki out. Ever since the sickness…

“Is that any way to address the Lord of the Manor?” Sheril asked, hands resting on Tyki’s shoulders. He jumped, unsure when Sheril had gotten so close.

“...sorry, sir, ” Tyki replied. “What is it, sir ?” He felt sick, but he’d tamper down his pride for the time being.

“I was hoping you could help me with something,” Sheril said, letting go to grab Tyki’s wrist.

Tyki winced, but allowed himself to be pulled along.

“...what’s with that grimace? Not very professional,” Sheril said.

“...Just bruised.” From the last time you dragged me around , he thought. “I’ll be fine.” It was a lie. It was always a lie now, around Sheril, who seemed to be delighted with each and every injury he could inflict on Tyki. It was always small; too small to make anyone else worry too much, but Tyki feared it’s escalation now that their father was dead.

No one would save him, he knew. Everyone bowed for Sheril, especially the newer maids. Sheril liked that, loved the control and made sure to see just how far it went. He was the type of man who hated things not going his way to the letter, and he micromanaged Tyki and his mother in a way Lord Kamelot never had.

Tyki’s mother never once complained. She worked diligently as usual, following every order to the end. Tyki tried his best as well, yet Sheril always seemed to find some fatal flaw, something to berate or slap him for.

The bruise still healing on his cheek stung in reminder.

But no one could do anything. Or, rather, no one dared.

“...sorry,” he said softly. “Sir.”

“Do better,” Sheril said, with a cheshire smile that told Tyki he was the source of all the boy’s problems. He probably was, honestly. “Now help me with the new dog.”

A dog?

…ugh, as if Sheril needed something louder than himself around.

“He’s sooooooo cute,” Sheril cooed. “Purebred, of course, the most adorable little--”

“Uh huh,” Tyki replied, wishing he was deaf.

Tyki sighed as he entered the manor, shaking himself off. It was hot and dry, and his trip to the city had been extra dusty. It’d probably be bearable with a horse or carriage, but he was usually left to his own devices on foot. He sighed, checking his pocketwatch. He was on time, if nothing else. Whatever. He had gotten what he was told to get, even if he wasn’t sure why. Sheril definitely had something planned, but Tyki hadn’t cared enough to pry. So long as it didn’t involve tormenting him, that idiot could do whatever he wanted.

He wiped sweat from his brow, stopping in his tracks as he entered the kitchen.

There was a girl by the counter.

A little girl. In a dress probably worth more than what Tyki made in a year. And she was getting into the fresh bread made for whatever Sheril had been cooking up.

Tyki’s eye twitched. He was going to get blamed for this, he just knew it. Who even was she? Did Sheril have guests over, ones who apparently could not keep an eye on their child?

The girl turned to him, her hair trimmed oddly short. “Hello,” she smiled, looking him over, before recognition showed on her face.

Right. Tyki supposed he looked more like his brother than ever, now that he had lost what little baby fat he had been holding onto as a teenager.

The girl smiled. Familiarity tugged at his heart. He ignored it. “Who are you?” she asked, voice saccharine.

“...Tyki. I work here,” he said curtly. He didn’t want to make her cry, or anything. That’d be a pain to deal with.

“Ah~ I see,” she said, climbing up to sit on the counter. Tyki felt his eye twitch again. He sat down what he had bought on another counter, careful of the eggs precariously perched at the top.

“I’m Road,” the girl replied, kicking her legs as she stared him down.

For what it was worth, Tyki did have a soft spot for children. He was only human. So he bit back a sigh, turning back to his groceries to unpack, letting her stay and bother him. “Nice to meet you, then, Road,” he said.

“Have you worked here long?” she asked, looking at him like she was trying to peer into his soul. “How old are you?”

“My whole life, basically,” he said. “About 15. 16.”

“15? I see,” she said, sounding oddly distant for a moment. “Do you like it here?”

Tyki hesitated. “I guess. It’s home,” he said idly.

“Hmm… well it seems nice,” Road continued. “I think I’ll like it here.”

“...huh?” Tyki turned, blinking at her. Road grinned, looking coy and innocent all at once. It was scary. “Sheril’s getting married, you know! This is the engagement party, and after that I get to live here.”

“...Are you Tricia’s kid?” He didn’t know she had a daughter. Actually--no that didn’t make sense, Sheril would never marry a woman who had a child out of wedlock. He was an asshole like that.

Road took joy in his confusion. “No, but I will be soon. Officially, anyways, if not by blood.”

“...oh,” Tyki murmured, fighting to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course. Of course Sheril would adopt some poor little girl to seem all special and kind, so giving, while letting his own half-brother suffer as his servant. He was going to get out of here. One day. One day he’d put this whole damn place and everyone in it behind him for good.

“Well, anyways, he was showing me the new tutors I was gonna get and--”

From there, their conversation hit a lull, Tyki was content to let the girl tell him about the things she was excited for or had seen that day. Honestly, despite the biting jealousy in his heart, he found himself enjoying listening to her. She was surprisingly insightful, and had a good sense of humor--enough to get a laugh or two from Tyki as he worked on cooking lunch for himself and some of the other servants. It felt easy to talk to her--like they had been friends for years.

“You’re kidding, you actually said that to his face?” Tyki was saying, snorting as he flipped his eggs.

“Of course! You should have seen his face, and then he--” Road continued, words broken up with giggles.

He found himself not minding the idea of her being around. Maybe Road would be the one shining star in the blackness of his life at Kamelot manor.

Of course, Sheril had to ruin things. He was especially talented at it.

“Tyki,” Sheril began, voice curt. He paused, noticing Road still perched on the counter. “Ah, Road! There you are, what are you doing here? You’re going to get your adorable dress all dirty.”

Like a completely different person at the drop of a hat , Tyki thought. He occupied himself with his lunch again, staring hard at the sizzling oil. He hoped Sheril would forget about him; he was tired of dealing with his brother’s constant abuse.

It was hard not to let his mind wander about all the terrible things Sheril had done to him. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the man coming up behind him. “Did I tell you to talk to Road?” he hissed, suddenly in Tyki’s ear. Tyki jumped, flushing red in embarrassment for not even noticing him. “I--” What was he supposed to do? Ignore her? Leave? He knew not to say anything--this was the type of situation where nothing he could do or say was the right option.

Sheril grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard. Tyki tried to pull away, but all that got him was Sheril twisting it in such a way that hot oil spilled from his pan, burning his skin. It hurt, the pain seering and constant. “Fuck--” A smile played on Sheril’s lips. Tyki let go of his pan and spatula, finally pulling his hand away.

“You really need to be more careful, Tyki,” Sheril said, mocking worry laced into his words.

“Go to hell,” Tyki hissed, cradling his burned arm to his chest.

“Tyki, why are you being so harsh?” Sheril chided, shaking his head. “I know it hurts, but there’s no need to take it out on others.”

Road said nothing, watching them like a statue. Her eyes glinted with curiosity--not horror. Tyki couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

Tyki gritted his teeth. Fuck this, he was done. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room and up the servant's stairs. Belatedly, he knew he should have gotten water--but whatever, the wonders of indoor plumbing meant he could cool off his wound upstairs.

Anger and frustration clouded his vision. It blocked out the pain from his burn, leaving him with nothing but an empty feeling of bloodlust.

The dog that Sheril had adopted--he couldn’t remember its name--stood in front of him, sniffing around for food. Clearly it had been forgotten about since Sheril had gotten a new thing to adore. Tyki’s hands twitched.

He made sure to clean under his nails, just like his mom always said to.

“Soooo, what’s with you and Tyki?” Road started, twirling around in the garden. It was lush and green; a sharp contrast from the wasteland it had become during the winter months. Even as Akuma, the gardeners tended to it diligently.

“What do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his monocle. It wasn’t too warm, yet, with summer still rolling in. Just the right type of weather to enjoy a short walk under the sun.

Road hummed, shaking her head. “Come on now, I can tell you don’t like him but you keep him around anyways. You really seem to like to torment him.” Her face broke into a grin, all teeth and cruelty.

Sheril shrugged, saying “Maybe I do, why does that matter?”

“It’s personal, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to face him. She kept on walking, not careful of where she was going. Sheril found himself fussing over her safety internally--sure, she was older than him, but she was so adorable that he found himself slotting into the overprotective father role easily.

With a sigh, Sheril replied, “...he’s my bastard half-brother.” And that was all there was to it, really. He had no attachment to the boy other than a frustrating blood tie.

“Ahhh, I suppose he does look a little like you,” she said, sounding distant. With a shrug, she turned back around. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.” Her hands folded behind her back, her face wistful as she glanced at the clouds sheepishly passing by in the sky.

“Does he now?” Sheril asked, eyebrow raised.

“Hmmm,” Road hummed, eyes slipping closed for a moment, voice almost somber. “But they died a long time ago, it’s nothing important.”

Silence floated over them. They reached the edge of the manor grounds, surrounded by treeline and old fences.

“Sooo,” Road began, speaking very much unlike a girl would to her father. “You have an inferiority complex when it comes to your brother, then? Or is it jealousy?”

Sheril squawked. “I do not! It’s nothing like that,” he said, hands moving wildly as he denied it.

“Really?” Road asked, grinning at him as she tapped her face. “Because it seems his existence has struck some sort of chord in you, for you to hate him so much for it,” she laughed.

“You’re too cute to be saying such mean things,” Sheril muttered, deflating.

Road just shrugged, skipping along. “Well, we’ll see how long he lasts around us and the new servants, I…”

Sheril hummed, but he stopped walking as Road’s voice tapered off. She had stopped in her tracks, staring off at something in the distance, among the trees. “Road?” he asked, following her line of sight.

It was a gruesome view--the viscera strewn around the body, half charred, leaving him unable to identify what it was--at first. Then his eyes fell upon a familiar collar.

He couldn’t bring himself to be angry; shocked, more than anything.

“Would an Akuma do that?” he asked Road, noticing her lips twitch into a concerned scowl.

“...maybe a higher level one, I guess, but they usually don’t care about animals and this is… very theatrical. Whoever did this was clearly emotional,” she said. “Do you think maybe your brother…?”

“He’s not my brother,” Sheril cut in, anger flaring up finally. “And no. Never. He’s a coward. He has no backbone, he’d never do a thing. It was probably someone from off the grounds. The dog liked to escape.”

“If you say so,” Road replied, voice light like she was laughing at him.

“I’ll get Dionísia to clean it up,” Sheril said, anger bubbling inside him.

Poetically, it rained the day his mother died.

It had been raining heavily for awhile, though, so it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood there, in front of her grave, staring with dead eyes. It was a humble stone, but more than he could afford. It was the only thing Lord Kamelot had ever really given her, aside from a son and working herself into her own grave.

“Are you going to come back?”

Tyki turned, his face neutral as he locked eyes with Sheril. The man was dressed in black, but he looked more like he was going to a gala than a funeral.

“Does it matter?” Tyki asked, turning back to her grave.

“It does. I need to know if I need to fill two positions, or just one,” Sheril replied, clicking his tongue.

Tyki balled his hands up into fists. He wanted to punch Sheril, wanting to make him suffer and bleed. “I didn’t think you’d want me around.”

“Hrm. I like having you where I can keep an eye on my beloved baby brother, I suppose,” Sheril said, voice dripping with fake saccharine.

Tyki gritted his teeth, his mind supplying gorey images of what he could do with Sheril, if he could get away with it. “....I’ll be back later today,” he said finally, glaring hard at the mud at his feet. His hands gripped his pocket watch until his knuckled turned white. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, and the manor was better than the streets. For now, anyways; Tyki didn’t intend on staying there forever. He’d look for work elsewhere, a new place to live even, and then he was gone--never to see that smug face again.

He was sure Sheril was smiling at him, that cruel, cold smile he had come to hate. He didn’t dare look back at the man, lest his anger get the best of him. He had been working on cooling his temper over the years, but it had come back red hot in the wake of his loss.

“That’s good to hear. It must be sad to lose her so close to your birthday. What are you now, 18?”

“16, almost,” Tyki replied. “Probably.” Sheril just hummed.

Thunder rolled, distant, as the sound of the rain filled in the silence.

“Do you hate Him for it?” Sheril asked, closer to Tyki than before. He nearly jumped. Nearly--Tyki had adjusted to Sheril’s sneaking, his need to be too close.

“Huh?” Tyki replied. Sheril titled his umbrella, keeping Tyki out of the rain, as futile as it was by this point. Still, even while already soaked with rain, the gesture made Tyki feel weird. But for once, not a bad weird.

“God,” Sheril clarified. “Do you hate God for taking her from you? Do you think you’d bring her back if you could?” He spoke with a soft tone, one that could be mistaken for caring. But Tyki knew Sheril, knew him well enough to catch an edge to it that sent chills down his spine.

Despite that, Tyki didn’t answer right away. He kept silent, thinking Sheril’s words over carefully. “No,” he answered. “I don’t. It’s hard to hate someone who was never there for me anyways. It’s why I don’t hate our father. They’re both nothing to me.” He paused. “No, I wouldn’t bring her back. She’d… she’d probably just work herself to death again.”

Sheril blinked, surprised, before he burst into laughter. “I see, I see… Perhaps we’ll talk again soon, then,” he said, moving away to leave Tyki to the elements once more. “If you’re still around.”

Tyki frowned at the crypticness of Sheril, turning to watch the man slink away back to his carriage.

“Aurora?” Tyki said, knocking on her door. She was staring at her hand mirror, eyes glazed over. It was a gift from her fiance, she had told him.

Aurora didn’t answer, still staring. Tyki moved slowly, sitting down beside her on her bed. “You doing okay? I know you were excited for the wedding, but then… with my mothers death and now this…”

“I’ll be fine,” Aurora replied, voice monotone. “Thank you, Tyki.”

Tyki frowned, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry about Ramiro, for what it’s worth.”

Aurora gave a stiff nod. “I…” she reached out, hand hovering over his arm. She closed her mouth, grinding her teeth. Tyki felt something odd in the pit of his stomach, but the feeling soon passed as she placed her hand back on her mirror. “I think I should be alone.”

Tyki nodded, standing up. “Okay. I am always around, if you want.”

“Thank you, Tyki.”

Aurora barely talked to him after that. Actually, now that he thought of it--none of the staff really did. Most of them were new; Sheril had fired so many at the drop of the hat. Brought in new ones. Aurora had been the last light in Tyki’s life after his mother died, but she, too, grew distant. Sad. Monotonous.

Without her or his mother, Tyki felt so very alone in the manor’s walls. Faces blurred together, names barely sticking in his mind as he lived one day at a time. Work bored him, cleaning the same things again and again and again; listening to each of Sheril’s barked orders with a clenched jaw and tension headache.

He was isolated; no one to talk to during meals, no one to joke along with while he scrubbed the floors. No songs, no stories by the candlelight. No talk about ill omens and the weather. No reminders to clean under his nails.

Nothing.

His heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. He missed his mother. He hated the manor more than anything. He hated Sheril and his family; everytime their laughter carried through the halls it was like a ghost, haunting Tyki’s mind. Reminding him of how pathetic his life had become.

He was going to leave by the age of 18, he decided one sullen grey day. He stared at his reflection in the windows, cleaned by his calloused hands. He had never been planning on staying, of course, but the idea of leaving had always been a far off fantasy; an idea without a when or how. But now he had a when. As for the how…

Tyki walked through the streets of the town. It was summer now, the sun burning bright. With the warm weather came more people--seasonal workers and rich tourists. The city was bustling, but Tyki moved through the crowds with ease, as though he was just passing through the compact bodies.

He had gotten very good at avoiding being touched. It was useful for his continued survival in the Kamelot home. Still, he could never truly get away from Sheril’s malice when the man had his full attention on him. It was like being held by strings, controlled by a cruel puppeteer.

Tyki was only human--and under the blistering heat, he found himself sweating. A drink, then…. He stopped by a small cafe, fishing out some change.

“Sir… you wouldn’t have any to spare?” came a small voice. Tyki glanced down, seeing a small child, face dirty with grime. “Please, I--” the child continued, but without a word Tyki handed him a few coins. It wasn’t much, but Tyki’s meager pay didn’t leave him with much in the way of savings. He had enough for what he needed, and that was enough. After all, he was always weak to children.

The child ran off, thanking him profusely. Beside him, some men sitting in rickety chairs laughed. “You got any to spare for us,” they asked, looking just as worn and filthy as the child.

“You’re adults, don’t you have a job?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but the mines don’t pay much! Come on,” the man continued, before getting an elbow to his ribs from a friend.

“Sorry ‘bout him, he’s just tryin’ to get more to lose to us in poker, s’all,” the second man said, shaking his head.

Tyki blinked, now noticing the cards splayed on their table. It made sense, he supposed; something to keep them occupied on their break.

“Am not!” the first man snapped. This broke the group into another bout of laughter. “S’just that I ain’t got that much, s’why I took this job even though it’s so far from where I usually am!”

“Ain’t our fault you got piss poor luck, Bruno.”

“Shut up, Mauricio!”

Tyki turned away, getting his drink. He thought for a moment, wondering if maybe that was his way out. Seasonal work in the mines wasn’t the best--it was a lot of physical labour, dangerous conditions, going where the work was and hoping for the best. But it was a guaranteed way out of Kamelot manor, out of the city. Maybe even out of Portugal.

Tyki’s eyes sparkled, plans forming in his head. He turned back to the men, eyeing them up and down. He wasn’t built that different from them, other than being taller.

“...there wouldn’t happen to be any extra work at the mines that needs doing, would there?” Tyki asked, leaning towards the men playing poker.

With a blink, the second one who had spoken glanced up at him. “Hrm… I dunno, but I could always see if there’s anything to be done, kid,” Mauricio said, voice surprisingly gentle. He seemed to understand, at least, the desperation for work that laid underneath Tyki’s curious gaze.

“Thank you,” Tyki replied, and he found himself meaning it for once.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, boy, but you can find us here most days around lunch,” the man continued, waving him off. “Now go on, I gotta game to play.”

Tyki returned to the crowds feeling lighter than he had in months. People weren’t so bad, he supposed. When those dark, awful feelings weren’t settling inside him, he found himself enjoying the company of other people, of gentle words under the sun.

He missed his mother.

“You asked the Akuma to leave Tyki alone, hrm?” Road asked, kicking her legs as she idly flipped through a book. Diagrams of flowers and insects filled the pages, colourful and detailed.

“Maybe.” Sheril’s tone was curt, his focus on the documents in front of him. With a flourish, he signed his signature, moving onto the next with robotic movements.

“Why? You seemed almost excited at the possibility of him becoming one after his mother died, but then that never happened.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, gaze burning into the back at Sheril’s head.

Sheril twitched. “No, which surprised me, is all,” he replied, voice clipped. “But it’s good to have some humans still around, for appearances sake, especially since some of the Akuma aren’t the best at playing along with their disguise.” He gave a huff of annoyance at that. There had been an… incident, not long ago, but that faulty akuma had been dealt with swiftly.

Sheril blamed the dog’s death on it, but Road still disagreed. It felt too… human.

“Hmmm, you just like tormenting him. How cruel,” she laughed, closing her book.

“Does it matter? He’s just some lowly human,” Sheril said, turning slightly to stare her down.

“Who shares your blood, though,” Road pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter to me; you and the Earl are all the family I need,” Sheril replied, the cold, serious look on his face melting away to a smile.

“It seems like it does matter, though,” Road pressed.

Sheril sighed, abandoning his work for a moment. “It’s about control. I just want to keep control of this manor, of this family, eventually of the country. And Tyki… he has always been hard to keep in line. It’s about making a point, is all. He’s really not that important, just a toy to play with. Nothing more.”

Road hummed, seemingly content with that answer.

For now.

Running errands was always thankless work. The foreman at the mine always seemed to need something done, as fast as possible, but never once did any thank you slip from his lips.

So. No different from work at the manor.

Whatever ; the miners were kinder, when he did interact with them. It was hot, the sun blistering, but it kept him busy. Sheril seemed to have lost interest in him--occupied with running the manor more efficiently than his father ever did, and often Tyki fell to the wayside.

Having money that Sheril didn’t know about was only a bonus. If he got enough, then maybe-- maybe --he’d finally be able to leave that horrid house.

It wasn’t home. Not anymore.

“Hey! Tyki, kid!” one of the miners, Mauricio, called.

“..Yeah?” Tyki murmured, moving towards them.

“Yer workin’ yer ass off! Come, sit, have a break,” Mauricio said, tapping the wooden table he sat at with a deck of cards.

“I--”

“Come on, everyone gets at least a lunch break,” Mauricio continued, as Tyki slowly sat down. “Anyways, you know how to play poker, kid?”

“Not at all, no,” he said.

“Then allow us to teach you,” Maurico replied, shuffling the cards with a flourish.

“Cigarette?” Bruno asked, offering him one already rolled from a worn-looking tin.

“Thanks,” Tyki said as he took it, using a match to light it. He wasn’t really allowed to smoke at the manor, but no one was here to stop him. It burned his lungs, but he managed to not cough all over Bruno.

“Well then, poker. This is a game of chance, but also skill--the skill of lying,” Mauricio continued, still shuffling the cards. “First, there’s one dealer and at least two players, who are after specific winning hands--some worth more than others--and then--”

Tyki’s first few games were terrible.

They didn’t have chips like in casinos, only a few belongings and spare coins between them for betting.

Tyki had lost every bet he had made.

“C’mon, Mauricio, go easy on the kid,” Bruno said, kicking the other man under the table. Mauricio yelped like a cat, causing the other players (Tyki had neglected to learn their names-- oh well .) to burst into laughter.

“Fine, fine…” Mauricio sighed as he dusted himself off. He leaned in, close to Tyki’s ear, hand blocking his words from the others. “I’ll let you in on a few, ah, beginners tricks then,” Mauricio whispered, flicking his wrist to reveal cards stowed away under his sleeve.

Tyki stared, suddenly realizing why he was struggling.

They were all cheating.

A grin crept up onto his face. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said.

Maybe this could be fun after all--especially if he got better at his bluffs.

He ended up staying after the work day ended, playing with the other men even as the sun sunk lower in the sky. It was easy, talking to them--no walking on eggshells, no balancing act of trying to figure out the right thing to say. He could be his lighter self, his human self--all that darkness that seemed to swirl inside him dissipating, even if only temporarily.

It didn’t last.

“So this is where you’ve been running off too?” Sheril’s shrill voice cut in. The laughter died off.

Tyki frowned, hand gripping the bottle of alcohol he had won the last hand--opened to taste his sweet, sweet victory, his cheeks dusted pink and warm. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, turning around to glare at his brother. For once, it was Sheril who looked out of place--all prim and proper, tight seams and wealth--not a hair out of place--contrasted with the rough looking miners dusted with coal.

“What am I doing here?” Sheril asked, grabbing Tyki’s bicep and yanking him onto his feet. “What are you doing here, in an awful place like this?”

“We got a problem here, mate?” Bruno asked, glaring up at Sheril from his hand of cards.

“No, we don’t,” Sheril spat. “I’m going to be taking this idiot now.” He tugged Tyki towards the door, clearly not caring about letting Tyki even put one foot in front of the other before moving.

Tyki staggered after him, swears spilling from his lips. “I see you’ve spent far too long talking to them,” Sheril hissed. “Why the new friends? Where did you even get the money to gamble? Did you steal it--?”

“Shut up!” Tyki snapped, forcing Sheril’s hand away. “Leave me alone, you creep! I made the money on my own, with my own fuckin’ job that is waiting on you hand and foot!”

“What do you want money for?” Sheril asked. “Are you trying to leave me?”

“Of course I am! You want nothing to fuckin’ do with me, so why the hell would I continue to put up with that shithole and all your little games when I don’t have my mother keeping me there anymore?” Tyki yelled, glaring daggers into Sheril’s skull

“I own you ,” Sheril hissed, grabbing a fistful of Tyki’s curls. “Know your place--and it’s one you cannot leave.”

“Fuck you! I’m not your anything-- not your brother, and not your fuckin’ thing-- ” He ripped his head away from Sheril, not caring about the stinging from the scalp, the blood wetting his roots--and pushed Sheril back with his all his strength.

Sheril hit a wall with a look of shock painted on his features. Tyki took his momentary surprise to run- -run , run away from all of this, away from Sheril.

“Follow him,” he heard Sheril say--but to whom Tyki didn’t bother to look back and see.

He heard no footsteps behind him.

No place, it seemed, was safe from his brother. At least no place that didn’t cost money to get to. Tyki wasn’t sure how long he had run, how far--just until his lungs burned worse than from smoking, just until his legs could barely hold his own weight.

He heaved over, panting, hands on his knees as sweat ran down his face. That rat bastard. Tyki screamed in frustration, his throat hoarse. He punched a wall, not caring about the skin on his knuckles splitting at the seam, blood beading.

Everything hurt. His head, his body, his heart.

“Are… are you okay, sir?” a voice came--a man, around his age, eyes wide and bright. He was well dressed--not as well as Sheril, but clearly better off than Tyki was.

It wasn’t fair.

Tyki turned to him, bloodied hand twitching. “I will be,” Tyki replied, voice dark as he rounded on the other man. The stranger backed up, fear sparking in his eyes--but even then, he was too slow to react as Tyki’s hands clamped around his throat.

Tyki couldn’t make out the strangers words--focused solely on the whimpers he made, on the rush of the blood in his veins, thumbing with his heart beat--his pulse jumping against Tyki’s fingers, following the rhythm of blood that dripped as he dig his nails into the skin.

“Help---!”

He was going to have to replace his boots.

After he cleaned his hands, of course.

Tykis breaths came heavy, laboured, as he scrubbed at the blood on his skin like it was acid. It didn’t do much good, though, stained as it was on his clothes. He knew hew must look like a mess--like a murderer --but it was late in the manor. He only had his own oil lamp to light his way, everyone else long asleep as he cleaned under his nails, just like his mother said to.

His heart thrummed with adrenaline still, the high from what he had done lingering still. If anything, the idea of going back to work the next day--like nothing had happened, pretending along with everyone else, comforting others--was exciting in its own way too. It kept things interesting, to lead these two paths.

He had come back to the manor.

Tyki wasn’t sure why he had. But even as he had hidden the body--dragged it to the closest body of water he could think of--he had felt like someone was watching him. Like Sheril would know if he had tried to leave town.

So. He had gone home, the response almost automatic as he entered through the kitchen door, and began to scrub his skin raw in the sink, illuminated by only the moon and a single lamp.

Tyki paused in his cleaning, the wood creaking somewhere in the manor. It was probably nothing; maybe Road or someone unable to sleep, or needing the bathroom. Hopefully no one would question the running water--

“Tyki?”

Tyki jumped. He stared at the doorway, a deer in the headlights, wide eyes meeting Sheril’s.

“Yeah?” Tyki said, with a casualness that didn’t quite fit the situation.

Sheril’s lips fell into a frown as his eyes looked Tyki up and down, taking in the obvious blood splatter on his white shirt, the red dripping down his arms into the drain of the sink.

“I cut myself. By mistake,” Tyki said, stare still unbroken. “After I got back here.”

“...you… cut yourself?” Sheril repeated, looking at Tyki’s hands--then to the splatter on his clothing. “On what?”

“Yes,” Tyki replied. He didn’t dare look away yet, like a dog unyielding to submission.

“I see. You… cut yourself,” Sheril said, nodding a little. “...right.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“...perhaps avoid cutting things at night, then,” Sheril said, leaving then. “Or. Whatever you did on your way back.”

“Okay.” Tyki blinked, finally, but his eyes never left the spot where Sheril had been standing.

How… had that been one of their most civil conversations?

Tyki turned the water off, and stripped off his shirt. At least he had others, but a pity it was to have ruined it. He dried his hands on it, worrying his lip. Was Sheril going to go to the police? He didn’t have much in the way of proof sure but people would take his word over Tyki’s, he knew, with the type of political power and money Sheril possessed.

He headed back to his room, laying down on his bed, even though he had no intention to sleep. His veins buzzed too much to allow it, a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling within him.

At least rewinding his watch gave him something to ease his mind with, for a few moments.

Sheril had slept uneasy that night himself, to his own surprise. He was not easily bothered by blood--quite the contrary in fact. But he hadn’t expected to find Tyki covered in it--he had been expecting to find Road stealing snacks from the kitchens, not his spineless bastard brother covered in what was obviously not his own blood.

There was too much for it to have been a simple injury, either. The answer was obvious: Tyki had killed someone. Probably. Maybe Sheril was too morbid, jumping to that conclusion, but it had looked like a lot of blood, and if it had been a simple injury from someone else, why lie?

A murder… Who, Sheril didn’t really care that much, since everyone in the manor was accounted for. Honestly, it didn’t affect him at all. Most of the servants were Akuma anyways.

He couldn’t even be mad that Tyki ran off--he had come home like a loyal dog, after all.

Which brought him to his actual concern. Was it accidental? Self defense? Or... “The Earl wouldn’t have happened to have turned Tyki into an Akuma without telling me, would he?” Sheril asked, glancing over at Road.

She looked up from the book she was likely only pretending to read. “Hrmmm? No, he wouldn’t. Plus, didn’t Tyki’s mother die a while ago now? Did someone else die?”

“No… well…” Sheril sighed, rubbing at his temples. Why had he decided to keep that kid around? Tyki was such a headache. Sure, the sadistic part of Sheril loved having Tyki around to torment, but now things were getting tiring.

“Well? Why do you ask, anyways?” Road said, flipping down in her chair.

“He killed someone last night.”

“He did?” Road replied, blinking, surprise on her face. “Did you see it happen?”

“No, but I saw the aftermath of him trying to get the blood off him. Too much for just cutting his hand, like he told me,” Sheril said.

“Hrmm… interesting. He didn’t strike me as the type. Maybe he accidentally killed one of the miner friends he has?”

“No… I don’t think so. There was this look in his eyes, under the surprise. It was bloodlust. I think he murdered them.” Sheril sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Hopefully it’ll be nothing of any worry. We can kill him if you think it’ll be an issue.” Sheril paused. "You knew about him sneaking off and didn't tell me?"

Road gave a grin. “I don’t think it will; I think it just makes things more interesting.” She hummed. “Plus, it confirms what I thought about the dog. And yeah, I thought it was more fun not to share."

“The dog--?” Sheril started, before realising. His lips twitched. “It seems so. I suppose people don’t always start with other humans. He has more of a spine than I thought.”

A knock at the door. “What is it?” Sheril asked, frowning as he glared over the back of his seat.

An akuma poked her head in--Aurora, he thought the maid’s name had been, before her death. “Lord Sheril, sir,” she said, dipping her head in a curtsey. “I followed the boy like you asked, last night. He killed someone and returned home after running towards the merchant district.”

“Old news. Is that all?” Sheril asked.

“No. He hid the body on the Kamelot estate. I can take you to it,” she said, raising her eyes to meet Sheril’s.

Road whistled as the akuma lifted the corpse from the estate’s pond. “He really did a number on him, huh? Looks like he was attacked by a dog,” she said. “So much for him being your ‘meek little brother’. I'd be glad it wasn’t you.”

“Yes,” Sheril agreed, voice uneasy.

Tyki was on edge.

He hadn’t seen Sheril since the night before. As he robotically went through his day--running errands for the manor, odd jobs around the mine and town--he had a feeling of dread settle in his stomach, ice cold contrast to the excitement of the night before.

But nothing came. No police, nothing.

He frowned. Sheril had to have something planned. He wasn’t that stupid (or so Tyki hoped) to have believed the lie had given without thinking, nor did he think Sheril would just leave it be. Something was up.

He sighed, leaning against a wall, taking a drag from a cigarette. A cheap brand, but it was good enough for him. His mother had never been a fan, but she wasn’t around to curb the habit any longer--the other night had reminded him of that.

It did help him relax a little, as he brushed his curls out of his eyes. He needed a haircut.

It was a warm winter, so very different from the previous. Even warmer than usual, but it was a welcome change of pace. Still, Tyki could feel himself sweating already, outside under the bright sun. He groaned, moving to wipe sweat from his brow--only to hiss, his head suddenly pounding. Must be the sun , he thought, as he put out his cigarette. He almost wished for snow to lay face down in.

He found himself wandering back to the same pub he had been with before, with Bruno and Mauricio.

They were still there--enjoying their single day off, laughing with each other. Bruno spotted him, waving him over. “Tyki! There ya are, I was worried about you. Who was that bastard, anyways?”

“....someone I really hate,” Tyki said, not wanting any association with Sheril. Brother wasn’t the right word, not anymore. “It’s fine now.”

“Right,” Bruno replied, but his poker face was never very good--and it showed now, too, his expression unsure and worried.

“You okay there, kid?” Mauricio asked, frowning. “You look awfully pale--” he reached forward, fingers brushing Tyki’s sweat-slicked skin before he could pull away. “Yer burnin’ up.”

“M’fine, just overworked myself,” he lied. His head felt like a nest of angry wasps. “How about another hand? Never got to finish the last one.”

“Only if you’re prepared to lose, kid.”

His migraine persisted throughout the night, and the next day. He did his best to ignore it, at first.

But on the third day, it was hard to not to notice--not with the blood seeping down his face. Tyki stared at the mirror in horror, open wounds so much like Sheril’s all those years ago adorning his forehead, blood flowing freely in red rivets along his features.

It hurt; it hurt like hell, but not in the way he felt such open cuts should. His hands shook as he washed himself of the blood. It wasn’t like Sheril had died from his illness, but if it went the same way… Tyki knew this was only the beginning of the pain, that fever and shakes and awful, awful aches would follow.

Maybe he wouldn’t make it.

After all, people could survive TB, but his mother didn’t.

Blood continued to fall into his vision, no matter how much he wiped away.

He stumbled back into his room, breathing heavily--from fear or fever he did not know. He gripped the side of his bed, trying to will himself to stay calm; the Doctors never found out what had made Sheril sick. Was it familial? A horrible sickness inherited from their shared blood, their shared father?

Tyki swallowed back acidic bile.

Would Sheril even care, get a doctor like Tyki had gotten for him, or just let him suffer? Who was he kidding ; Sheril would probably delight in watching Tyki waste away, suffering in pain until he died.

So.

This was alright.

No one had to know. He’d deal with it on his own, and go to the doctor on his own if he had to.

He stood up straight, his movements wooden, as he scrubbed at his face once more, bandaging the wounds and brushing his bangs to cover them. The blood seeped in, warm and sticky against his skin.

No one has to know , he thought, staring at his flushed face in the mirror. He’d be sick for a while, maybe, but it wasn’t like anyone would notice; he did less and less around the manor these days, and even Sheril had seemed to become bored with harassing him after their conversation in the kitchen that night. His eyes had been watchful, but not omnipresent.

No one had to know, he thought as he washed the blood out from under his nails.

Doctor’s visits cost money, and Tyki hadn’t budgeted for one. He couldn’t miss work, not yet.

For what it was worth, Tyki had managed pretty well that day with his usual work. He had gone slow, trying to not exert himself, and luckily none of the errands he had seemed that urgent. Returning to the Kamelot estate, he was bone tired--but not collapsing. A win in his books.

Of course, while Sheril hadn’t noticed his sorry state (thank God), Road had.

“You look sick,” she said, lips twitching.

“I’m fine,” Tyki replied, downing water from the tap.

“You don’t look fine,” she said, looking him up and down. He was sure he looked like shit; he sure felt it.

“I’m fine,” Tyki hissed, bracing himself on the counter. “You shouldn’t be in the kitchens anyways.” He did not want to deal with Sheril’s incessant worrying over Road’s safety. His migraine already felt like he was being stabbed with hundreds of nails.

Road gave him a doubtful look, opening her mouth. She paused, her face scrunching up into a frown. “Is that blood?” she asked.

Tyki blinked, before he noticed it; the feeling of something warm dripping down his face. He swore--his bandages must have become too saturated, even though he had changed them--

He heard his glass shatter on the ground before he realised he had dropped it. His world spun, and it took him far too long to realise he was on the ground too, his mind hazy with fever and pain.

“Tyki,” Road said, surprisingly calm for such a young girl watching a man dying of illness right before her eyes. She knelt down, reaching for him, brushing his sweat drenched curls away. He heard her gasp--the sound small, but yet hard to miss in his muddled mind--and he didn’t blame her. It probably looked demonic, the markings on his forehead. He remembered all the murmurs of demons and the devil when Sheril had fallen ill.

Maybe there had been more to it at the time they had thought. He supposed, if any people in the manor were to be cursed by Satan, it would be the two of them; they were both fucked up enough for it, and Tyki knew it.

In reality, as much as he liked to pretend it wasn’t true, he and Sheril did have things in common about their personalities.

Road called for someone, he wasn’t sure who--the name sounded like nothing but noise to his ears, as the pain consumed his thoughts and his world went black.

“I didn’t think--”

“Not common, for siblings who aren’t twins--”

His sleep was restless. He dreamed, dreamed of things he could not quite remember in the morning, of a world destroyed, of a pillar that gave him fear he had never experienced before, all swirling around in his head in a sea of overstimulation--pain, heat, voices and sounds, images he couldn’t understand--all mixing together into white noise.

He dreamed of golden fields of wheat, of old trees with beautiful names, of a mother who was still alive and a brother who loved him.

He wasn’t sure if he slept through the night, or had woken up intermittently. Perhaps he had. Maybe even talked, but the words said were lost to his mind.

Tyki opened his eyes.

The world was blurry, unfocused as he looked around. It was a room in the manor, but not his room--far too opulent to be. One of the guest rooms, maybe? Perhaps Sheril had thought it was a better place to die.

No. That didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t want Tyki’s blood getting on the sheets. Why was he here?

“Tyki,” a voice said, close to his face. He groaned, managing to look over, meeting eyes with his half brother. “Good morning,” he replied, a genuine smile on his face.

Ah.

Tyki had died in his sleep, and this was his hell: Sheril.

Tyki groaned, laying his head back down on his pillow as he closed his eyes. “Let me suffer in silence,” he said, his throat parched, his voice like sand.

“Here,” Sheril said, pouring Tyki some water. He still sounded far too kind.

But, Tyki himself had been worried, genuinely worried, when Sheril was sick despite everything, so perhaps it was like that. Didn’t make it any better, though. Tyki still despised that man.

Though his body felt stiff and unnatural, he reached over to take the glass. He downed it easily, not caring at the cool water that split and dripped down his face.

Sheril took the glass back without hesitation, and settled back into his chair, gaze still locked on Tyki.

There was a lack of malice in his brother’s eyes.

Tyki stared back.

“How are you feeling?” Sheril asked, titling his head. Sheril’s hair was messy. Odd. He was so used to it being perfectly kept--Sheril hated being seen disheveled. Violently so.

Tyki kept staring.

“Tyki?” Sheril repeated, looking concerned. Real concern, not the fake act he usually had put on when he wanted something from Tyki, or was mocking him.

“....what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyki replied. “You’re acting all weird and creepy.”

Sheril blinked at him, before he smiled. “I’d say you’re feeling better then,” he said, clapping his hands together with a tilted head. "Oh! And I had Aurora clean up and fix your watch, the one you always have," he added, presenting it to him. It looked as nice as the day his mother had given it to him, three years ago.

Tyki glared at him. Oooookay. Something was very, very wrong here. Sheril just kept smiling back.

“Sheeeeeeril~” Road sang, coming into the oom with a flourish. “I think you’re scaring him.”

“What’s going on?” Tyki demanded.

“Just a friendly welcome!” came a third voice--jovial, light, belonging to a scruffing looking man Tyki had a vague recollection of. He came over often, to see Sheril. Maybe. Tyki had long since given up paying attention to the faces in the hallways.

“Don’t worry, the Millennium Earl’s here to help!” Road cheered, putting out her arms as to present the weird man to him.

“....the who?” Tyki asked, eyebrows raised. He glanced at Sheril--still smiling--and decided that yeah, he was dead. Definitely dead and in hell.

Road laughed, walking over and pinching his cheek. “Oh c’mon now! Don’t play stupid, you know who Adam and I are,” she said, pouting.

“No. No I really do not know, and I have no idea what is going on with all of you suddenly acting like you, y’know, like me? ” Tyki retorted, feeling like he was going insane. What was going on? He tugged at his hair, wondering what he had done to deserve such a hellish punishment. Damn you, God.

Road blinked, her eyes wide as she took a step back, looking him up and down. Her eyes scrutinized him, as though she was trying to see into his very soul to decipher what he meant. Then, her expression turned serious, dark--far too mature for someone her age.

“...is he just joking with us?” the ‘Earl’--Adam, was it?--stage whispered to Sheril, who’s smile had dropped for a confused frown.

“No,” Road cut in. “No, he really doesn’t remember. In his dreams… I saw very little but... I… I think… with the 13th--I think he might not be able to access his Noah Memory. Not anymore.”

Tyki blinked, feeling like he was missing even more than before. “My what?”

Turns out, he actually did like the Earl--and Road--a lot, once he got to know them, and their weird plans, and everything else.

Sure, it had taken a bit for it to sink it--for him to really accept this was all real. But it felt real, and his skin sure was grey now, and his eyes sure were gold.

Plus--ever since he became a Noah, things had been better. As annoying as Sheril was--he, and the others, all started treating him like an equal. He supposed maybe he ought to have a little more resentment, but… it was hard to stay mad at the Earl and Road!

Sheril, on the other hand…

Well. At least watching the world be destroyed would be fun enough to put up with him. And he got to relive the thrill of killing that stranger, again and again, all while balancing his normal life, his life with the miners--his humanity and his noah side, intertwined, light and dark.

He could get used to this life.

“Let go of me,” Tyki ground out.

“No! You’re my cute little brother.”

“I think I miss it when you hated me.” Tyki struggled to get away, fighting against Sheril’s arms. He felt his world shift, and soon as he could blink he found himself on the ground.

Sheril stared at him, his hands still positioned in a pantomime of his suffocating hug.

Tyki stared back. He had… gone through Sheril’s arms? He had just thought about not wanting to be touched by Sheril and then…Tyki climbed to his feet, making a run for it--right through the wall.

Oh.

He could get so used to this.

#d gray man #dgm #dgrayman #d.gray-man #tyki mikk #road kamelot #sheryl kamelot #sheril kamelot #my writing #fanfic #txt

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bayouette · 10 months ago

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I really want to contact an old friend to see how autistic I acted in elementary school (because I don’t remember and neither do my parents) but I’m so scared she’s gonna make fun of me. Like I was the pet introvert her extroverted white ass adopted—I always felt inferior to her but she was my best friend.

My family uses this term—“Memorial girl”. A Memorial girl is a certain type of girl that grows up in my hometown neighborhood that is usually white, Protestant or Evangelical, upper-middle class to very upper class (maybe the upper 30% vs the 1%—there were other neighborhoods for that, though there was maybe a few families living there at a time who breached that wealth; I remember some of those houses. Home owning is notoriously glorious in Texas though…)).

It’s not a like Valley Girls in California or preppy girls in New England, but something in between in Texas that combines loving Jesus Christ+country+Bucky’s. Or whatever….

She was “different” though. Maybe she was just really smart. (Maybe the world isn’t as cliche-y as I think it is, but this is how make sense of it. Maybe I’m judgmental. Maybe I see the world in black and white. Maybe I’m autistic and sheltered.)

She was so funny. We were two gifted and talented children but we weren’t like the rest. We were real people. We know what was up.

I hated her sometimes and she hated me but I held her so dear. I talk about her all the time. I found old emails of us and she said she wanted to spend time with other friends and she didn’t want me to follow her around and “pretend to sing songs”. I have no memory of this.

Maybe I could reduce it to a just not-like-other-girls^2 thing we had going between us if not for the fact that we thought it about everything. 1. We were mermaids. 2. We had an 8th grade reading level in fifth-grade and 130iq (at least I did, but I always said she was smarter than me. God did that ever annoy my parents? Her child constantly saying another girl was smarter than her? Was it just funny back then? Did (do?) I still have a great reverence for intelligence? We were brighter than everyone else; everyone told us so. God she seems to be doing so well but I’m just “bed-rotting”. But I wanted to go to an Ivy League school as a kid and nobody stopped me. Even though I had no extra curricular (I was mentally ill.))))

But that’s where the adoption part comes in. I was not white (Hispanic), Catholic (or at least came from a Catholic family), middle class, and shy/antisocial/autistic. She was a “different type” of Memorial girl, one who “got it”. Maybe the term is down to Earth? We weren’t outcasts but we and some other girls (whom which I did not have as an intense bond with—except kinda one other chick but she’s irrelevant for now) were not——-average. We were better than nerds. Everyone else was a classicist (if we knew that term).

Maybe I’m looking back and romanticizing the past. Maybe I’m just lonely. But something is there. Something is reaching out inside my head (I’m not sober). But I had no badges in my Girl Scout vest (I was a “bad Girl Scout” especially considering my sisters. This always filled me with shame. Maybe I’m just Romanticizing the past…).

“But I’m better,” I could comfort myself with. “I’m smarter than them.” I held intelligence to great account yes, but not that I overlooked kindness or sociability. I don’t know if I “was” defunct, but I sure FELT like it. Even with “nerds and losers” I felt not quite there. I was still different. Maybe I’m narcissistic.

Anyways, this friend and I stopped being friends in the second half of 6th grade. I made jokes that she “left me for the Memorial girls”. Because we stopped talking and she started talking to more and more hmmmm—girly girls? Memorial girls? “Not our special couple”? We were different them though.

That was just us though. It’s not like I thought about it A LOT. But I was kinda emotional about it.

(And then we kinda made up but not to the point we once were—I didn’t even know she had her first kiss!!! I joked. All my sorrows were masked in my jokes, to show I wasn’t ACTUALLY emotional about it guys.)

Ya, I don’t think I’ll text her to see how I was like as a child.

#jalks

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aajjks · 11 months ago

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*bunny!noona goes and picks up her son after school* hey baby, how was school? i have a surprise! mommy took the next two week off so i can stay with you! yes baby, mommy is going to e with you your whole vacation! we can put the christmas tree up tomorrow, does that sound nice? you made a christmas ornament? can mommy see? oh baby…is that you and me? it’s beautiful buddy..

*noona notices that noah didn’t add jungkook to the painting of their little family. although jungkook hasn’t been a very active father recently, let alone husband.. him and their son use to have a very special bond.. jungkook was the perfect husband and father. everything they did, was together. the spent weekends at the park, made dinner together, movie nights and important thing. everything was perfect.. that was until jungkook got a new job, a job noona didn’t know much about. for a while after he became a full time employee, everything was perfect. she cut back from a full time job to a part time clothing store so she could drop off and pick up their baby boy as he started kindergarten. jungkook would come home the same time and spend the rest of the day bonding with his family. seven months after starting his job, he slowly stopped coming home on time, no longer no more playing with his son, no longer slept in the bed with noona, there was no more reading to his son before tucking him into bed, there was no more making love to his wife at night, everything just stopped. after noona was turned down every time she were to ask jungkook if he was okay or suggest couples therapy.. she gave up.. she no longer has anymore fight left in her heart when she sees how much jungkooks absence has affected their son.. so noona started making a plan..*

hey noah, mommy went and talked to the lawyer today, the one that’s going to help you and mommy leave daddy.. how much longer? well i don’t know baby, mommy’s is saving up her money. i was looking at apartments today, i think i found a great one for you and me. you’ll still have your own room and mommy will have hers but the living room is huge. ill take you this weekend and i’ll see what you think okay? if you like it mommy with put the money down for it. uh oh.. daddy’s already home? that’s unusual.. okay baby listen. these papers right here are the papers daddy can’t see okay? theses are the divorce papers mommy has to fill out. mommy is going to fill these out soon but i need to hide them until daddy isn’t around mommy. i’ll probably do it tonight, i’ll put them in my room somewhere since daddy has been sleeping on the couch.. i’ll just put them in my purse for right now.. i need you to promise me you won’t tell daddy about us going to see the apartments this weekend. pink promise? good. okay, grab your bag and let’s go in yeah?

you’re home early, normally you don’t come in until 12 at night, everything okay? hm, okay. well noah, baby, go unwind a little bit while mommy makes you and i dinner. chicken strips, friends, and maybe.. cookies for dessert sound good? you really are my baby.. i love you. now go on, i’ll call you down. no i don’t want help, i just want to get this done so i can get him ready for our movie night. no, he’s out of school for the next week or so for christmas. well you took the living room over so we’ve been having our movie nights in my room. you have work tomorrow and he’s really excited so he’ll probably be up for a long time tonight so i’ll make sure he keeps it down. jungkook, i need the counter, move you papers to the dinner table or something.

“Noona… he’s already going to sleep?? OK well do you need help? I could!!!! But what’s wrong with you? After so long I finally got to come home early… work has been hectic to say the least.. but I did miss you and Noah a lot.. can I have some dinner too I’m pretty hungry? So.? I’m sorry I know about the movie nights… what if we have a movie night tomorrow? I’m free actually it’s holiday season so I got a few days off… and I’m planning to spend them with you and our son, of course- no I don’t have work tomorrow, but I don’t need to finish these papers.. but I can always do the later go and spend some time with Noah? I miss him a lot! And can I sleep in the bedroom tonight?”

#ask: bunny!koo #yikes

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dhr-deleted · 2 years ago

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potterbrat Broken (167KB - 25 Chapters - R) Draco Malfoy has changed sides and is now working for the Order. When his father tells him it's time to take the Mark, Draco decides it's time to tell him that he's changed sides. Draco goes to the Manor, and gets help with his things. Everything is running smoothly until they are surprised by someone who wasn't suppose to be there. There are some pretty dark warnings, but this is a romance, I swear! -- pb

TeTe91 (Geiko) Becoming Mrs Malfoy (250KB - 51 Chapters - R) Hermione is invited to a wizard convention and finds herself engaged to her enemy afterwards. Draco is frightened to become a Death Eater so he takes advantage of the mudblood. Together they find out that the other is not what they thought to be.

viridianatnight A Boy and a Girl and a Healing World (13KB - One Shot - R) But even as she thinks of him, she knows she would fall back into those gloomy eyes with one word. Hermione knows Draco Malfoy is the only person she wants—will ever want. A Vow in Foreign Tongues (47KB - One Shot - NC-17) She closes her eyes and thinks of England. She thinks of the last time she saw her mum, of the heartache she feels knowing she won’t be there today. Again and Again (14KB - One Shot - NC-17) Her best friends’ father… fuck! She needed him again. Daisies (9KB - One Shot - G) He held, he cherished, he even loved. Only to leave. Do You Feel It Too? (12KB - One Shot - NC-17) She was losing breath, losing herself to him. “What if I do? Feel what you feel?” Draco moved closer, eyes drifting from her lips to her eyes. “Then we’re fucked, baby.” Donec Mors Nos Separaverit (8KB - One Shot - R) “Marry me.” Dress / Play (22KB - One Shot - NC-17) More smut from your favourite DILF. It's so much porn. Just read it. Fuck (8KB - One Shot - NC-17) Just a goth Hermione and a shy, nerdy Draco and a blowjob in a library. Her Cherry Lips (15KB - One Shot - NC-17) “And you imagined those lips,” she said, pushing her thumb between his painted ones, “wrapped around your cock. Sucking you hard, hmm?” Draco’s lips encircled her thumb, his tongue lapping over her skin roughly. She undulated her hips against him in reward, feeling his erection against her arse again. “Go on, baby,” she cooed. “Suck.” Her Muggle Ink (20KB - One Shot - PG-13) Hermione hadn’t changed the mark, she hadn’t scribbled it out or made it worse. She’d made it better. Made it something beautiful. He lifted his arm closer, finding daffodils hugging the skull and snake, interspersed with pansies, and another flower. Hermione had grown a garden in his darkness, showing him how to thrive where he thought the sun couldn’t shine. If Life Were Simpler (24KB - One Shot - R) In another universe, where hate only came from academic rivals and haughty quidditch captains, our two lovers find each other. Maybe it could have been this way, if life were simpler. Le Portriat de L'agonie (15KB - One Shot - NC-17) When a portrait is placed in Draco's bedroom, he finds himself falling into the depths of the beguiling art. A young woman, stuck forever in a gilded cage on a vermillion chaise with no companion but him. By the time a connection is formed, it's too little too late. Like Real People Do (24KB - One Shot - NC-17) Draco Malfoy, twenty-eight years old, lives in a small flat with his pet cat, not charming, awkward, quiet, standoffish, prone to irritation, and a virgin. Little Broken Things (30KB - 2 Chapters - R) Because when Hermione Granger woke up this morning, she was expecting to find blood on her knickers. Because she didn’t see it last week or the week before and she thought it may just be late. When it wasn’t there for the third week in a row, her heart fell to her stomach. neé Granger (9KB - One Shot - G) Hermione changes the name on her marriage certificate the night before her wedding. Notice Me Not (47KB - 5 Chapters - R) One New Year’s Eve kiss with Hermione Granger changes Draco’s heart forever. When it leads into another and another and another, he’s sure he will never be the same. Patience & Permanence (73KB - 7 Chapters - R) Draco Malfoy has been blind for four years and no one knows. He's buried under secrets and friends who care too much. Hermione Granger is a healer who needs something new. She's healing from the war and nightmares she can't forget. Somewhere along the line, they meet and maybe Hermione can be the one to help him see again. South London Forever (23KB - One Shot - NC-17) One year following the epilogue in Various Storms and Saints. Tainted (13KB - One Shot - NC-17) Divorce is messy. Her best friends' dad's divorce is messy. She just wants to be there for him. Is that really such a bad thing? Tea & Clichés (16KB - One Shot - NC-17) “But I’m not a home wrecker and I don’t believe in labeling women as slags just because they know what they want,” she breathed out. Draco’s hands ran back down her thighs, rounding her knees as he spread her apart. Fuck if she wasn’t sopping wet. He leaned forward and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might kiss her. “And what is it that you want, Hermione?” The Virtue of a Good Witch (19KB - One Shot - NC-17) “The virtue of a good witch can save a soul on the edge of destruction.” Various Storms and Saints (500KB - 48 Chapters - NC-17) Mudblood. Hermione stared at the letters that besmirched her skin. They hadn’t healed since the day she was maimed. Warm Glow (13KB - One Shot - R) When the bed shifts behind her, she freezes. Hermione holds her breath as an arm falls over her waist. She feels the brush of a nose at her neck but the feeling of steady breath tells her the mystery person is still asleep. Pressing her lips together in silent anticipation, she lifts the blanket. An arm of stark paleness in contrast to her olive skin holds her—and she’s naked. Who Am I to You? (20KB - One Shot - NC-17) The war had taken everything from her. Inexperience took Ron. Fame took Harry. What would one night with Draco Malfoy take?

#updates: uploaded

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etrobeauty · 1 year ago

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“Lightning, do you have a minute?” Ludger called out to the ex-Agent as she passed by his apartment complex. At this late hour, Elle and most of the usual loiters outside his complex already went to bed; the circumstances were perfect! “Um, would you mind sitting on the swings with me? I-I know it’s childish, but it’s something my brother and I used to do whenever we had something important to tell each other. It’s one of those habits that doesn’t vanish with age!”

Whether Lightning obliged him or stood next to the swing set, Ludger himself took his default left seat and stared out into the skyline. The stars themselves were mostly washed out, but the skyscrapers in the distance lit up the sky as bright as any star. Looking down upon the familiar sight always granted him a special sort of courage to share his cheesiest innermost feelings.

Lightning better brace herself, because the sappy train was leaving the station!

“Lightning, I wanted to thank you for helping me out with my work as a DODA Agent,” Ludger started, keeping his focus on the skyline to keep his nerves intact. “I know you have your own reasons for working with me, but I can’t imagine indirectly working for a company you quit not too long ago. Especially when my work demands we destroy other worlds.”

Ludger became desensitized early on for the sake of lightening his brother’s burden and paying off his debt. But the burden was nonetheless heavy for all who got involved with him. And Lightning willingly bore it with him.

“I don’t know how things will end– maybe I’ll regret everything I’ve done, or maybe the ends will justify the means. But regardless, I won’t regret having your support throughout my journey. So-!”

All of a sudden, Ludger hopped out of his seat and put his hands over Lightning’s, “For everything you’ve done? Thank you very much!”

Night silence was interrupted by her companion's call. Her night strolls that usually meant her moment to reflect as in sleep felt impossible at times. “ Ludger. ” She uttered. Her head tilted in wonder at his invitation. Although judgments refrained. To honor a relatable moment, which was a mutual understanding considering she has sibling relations as well when he references his brother. The town laid to rest for night conquers. It was the norm for her to be out despite the late hour.

Occupying the swing seat next to him. These grounds were empty at night, but lively in the day by the residents. Gaze traveled to the skies with the hint of the stars, which accentuates the reason that the night strolls were that hobby she relished. Her head tilted directing her stare to Ludger once words formed. Interpreting the statements as he must be reflecting the ethical rights of his role. Could this be he has second thoughts? Requiring an incentive?

“ My relation with Spirius will not interfere with our affiliation. Your ambition has unraveled what I had suspected, but...” She mused but kept briefly. It did feel that she has still an association with the company despite her status now a former agent. The stares & whispers that she paid no mind to whilst their presence within the headquarters. It mattered not, she was there for Ludger. The journey. The truth. Concentration relieves the ill-thought of the company, to keen her mind to him as he shares his beliefs. He was truly in a much vast burdened situation as she was. A duty that required destroying other worlds. She admired the aspiration and acceptance of growth but yet commiserated secretly. It's Spirius' intentions that raised the questions. Tension eased upon his declaration that he was grateful for her company. “ There will be challenges that arise before us. It's not a question of can or can't. Just some things you have to do. ” She somehow tensed again. “...Ludger? ”

The contact of their hands emphasizes his gratitude. The contact stunned her, although she did try to keep her facial expression presenting otherwise. A rather unexpected stance of action but resistance was not necessary. Merely companions appreciating each other's company.

Her eyes closed merely to nod her head at him gesturing assurance, relaxing her shoulders. She is truly grateful for the alliance they formed. Returning her gaze to her companion. “ I've got your back. ”

#they do make a good team. :^)#this was fun to write. acknowledge that they appreciate #ofstarsandskies #⚡ answered ╰ ᶠᵃʳʳᵒᶰ ᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵉʳᵛᶤᶜᵉ;#⚡ ic ╰ ᵒᶰ ᵈᵘᵗʸ;#⚡ Tales of Xillia 2 ╰ ᵃʳᶜᵃᶰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵒˡᵛᵉˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᶤᵈᵈᶤᶰᵍ ᵒᶠ ᵃᵐᵇᶤᵗᶤᵒᶰˢ;

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shmaptainwrites · 3 years ago

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Secrets in Seattle [Aaron Hotchner]

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, Spencer Reid, Gabriel (OC), Marigold Hotchner (OC)

Words: 13K

Summary: The team gets the smallest glimpse into Hotch's personal life and wants to dig more to find out what happened before they all got there.

Warnings: angst angst angst, main character death, death of an infant, blood, injury, stabbing, hospitals, terminal illness, hurt mild comfort, implied smut

A/N: Okay remember that really angsty fic I was telling you guys about? Well this is it and it is way longer than I expected it to be and I tried my very best with the warnings so I hope I covered everything, but otherwise for those who choose to read prepare to have your heart broken [Also a very special thanks to Jor and Lene who were helping me whenever I got a lil stuck I love you both mwauh]

Hotch never spoke of his personal life at work, it was something the rest of the BAU had accepted.

Aside from the occasional dinner outing and drinks with the rest of them they didn’t really know what he did.

Most of them gathered Rossi probably had the best idea out of all of them, but in reality, all he knew for sure was that Hotch was alone.

He woke up in the morning in a bed next to no one and went to sleep at night the same way.

They had tried asking him about dating once, even about setting him up with someone.

The idea was shot down faster than an unsub with his finger on the trigger.

But every now and again they would see him slip out of the office in the middle of the work day and come back maybe even gloomier than he was before he left.

No one ever knew where he went out to until one day just the most minute slip of the tongue told them otherwise.

“I have to go to the cemetery today,” he told Rossi, Emily, JJ, and Penelope.

They could almost visibly see the way he tensed when the words left his mouth. He wished he could have taken them back, replaced them with something else but it was too late.

“The cemetery?” Rossi asked.

“Yes,” Hotch answered simply. “I’ll be back in an hour, call me if a case comes in,”

He left like that, not another word before grabbing his keys and heading out of the office in Quantico.

“Why does he have to go to the cemetery?” Emily asked, looking more at Rossi.

“Beats me, he’s never talked about it before,”

“You think that’s why he’s always so sad when he goes out?” Penelope asked, her empathy always shining through. “Is he visiting his father’s resting place?”

“No,” Rossi knew that one for sure. “He doesn’t go there,”

“Who says we can’t find out?” Emily said but it wasn’t so much of a question as a statement because they all knew where she was going with it. She grabbed her own keys just as JJ gave her a warning,

“Em, Hotch is private for a reason, maybe we should just leave him alone,”

“Well how is it fair he knows so much about us and we know barely anything about him?” she asked. When no answer was received she nodded her head. “See that’s what I thought, it’s about time we knew something about him,”

Only thing was, even after following him to the cemetery, seeing him sit on the grass, replacing flowers in a small vase and leaving a tiny kiss chocolate on top of the headstone, she still had no more answers than she did before, only questions.

The name on the grave, for one, was unfamiliar.

(Y/N) (L/N).

She’d never heard it in her life.

Figuring it was maybe from an old BAU case on the way back she curiously called Penelope to see if she could help.

“Can you run the name (Y/N) (L/N) through our database? See if anything pops up?”

“You know I can, but what is this for?” she inquired back. Already having a good feeling what it was.

“Just a case I’m working on,” Emily lied.

If nothing showed up in Penelope’s search, maybe Rossi could be of some help. The name could have at least sounded familiar.

Penelope didn’t press, a part of her was probably more curious than she wished to admit so she just went with it.

After Emily hung up she called Rossi.

“Don’t tell me this is about Aaron,”

“Rossi come on you can’t tell me you’re not curious,”

The man sighed and Emily could practically see him pinch the bridge of his nose.

“What do you need, Emily?”

“Do you know someone named (Y/N) (L/N)?” she asked and there was silence on the other end of the line while Rossi thought long and hard.

“The name sounds familiar,” he finally said. “But I wouldn’t be able to tell you from where,”

“Alright, thanks anyways,”

“Don’t snoop too much Emily. He’ll tell us when he’s ready,”

“You can hope for that all you want Rossi but we both know that’s not going to happen,”

Emily wasn’t entirely sure why she was so invested in finding out who this person was, but it was clear she meant something to Hotch, she was someone important to him and he was constantly telling the team that they were important to him too. So if they were, why was he so secretive?

It wasn’t long before Derek and Spencer were also made aware of Hotch’s slip up and curiosity got the better of all of them.

After days of going through the system Penelope came back to inform them that there was no information on a (Y/N) (L/N) in the BAU’s database, so not a victim…maybe. They couldn’t rule out anything just yet.

But it seemed since all of them were so hyper-focused on whatever Hotch was doing, small things they never seemed to notice would come through.

The first thing was spotted by JJ. They were on the jet after a long, hard, and arduous case and she noticed Hotch going to sit off to the side, when he was sure no one was around him he pulled something out of his pocket. A necklace with an oval pendant, it looked like it maybe could have been a locket.

He fiddled with it for a little while before putting it back and she didn’t think much more of it.

But when she saw the necklace make another appearance, only this time in the middle of a case while they were dealing with a family annihilator.

This time he opened it, standing behind the evidence board, his thumb gently running along the side of the pendant while he looked at the photo.

When he closed the locket and looked back up his eyes locked with JJ’s. They both froze, looking at each other, Hotch’s brows furrowing deeper than before until she looked away.

She told Rossi and Emily later that night and suddenly the locket seemed to pop up everywhere.

—

Hotch didn’t trust many people to go into his office alone but Derek seemed to be one of the exceptions. If he was busy and couldn’t go and grab something himself, often he would send the younger man in his place.

“The middle drawer on the right,” he had said. “Top file underneath the books,”

Only sometimes Derek’s brian worked a thousand miles a minute and the directions became jumbled and he only retained a small piece instead of the whole.

So walking into the Unit Chief’s office he went behind his desk and looked at both drawers. Was it middle right? Or left?

He started with the left and the second he opened it, he knew it was the wrong one.

But he was so surprised all he could do was stare at the sparkling rings in front of him.

They looked polished and hardly worn. One simple gold band, obviously for a man, and another elegant ring, but instead of a diamond in the center there was a neatly rounded opal stone and smaller diamonds encrusted along either side of the ring.

He closed the drawer before Hotch came back, inquiring what was holding him up.

He covered up with a quick white lie about running into Penelope.

Truth was, he would be making a stop to her office on the way back. And so would Emily, Rossi, JJ, and Spencer.

—

Sometimes Rossi felt as if he was the only one who respected privacy anymore. He only stuck around to make sure he could stop something before it got out of hand and he vowed that if he came across any information it would go with him to the grave. He knew what it was like to want to have secrets. To keep things to oneself because memories were either too painful or were better just left alone.

And if Hotch had known what was going through his head, he would have been happy that Rossi was the one to find him on November 14th.

It was late and Rossi had thought everyone in the building had already left, but when he came out he could see the light of a lamp in Hotch’s office.

There was no curious intention when he walked into the room, only wanting to make sure his friend was alright.

Walking in, it was clear he was anything but.

Hotch sat at his desk, the bottle of whiskey he normally kept tucked in his cabinet for either a celebration after a good case or just needing to forget a bad one, placed slightly off to the side. The cup next to him was filled, recently Rossi assumed, and right in front of him, he held a stuffed bear. The cute cuddly kind every kid grew up with. But this bear was clothed in a pretty purple dress, with sparkly frilly ends on the skirt. And he just stared at it.

He knew Rossi was standing there, he knew very well someone was watching, but he couldn’t pull away. He didn’t have the energy, he was just so tired of it all.

So Rossi just quietly pulled up a chair next to his friend, leaning forward slightly to look at him.

“How long?” he whispered.

Hotch swallowed the lump in his throat before taking in a shaky breath and looking at Rossi.

“What?”

“How long has it been?” he asked, motioning to the bear in his hands.

He squeezed his eyes shut and Rossi could see him squeeze the bear so tightly his knuckles went white.

“T-Ten,” he said, his voice breaking, tears escaping his eyes as his shoulders started to shake. “T-Ten years,”

That was all it took for him to break. Everything spilled over, ten years of pain unbottled, the thing he never spoke about around others, but it was possible the alcohol was loosening his tongue.

His shoulders shook with sobs while Rossi wrapped his arms around his friend allowing him that solace that came with even a small embrace. He knew all too well what it felt like to lose a child. It was a piece of yourself you would never get back.

When his sobs died down, eyes still red and watering, he looked at the bear in his hands again.

His hands traced the words on the fabric of the dress, they read Daddy’s Little Girl.

“I was so excited,” he whispered. “Before she was born I-I was just out for groceries,” he started to share, his eyes never leaving those of the bear. “I saw this on the rack and I was so happy I didn’t even check the size,” he chuckled slightly to himself. “It was for 11-12 months, so I held onto it s-so she could wear it when she was big enough,”

Only now did Rossi speak up once more,

“Is it her birthday today?”

Hotch nodded, wiping a few more tears from his eyes.

“It’s hard grieving alone,” Rossi said gently. “Do you want to tell me her name so we can remember her together?”

Hotch wasn’t sure if he could say it, it had been so long since the name had passed through his lips he was worried the same pain would split through his heart as the last time he said it. But it had been ten years. It was time she had someone else to miss her.

“Marigold,” he whispered. “Her mom picked it,”

“That’s a beautiful name,”

And indeed it was. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

—

Rossi never brought up that night with anyone, preferring instead to keep it to himself, and it was clear Hotch noticed and was thankful, he showed it in his own little way too.

But it wasn’t long before one last thing was found that couldn’t be left unaddressed.

It was the start of a very long flight back home and Spencer had taken a seat next to the window while Hotch had been in the aisle seat, leaving for a moment to go to the washroom.

His wallet was left on the table in front of him, a paper sticking out from underneath and was blown slightly by the AC.

Spencer noticed this and thinking it was money went to take it and tuck it back in the wallet. He pulled the paper and as soon and it was untucked from the wallet he realized it wasn’t cash after all. Instead, he saw a picture of a younger Hotch, face beaming with joy while he held a newborn baby in his arms, a woman standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders and her smile just as wide as his.

Emily was the first to notice Spencer staring at the photo and came over to see what he had found, her eyes going wide when she saw what it was.

The rest of the team followed shortly afterwards, including Penelope who had been with them this case, and Hotch exited the bathroom confused as to why everyone had congregated around the young doctor.

“Why are you guys all gathered…oh,”

Spencer was the first to look up an apology right on the top of his tongue but Hotch stopped him.

So silently, he handed him the picture and Hotch took a quiet moment to himself, just looking at his family.

“Who are they?” Derek asked.

“My wife and daughter,” he answered quietly, but flinched when the words left his mouth. He never did end up getting the chance to marry you. “Fiancée,” he corrected. “We didn’t get married,”

And no one was surprised when Emily asked the million-dollar question,

“What happened to them?”

It was a good thing they had a long flight ahead of them.

—

“Victim’s from out of state so we have to take this one,” Gabriel looked up at his boss, passing him a small police file.

“Who found the body?” Hotch asked, looking over the papers.

“Friend of the vic, crime scene is her home,”

“You see if you can notify the family, I’ll go over to the crime scene, talk to the friend,” he instructed. “You know her name?”

“Yeah, (Y/N) something,” Gabriel pulled out his notebook and referred to it before correcting himself. “(Y/N) (L/N), that’s it,”

“Alright, tell Gonzales, Robinson, and Clarkson we have a case, they’ll work it with us,”

“You got it boss,”

Hotch grabbed the keys to one of the government SUVs and headed down to the parking garage.

Most of the time he appreciated having his team with him, but something told him that it was good he was going to be alone. Just a gut feeling.

When he reached the home some uniformed officers were already waiting there and trying to speak to you to no avail. You were still in shock, you needed time and space, neither of which they were giving you.

Hotch quickly jumped out of the car and jogged to the porch, flashing his badge and with a nod of his head, letting them know he’d take it from here.

You had your head in your hands, a pile of crumpled tissues between you, but you still recognized the additional presence.

You felt him leave for a short moment before coming back, along with a small thump next to you.

You looked up and saw a garbage can in front of you, no doubt for the tissues and sitting opposite you wasn’t one of the officers from before.

He gave you a moment to throw out your tissues and compose yourself before introducing himself as Agent Hotchner.

“I’m very sorry for your loss Miss (L/N), I can’t possibly begin to imagine what you’re going through,”

You hoped it wasn’t false sympathy, you had enough to deal with.

“What do you want, Agent Hotchner?” you asked him quite sharply, but still with a sniffle. “Everyone wants something,”

“Right now,” he started. “I want to make sure you’re feeling okay and then I’d like to see if I could ask you some questions about what happened so we can find out who did this to your friend,”

You looked up at him properly, only now taking in his features. He had the hardened look of a law enforcement officer, but the softness in his coffee coloured brown eyes was unmistakable.

“It might take a little bit…I hope you have time,”

“As much as you need,” he nodded, reaching over and offering you a tissue from the box which you took.

And he sat with you in silence while you mourned your friend, while you ran through every possibility wondering why it had to be her, how if you had just been even a little more careful, maybe this would have never happened.

Friends were supposed to look out for each other, but last night you failed to do that.

“I’m not too sure how I can be of any help,” you told him truthfully. “I was um…we were at a bar, drinking, and she came home early without me,”

“Did she take a car?” Hotch asked.

“N-No, she walked,” you told him. “The bar was close to here,”

“Why did she want to leave earlier than you?” Hotch asked. “Did you fight? Argue?”

“No, no,” you shook your head. “She was just tired and I wasn’t ready to go home yet,”

“And you didn’t see her leave with anyone?”

“No,” but you paused a minute to amend your answer. “I-I don’t think I did,”

“This is all very helpful, I have some agents waiting for an assignment so I’ll go get them to ask around the bar a bit,”

“Is it too much to ask to keep me updated?” you inquired.

“I will when I can,” he nodded. “And if you think you can remember anything else or need something,” he pulled out his card and handed it to you. “Don’t hesitate to call,”

You twiddled with the card between your fingers.

Agent Aaron Hotchner.

You thought the name suited him. A nice name for a nice man.

“Thank you,” you said. “A-And I’m not entirely sure where I’m supposed to stay now,”

“I’ll help you get set up in a hotel,” he assured. “Some of the techs will drop off some of your things in a bag for you later,”

“O-Okay,”

He stood up and you followed him, all the way to his car where he opened the door for you and helped you inside the large SUV.

The drive was spent in a mostly comfortable silence, the radio playing quietly in the background until he spoke up.

“Do you have someone you can be with?” he asked. “Someone you can call that can support you?”

You shook your head and stared out of the window, Seattle’s suburbs were nice but not nice enough to distract you apparently.

“No, I’m alone,”

When you said it like that you almost cringed at yourself. It sounded so pathetic.

“I mean umm…” you took a small breath in before continuing. “My mom and dad passed away when I was young and I don’t speak with my sister. I just moved here recently so I haven’t had much of a chance to get connected I guess,”

“Where did you move from?” he asked gently.

“California,” you said.

He nodded his head, his eyes still focused on the road in front of him.

“I moved here a while back too,” he said after a brief silence. “Maybe a year? Year and a half ago,” he shrugged. “It’s hard readjusting, but it’ll happen before you know it,”

“Thanks…I think,” you said, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you looked up at him once more.

Silence filled the air once more as he pulled up into a small motel parking lot further in the city.

“I hope you don’t mind staying here, it’s just closer to the office in case you need anything,”

“No, it’s fine,” you assured.

“Keep your receipts and the bureau will be sure to reimburse you for however long you’re staying here,”

“Alright,” you nodded. “I’ll be sure to call you if I remember anything,”

“Day or night Miss (L/N), I’ll be up,”

“(Y/N),” you corrected. “Call me (Y/N), please,”

“(Y/N),” his lips couldn’t fight back the small smile that came across them. “That’s a very beautiful name,”

“Thank you, I-uh I picked it myself,” you chuckled lightly.

“Y-You did?” he asked and you nodded with a shrug, opening the car door.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime,”

And before he could answer the door was shut behind you and you walked towards the reception to book yourself a room.

—

A night or so later, the case was coming to more or less of a standstill and that was never a good thing. Hotch was taking more late nights just to try and get any sliver of information from someone but nobody could tell him anything. It was like your friend had been killed by a ghost.

He hadn’t heard from you since that first day and didn’t have any reason to go back and follow up just yet.

But when he was least expecting it, a call rang through on his work phone, it was maybe just past one o’clock in the morning and he wondered who in the world had any information for him this late at night.

But as per usual he picked up the phone without any hesitation, reciting his usual answer of,

“Hotchner,”

“A-Agent Hotchner? This is (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N),”

“(Y/N),” he practically breathed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” you sniffed and he could tell you were hiding something. “Everything’s fine,”

“Then why did you call?”

It was your turn to be silent now. When after a minute or so you didn’t answer, Hotch glanced over at his watch before sighing deeply. It wasn’t like him to go against protocol, but he couldn’t just leave you like that.

“Ice cream or pizza?” he asked.

“W-What?”

Saying you were confused would be putting it lightly.

“Which one do you want?” he asked. “Ice cream or pizza?”

If he had been standing in front of you he would have seen the small smile just peeking past a frown and he would have melted because that thing he couldn’t quite place? It may have been feeling a little stronger for someone than he should have.

“Ice cream,” you answered.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,”

He grabbed his keys and kept telling himself he was just trying to make sure there was trust between you two, in case you had any more information on the case that could get the ball rolling, but deep down he knew it was more, something else.

True to his word he was outside your room at the motel in less than ten minutes two pints of ice cream in hand.

Before he could knock twice the door was open and you stood on the other side, dressed in your most comfortable clothes you had on hand, an old pair of college sweats along with a quarter zip sweater, while he was still dressed in his work suit. Although his tie was loosened and the top button of his dress shirt was undone.

“I-I wasn’t sure what flavour you liked,” he expressed. “So um I hope chocolate and vanilla are okay,”

“Actually,” you sucked in some air through your teeth. “I’m more of a strawberry girl,”

Hotch was about to open his mouth with an apology, but you gave him a light laugh,

“I’m kidding,” you assured him. “Coping mechanism, just ignore it,”

You opened the door wider and allowed him to come inside, setting the ice cream down on the small table they had in the room. There were two chairs seated somewhat closely to each other and he took the left side while you took the right, reaching over to grab the chocolate ice cream first.

“Last time we saw each other you mentioned something about your name,” he opened with, easing into a conversation.

“I’m surprised you remember,” you admitted.

“Part of the job I guess,” he shrugged. “So you picked it yourself?”

You nodded your head.

“I never liked the name I grew up with, I don’t know why, maybe it just reminded me of my parents who were gone and I wanted a fresh start. So when I turned eighteen I changed it,”

“Huh,” he hummed. It was interesting, but he couldn’t deny the name you had picked suited you.

There was a slightly awkward silence between you before he spoke up again.

“So are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked, taking the other pint of ice cream from the bag. There was a pause before you responded.

“You ever get that gut feeling that something bad’s going to happen?” you asked him, but didn’t really wait for an answer. “I had one of those the night Nina died,”

So that’s what was upsetting you.

“And I can’t seem to shake that feeling that if I had told her something, either convinced her to stay longer o-or gone home with her, maybe this wouldn’t have happened,” you explained. “I can’t imagine what her parents think of me now…”

“I’m sure they’re worried about you too,” Hotch offered, but it was a cold comfort.

“You’re just saying that,” you whispered, your spoon twirling in the small ice cream bucket.

“Maybe I am, but I don’t think it’s fair you're blaming yourself for something you had no control over,”

“No control-,”

“Just wait,” he interrupted. “Look I’ve been with the FBI for maybe six years now, and before that I was a federal prosecutor,” he explained. “So in my professional experience, if you had gone back with her you wouldn’t be sitting here with me right now,” he said in a kind, but firm tone. “And from what I’ve heard from Nina’s parents she was stubborn, there was no way you would have convinced her to stay later if she didn’t want to,”

“And how does it make it any better if I’m dead or alive,” you turned and asked him. “I haven’t made a difference to anyone,”

“To anyone you know of,” he said. “I’ve only known you a few days and I’d be upset if you died,”

“Would you?” you raised an incredulous brow.

He nodded his head, placing a spoon of vanilla ice cream in his mouth before passing you the pint and asking to switch to which you obliged.

“A-And I’m not just saying that,” he explained, “I guess I just have a good feeling about you, it would be a shame for the world to lose that,”

You stared at the man in front of you with such curiosity. You had absolutely no idea why he had come at your request, why did he deem you a person worthy of his time. Surely he was busy with work, he was at the office until one in the morning and yet he dropped everything to come and sit with you, talk you down. And he was so patient, you knew you had a tendency to blame yourself and sometimes it just took some firm assurance, sometimes it took something more. But even after all that, here he was, sitting next to you, not in the least bit frustrated, there were less and less people like that in the world. You just counted your blessings that you got lucky and one was sitting right next to you.

“Agent Hotchner-,”

“Aaron,” he corrected you this time, removing whatever superficial professional boundary was left between you.

“Aaron,” you repeated. “A-Are you ever scared?” you asked just above a whisper.

“All the time,” it was so brutally honest it almost took you aback. He could have covered it up with an easy no and that would have been the end of it, but he said three words making himself so vulnerable to you, you couldn’t help but carefully reach your hand over to hold his over the table. “But it’s what keeps you awake, on your toes,” he explained. “I wouldn’t want to not be scared, I-I think it makes me a better agent. A better person, so I can help other people who need it more,”

But he knew there was a difference between you both. You were on one side, a side he wished he would never have to be on. Watching his loved ones hurt at the hands of someone else, taken away from their family and friends before their time. But he was on the safe side. He could distance himself from a case as much as he needed, but you were right in the middle of it.

“Is that why you’re here?” you asked quietly. “A-Am I just another person you’re helping?”

“No,” he breathed, “Not at all,”

“Then what am I?”

“I-,” he stopped himself, but you moved closer, your hand shakily reaching to his cheek, turning his face so he would look into your eyes.

“Aaron,” your voice was so quiet and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you no matter the voice screaming at him to look away.

“(Y/N) I-,”

You cut him off, pulling him in and pressing your lips to his. His voice was muffled by your mouth, but it faded quickly as he held your face in his hands pulling you closer.

You moved, standing, but without parting your lips from his, one leg sliding over his lap until his hands slipped down to your waist, but when he felt your hands running through his hair, it hit him. He couldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

“(Y/N) wait,” he held your arms, pulling you away and you froze.

“Oh my God I-I shouldn’t have done-I don’t know-,” you stammered, trying to scramble off him, but he held you in place, trying to calm you down.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, still holding you tight. “Hey look at me, it’s alright,”

You felt so careless, embarrassed and you wanted to shrink into nothing, but he still continued to be careful with you.

“Why don’t you get some rest, okay?” he suggested.

“O-Okay,”

You got up off his lap and moved toward the bed while he closed the two pints of ice cream before putting them in the mini freezer.

“Aaron, I’m sorry,” you said quietly after he made his way to the door.

“Don’t be,” he assured. “I’ll call you if we hear anything else about the case,”

“Thank you,” you pressed your lips together and he gave you a quick nod before leaving the room, his heart beating at 1000 miles a minute.

—

“Ma’am can I help you with something?” an agent asked after you walked into the Seattle field office.

“Y-Yes I’m looking for Agent Hotchner,” you said.

“I’m afraid he’s busy right now. Can you wait? If not I can take a message for him,”

“No I can wait,” you nodded.

“Come on then, let me find you a seat,” the agent offered and you followed her through to the main office where she sat you down at a small table.

You glanced around at the office, noticing how everything was hyper-organized and after a quick look behind you, you saw Aaron in his office, speaking with a few other agents for a few more moments before packing up his things and taking a look outside, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment before he put his things down and came out to see you.

“(Y/N), what are you doing here?” he asked, in a quiet curious way, no frustration in his voice whatsoever.

“I-I know what happened last night-it shouldn’t have happened,” you whispered. “B-But I remembered something,”

“You did?” he looked surprised, like he wasn’t expecting your memory to be jogged like that.

You nodded your head.

“W-We ran into someone, at the bar,” you explained. “He tried to convince Nina to go home with him, but she just wasn’t feeling it I guess,”

“You think it could have been him?”

“There was something off,” you said. “I-I couldn’t pinpoint it but he made me feel uneasy,”

“Do you remember what he looked like?” he inquired.

“Yeah, I got a pretty good look at him,”

“Okay then, I’ll see if we can sit you with a sketch artist. You think you could do that?”

You nodded your head while he placed a hand on your arm.

“I’ll be right back, this will be incredibly helpful,” he admitted.

You worked incredibly closely with the bureau after that. You were their material witness.

When they had suspects they brought in you were always called to try and identify them. It’s not like you had anything better to do, your boss had given you some mandatory time off and you had no better way to spend it.

And when things finally came to a close you weren’t sure how you felt about it. It was a weird feeling like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders paired with a crushing blow to your heart.

Maybe that was because deep down you didn’t think you’d ever get to see Aaron again.

But after the arrest was made, and you had already signed a new lease agreement he was the first person to come knocking at your door, standing quietly on the porch awaiting your answer.

You checked through the peephole first before unlocking the door quickly and opening it wide so you could see him properly and fully.

“Aaron,” his name rolled off your tongue so simply yet he found himself wishing it was the only sound he would ever hear for the rest of his life. “What are you doing here?”

“The case,” he said, he looked a little…jumpy? “It’s over, we arrested the man who killed Nina. He confessed,”

“H-He did?” your eyes were blown wide and your lips fought their way into a smile, something they hadn’t done in so long.

“And it’s because of you,” he added. “The case was at a standstill, we had no leads, everything seemed to vanish into thin air but you… you came forward and that changed. Suddenly we were making connections left and right. You have every reason to be thanked (Y/N),”

“And you came to just tell me this in person?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “b-but also to give you this,” he added, handing you a small card. “It’s my um, my personal number. If you find yourself needing anything, and I mean anything I don’t want you to hesitate to call me,”

“Anything,” you whispered to yourself, your fingers tracing the straight edges of the card. “I will,” you said quietly.

“Take care of yourself, (Y/N),” he said softly, his hand coming to squeeze your wrist quickly before he turned around to leave and you shut the door.

Your next actions were almost immediate though. You pulled out your phone from your pocket and dialled the number on the card. Waiting one, two rings before he picked up.

“You said anything right?” you breathed.

Aaron stood at the end of the walkway to your porch, the phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes, anything,” he confirmed.

“I need you,”

There was silence on the line, followed by the dial tone and you held your breath until you heard the door click open behind you.

Turning around Aaron stood there, right in your foyer, closing the door behind him before walking up to you in a quick stride, taking your face in his hands and pressing a firm, strong, and needy kiss to your lips.

He kissed you with hunger, like he had been starving himself all this time only to now be allowed to devour you.

“The bedroom,” he said in a low, husky growl. “Where’s the bedroom?”

“Down the hall,” you said, but you didn’t know if he could tell between those words and the other sounds he coaxed out of your throat.

And you could tell that man really wasn’t lying. He’d miss you the most if you were gone.

—

“You know if you couldn’t handle the rain you probably shouldn't have moved to Seattle,” you quipped while you handed Aaron a towel that he used to dry his wet hair.

“I don’t know who told you I don’t like the rain,” he gave you a cheeky look and you chuckled, pulling the towel from his hands while he was still trying to dry his hair. “Hey!”

“I like your hair a little wet, it's cute,” you grinned, pushing yourself up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. “How was work?And did you get me my-,”

“Kisses?” he asked, lifting up the bag of chocolates. ”Yes but it’ll take you some kisses to get them,”

“Gladly,” you grinned, pressing a series of smooches to his lips before he handed you the bag.

“And work was the same as usual,” he answered and pulled you back for one more. You ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to style it slightly, but in the end just leaving it as a messy mop on his head.

“Come here, I bought you something more comfortable, you’re always wearing those suits and dress shirts,” you said, tugging him towards the living room.

A bag sat on the couch and you pulled a classic Eddie Bauer quarter-zip out of it.

“To match you?” he chuckled and you nodded.

“Come on, I’ll go get changed and we can sit on the couch and rest,”

Aaron couldn’t help it when his face broke into a grin followed by a chuckle.

“I love you, you know that?”

“You remind me every single day. Now go put this on,” you shoved the sweater in his hands before jogging off to your room to get changed.

When you came back out you saw Aaron slipping on the sweater, messing his hair more in the process.

“It fits great, look at that!” you jumped into his arms and he caught you only to fall backwards onto the couch with an oof.

“Is this why you like the rain? These sweaters?” he asked, slipping his hands slightly underneath yours to rest on your waist.

“Maybe,” you hummed. “But the rain is romantic too don’t you think?”

“In what way?” he inquired and you sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead like he was too young to understand whatever you had to share with him.

“Think about it, we’re stuck inside, nowhere to go. Maybe I could turn a little music on, get us a glass of wine,”

“Just one glass for the both of us or-,”

“Oh shut up,” you laughed before you stopped trying to hold your weight up and let yourself rest against his chest.

Aaron’s work was demanding, he made sure you knew that when you got into the relationship. He ran a whole FBI field office and was constantly in the eye line of the higher-ups for an even bigger promotion. In the beginning it had been a bit of a whirlwind romance, but once things slowed down a bit it gave you a chance to really appreciate what you had together, something that could hopefully stand the test of time.

“Do you like the sweater?” you asked. “Because if you don’t you don’t have to wear it,”

“I love it,” he assured you. “And I love you for thinking of me when you got another one for yourself I’m guessing?”

“That would be correct,” you nodded with a laugh. “But you’ve been in the Pacific Northwest for a while don’t you think it’s time you got a bit of west coast style to take with you wherever you go,”

“I mean Gabriel is trying to petition for casual Fridays at the office,” he hummed and you weren’t at all surprised. That sounded like a very Gabriel thing to do.

“Are you going to give in?”

“I might this time, just means I can say no to the break room cereal bar, seems like a fair deal to me,”

“You’d turn down a cereal bar! Aaron, have I taught you nothing!”

“Well, there was that one thing-,”

“Okay no, you’re not using that against me,” you silenced him before he could continue. “Now are we going to order in or are you going to watch me burn down the kitchen for a second time and lose my security deposit,”

“As much as watching you cook would be entertaining we should probably order in,”

At least you could both definitely agree on that.

“And until it gets here maybe we can try that other thing I taught you,” you said, a sly smirk on your face as you lined a few kisses along his jaw before getting up to call your usual take out place and Aaron made his way towards your room.

It was always nights like these you wished could last forever.

—

“Marigolds? Aaron, what's the occasion?” you chuckled.

He looked more nervous than you’d ever seen him. Wringing his hands after he gave you the flowers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“I-I know you said you had something you needed to tell me, but I was hoping maybe I could go first?” he asked and you nodded. Your thing had been a secret for a good week or so, it could wait a little longer.

“(Y/N),” he started, taking your hands in his and looking so deeply into your eyes you thought he might be searching for your soul. “I know we’ve moved kind of fast, the way we started this relationship was far from normal and every step since then has been….different,” he settled on and you nodded, agreeing with him, a small smile coming across your lips. “But I don’t care that it’s different, or unconventional, or whatever the case may be. I um…” he paused and took a deep breath, reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. “I just know that no matter what I want to spend the rest of my life with you,”

“Aaron,” you gasped softly, looking at the ring he was holding between you. “It’s beautiful,”

“I remembered you said you weren’t a big fan of diamonds,” he mentioned. “But does that mean-,”

“Yes? Absolutely it does,” you grinned, nodding your head and wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a smacking kiss to his lips that turned into one of those needier, hungry kisses. teeth clashing slightly, his tongue didn’t waste a second to delve into your mouth causing a sigh to escape past your lips while he managed to slip the ring onto your finger.

“And you had something you needed to tell me?” he said and you chuckled,

“Moving on so quickly?”

“I just didn’t want you to forget,” he held you close, your noses brushing against each other and before you knew it his lips were on yours once more, only this time stealing smaller, slower kisses.

“It’s kind of a hard thing to forget,” you hummed.

“Really? How hard to forget?” he asked.

“Let’s just say instead of honeymoon tickets to Paris we’ll be buying formula and diapers,”

That seemed to catch his attention. He paused and looked at you, a hint of a beaming smile coming across his face.

“You’re pregnant?” he asked and you nodded your head, a large smile plastered on your lips. Now it was his turn to offer you a kiss, one of pure bliss and happiness.

He was going to have a wife and a child, a beautiful family to start his life in Seattle. He had a job he loved and everything seemed to be falling into the right place.

“We can plan the wedding for after the baby comes,” he suggested.

“Perfect,” you grinned.

And that’s really what it felt like. Absolute perfection.

—

“Wait, you're having the baby?!” Aaron exclaimed quietly, not really the best place to be having that kind of conversation, in the middle of a budget meeting, but you both knew you were coming close to your due date. It just seemed that this baby wanted her dad to skip out on work. “You’re already at the hospital, who drove you-,? Gabriel? Seriously? No, okay I’m on my way I can’t miss the birth of my first child,”

Aaron hung up his phone and looked over at the rest of the people in the meeting.

“S-Sorry,” he apologized. “My finacée just went into labour,” he pointed to his phone. “I have to go, but all the information is in the PowerPoint,” he assured.

“Don’t look so tense Hotch, you’re having a baby, I think that’s a good enough excuse to miss a budget meeting,” Davies patted him on the back and he smiled.

“Alright, well I guess I’ll see you guys on the other side,”

Unfortunately, it seemed more and more like the other side he needed to get to was blocked by heavy traffic and he cursed himself for not bringing the siren.

And just when he thought it was a lost cause he came to the end of the bottle neck and things cleared up, allowing him to speed to the hospital you were at.

He ran inside without much of a thought, heading straight for one of the rooms before a nurse stopped him.

“Sir,” she said. “Sir what’s going on?”

“My fiancée,” he said, slightly out of breath. “She was going into labour. She said she came here I-,”

“Hotch!”

His head turned at the sound of his name and he looked over to where Gabriel was waving him down.

“Miss, he’s the father, we should get him in the room,”

She nodded her head and they followed him to the room you were in.

“I’m sorry I tried to stay with her but they wouldn’t let me,” he said.

“No it’s alright,” Aaron assured patting his friend on the back, “Thank you for driving her, I don’t think I could’ve gotten there in time,”

“Don’t mention it,” he placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, “Now go be with her, dad,”

When Aaron walked into the room your eyes immediately locked with his and your shoulders relaxed.

“Oh thank God,” you cried and he rushed to your side, holding your hand while the doctor instructed you to push.

“I’m so sorry,” Aaron apologized. “I tried to get here as fast as I could but there was traffic on the highway-,”

“Aaron shut up,” you said loudly through gritted teeth and a groan of pain. “You’re daughter’s a real stick in the mud and we all know where she gets that from,”

“Cracking jokes in the middle of labour, is this really the time?” he asked.

“The time is whenever I say it is!” you pushed harder and the doctor encouraged you to go more, the baby was almost there.

Aaron couldn’t help but laugh at your nonsense, pressing a kiss to your sticky forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I know you can do this just a little more,”

His encouragement was followed by the cry of a small baby girl which in turn allowed you to take a deep breath in, then out. It was finally over.

The doctors offered for Aaron to cut the cord which he did, catching a slight glimpse of his daughter before they went to clean her up.

He came back to your side, wiping the beads of sweat off your forehead and pressing so many kisses all over your face.

“(Y/N) you were amazing,”

“I still am amazing,” you frowned playfully at him, the exhaustion clear in your voice, but your sense of humour clearly still intact.

“Yes you are,” he chuckled.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner,” you both looked up and turned your attention to the doctor. “Congratulations, on a happy and healthy daughter,”

He handed you the baby and you curled her up so carefully in your arms, pulling down the swaddled blanket slightly so you could see her little chin.

“Aaron she’s beautiful,” you breathed and he nodded, pressing one more kiss to your cheek.

“Just like her mama,”

You stayed like that for a short while before looking up at Aaron,

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked.

He carefully nodded his head and you handed your newborn daughter over to him.

He clung onto her with certain protection only a father would have over his daughter, his eyes welling up with tears at the sight of her small and adorable features.

“Hi baby,” he chuckled with a small sniff, bouncing slightly to keep her calm and content.

It was easy for you to tell in that moment as he talked quietly to the small girl that he was going to love her with every fibre of his being.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner,” the doctor said once more and you both looked up again. “Have you picked out a name for her yet?”

Aaron looked over at you.

“You pick the first name,” he said. “I can do the middle name,”

“A-Alright,” you nodded. “Marigold then,” you smiled. “Like the flowers you gave me when we got engaged and when I told you I was pregnant,”

Aaron smiled at that, it was perfect.

“And the middle name?”

“Gabriella,” Aaron filled in. “Gabe will never let me live that one down, but you wouldn’t have gotten to the hospital without him,”

“He’ll love it,” you chuckled. “And you talked to him right?” you asked. “About being you know…”

“The godfather?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “Yeah, he went full Marlon Brando for that one,”

Aaron pressed a delicate kiss to his daughter’s head before handing her to you and going out to the waiting room to grab Gabriel.

“It’s alright if I come in?” he asked and Aaron nodded.

“Come meet your goddaughter,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leading him into the room.

“Hi Gabe,” you smiled. “Thank you for driving me again, seriously we don’t know what we would have done without you,”

“Don’t mention it,” he nodded. “Seriously, anything for you two,”

He looked over at the tiny girl, a fond smile on his face.

“And we’d like you to meet Marigold,” you introduced. “Marigold Gabriella Hotchner,”

“Gabriella?” he looked up at Aaron.

“Come on I wasn’t going to name her Gabriel,” he teased and the two men shared a small laugh before hugging and you offered for him to hold the baby.

Even though the exhaustion was getting the better of you, you tried to savour the moment and everything about it, because faster than you could blink you knew things would be right back to normal.

—

“Hotch are you okay?” Gabriel asked, his boss and close friend looked deathly pale, something wasn’t right. When there wasn’t a response and just a blank stare he tried again. “Hey, Hotch?”

“He has her,” he whispered.

“Who? Who has who?”

“Chester,” his voice was raw, teetering between anger and anguish. “Chester Nolan,”

“We put him away ages ago,” Gabriel countered.

“He got out,” Aaron explained. “You remember what he said to me at the trial when I testified against him,”

“Hotch no,” Gabriel didn’t want to believe it was try and neither did Aaron, but what he held in his hand said otherwise.

“Gabriel look. He has her,”

It was clear what they had to do next. It was against protocol to do anything else but tell whoever was their superior. But normally running an FBI field office means you are the superior in a close 100-mile radius.

But Aaron made the decision to phone the director. It was a risky move but everyone within the FBI knew who Chester Nolan was. A former agent with a very long revenge list that had Aaron’s name written in blood at the top.

The main reason he was in prison was because of him.

But this was back before he had a soon-to-be wife. A child. A family.

It was when he was just alone and those threats meant I’m going to come take your life away because that’s what means the most to you.

But it was clear he had been watching and knew that didn’t matter anymore. Only you and Marigold.

“Gabe, I have to go home,” he explained. “There are some case files there, I was just going through to catalogue into the digital system, but they should be here now,”

“Alright,” he assured. “You go ahead and take a breather, we can hold down the fort for now,”

He nodded and twiddled your engagement ring between his fingers. He’d have to leave it here, he really didn’t want to but as much as it hurt to say it. It was evidence.

He gave it back to Gabriel before heading off to his car and driving back to your home.

He was on edge. He had seen what Chester had done, the way he made his victims suffered, and above all how he picked them. Families that were already involved in FBI cases.

He was sick to his very core and if he got his hands on you. Well, Aaron didn’t want to think about that.

When he arrived back home, everything seemed quiet and normal, but Aaron knew it wasn’t. He noticed the door creaked slightly ajar and that was enough for him to pull out his gun and keep watch of the exterior before going inside.

Once he was sure it was clear, he climbed up the steps of the front patio, the same steps he ran up when you had told him you needed him, walking past that same door only this time, instead of desire and love, there was only fear behind his eyes.

He came in through the foyer, the place he proposed to you, only to find it streaked with blood.

He wanted to run, scream your name, but if Chester was here he would only hurt you more.

The sweep took what felt like a painfully long time before he came into the last bedroom. The master bedroom.

And when he opened the door he had to stifle a cry that wanted to escape from his throat at the sight of you.

Blood pooling all around the bed, soaking into the white sheets, you were sprawled out, like you couldn’t move, but when he saw your eyes slowly blink, he came closer, your name almost caught in his throat.

“(Y/N) sweetheart?”

“Aaron?” you croaked.

He nodded rushing over to your side only now his instincts kicking in to find the bleeding and try and stop it.

“Hey beautiful, I’m right here,” he sniffed, and you could see the tears streaming down his face.

“Aaron I can't feel my legs,” your voice shook and trembled and he choked back a sob.

“Just hold on for me okay? I’m going to call for help,”

He used one hand to pull out his phone after tying some sheets around your midsection like a makeshift tourniquet.

The operator came on immediately and Aaron knew what he had to say, he had done this penalty of times before.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner with the FBI, I need a medical team to 1354 Yarrow Point Road in Bellevue,”

“Sir, what are the injuries?”

“Multiple stab wounds,” he said, trying to make his voice sound steady. “The suspect hasn’t been apprehended and is still on the run,”

“Help is on the way sir, hang tight,”

The only thing was he didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), look at me,” he held your cheek with a bloodied hand, “Look at me, stay with me okay? Stay strong, I know you. I know you can do this,”

“Aaron,” your voice was tired, peaceful, and scariest of all, it was ready. “Aaron take care of…” you closed your eyes for what felt like an eternity before opening them again, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “Take care of Mary, okay?”

“I will, but I’m taking care of her with you,” he insisted. “You’re not giving up (Y/N), you can’t,”

He was begging now, tears streaming fully down his face as he hunched over you, his forehead pressed to your own, not caring that your blood-stained everything on and around him.

You mustered whatever strength you could to lift your head slightly, pressing a few kisses to his cheeks, across his nose, faltering slightly when you came to his lips, tears of your own mixing with his and your metallic blood.

He could taste it, taste it when you kissed him. The way it coated your mouth, your teeth, just past your lips.

“I love you,” you whispered. “And you’re gonna be fine without me,”

Without you.

No, no he wasn’t.

“N-No,” he sobbed. “No I can't (Y/N), I can't do this without you please just hold on a little longer,”

“Aaron I love you,”

“(Y/N)-,”

“Aaron I love you,”

He choked on his tears again, squeezing you so tight.

“I l-love you too,”

Your eyes fluttered closed with the faintest smile and suddenly, Aaron couldn’t feel your small breaths against his cheek anymore.

It felt as if his whole world had shattered, crumbling right in front of him as you laid dead in his arms.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when the ambulance finally pulled up.

He didn’t know how long it had been when Gabriel came and carefully pulled him away from you.

He didn’t know how long it had been when he picked himself up and walked over to the cot where his infant daughter, only seven months old, was just waking up, wanting to be held.

He carefully scooped her out of her bed, looking back down on her innocent little face with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Marigold let out a small cry and his heart clenched even more if possible, holding her up a little higher so he could press a kiss to her forehead.

“Shh Mary it’s okay, it’s okay,” he hushed, fresh tears starting to spill out again, covering the tracks of the dried ones. “I’m here, dad’s here, i-it’s okay,”

He wasn’t sure when his assurances turned into shaky cries again, but when they did, Gabriel was right at his side, taking Marigold into his own arms before allowing Aaron a shoulder to cry on.

He held back tears of his own, you had been like a sister, Aaron like a brother, and now his family was hurting.

And just like that Aaron thought his whole world fell apart. It was a shame he didn’t know he hadn’t hit rock bottom yet.

—

“You have that appointment for Mary today,” Gabriel reminded him. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No it’s fine,” Aaron shook his head, packing up the last of his things in boxes. “They just,” he waved his hand around. “Ran some tests it should be fine,”

“Okay, I can stay and pack the rest of the silverware then,” he said. “And before you say anything I’ve already taken a couple of weeks off. I’m coming with you to Virginia. I’ll help you settle in,”

“Gabe, I’m from Virginia there’s no settling in needed,” he insisted.

“Yes, but if you won’t let me be there for you let me be there for (Y/N),”

The move had happened so quickly Aaron barely had a chance to blink an eye after your death. They transferred him to Virginia, his home state, just as the morgue asked what burial plans he had for you. He couldn’t leave you in Seattle, it was still a city where you barely knew anyone. It wouldn’t be fair. At least in Virginia, you would have him. He would visit you, take Marigold as she got older.

Aaron only silently nodded his head before moving over to the small play mat they had set up for Marigold, picking her up and buckling her into her car seat, which she didn’t like very much.

“I know, my love,” Aaron whispered. “But it’s only a short ride okay, I promise,”

His voice seemed to calm her slightly, the whines turning into soft sniffles while he picked up the seat and went to head out to the car, saying a quick goodbye to Gabriel.

Like he promised his young daughter the ride was short and he took her out of the seat as soon as he could before walking into the office, cradling her in his arms like she was still a newborn, but she liked being held like that. It was how you always held her.

The waiting room was stuffy, bland, reminding him of how he had to spend countless hours in places like these waiting for his father to be done with his appointments. He hated every minute of it, being forced to stand around for a man who had done nothing but berate and abuse him, his brother, and his mother.

The voice of one of the receptionists snapped him out of his daze when he heard his daughter’s name called out.

“Oh she’s such a cutie,” the receptionist smiled. “How old is she?”

“Seven and a half months,” he gave her a polite smile despite the continued feeling of emptiness inside him. The whole world didn’t need to know he was a broken man.

When he entered the pediatrician’s office, she was already there going through some files but lifted her head to give Aaron a sympathetic smile as he entered.

“Mr. Hotchner, thanks for coming in for this,”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Y-You said the test results came in?” he asked, taking a seat. If he was perfectly honest he hadn’t remembered what the test was for, that was something you had taken Marigold in for just weeks prior.

“Yes sir, and I um-,”

Before she could even finish her sentence he knew something was coming. Something he didn’t want to hear. And as she spoke it was like all of his worst fears were realized in the span of a week.

She spoke calmly and softly but Aaron was having a hard time processing the words she was saying. It was like they were floating around in the air but he couldn’t reach out and grab them and make them stick in his mind that his little girl was sick. Really sick.

“I was told you’re moving to Virginia,” she said and he nodded slowly, swallowing thickly.

“In a few days,”

“I know some great Virginian pediatricians who are specialists in this field, I can write you a referral to one of them so you can take Marigold once you’re settled. Really, I’d recommend as soon as you can,”

Aaron nodded his head carefully.

“D-Do you know what happened?” he asked. “How she…got sick?”

“It could have been a number of things, but I’m afraid it’s not something we can pinpoint,” she explained. “But I know a lot of parents with kids this young who get sick tend to blame themselves and I want to assure you that none of this is ever anyone’s fault,”

He may have nodded but that didn’t mean he believed her.

“It’s biology Mr. Hotchner. You can’t control how it comes up, I can't control it either, but we can try and make it better for her,”

“Of course,” he said quietly. “I um-I have to head back, we’re shipping some stuff out tonight early tomorrow, and Marigold gets fussy if she doesn’t eat by five. Y-You’ll email me the address. To the pediatric office?”

“I’ll do it right now,” she nodded. “I’ll even let him know myself to give you a call,”

“Thank you,”

He stood up and as he left the office Marigold giggled, reaching up to grab the zipper of his sweatshirt before attempting to put it in her mouth.

“Mary,” he sighed, moving the zipper out of her hands but she only reached for his finger, putting it in her mouth instead.

Aaron stood still for a moment just outside of his car, looking down at the baby in his arms.

She chewed contently on his finger, she only had one small tooth poking out of her bottom gums, but it didn’t hurt when she bit down on them, the tooth was too small for that.

But the time came where he had to put her back into the car seat and she whined when he pulled away, but he wanted to go back to Gabriel’s home and hold her.

“Everything went okay?” Gabriel asked as soon as Aaron stepped back inside with Marigold in his arms.

Aaron opened his mouth but just shook his head.

“Hotch what happened?”

He explained to Gabriel what the doctor had told him, including that they were already arranging to see a specialist in Virginia.

“Is she…Is she gonna be okay?” his voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t dare ask the question, but he had to. It was his goddaughter.

Aaron pressed his lips together. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell him that it was possible to beat whatever this was, but the truth was that in reality, you could never know. He didn’t know. And the only thought running through his mind was that he was going to lose his only reason to live. He was going to lose his daughter right after he lost you.

“I-I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I just want to hold her for a while,” his voice was soft, quiet. “I don’t know what else to do for her,”

Gabriel nodded and let Aaron walk over to the room he was staying in. He placed Marigold down on the bed and climbed in next to her, gently rubbing the back of his fingers up and down her small chubby arm while she played with the sheets.

Aaron wasn’t sure when the tears had started to fall, but these days he just let them come. He owed himself that much.

It seemed the small girl noticed his tears and reached out her hand, placing it on his cheek as the tears kept coming down, stronger and stronger until his vision was blurred by the water in his eyes.

Marigold was all he had left of you, and from the moment she came into this world she had been the light of his life. Just the mere thought that something could happen, had happened, to her was devastating.

“I promised your mama I would take care of you,” he whispered. “I don’t feel like I’m doing a really good job,”

She babbled something, just jibberish, but she was still trying to communicate. He wondered what she would say if she could speak to him.

“I love you, sweet girl,” he moved her hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss against her small fingers. “To the moon and back,”

—

When Aaron moved to Virginia it felt like he lived more at the hospital than his own home.

He had taken an indefinite leave of absence from work; there was no way in the world he, or anyone for that matter, could juggle both.

The amount of medical jargon he heard day in and day out was enough to make his ears bleed, he couldn’t even tell how much of it he registered.

It made him feel like a terrible father, no matter how many times a day Gabriel called him and told him otherwise. All he could do was sit and stare as his daughter laid down in a small cot, tubes, far too large, coming out of her arms and one wrapped around under her nose to help her breathe.

It seemed after he moved things just got worse and worse and worse.

He wasn’t sure how many times he had fallen asleep in the chair next to her small bed, just letting her hold his finger, spending every moment possible as close as he could to her.

And sometimes your voice would pop up in his head and say things like,

“Aaron, remember when I told you about skin-on-skin contact? It’s good for the baby, maybe it’ll make her more comfortable,”

And the second it came to his mind he didn’t waste a second, no matter the late hour, carefully unbuttoning his dress shirt and holding his sleeping daughter up against his bare chest while he listed to her heavy and laboured breathing.

He remembered what the doctor had said when she was born.

“A healthy baby,”

He wouldn’t be saying that if he saw her now.

And the amount that Gabriel called and checked up on him, Aaron thought he was going to uproot his whole life in Seattle and come move to Virginia.

He tried to ignore it each time the doctors whispered. He knew she was getting worse. It didn’t matter, none of the special treatments they’d done were doing anything to help her, she was just a baby and she was exhausted.

Aaron could tell just by the way she yawned, the way she only wanted to stay in his arms. The way she cried and wouldn’t stop no matter what because Aaron knew she was calling for you. She missed you as much as he did.

But you couldn’t hold her so he did his best to substitute.

The times where his heart would stop was when they had to take her away, to another room, to another wing. He didn’t like being separated from her, but if there was an emergency it was bound to happen. And they seemed to be happening more often these days.

And after each one he prayed he wouldn’t have to hear the dreadful voice of the doctor, filled with sympathy and pity, but deep down he knew he would have to hear that voice one way or another.

He told himself he could be prepared for it, but in reality, it ate away at him every day and the minute the doctor walked up to him and said,

“Mr. Hotchner,”

Just his name. He knew she wouldn’t last much longer. His eyes were bloodshot long ago, from all the sleepless nights piled with fighting back tears, it didn’t help.

“If you’d like to go hold her, I can take you to her right now,” one of the nurses spoke up and he nodded.

Marigold deserved that. She deserved her dad by her side.

When they entered the room the faint beating of the heart monitor filled the empty air and Aaron made his way to the seat placed next to her bed, carefully lifting her up and into her arms, cradling her the way she loved so much.

And he just sat there, looking into her eyes that looked just like yours, but in a glance, they carried that same peace, readiness, and he didn’t know how that was fair.

“I love you, my sweet girl,” he whispered so quietly, gently pressing his forehead to her own. Her eyes were closed now, small hands just resting, fingers barely moving. “To the moon and back. I’ll always love you to the moon and back,”

The beeping on the monitor slowed and he shakily lifted his lips to press the smallest kiss to her little button nose just as the long tone drowned out the sounds of his silent sobs.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he cried, still holding onto her so close, so carefully. “I’m sorry Mary. I’m sorry,”

He was sorry to Marigold because he felt he could have done more. He could have taken care of her better.

He had been a single father for less than a week and this had been dropped into his lap. He couldn't do it. He couldn’t take care of her and these were the consequences.

He was sorry to you too. He promised to look after her, take care of her. How could he have taken care of her well if she was gone now? Slipping right through his fingers just like you had only months ago, the wounds still fresh.

And when the nurse tried to carefully offer to take her away he refused. He said,

“N-No, please,” it was more of a plea, begging for more time. “I-I just want to hold her a little while longer,”

“Mr. Hotchner, sir, I’m sorry,” the nurse started. “But she’s gone,”

“I know,” he sobbed. “But please just-j-just let me hold her a little while longer,”

The nurse nodded her head and stepped away from the grieving father, allowing him one last moment of peace with his little girl.

—

“All that happened and you said nothing?” Emily whispered. “You suffered through that all alone?”

Hotch cleared his throat, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“The higher-ups were aware of my situation when I was transferred,” he explained. “But when I came back to work the last thing I wanted to think about was how I had lost them so I-um…I made a bit of a promise to keep my work life and personal life separate,”

“What about Gabriel?” Derek asked. “Are you still in touch with him?”

Hotch nodded, “He still lives in Seattle, has my old job now, but he comes almost every year either around the time (Y/N) or Mary passed,”

“Hotch,” JJ spoke up and he turned his attention to the blonde communication coordinator. “You have this locket and you bring it out whenever we deal with family cases. Why? What’s in it?”

Hotch fished in his pocket and pulled out the necklace, laying it on the table in front of him.

“It was (Y/N)’s,” he said. “She used to wear it all the time and said it was her good luck charm because the first day she wore it was the day she met me,”

That made a few of them smile softly, seeing as he was being so candid, maybe sharing a happier memory.

“It’s got a smaller version of this picture in it,” he took out his wallet and pulled a separate photo out of one of the pockets and slid it over to JJ who then passed it around to the rest of them.

It was a picture of the three of you, something a friend had taken while you were at home. You sat on the ground with your legs laid out in front of you while Aaron’s head rested in your lap and he held Marigold up on his stomach. You were both looking at your daughter with such love in your eyes, so much happiness for the future.

“It reminds me of what I’m trying to make sure the other families can still have,” he explained. “I don’t want anyone to feel what I felt,”

Dave placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder and he took in a short breath.

“Hotch, I know it’s not… we’re not them, but we-we love you. You’re our family,” Penelope expressed. “You’ve taken care of each of us more times than we can count,”

He chewed on his lip and nodded. He loved them too, the team, a lot. After everything that had happened he drowned himself in work, not allowing himself to get close with anyone outside that or anyone at all, trying to at least. But Penelope was right, the BAU was his family, and even though he’d grieved in silence for all these years they were still going to be with him every step of the way, even if he started his real healing process a little late.

And when the jet landed and he thought everyone was going to go home, they dragged Hotch with them, piling into two cars before driving off somewhere.

“Where are we going?”

They didn’t give him an answer but as the streets became more and more familiar he had a good idea.

Emily offered to link arms with him as they walked up the stone path leading to your resting place, and they took a couple of moments of silence together.

“You know,” Hotch spoke up. “(Y/N) used to love to go dancing,”

The team all turned their heads to look at him, the faintest smile coming across his features.

“She would drag me to this bar close to our place every Friday night after work, and I was a terrible dancer,” he shook his head. “But she took her time and taught me and… we had a lot of fun,”

“Well I do know a pretty good bar that’s got some great music,” Derek suggested.

“And I promised next time we went out for drinks it was on me,” Dave added.

They looked around for a consensus, everyone agreeing before they landed on Hotch.

And for the first time in a very long while, years even, he heard a gentle familiar voice in the back of his mind.

“Go dancing Aaron, it’s been a while since you’ve had some fun. We always had fun together, go remember that,”

He looked at Derek and nodded,

“As long as I’m not paying for drinks,”

The team all smiled and a chorus of agreements was sent around, even a pat on the shoulder with an attaboy from Dave.

And as they walked away from your resting place he stayed one extra moment, taking a small kiss chocolate out of his pocket and letting it rest on your headstone.

“We did have fun, didn’t we,” he murmured before with one last brush of the stone he turned around and jogged away to catch up with his family.

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Criminal Minds:

@wifenumberfour @hotchnerundercover @disgruntledchowchow @itsalonglongwaytobasingse @pachiibatt @calm-thy-breasts @g1nnyslove @jfklms @ijustwannaread2k19 @michelle9-433 @zheezs14 @obviousoasis @mintphoenix @yougottalovefandoms @penceyspells @greeneyedblondie44 @theinsanespaceship15 @gspenc @co0chiegrip1 @needylun

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miyalove · 4 years ago

Text

[ ❄ ]— SNOWED IN.

⤷ pairing. roommate!miya atsumu x fem!reader

⤷ genre. smut, fluff, humor, college au, and they were roommates au

⤷ warnings. swearing, dom!atsumu, sub!reader, ass slapping, begging, atsumu is 1000% a tease, oral (male receiving), praise, choking on atsumu’s (large) dick, domestic sex, hair pulling, dirty talk, penetrative sex, sex without a condom (please, be safe ya’ll), hickeys, *unedited

3.5k | being snowed in with a broken heater is anything but ideal. when your favorite thick blanket and the layers of fluffy sweaters no longer cut it, your roommate ask of you something you just can’t turn down.

five days.

it has been five days in which the snow storm forced you and atsumu to stay inside. the first day was fine. the power hadn’t went out and your heater was set to a temperature that you and atsumu agreed on. your phones and other electronics were fully charged and ready to use for emergencies or for quick netflix binges. everything was okay.

day two came a little harsher. waking up with your hairs on the back of your neck standing, you realized the power had finally went. it was sometime in the early morning, but even within a short time span the chilly air was still able to nip through the interior. no power meant no heater or hot water. the day dragged on just like anyone would expect. atsumu had complained for hours upon hours. screeching dramatically and throwing his body on the floor like a child who wasn’t allowed to eat candy before dinner.

day three was just as bad if not worse. no amount of blankets and thick winter coats could fight off the cold. you wake up with your teeth chattering, your body shaking, and to top it all off, you think you might be getting sick too. you could tell night had finally came when everything got immensely worst. your breath frosted and sneezing between you and atsumu was non-stop. this was also the day you proposed that the two of you cuddle up for extra warmth. it was a casual conversation that you had to murmur between glassy breaths.

reluctantly, atsumu agreed. at first, he turned away saying something about not “liking the cuddling lifestyle”. you rolled your eyes at his claim because everyone loves cuddles. you had gotten excited at the aspect of showing him what a good session can awaken within. your theory was proven right later into the night though. you rested your head on his shoulder, using some candle light to read through a chapter of a book you’ve been into recently. an exciting thriller that has you anticipatingly flipping through page after page.

atsumu was doing his own thing though. what it was? you didn’t know. really you weren’t paying attention. even when he hummed and grumbled lowly a few times, your brushed it off. not wanting to stray away from the words on the pages, you hoped he worked out whatever his problem is by himself. the last straw though was when his fingers slowly creeped up your thigh.

you shifted your attention, eyeing the man besides you. he boldly holds your stare. he’s daring enough to put on a nonchalant expression, face completely relaxed. his hues shine with something hidden behind them. something you can’t quite make out but they have you not wanting to look away. he doesn’t say anything and for a while the two of you just stare.

when you drop the book was when he finally pounced.

“’bout damn time,” he teases.

in seconds, he pulls you close. your back flush against his chest and his arms pulled you in by your middle, resting there. your sat in between his crossed legs. you had no words at first. everything had happened so fast. for a second you sit there wide-eyed and in shock, fazed and stare lingering in the darkness. then you felt the comforting warmth slowly creep in. when he spoke, the vibration in his chest felt inviting and things went lax again.

“keep your mouth open ‘nd a fly ‘ill get in there.” you can’t help but laugh.

“whatever happened to ‘not the cuddling type’, huh?”

“shut the fuck up,” venomous words but the way he dug his nose into your neck proved the opposite.

day four went the same way except now you were both all over each other. the night before had broken something between the two of you that wasn’t just roommates status anymore. he’s become a friend and someone you actually look forward to hanging out and talking with. you see pass his honestly and realize that he’s actually quite charming too. atsumu had thrown you tons of curveballs that day and getting to know him was fun. you recall when you where practically straddling his lap, your hands roaming anywhere and everywhere.

you faced him, eyes soft and laughter apparent because who knew he was a jokester too. gently caressing at his sharp jaw then sliding down to his firm pecs. your hands roamed his body like an ocean waiting to be ventured. with every feather-like touch, you learned another thing that day. miya atsumu is incredibly attractive. you’ll never admit it to him (because you also learned that miya atsumu has an incredibly large ego), but you must be insane if it took you a damn snow storm to realize something that’s so blaringly obvious.

day five was the day he came to you with that intimate proposal. cuddling in any and every position possible was something that was easy for you to do. you’ve warmed up with close friends, both male and female, so you could say that the special act doesn’t truly mean anything, but this– dear god, this man will be the death of you.

“you want to– what?” you practically screech. you jump back from his body, already missing the heat, but you want to look him dead in the eyes. his eyes, are the most expressive thing about him. atsumu can lie and tease but there was no getting past him when you gazed into his golden hues, but was he really saying what you think he was saying?

“cuddling and all that can only do so much, yanno?” silence. but he goes on anyway, “thought this was a more... practical solution.” and in pure atsumu matter, he doesn’t stray away from you. looking you dead in the eye with all the confidence in the world. there’s no teasing smile or sarcastic cackle. he’s serious. this attractive man that has women constantly falling at his feet... wants to fuck you.

“this is like for the warmth and all that... right?” you’re hesitant. he can see it in the way you look at him. your hues are clouded with all sorts of swirling emotions; concern, worry, uncertainty. he thinks about taking it back. but it’s far too late for doubt now.

“yeah, for the heat,” he repeats it to reassure you or maybe to reassure himself, he doesn’t know. atsumu sits before you. his hair messy from all the times you ran your hand through it and his cheeks are slightly colored pink. why was this such an awkward conversation to have? there’s a constructing feeling in his chest. he feels like he’s suffocating like every breath he takes is stopped by words trying to choke themselves out of his throat. perhaps it’s the cold finally getting to him or maybe it’s the way the candle light perfectly frames your face.

“so are ya in?”

it’s the way he bit at his lips that get you contemplating. the way he looked at ready to take you whenever and wherever you asked. it was the anxious way he his leg bounced and the ghost-like circles he was rubbing into your thigh. it set ablaze a trail of desire wherever he touched. it laced your veins with adrenaline and lust made for him by him. him, him, him.

when you leaned into his lips was when he finally got an answer.

“oh, shit,” you sink down on him as the words leave his mouth.

your lips wrapped around him and he mumbles something thing under his breath that you can’t really catch. the warmth from your tongue makes his stomach tighten. the sight from above looks incredible. your down on your knees, mouth stuffed with his cock, and your sweet little ass on display just for him. atsumu lays right at the edge of your bed, legs spread just wide enough for you to kneel between them. one hand pets at your hair, lacing it between your locks.

the way you expertly circle his tip and how your hands play with his balls, makes him sees stars behind his lids. his stomach tenses with every swallow, every small hum that erupts from your throat. god, you are going to be the death of him. when you look up, you let out a small moan, absolutely loving atsumu’s fucked out expression. his thin lips pout at you, his chest is heavy and falls unevenly. it motivates you, the way he groans and grunts; the way he falls apart at your touch.

“just like that, doll. mhm,” he praises. when you look up, his eyes are half-lidded, clouded with lust meant only for you. a small smirk plays at his lips. he’s completely enamored, sweat beads at his forehead and you don’t think he’s ever looked prettier.

your jaw goes slack when you feel his hips buck. you bob your head, gladly welcoming his shallow thrust. the feeling of his dick heavy on your tongue while he forces you to slide further down makes heat between your legs pool. atsumu takes your humming as a sign to go deeper. soon you’re nose is pressed up on his skin and you’re choking on his cock.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he punctuates his praise with a harsh slap to your ass. the sudden movement makes you fly forward, effortlessly swallowing his dick down again. atsumu is clearly caught off guard. he let’s out a surprised mewl, hip stuttering at the overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck– with y- your mouth full of my cock.”

his grip tightens with every thrust. your scalp burns with all the harsh tugging. there’s droll and snot leaking down from your face but it’s all worth it. your lungs burn, begging you for any kind of air. like he was reading your mind, he lets off of you for few seconds. the lewd pop that follows after rips through the empty room as you catch your breath but that sly smile remains on his face.

even with your heavy panting and watery eyes, atsumu doesn’t exactly let up. his length rest, merely inches away from your face. he pets at your hair, tugging your locks to give him more access to your neck. you shudder when he starts peppering your skin with soft kisses. your eyes flutter close, enjoying the way he nips and sucks at your neck. that’s definitely going to leave a mark, but you don’t find yourself caring.

his mouth goes to work while his other hand roams your valley. without hesitation, atsumu slides his hand lower cupping your ass. “fits like a gem,” you hear him mumble between sloppy sucking. the breath he lets out tickles your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

his hand slides up to your front, grazing your nipples through the thick lace of your bra. opening your eyes, you look up just in time to see his gaze darken. reaching higher, atsumu cups the back of your neck. there’s a moment in which he stills. golden eyes bore into your own hues. a plain of emotions swirl within him. admiration in the way he smiles at you, hunger in the way he bits his lips. his hair is messy, tousled with all the times you delicately laced your fingers through them and his lips are swollen from the way he was marking you.

there’s only one word that comes to mind; “pretty.” you didn’t mean it aloud, but when it comes to atsumu your brain short circuits and all sense is thrown out the window. you feel your face heat up at the embarrassingly simple compliment.

“speakin’ about yerself, now?” of course, he would. typical atsumu miya with his smooth words that make all the panties drop (including yours). you let out a breathy giggle, liking the way your checks ache with all the smiling. without another thought, his head dips down to your own capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

it’s lazy and sloppy. all teeth and tongue and no space to breath or think, but you like it like this. you like atsumu like this. raw, exposed, and yours. his hands roam to the back of your thighs, pinching slightly in hopes you get the hint. he wants you. now.

without breaking away, you lean into atsumu. his back gently lands on your sheets, pillows and blankets shaping his tone body to perfection. you brace your arms to help with the fall, successfully trapping him between your body.

“atsumu,” you say, breaking free.

“hhm?”

“please, fuck me.”

he chuckles, “say less, doll.”

pulling your sweatpants down, his big hands grope your ass in the process. he moves quickly, rushing to get you ready for him. in one swift moment, your underwear is gone and thrown carelessly somewhere.

“you’re so shameless, baby, with that demanding mouth,” flipping you over, you’re under him now. body perfectly, angled so he can see your pretty features shift whenever he fucks you just right. he loves seeing your mouth agape. loves how you hang off every word, how your body quivers with every touch, how you cry and moan his name. it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.

he leaves a trail of kisses down your body until he’s mere inches away from your cunt. his fingers brush against the thin lining of your panties. why you still have them on is beyond him. arousal leaks through the material while atsumu presses against your heat.

“ah– ‘tsumu,” your breathing is frantic when he presses a fleeting kiss on your clothes core. “you’re such a t-tease.”

he doesn’t say anything. allowing his actions to speak for him. he teases you, hooking his fingers under the thin lace. the way his cold digits brush at your heat makes for a delicious contrast.

“you look so good,” he purrs pressing a kiss to the inner part of your thigh. “and you’re absolutely fuckin’ dripping. bet i could just slide right into ya.” his fingers are relentless, they ghost over your clit tracing feather-like circles. it’s enough for short spikes of pleasure to rush through you but just as quickly as they come, they’re gone.

“do you want me?”

“god, yes.”

“beg for it then.”

like clock work, you do. “please, ‘tsumu. i need you so bad right now. your hands, your tongue, your cock-- everything. please, i just wanna feel you so bad.”

“ehh,” he ponders before pressing a kiss to your thighs. “could be better.”

it’s stupid the way your heart flutters at his playful teasing. looking up at him through your hazy eyes, you try your best to muster up the perfect puppy dog face. “please, ‘tsumu?”

he lets out a huff, “god, you’re so annoying.” everything happens so fast. one second, atsumu is softly pecking at your neck. the next he’s roughly grabbing at you, complete man-handling.

he pulls you impossibly closer. there is no warning or preparation. he rams himself into you, completely taken over by the way your tight pussy swallows him whole. the burn feels fucking painful, you can’t help the screams that tremble from your lips.

“oh my f-fucking-- mhpm, god!” he’s so big, in length and thickness. moans fill the room while he fills you up. your hot, wet walls clench around him and he groans at the delicious feeling.

“yer so fucking tight, holy shit.” he nuzzles his nose into your neck. “love this cunt so fucking much.” another slap to the ass that rips a deep moan from you.

“please, ‘tsumu,” you pant.

and at that moment, something within him finally snaps. pulling out from your sopping cunt, the tip of his dick rest within you, then in the same second he slams back into your entrance. lewd moans rip from the both of you while pure euphoria runs through your blood. you arch you back, pressing your chest to his, eyes rolling back every time he rams back into you. with each thrust and roll of your hip, his dick rubs at the spot that makes you see stars.

“you feel so good,” you whimper out watching as his dick pumps in and out of your pussy. “filling me up so good-- fuck, with your big dick.”

he shudders at your words, head coming down to latch onto your pebbled nipples. his tongue laps around the sensitive bud while his spare hand kneads at your other breast. a sharp inhale escapes you in between sobs. his hands are freezing from the chilly air within your apartment. it’s like ice on your skin, a complete contrast to how heated you feels. the feeling knocks you back into reality; you and atsumu are fucking in the middle of a snowstorm.

“how’s that feel, babe?” you answer him with a wanton gasp.

“absolutely fucking amazing,” you punctuate your pleasure with a deep roll of your hips. atsumu chuckles, a mix of a strangled moan and teasing.

“god, yer such a little freak.” he leans down again repeating his action to your other breast. deep thrust becoming more frequent now.

“only f-for you.”

your words spur him on, atsumu angles his hips to pound onto the one spot that has you crying out. he has your body shaking, his name tumbles out of your mouth like a mantra while he wrecks your body, moaning into your neck.

the knot of your pleasure tighten. it burns like a white hot coils that’s about to snap. he knows you’re close. with the way your pussy sporadically clenches around him making him groan. god, you’re almost there. he can feel it. your orgasm is right at the tip of your tongue. so close yet so fucking far. you need more and he senses that with the way you silently beg him. “harder, please-- oh, god.”

your words get caught on your tongue. he fucks right into you with a force so hard, you might have forgotten how to breath. “yes, just l-like that. hmph.”

“fuck yeah,” he groans, nipping your neck. “so good to me, fuck. such a good girl keeping me nice and warm and shit.” at that, you squeeze around him and he lets out a lewd groan. his cold digits travel down your body, rubbing circles around your messy clit. it’s all too much. the way he expertly runts into you, the pleasure his fingers give you, the way he praises you and nips at all your sensitive spots.

all you can manage at this point are a high pitched whimpers and pleas of his name. sweat drips down both your bodies, your walls clench around him like a vice as he tries his best to fuck you hard. every thrust brushes right at your sweet spot, clouding your vision. a fire burns within you, leaving you gasping and moaning between sobs of air.

“cum for me, doll.”

and with his words and one last thrust, the coil finally snaps. pleasure rushes through your body in euphoric waves taking over you. your veins pump absolute bliss through you. atsumu follows soon after, painting your walls with spurts of his seed. overwhelming, toe-curling pleasure floods within you both like surges of electricity. his lips find yours as the last parts of your orgasm finally dies.

once he catches his breath, he pulls away smiling down at the way you look effortlessly gorgeous with his cum stuffed in you. you meet his hues too, mirroring the same exact smile.

your room is dark, curtesy of the snow covering your windows. candles flicker at your nightstand, painting the room in a dim, yellowish hue. fatigue hits you like a train. all you want is to lay down, close your eyes and welcome the sweet relief of slumber. shifting around, you turn on your side body molding perfectly spooning atsumu.

“sleepy already?”

the bedsheets shift towards you. despite having your eyes closed, you can feel atsumu’s hues on you watching the way your eyelashes fall perfectly on your cheek. you’re so warm and soft. effortlessly gorgeous with or without trying. your hair threads down on your pillow, spiraling to an abrupt end. he wants to run his hands through it, massaging at your scalp to sooth the aching.

then he reminds himself he can. when he’s meet with a mumbled response and a slight hum, he takes the hint. in your haze, you feel the weight of his arms wrap around your body cuddling up to you impossibly closer.

his breath tickles at your neck, “goodnight, baby.”

(atsumu eyes the way you fall lax within his arms. your legs tangled and wrapped within the thick layers of your comforter. his heart beat rapidly and the smile on his face, despite the exhaustion that laces his veins, can't stop. atsumu isn’t an idiot. he knows what all these symptoms mean, but for now that’s a talk for another time. for now, he’ll silently thank whatever god out there for the terrible weather that brought the two of you closer then ever before. for now, he’ll enjoy the way your body molds perfectly to his.)

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!!#miya atsumu #atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #miya atsumu smut #atsumu smut

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57greenstreet · 3 years ago

Text

Gossip Guy podcast with Willem De Schryver

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYjtRYOGS00

translated by @jackfrostsander @bruisingknees @lblogss @yousmina and me :)

E: I do have another present for you.

W: Oei oei oei, presents.

E: I do that every week. I give something to my guest of the week.

W: Oei oei oei. Do I slide it?

E: Here in the front is a flap that you have to fold upwards…

[Intro]

E: Wassup people, welcome to a new episode of the Gossip Guy podcast. My name is Ender Scholtens and today I’m here with Willem De Schryver. Everything ok?

W: Sure sure (In Dutch sure is used as a confirmation to a question).

E: Is this your first podcast?

W: Yes, this is my first podcast.

E: Stress?

W: No, it will be fine, right? Relaxed.

E: I don’t know… (laughing). For the people who don’t recognize you, from where could they know you?

W: Hmmm, probably from the youth series WTFOCK where, in the third season, I play the role of Sander.

E: And we are allowed to talk about it in this podcast.

W: Yeah I also heard that. Yes, it’s over.

E: Was it a difficult chapter of your life to close?

W: Yes, I still clearly remember the last moment… Like really the last last scene at the sea… That was an emotional moment because you went through a lot as a group, you did a lot together, and emotional scenes, intimate scenes. But yes, I think, if I speak for the whole group that it was a goodbye to the series but not a goodbye from each other. We still keep in contact. Mainly through WhatsApp.

E: Yeah, the end of the series was beautiful. I sat next to my girlfriend when it just came online. Because there were a few scenes that we hadn’t seen yet and we were just watching them… And we refreshed and the last episode was online… The last piece was online… So, I thought… I really cried… It caused quite some emotions.

W: For many people… Also under the cast and even the extras that were present for that last scene… Even among them. I can remember that they got emotional because it really was over over. I think that we, WTFOCK, have been able to impact a lot of young people in Belgium. So, it’s beautiful… We closed it beautifully…

E: I don’t doubt that. I really liked the end. What is your favorite memory from your whole WTFOCK experience?

W: Hoh, hmmm. Do I have to choose one? Difficult to choose one… I think that the most enjoyable moments… At the end of each series… Almost… We were at the sea or in the Ardennes, as a group, for a vacation. Away together. And those moments… Away with the whole cast and crew… Being away for a whole weekend. And in the evening, talking late into the night and that creates a special connection and I think that, in general, was the most enjoyable… Yes, it affects me… You share, as a young person, a common dream or something we want to realize as an actor to succeed and everyone who works so hard for that… That’s nice to see.

E: I recently talked to Veerle and I know that if she sees Nora, like somewhere, say at a party… Then they stay together for the whole evening… Do you have that? With who did you have the best connection throughout that whole experience?

W: Yes…

E: That doesn’t mean that the rest is not chill or so…

W: No the rest is all stupid… There’s only one person… I hate you all! (joking) No! Yes, hmmm, I think that I definitely have the best connection with Willem. Just because we have been through a lot… I always compare the WTFOCK crew a bit to my own friend group, aside from the cast. I mean, I know to whom I can go for what. I know I can go to some if I feel sad, to talk and I know who I can go to to have a laugh. And who I can go to to have a general chat. And everyone has their qualities or like their own aura around them… Where I love to hang around. So, it differs from person to person. So, it’s hard to choose one person but Willem then in the sense that, if you jump naked together in a swimming pool and if you have intimate scenes together… That creates a connection, of course. So, yes, if I have to choose one person…

E: Is there a barrier that you have to overcome to play such scenes? Because they are very intimate, indeed. And I, personally, couldn’t imagine… I can’t act… But, to empathize with a role… To play such scenes… Is that difficult for you?

W: Huh, yes, that’s a question I get often. I mean like… Yeah and you have to empathize with that character… But yes, you step into that project with a certain professionalism and you say “okay, we are going to create a story and bring it to the public with certain values and that we want to tell something and show something” …So, yes, you don’t really think about it. So, it’s not like I thought “Ooooo, I am kissing with a boy but I am interested in girls”. That was not a problem for me because it really is about telling the story and making that together and if the story requires that then you just completely go for it.

E: That’s cool. What are your future acting ambitions? You now have played in a series, is that something you want to do more in the future or do you like theatre more or movie or…

W: I find it difficult to choose between theatre and film, for example. After WTFOCK I played in Déjà Vu, which you can see on Streamz and later this year on Channel 4… And I study theatre at KASK. And I notice the difference, due to the recordings, I am really in the field and I am busy and I work, while at school I learn new things about theatre… So, in my opinion I have more experience in television work because I actually have done projects for that and I haven’t yet for theatre, which is still school and learning. So, I think it’s currently hard to choose but I think, maybe it’s a cliché answer, but the combination is maybe ideal, of course. But I am still exploring and I will see how it goes…

7:02

E: What is your favorite food?

W: My favorite food?

E: Yes.

W: Hmmmm, in the past I was really a basic guy… Like spaghetti bolognese or so… But now, generally after my exams, I go to a restaurant with my grandma. She always buys. That’s always amazing. I am a fan. And I always take steak tartare with fries. That remains a bit of a guilty pleasure.

E: How long, do you think, would it take you to eat five full plates of spaghetti bolognese?

W: Hoh, hmmm. The thing is, my stomach is rather small…

E: Small?

W: I think that I would have to schedule in… Okay, after a certain time I would have to throw up and then eating further…

E: You’re allowed to take a break. You’re allowed to say… Okay, I take a few days…

W: No, no, not that…

E: You’re going to do it in a day?

W: Look, two plates… Three if I really push…

E: You get preparation time so you know like a week before… So, you can like…

W: Train yourself?

E: Yes, train…

W: Hoh, alee say about four hours…

E: Four hours?! Five plates, he? Like five really big plates…

W: Yeah but yeah, four minutes… I am exaggerating… Let’s say a day… In a day five plates…

E: Ok, that should work. Then you basically have every meal… Breakfast… Lunch… Dinner… and in between… pasta…

W: Pasta as breakfast…

E: One day should definitely be feasible.

W: Yes, indeed.

8:49

E: What is, according to you, the reason you were placed on this planet?

W: Fuck (laughs).

E: Existential crisis, okay? Have you never thought about what the purpose of life is and what…

W: Yes, certainly… Hmmm, I'm someone who worries a lot. When I'm in bed in the evening I start to think about questions like that and then I think “what am I doing? Willem… where do I want to go to and…” Hmmm, why was I put on this planet? Hmmmm… (speechless followed by laughing). This is really bad… It’s like I don’t value myself…

E: Noooo, but I didn’t expect a deep philosophical answer. Well, if you had one… really good but…

W: Okay I’m going to think about my philosophical answer… but no. If you want… No! Yes, now I'm really going to sound philosophical but… (crosstalk) Everyone who is on earth has a certain reason to be here and everyone… I for example have that… I really feel that… I never liked going to school. Especially, in lower and high school. I… I actually, on purpose, put my fingers in my throat in the morning to throw up…

E: Wow, that’s heavy…

W: And then going downstairs to say “papa I’m ill, can I stay home?” I don’t know why but that whole system… Sitting behind a desk all day… And those classes… that was not for me. And then I discovered my passion for acting and discovered that it really suited me. And that’s the thing… A lot of people often ask me like “how did you start?” and “I also would like to do that and where do I start and I have been rejected does that mean I am not good enough?” but I think that sometimes you shouldn’t rush to find your passion. It can take longer then you would like it to take. I think that if you too intensively search for "what am I good at?" and “I have to find something that I am good at” and… For me that’s happened unexpectedly. I did take acting classes on Wednesday afternoons after school and I kind of got into it like that… I think it differs for everyone and that everyone has their own purpose here on earth.

E: And would you say your purpose is acting?

W: Yeah…

E: There isn’t a right answer but how does it feel for you at the moment? Is that the thing you love doing the most or do you see yourself doing for a long time?

W: The thing is… I’m a person who gets tired of things very quickly. I’ve had a lot of hobbies.

E: So maybe next week you want to garden or something?

W: No, no I wouldn’t say that. No the thing is, with acting that isn’t the case. Since I was twelve… well first on amateur level…

E: How old are you now?

W: 19.

E: Oh wow I thought you were my age. 19… damn bro you’re three years younger than me.

W: 2001 represent.

E: That’s literally… you’re the same age as my brother! What the shit. Alright, no okay.

W: In November so almost 2002. I’m really a latecomer.

E: What?! You look like you’re the same age as me and everything.

12:14

W: But that’s honestly – thank you for saying that! I always used to be the “little guy.” None of the girls wanted to be with me cause they just thought I was cute.

E: I see.

W: And they came to me to talk about their love lives.

E: Oh, okay.

W: So I was always that guy who was like: “I’m in love with you.” “Oh, how cute! You’re so cute!” So I was always like: “Okay then, I’m never going to find anyone, I’m always going to stay… short. I’ll be all alone.” And then all of a sudden I –

E: Do you think height matters in regard to your chances with certain… people?

W: At this age I don’t think it does anymore, but I do think that – I think at – I just remember in high school that the romantic idea of what love was supposed to look like was very: a boy and a girl, and the boy has to be taller and stronger and bigger than the girl. But I think that now it’s more… I mean, at my age I’m convinced it’s more fluid than that, and it doesn’t have to be that way. So it doesn’t have to be an issue anymore.

E: But still, when you go on Twitter, short guys are still –

W: Yeah.

E: Totally annihilated.

W: I have notice – I have noticed – Yeah, it’s still… It’s still this… general thing that people get stuck on. Like: “Oh, a short dude. That’s not okay.” Or whatever.

E: Or like the guy has to be taller. But no, we’re – we’re – not… not all relationships… we’re really generalizing here. But I get what you mean.

W: Yeah.

E: No, it’s – I do think it’s still important. I think that when you’re, and this is really harsh, but that a lot of people look at you differently when you’re taller. I have this dude in my friend group, Louis Ledegen, and he’s close to 2 meters tall, and just some girls look at him and they just think that’s so… attractive or whatever. And I just can’t even imagine.

W: I don’t get that either.

E: That that makes them go like: “Wow!”

W: I was in the train just now and this dude walked by me and he was honestly like 2 meters tall and I was just thinking: “When you’re that tall, and you’re with…” I mean, the girl almost has to get on a stepping stool to reach him for a kiss! And girls are like – I mean, I’ve heard before that girls think it’s attractive when a man is really tall.

E: Yeah.

W: And yeah, I don’t know… I don’t totally get it.

E: No.

W: Maybe it’s cause I’m not that tall myself, that I’m like trying to protect myself and be all: “That’s not necessary!”

E: Yeah! If anybody knows the answer, do we, being shorter guys, have less of a chance?

W: Let us know, please.

14:53

E: Please let us know! We need some answers! Now in the show, wtFOCK, your hair’s a different color.

W: Yeah.

E: Yeah. Is that something… So that was actually – it wasn’t really blonde?

W: It was completely bleached.

E: Bleached.

W: It was more to the… But the thing is that they had to do it twice, cause the first time… I got there, for the first table read with the director and Willem [Herbots] and they were like: “Hey, Willem. We wanted to ask you something. We’d like to bleach your hair for the role.”

E: Yeah.

W: And I was like: “… Okay.”

E: Okay.

W: “And why?” No. “Just for the character and stuff.” So I was like: “Okay. That’s fine.” The thing is I had to be at the hairdresser for 4 hours for this.

E: Oh wow, heavy.

W: It was like this and this product, and it had to sit for a long time. It had to be bleached all over. And I got out of there the first time and I was completely yellow – but yellow like an egg.

E: Oh, shit!

W: And I… My mom dropped me off, and I texted her: “I’m done, will you come get me?” And I saw my mom approach and she just passed me by.

E: Oh wow.

W: She didn’t – she almost didn’t recognize me anymore. Like halfway - she was like – and then she was like: “Oh! Willem!” Like she hadn’t seen –

E: Oh shit.

W: That it was me. That I looked completely different. And then I arrived for another table read and Tom [Goris – director] was like: “Yeah… We’re not gonna go this route… This is too yellow.” So then I spent another 4 hours at the hairdresser. After that I had to be there for four hours almost every month. I did think it was cool to have bleached hair, but… You have to be at the hairdresser for so long, so that really wasn’t… my thing. I mean, I had some really cool moments with Mitch [Fabry – hair & make up wtFOCK]. Thanks, Mitch.

E: Would you ever dye your hair again?

W: Uhm.

E: Maybe another color?

W: Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m quite happy with my hair color, actually, I don’t know.

E: Alright.

W: Now it’s also like… Everyone always asks me: “So this is your natural hair color?”

E: Yeah.

W: And then I have to tell them: “Yeah.” And it’s like: “Oh, okay!” It’s this switch. But no, I’m happy with my hair. It’s fine.

17:03

E: I can also tell that you’ve got an earring? You can’t really tell on camera, but –

W: I’ll come a little closer [to the camera]. Yeah, I only got it recently, four weeks or something.

E: Yeah. Was it an impulsive, drunken decision, or something you wanted… for some time?

W: I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I was a little anxious about it like: “It’s not gonna look good on me,” and then after a while, a couple of months ago, I was like: “Fuck it, I’m just gonna do it.” And if it didn’t look good I could still just take it out, so it doesn’t really matter. But all in all I was pretty happy with it. My father, my parents – my mom: “Oh, so nice!!” And it was like – at first they give you a stud and then after four weeks you can change it to a hoop. And I really wanted a hoop, and I even asked the people in the (piercing) shop: “Can’t I please just get a hoop straight away?” And they were like: “No, sorry, it doesn’t work like that. For hygiene reasons that’s not okay.”

E: Okay.

W: But okay, so I had to wait four weeks and then eventually I could change it to the golden hoop. So I get home and the first thing my father said was: “Wow, you look like a douchebag.” That was the first thing out of his mouth, that I looked like a douchebag.

E: Is that the look you were going for?

W: No, not at all! Not at all!

E: I think it looks cool.

W: Thanks.

E: Cause a little while ago I wanted one, and so I put on my girlfriend’s earring – because even if your ear isn’t pierced it sticks a little –

W: Yeah.

E: And so I just put it on there for a day or something, and then I was like: “Okay, that’s quite enough.” I don’t know if I’d want it for longer than that. Recently I’ve been getting into rings and stuff though.

W: I wore rings for a long time, but I don’t have any anymore. I actually want – I like them too. But I have to –

18:47

E: If I’d known, I would’ve brought you a gift!

W: Go shopping. Goddamn!

E: I did bring you another gift though!

W: Another gift? Oei oei oei, gifts!

E: This is something I do every week, I give my guest of the week something.

W: Oei oei oei.

E: It’s just…

W: Do I just slide it –

E: There’s a little hatch over here, that you have to lift, and then you can just lift it like that. There we go.

W: There we go.

E: White hairspray.

W: If I’d want to go back to – there we have it. Too good.

E: It can be washed out really easily as well. So this way you don’t have to be at the hairdresser for like four hours. And then when you’re sick of it, you can just get rid of it again!

W: That was the thing… Thank you, by the way.

E: You’re very welcome.

W: Now I can go back – Now I can go back to my past life. No, that was the thing as well. People who – people who - after wtFOCK came online, people really recognized me with the white hair. I mean, it’s pretty noticeable, when I’m walking through Ghent station – if someone with bleached hair. I mean, if you watch the show, I can imagine that when you see someone with bleached hair, you immediately connect the two and think: “Oh, that could be him.” And then you run in to some people who ask for pictures. After that my hair was really short, cause the people from Déja-Vu were like: “We’re not gonna do this, just go back to your natural hair color.” So I cut it all off, and there was this time where… nobody came to talk to me anymore. I was able to just be myself again. It was as if – looking back on it, it was actually really nice that for wtFOCK I was able to completely get into a different character with different hair. And the first time I got rid of the hair I really noticed that was no longer being associated with the character.

E: Hannah Montana vibes! Your hair changes color and nobody knows who you are anymore.

W: “Who are you?”

E: “Who the fuck are you?!”

W: “Does anybody want to take pictures with me? It’s me! It’s me! I swear!”

E: “I’m that dude from wtFOCK! I’m that dude from wtFOCK!”

W: So if people don’t recognize me anymore I can just… *pshhht* in the morning.

E: Exactly! If you want to take some more pictures, you can just…

W: No, no. That’s fine. No, yeah.

E: It’s kind of crazy, actually. Because, honestly? The very first time I saw a flash of you, with this hair color, I also thought: “I recognize you from somewhere…” But I think I’d already gotten in contact with you through social [media] and I didn’t put two and two together that you…

W: Yeah.

E: “Aaah!”

W: “Aaah! You’re that guy!”

E: Yeah, so…

W: But that’s the whole thing. If someone recognizes me, which doesn’t happen that often by the way, it’s always – I think it’s funny to be like: “No, that’s not me.”

E: No.

W: People really start doubting themselves, it’s very: “Uhm, can I ask you a question? Are you that guy from wtFock?” “Me? No.”

E: “No!”

W: “That’s not me.” And people will often be like: “Oh? What? But I recognize you…” That doubt on their faces is pretty funny but yeah, then I tell them it’s me.

E: Just the reaction of someone being like: “Huh, do I know you from somewhere?” “Do you watch porn?”

W: The confrontation.

E: “Oh… qmdkjg.” And it’d be even better if the parents were right there as well. “Argh!”

W: “Yes, Jürgen, care to explain yourself, young man?”

E: No, it’s just funny to joke about. But you’ve never – Do you just get: “Hey, are you that guy from wtFOCK?” Or have people also asked you: “Do I know you from somewhere?” Or: “What do I know you from?”

W: Yeah, it depends. The thing is – I go to school in Ghent and when the [popular place where college students go out] was still open before Covid-19, not that I went there often because I didn’t really like it there –

E: No.

W: - in the sense that the combination of young people who –

E: Watch wtFOCK.

W: - watch wtFOCK and alcohol – and people who’ve had alcohol to drink –

E: And are horny?

W: - their limits or boundaries are just gone. “Oh my god!!! You’re that dude from wtFOCK!! Can I kiss you??” Things like that!

E: Oh, fuck!

W: And I was really like: “Okay…?” I’m just a regular dude and I’m trying – and I actually thought it was less annoying for myself, but I thought it was more disruptive for my friends. Like even when we were just walking down the street, we got recognized a couple of times, and I was just like: I just want to have fun with my friends, and not have to spend too much time thinking. That’s another thing I was subconsciously thinking about. Imagine I drink way too much.

E: Yeah.

W: And I end up in the gutter somewhere, and people start filming that… So yeah, that made… So because of that I spent more time in friends’ dorm rooms just having dorm parties.

E: And since your bleached hair is gone, have you gone to a party?

W: When my bleached hair was gone corona was already a thing so I haven’t been able to enjoy it. But it’s starting to come back [the parties] so that’s nice. I’m looking forward to… tomorrow I’m going-

E: Are you going as well?

W: Are you going to Plein Air by Fuse?

E: Tomorrow I’m going to Jaimie Lee who-

W: …Is going to DJ at three festivals.

E: Yeah at three festivals and I will be backstage I guess.

W: Okay.

E: One of those festivals?

W: Yeah I don’t know. I have tickets for Fuse Open Air in Brussels.

24:19

E: I honestly have no idea where I’m going. Anyway, I’m excited. And I always asked, what’s the first event you went to ever since it’s allowed? Did you go to We Can Dance festival?

W: No I was studying.

E: Was today your last exam or yesterday?

W: Yesterday was my last exam in the morning. I was stressing so much, because I thought I would fail, but eventually I think it went relatively well. If you’re watching professors, let me pass please. No I think it went well.

E: Are you someone who is stress resistant?

W: Uhh no.

E: No?

W: I let it take over my body.

E: You get physically unwell?

W: I will be laying in bed and I’m tossing and turning and sweating. And I think about how I’m not gonna pass tomorrow. And the combination with my worries is really not good. It makes me stay up really late. The thing is with stress resistant, I for example made my own play at high school about a kid with divorced parents for my final work and the whole audience was filled with my family and my parents. That’s pretty confronting to tell a story that’s also a little bit of their life and is pretty personal. I’m always stressed for things like that. Then it’s weird – from the first word I spoke I had a lot of stress and worries and the first sentence that I said was something like “I don’t know what to do”, and then it’s all of a sudden poofff. The train has left.

E: You said you didn’t really know what to do now.

W: That’s the first sentence of the text that I wrote and the moment I said that sentence I thought in my head “the train has left, there’s no way back now” and then the stress disappears automatically. But before the final rehearsal there was a moment that I was moving around heavily and I was throwing with chairs. And afterwards I had to pack moving boxes, which was okay. But from moving around and the combination of stress it made me almost gag in the box from the stress so I almost puked. So at these moments it gets pretty heavy.

E: Did other people notice or were you hiding it?

W: Yeah the final rehearsal was luckily not with an audience, but my teachers were like “Everything alright?” and I was like “Yeah I’m good. It’s a bit much”. But when it comes to stress, a lot of people always say – I’m even a little stressed right now actually.

E: Really?

W: Podcasts, oh no no.

E: Oh shit. You have to be (stressed)

W: A lot of pressure on my shoulder here. No, but a lot of people say that it doesn’t look like that I’m stressed even though I really am dying from all the stress.

E: Only now you can hide it really well. You should become an actor.

W: A lot of people have said that to me often, but it’s not my interest. Also not much work in the field.

E: That too, fuck. Are you someone who constantly pretends like you’re okay?

W: Yes.

E: Even when you have a lot of shit going on in your head and you’re processing other things?

W: I'm one person. One person?

E: "I'm one person" [laughs]

W: I am one person. No, but I'm someone who often keeps their stuff to themselves, so that I can listen to what others need.

28:15

E: That was my next question. You listen more to other people’s problems and you’re the person people come to with their problems?

W: I think, at least I hope, that a lot of my friends do know that they can always come to me for a talk or a phone call. I'm someone that will shove away their happiness for someone else, which isn’t always positive of course.

E: It is a beautiful characteristic, but it shouldn’t take over indeed.

W: In the past it has happened that I was falling apart, but I kept pushing it away, because I wanted to take care of someone else. I noticed this a lot during the divorce of my parents. My parents had a hard time with the divorce and I remember that I came home as a little boy and I saw my mom sitting and I felt the duty to comfort her and to be there for her, even though I was 8 or 9 years old. That’s not something you expect to do or think from an 8 year old. It really broke me and now I can openly speak about it, because I have had enough conversations with my parents about it, about how it was for me. And I made a play about it, as I told earlier, so it’s been a whole process and that has scarred me till at least my 16th. My parents got divorced when I was 5 or 6 years old. It took me a long time to open up because of that. I notice it a lot in previous relationships, that I walk away from fights, because I would find the confrontation too heavy to get into a fight and to discuss. The divorce and fights with my parents scarred me so hard that I didn’t want that again. I wanted everything to be rainbow and sunshine, but life doesn’t work like that. And that was partly a misconception from me, that I thought that a relationship had to be perfect, if there is a fight, then it’s not going well. Now I realize that fights are part of a relationship. And also part of steps you take into accepting each other, listening to each other and understanding each other. It’s needed for a stronger connection. You can’t, well you can, but in my eyes you can’t be with someone for a long time without ever having had a conflict. Even if it’s a discussion, because then you’re adapting too much to the other, and then you say okay, I’m adapting to the demands of her and I suppress my own things or things I want to do, only to avoid the discussion, and that’s something I learned. And that’s how everyone learns their own things along the way.

E: You still see it in the youth, those romantic movies, where everyone is so in love and it always ends with a kiss or something and it’s always good and then you think, this must be the case in real life. Why can’t I find Gabriella Montez for my Troy Bolton. Even though that was a shitty relationship too, they were constantly fighting. No, but that gives a wrong image about relationships and for other things because of movies. And the reality is just different.

32:16

W: Yes. I recently for the first time -this is kinda embarrassing because it’s a must see- watched The Notebook.

E: Me too! What did you think?

W: It has been a few weeks ago. Or a few weeks, maybe 3 or something.

E: I watched it last weekend.

W: I almost cried.

E: Really?

W: I’m a really emotional person. I can really cry. I can really get lost in a movie. “No not the puppy, why?!” Those things, where I think "Willem, act normal". But no it was a beautiful movie.

E: Yeah I have a different opinion, because I just fell asleep. I fell asleep, because it all went so slow, it started so slow. I didn’t even watch the kiss in the rain scene.

W: The moment. It’s in literally every romantic movie. In the rain, it happens everywhere.

Ender: Yeah mate, it’s such a cliché actually, but yeah.

W: I bet you that they’re just standing there with a garden hose.

E: Definitely.

W: It can’t be that they’re waiting, “is it gonna rain today? We need to do that scene now”.

33:27

E: Checking the rain alarm while everyone is inside. There are definitely sprinklers there. It’s in a lot of romantic movies. Now that we’re talking about it, the filming you did with wtFock, you sometimes had scenes outside. Here we have those (light) spots, I assume that you don’t carry them outside. How do you guys do that?

W: Sometimes we do have spots outside, but as long as the light from the sun is okay – with a binocular (telescope), well it’s not a binocular, it’s a round thing you can look through and with it they can determine the brightness of the sun and if the sun is too bright for the lightning they need, then it gets shielded, the same that is in front of your lamps. With that they can dim the lights. Or when there is not enough they use isomo plates, that’s really weird. Sometimes there are really intimate scenes in a series where it looks like it’s really close to the skin of the actors. There is a camera with a plate on it and a stick for the sound above it, it sometimes made it really hard for me to focus, because everyone is sitting there and the director and I’m like “yeah, okay okay”. So it takes a lot to get it all professional.

E: Was there a crazy moment where you forgot your lines? That you’re laying in bed and you’re like “which sentence do I have to say now?”

W: Yeah we’ve definitely had a lot of bloopers. Yeah forgetting lines or.. the thing is, as long as the director doesn’t say cut, you have to keep going. It’s a matter of "how do I improvise myself around this scene to get to the point we actually have to get to", because you have a scene and you have your lines, but if you forget something, then you do know the main lines of where the scene has to go to. You know the scene will end in a kiss or something and these subjects will be spoken about in the conversation, so when you forget your lines, you try to work your way through it as best as possible. And when the director says it wasn’t good, then we’ll do it again. I’ve had a lot of moments where I forgot my lines and I was laying in bed with Willem and we would look at each other and we’d know that I had to say something, but I was stuck, so there would be a 10 seconds silence, hoping for them to say cut. Yeah so those kinds of moments a lot or moments where I… I also had that with Déjà Vu. I remember… by the way it was amazing to work together with such big names as Natali Broods and Koen De Graeve. And Koen, lovely person, was kind of the father figure on set and we had a scene, next to the bed, a quite emotional scene. And the camera was focused on me, close up on my face. And I still remember that, the sound was going, everything, and Koen had just told a joke, or made a face that made me laugh. So, I had to laugh really hard, but I had to act very sad. It was an intense scene of goodbyes. All the time, starting to laugh about everything. I still remember for wtFock we made a video with bloopers and those are very fun to watch back.

37:03

E: Are those bloopers ever published somewhere online?

W: I don’t think so.

E: I think if you’d be able to release them somewhere that a lot of people would be interested in them.

W: Yes, yes. I don’t know why, indeed. The fans would be happy with those.

E: I think a lot of people- because we were just talking about your biggest fan.

W: My biggest-

E: Your grandma.

W: My grandma, yes. Big shout out to my grandma.

E: Do you think she’s watching right now?

W: She’ll definitely watch, I hope so.

E: What’s your grandma’s name?

W: Micheline.

E: Micheline, thank you very much for watching Micheline.

W: Micheline.

E: I appreciate it.

W: Women in power. She deserves a special place. No really, she follows all the fan accounts of wtFock. And then sometimes, or very often, we call and she gives me an update of what’s being said on the internet. Or yes, I also remember, when scenes come out and there’s things being said and she’s like "Willem, is that true, what are they saying?" And I say "Grandma, it’s nothing, it’s all from the show." "Ah okay, okay." So yes, very sweet grandma. She’s like the grandma where everything was allowed. I think that’s the same for everyone. At home, there are a lot of rules, and then you got to sleepover at your grandma’s and it was like: "Oh, I get to stay up later, and she made pudding for me." Her vanilla pudding-

E: That good?

W: Grandma, if you’re seeing this, please make some vanilla pudding when I visit.

E: Dude, everything’s falling out of my pocket.

W: You’re letting everything fall out of your pocket? Maybe you need to buy another pair of pants.

E: The chair is too comfortable that I’m kind of sinking in it, and now I constantly get-

W: The conversation’s too comfortable-

E: It’s just my phone, it’s vibrating, I think it just vibrated out of my pocket. So, silent, great. Eh, what were we talking about? About your grandma.

W: About my grandma.

38:46

E: Now, totally different subject. If you were a fish, what color fish would you be?

W: A fish?

E: Which color do you identify most with?

W: Eh.

E: And you’re a fish too of course.

W: Identify with which color. The thing is, I’m in the scouts. And in the Jins, that’s the last year before you become a leader, we were given a color totem, and the whole group decided on a color that fits you.

E: All right.

W: And mine was mango orange.

E: Wow, that’s cool.

W: Yeah, I thought it was cool too. And it means, if I have to think back, mango has quite a hard peel, relatively, but the fruit itself is quite soft. And that refers to my personality. I’m someone that lets people in fast, around me, but in the beginning, suspicion is a little strong, but kind of like, testing. Let’s say that. But once- From the outside I might look a bit hard. A lot of people say that when I have my straight face-

E: Resting bitch face.

W: That I’m angry. I was once told on the subway by a dude, and I was just listening to music, staring in the distance, and I think, suddenly a dude comes up to me, in French: "C’est quoi ton problème, heh, tu regardes come ça, c’est quoi ton problème." And I was like: "I’m sorry". Apparently, I was looking in his direction with my-

E: Bitch face.

W: Bitch face. He must have thought I was looking for problems. So yeah, that’s why the mango, a little hard on the outside, but once you get to know me better, a soft, sweet boy. So that’s why, orange. So, an orange fish then.

E: A little bit of Nemo vibes.

W: Yes, Nemo then. But let’s, what’s that theory. Did you hear that?

E: Theory?

W: About Nemo.

E: What’s the theory?

W: Haven’t you heard that? I keep seeing that online. I’m having a crisis. So the thing is, your childhood will get ruined.

E: Fuck man.

W: The thing is-

E: But there really are, no keep going, I have something I want to say afterwards.

W: The thing is, I’ve heard, that Nemo is Latin for nobody, and that the father is imagining that he still has an egg left, but that that fish doesn’t actually exist.

E: Oh fuck.

W: And that Dory joins him, and he sees, we’re actually not looking for anyone, but because he has memory issues, he constantly forgets that they’re not looking for anyone. So, they’re actually looking for nobody. And I saw that online and I was like.

E: Damn, so all the eggs are eaten, but he imagines that someone still has to be there.

W: Yes, something to keep living for.

E: Fuck man, that’s very brutal. That’s very fucked up.

W: Sorry to everyone for who Nemo is ruined now.

E: There’s a similar theory about Phineas and Ferb, and then Candice, their sister, is based on a true story about a girl that lost her brothers and still imagines that they're still doing stuff in the garden. And she keeps telling her mom: "Look, look, they are still here, they’re doing that." And that the mom says: "They’re not there." And that’s why she can never see that. You get it? Brutal right?

W: My whole childhood is ruined. Fucking hell.

E: That’s going to be the title of this podcast.

W: Childhood ruined.

E: We’re ruining your childhood.

42:17

W: We’re ruining your childhood. No but that’s good because, thankfully, I have a half-sister, but I say sister because I think half-sister is an ugly word, of seven years old. She thinks she’s 16. She’s a real diva.

E: Oh wow, okay.

W: She’s very, I’ll tell you a story later, but the thing is, I experience all those things with her again. In the beginning it was like, turning the tv on, Bumba, again. And I could secretly watch with her without feeling guilty. I was like, I’m watching Bumba and secretly I’m enjoying it, but sssh, I’m just watching it with my sister.

E: That exactly.

W: And now it’s Ketnet, like Hoodie, those series that she’s watching. And yes, I notice that because of all the technology today, she has an iPad, she’s on YouTube, she’s watching those self-made crafts.

E: 7 years old?

W: 7 years old, yes.

E: Wow.

W: She watches those- where people are playing with Barbies and they make a little play with them online on YouTube and they do stuff. Yes, a tablet. She has an iPad that’s bigger than her head. That makes me think- well, an iPad is usually bigger than everyone’s head. Or well, almost.

E: Not if you have a mini of course.

W: Her head isn’t that big.

E: Okay.

W: She’s on it a lot though. But she’s a real diva. I think the best story I have, there’s multiple. I remember the story, we were sitting at the table and she was having another moment of "I’m the princess, and everyone can leave because I do what I want and fuck you all". But the thing is, there’s five kids at home. I have a brother and two stepbrothers. So, she has four brothers, and she knows very well that she has four brothers. And that makes her feel even more like she’s the princess at home. So, we were sitting at the table. And she kept staring at my dad like this while throwing her cutlery on the ground. Like "what are you going to do". And my dad was like: "Liv," because her name is Liv by the way, "stop that."

E: That wasn’t nice of Liv. (Liv sounds the same as lief which means nice in Dutch.)

W: No. Not nice of-

E: Haha. Sorry.

W: Badam pam ts. Can’t we put that under here. Yes.

E: No, sorry, keep going.

W: So, he was like: "Liv, stop that, stop that." He started to get annoyed, because she kept going. "Liv, what is so hard to understand about no." And then it got silent at the table so I thought, okay, it’s done. The o.

E: Oh wow.

W: 7 years old and she drops that.

E: Oh wow.

W: And I thought, okay.

E: Damn bro.

W: The o. That she even dares to say that. Yeah, and she has those moments. She was sitting at the table, with her mask on, eating. So, she pulled her mask down to eat, and then she was chewing with her mask on. And then I asked: "Liv, why are you wearing your mask?" "Yes, you came back from Ghent, you’re not in my bubble."

E: Okay, okay.

W: So, then I said: "Okay, that’s fine." It’s crazy how that goes around among young children. Because my sister came back home from school crying once. And I asked her: ‘Liv, what’s wrong?’ "Yes, my friends didn’t let me play with them." So, I was like: "Why?" "Margot says I’m not allowed in her bubble."

E: Oh wow.

W: See, that’s becoming the new- we played with Pokémon cards on the playground and now it’s about playing games in bubbles because it’s so-

E: Damn.

W: Yes, you’re only allowed to have four people in your bubble so we don’t play with more than four.

E: Oh wow.

W: So I found that kind of crazy, or confronting that it made me think like, even at such a young age it has an impact. And I know that the-

E: That it leaves an impression.

W: Yes, and I know that my dad-

E: It’s sad that children have to think about it.

W: Yes, exactly.

E: Well, it’s not that- everyone should think about it of course.

W: Yes, yes, of course. It’s also that I know the way my dad feels about raising, that he tells Liv straight up about things that are happening in the world. He doesn’t make things seem nicer, or saying, eh, yes, no, but that’s- The classic story of how babies are made, with the cauliflowers, and what not.

E: I also just think-

W: How am I going to explain that to my kids?

E: If you don’t make it a taboo to start with, is it that bad? It’s just- it’s just. Oh well, that’s a whole other conversation.

W: Yes, no, definitely.

E: But straight up just telling what’s going on to your kids. I think I would prefer that to making up a story about the flowers and the bees.

W: Yes, yes.

E: Because the story about the flowers and the bees, I don’t even know how you actually- pollinating and stuff, is that what that means?

W: You do it like this, pollinating.

E: Yes, no, exactly.

W: Yes, but well, children, that’s still a long time from now.

E: Do you want kids, you think, later?

W: Yes, please.

E: Do you think you would be a good father?

W: I hope I would be a good father. Despite my parents’ divorce, I really do… I do look up to my parents. I’m proud of the way they raised me. So yeah if I would be a good father… sometimes, but maybe that’s the age, kids frustrate me. I’m a leader in the scouts for the Welpen and Welpen -great guys- but they can also be annoying and say “I’m not participating” and “that’s a stupid game, can we do something else?” and I’m like “we invest so much time in this and so much preparation, please participate” so sometimes that bothers me. But I would prefer not to have just one (child). Certainly more than one because… are you an only child?

E: No I have a little brother.

W: Yeah only child… with all due respect to people who are only children but sometimes I think… for example, I’m very happy that I have a brother. Not that it wouldn’t be fun without a brother per se, but I don’t know, the contact I have with my brother is nice.

E: The thing is, you don’t know what you’re missing so it’s hard to miss it I guess. But I do think that my brother has been a great added value to my life.

W: Yeah, yeah.

E: In the same way, I never really had grandparents. They all died before I was born and the grandfather I did have was quite old when I was actually aware that I had a grandfather. So I’ve never really had the grandparents experience that you see with family gatherings and stuff. But I don’t feel like I’ve missed anything but I still know how much other people benefit from having grandparents. Also what you just said about how often you call each other and stuff. I think that’s the same with being an only child. If you don’t have any brothers or sisters, you don’t know what it’s like to have that, what you’re missing. But if you do have it, it’s an added value I think.

W: Yes, exactly. No that’s true. My brother is very helpful to me now. I know that I can count on him.

E: Older or younger by the way?

W: Older.

E: A lot older?

W: 21.

E: 21.

W: Oh boy I had to think about how old my brother is. Embarrassing. Love you man. No but we had - maybe you had that too – but when we were younger, we really fought.

E: Physical?

W: Real fighting. Yeah, it’s has now gotten much better. I think we understand each other a lot better, but it used to be real… we had Catch WW on the Wii and we reenacted that on the couch so that was… “In the right corner Ramy Stereo” and we were bare-chested and both had one boxing glove on and fighting each other until one of us cried, bled or gave up. Usually it was me.

E: That’s just the fate of the little brother.

W: I always went… I’ve never admitted that actually, [whispers] it’s a confession. I’ve never admitted it, but afterwards I always went to my parents and cried “Kwinten hurt me”.

E: That’s really… that’s the moment, you feel it coming and you think “ah fuck no, if I hit again it’s probably over but I want to…” [cross-talk] “no no no don’t tell mom! Don’t tell mom!” I think I was a pretty nice big brother. We often did shit together. We were at home playing on the couch together and Olaf bumps into a large box that was standing there and the box, bigger than Olaf back then, fell down on his hand.

W: Oh shit.

E: So Olaf broke his hand. And I thought “I made him jump over those chairs” and then you have to say “sorry sorry don’t tell them, don’t tell them!” but yeah if your hand is fucking broken, you’re not gonna stop crying because your big brother says “don’t cry”. Yeah, that are…

W: Yes, but the relationship [between Willem and his brother] has improved. Okay we still have our discussions but... I think moments like when we’ve both been to a pub or something and we come home at the same time and we’re always hungry and standing in the kitchen making sandwiches. Those are great moments. I don’t necessarily need to have emotionally heavy of deep conversations with my brother to know that he’s there and that I can have a good time with him. So I think that’s the added value of having a brother or brothers in general.

E: Do you guys also have a specific sense of humor? Or like those moments when the two of you are laughing and your parents or people around you think “what the fuck is going on?”

W: Yeah we speak some slang to each other for fun. Like “stu stu” and [my slang knowledge is very limited so I have no idea what he’s saying here lol], those kinds of things. Typical slang from Brussels and Leuven. It’s funny because my parents are always like “why are you talking to each other like that?” and recently, I was leaving and my mom said “stu stu!” so they are adopting those words and then my brother and I can’t stop laughing.

E: Also if your mom suddenly says “are we going to chill later?” and I’m like [laughing] “what? Mom!”

W: “Okay??”

E: It’s kind of cute. Yeah it’s fun. And what are… I almost want to go deep like…

W: That’s okay.

E: Is there a particular interaction or experience you’ve had with your brother that sums up your relationship right now? Or are those the moments when you’re laughing and eating at night? It doesn’t have to be a super deep or emotional moment.

W: I think it’s an accumulation of those moments and emotional moments too. For example, after it was over with my ex. I was really down back then, it hit me pretty hard. Those are the moments when I can walk into my brother’s room in the middle of the night and he’s there for me. I know that dude is always going to be there when something’s wrong, no matter how much we argue or how much we shit at each other. I just know, and I hope he does too, that I can call him 24/7, walk into his room 24/7 and he will be there or ready to listen. I think that’s just something… the fact that we know that about each other, that creates that bond. And the thing is, if only he would do his best and go to work, earn real money… because we went on holiday together and he still hasn’t… he still has some work to do but we’ve already planned something. I’m really looking forward to it. We’re planning to go surfing in Portugal together. Those are moments I just know I can go somewhere with him and have the time of my life without-

E: …That you can remember for the rest of your life what you did together.

W: Yeah, absolutely. Those moments that I want to cherish or want to keep or experience.

E: My little brother is also just the most annoying dude on this planet who I love the most.

W: Exactly that combination. Annoying, but you love them.

E: Of course. The cameras are back on. That means we’ve been at it for over 50 minutes.

W: 50 minutes? It feels like we’re chatting for 20 minutes.

E: Exactly.

W: Pleasant.

E: That’s good. If it’s pleasant and the stress is gone.

W: Do you actually like me? “No I hate you. We’re going to finish. It has been good.”

55:29

E: No we’re not going to finish yet, but before we do, is there anything you’d like to send out into the world before we finish? On average there are 10 to 50 people watching. Is there anything you want to say to them?

W: To the 10 to 50 people?

E: Yes.

W: 10 to 50 people, you are awesome. No, what I’m saying… maybe a little deep but it doesn’t matter. Very often in your life you are going to encounter that you run into a wall, that you’re going to have setbacks, that you think “I don’t want to anymore, I can’t to this anymore, life is all one big shit show” but I think that there is a certain… at least I believe that – everyone has their own opinion of course- that a certain path has been mapped out for everyone. Not necessarily that things are set in stone but there is a road that you are going to take and that road is going to have curves, is going to have hills, is going to have valleys, is going to have everything. Maybe it’s a gravel path, maybe rocks you stumble over but -it sounds a bit stupid- put on your best walking shoes and just walk that path the best way you can. Just try to live life with complete joy and euphoria because you’re 100% worth it. No matter what other people say or think about your ideology or style or way of life. Everyone is entitled to it or should be given the opportunity to be appreciated for who they are. I think that’s something we do too little in this society, but yeah.

E: Just don’t be too hard on yourself in the end?

W: Yeah, don’t be too hard on yourself. A lot of people blame themselves too much. Or “oh I’m like that and I don’t fit in because of that” or something. Then I think: so be it.

E: Do you sometimes feel that you should do more or have achieved more at this age? Of course you’re already doing a lot of cool shit but social media, I know there is a highlight reel of all people’s achievements and that sometimes it’s very difficult to filter between what is real and how much is that person actually sitting on the couch doing nothing. Do you sometimes feel that because of social media of because of your environment or I don’t know, that you’re not doing enough?

W: Gosh, sometimes I think my life is too full.

E: Too full?

W: Not that I’m saying “oh I have so many things to do” but I’m like... I’m letting that grow organically or so.

E: Not putting too much pressure on yourself?

W: Not putting too much pressure on yourself. I’m doing a course now that I’d like to finish because I’ve had those two projects and there are friends of mine who say “why are you still studying? You’ve had your opportunity, you’re going to get new opportunities right?” and I say “hey! I’m also only 19”. Sometimes I think “fuck Willem you should have achieved more already” but I also think I’m only 19. There was a conversation at school… I really think that’s one of the added values of the course. We receive an observation report twice a year, 5 pages where the teacher writes about you and how they see you, what they think about you, what your qualities are, what you still need to work on. It’s always spot on. So strange how they can just see right through you, even though I sometimes try to hide it. Yeah, where was I going with this… we had subsequent conversation about it and I said to my teacher “sometimes I feel like I’m too young for this course” that I have too little life experience. There are people in my class who are in their 20s or older, who have already studied something else before this, have read a lot more, seen a lot more than me, a lot more experience and I think “fuck, I don’t have anything”. People talk about certain topics and I don’t follow at all. I mentioned that I felt too young and she [the teacher] said “you’re young, but that also has its advantages. Your youthfulness can actually be an interesting tool in this course and look at it from a different perspective”. So I’m convinced: don’t be too hard on yourself, don’t think “whew, I’m already 20 and I haven’t achieved anything yet” so to speak. I even saw a video recently where… “if you don’t make it in your 20s, you might make it in your 30s and if you don’t make it in your 30s, you might make it in your 40s”. There are so many… there really are a lot of people… people often forget that there are people who only find out what they want to do or discover their passion later in life.

E: And also just… I think it’s so ridiculous that you set certain goals for a certain age or something. That it’s so expected that by 18 you must have completed high school and by 25 you must have had your first job interview, by 28/30 you must have a house and a serious relationship where you’re committed to for the rest of your life and by 40 you must have already had a promotion, that you can provide for yourself and fix your pension. All those fucking predetermined milestones. I think that’s kind of bullshit, you know?

W: Absolutely.

E: If that were the case, then I should graduate in a few years so to speak while I’m clearly not studying here because I have – fuck normally I have a re-exam today. And here we are.

W: Here we are.

E: I knew I was doing this but I mean that’s just… there’s so much time. I’m 22 now and I’m doing some shit, if I go nuts now or people don’t want to listen to this podcast anymore, don’t want to see what I do online, okay then I have to look elsewhere. But I did this and I went for it and I tried. I’m 22. Even if I go nuts now and it’s all gone, I’m only 22. There are still so many ways it could go. A lot of people don’t have a job at 22. If I started looking for a new job or something now, hopefully I’ll have one by 25. Then it’s still okay because I’m only 25. I don’t know, I always find that… I could go on for a long time about this. I think those predetermined milestones/goals of things that you must have achieved by a certain age, I just think it’s bullshit.

W: I sometimes make the comparison that people too often see life as the sports world. Football players who are good until 35 and then they are done. As if you must have already performed before that age. That’s not how it works. You really have all the time and you really don’t have to stress. I also notice that many people… you mentioned re-exams. That people say “fuck I have re-exams, oh no I’m not going to pass, oh no you have extra…” chill. You do your best, but suppose you have to repeat a year, that’s not a disaster either, is it?

E: What I also think is crazy is how many people have studied law and you eventually hear that they ended up in a marketing agency because they found it much more interesting. When I talk to some people who… I was seeing a social media manager recently [laughs] “seeing”, I was talking to him.

W: “seeing” okay [laughs].

E: I was talking to him.

W: [joking] Ender has something to say.

E: And I asked “what did you study?” and he said biochemistry. “How the fuck did you end up here?” Him: “uh yeah that just wasn’t the right fit for me. I have a master’s degree but I started working here because I found it much more interesting”. I thought: why am I pretending that the degree I’m trying to get is going to determine the rest of my life, you know?

W: Absolutely.

E: If there are so many people now… because he was only 28 or something. So I thought “aah okay so you’ve been studying biochemistry for so many years and now you’re here – I don’t know if I’m talking about the correct position – but now you’re just sitting here making content. Cool. But why do I attach so much importance to that one direction I’m studying right now that doesn’t even have anything to do with media or anything. I mean I’m very interested in media, I’m studying economics. Which is also interesting, but that’s not what I see myself doing in the coming years.

W: Yeah, yeah.

E: Anyway enough about me. Do you think you could win in a fight against a cow?

W: [laughs] I really like that. You can switch to totally different shit like that. Like before you suddenly asked what color fish do you want to be. Okay. That’s nice. Win… I’ve heard if you knock over a cow it dies. That it has a heart attack then. We don’t want to kill cows okay!

E: And purely hypothetical, you’re just standing in a kind of meadow so it’s not super big so you can’t go in all directions. There is a limited domain. You come face to face with that cow and you have to begin. No weapons. You’re standing there and the cow stands there and you both know you’re going to fight.

W: It knows that too?

E: It knows that too.

W: [makes mooing noises] okay ca va.

E: It’s not a bull but it does have horns so in fact it would-

W: I would shit my pants. I’d give up already. I would lie on the ground, come on. Really crazy, I saw Jackass recently. Those guys, that Wee Man, who was in that link with the bull and he’s being catapulted, so to speak.

E: I don’t understand how those guys aren’t all dead yet.

W: Yeah they are really crazy.

E: There was also a rumor that Wee Man died from a bowling ball during… but apparently that wasn’t true.

W: I don’t know.

E: Fucked up shit. Would you win against a cow?

W: Would I win against a cow? No, I wouldn’t win against a cow. I don’t think I would win against a cow.

E: I think I would. I think just like with a bull I would try to jump out of the way like that and once you’re on the side it’s just a matter of pushing. If what you said is true, it’s game over when it’s down and you know, that’s your tactic.

W: But the thing is, a cow is heavy, isn’t it?

E: True.

W: You can’t just push it over like that, can you?

E: Sure, but it’s a matter of life or death, isn’t it? The adrenaline rush. You have to image, a cow just comes running towards you. The adrenaline that goes through your body. You shouldn’t underestimate the power you have then.

W: Just find the best patch of grass and when it’s there, sneaky knife in the back. No, now people are going to think I’m that kind of person.

E: That you’re just a snake.

W: Snake. Definitely and I admit it. No, that would be fucked up.

E: I’m going to do one more thing that’s important. I’m going to find a Twitter shout out and in the meantime, I already asked you what your message is to the world and that was a beautiful message. Got something more banal that you’d like to share? Something that you want to share from your social media or something?

W: What do you mean from social media?

E: Where they can follow you. You can say something if you have a really good video that you want to share. “Check me everywhere”.

W: No I don’t have… people should do what they feel like doing. Do you think I’m cool, do you think I’m fun, follow me on Insta. No really doesn’t matter. Doesn’t really matter.

E: Alright, I’m just going to scroll and you say stop. I’ll go back and forth and you have to say “yes that’s the one who gets to have this week’s shout out”.

W: Exciting huh. Stop.

E: [reads twitter account] M. Verschuren.

W: M. Verscheure.

E: Is that…

W: [reads quote] “If you were never sad, you wouldn’t know you could be happy”.

E: Wow. Damn bro.

W: I’m going to edit my quote.

E: “If you were never sad, you wouldn’t know you could be happy”. Wow. If you didn’t have shitty days, you wouldn’t know what the best days of your life were.

W: Exactly. But what if you get stuck in your shitty days for the rest of your life?

E: That won’t happen. That’s my biggest fear.

W: Me too.

E: Looking back at your life and thinking-

W: …Fuck I’ve never been there again.

E: …That’s where I peeked. Hope that doesn’t happen. Anyway M. Verscheure thank you very much for listening, I really appreciate it. You as well, I think?

W: Absolutely, absolutely. How much were you going to pay me?

E: 50 euro.

W: Then I’ll come… awesome. Super cool.

E: Thank you so much to everyone who listened. I appreciate it. If you want to hear more you can always subscribe to this channel. It’s also good for my ego. I’ll just put your Instagram link in the description, for people who are interested. Okay, that was it.

W: Thanks, it was fun.

E: There’s an audio only episode on Spotify every Sunday and the video comes out on Monday. That’s it. See you next Monday. Or Sunday. Peace.

#wtfock #willem de schryver

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