#Holy fuck I feel like I owe you a new keyboard

[shinidamachu]

Sid, I know you’re mostly an InuKag blog and this probably isn’t your area of expertise, but as a POC the discourse surrounding Kikyo - and by extension InuKik as a ship - really bothers me.

Seems like all anyone can focus on about Kikyo as a character is stupid Iove triangle shipping discourse, if she is hated or called out it’s generally only for that reason and that reason alone. Otherwise if people aren’t hating her because “she gets in the way of InuKag,” she’s treated as this cool girlboss who’s a tragic figure and simply misunderstood, now this is not to erase the complexities and nuance that is inherent to her character, but it kinda bothers me that she’s not called out more for her actual crime in actually being really low-key racist? Like personally she’s one of the most problematic characters in the franchise to me.

The way she treats Inuyasha throughout the anime and manga she acts like she’s doing him a favor and gives off strong “I can’t be racist, I have a black friend/bf!” vibes. She treats him as one of the “good demons” constantly comparing him to the full-blooded ones saying how he’s not like *that* because he has human blood. She straight out just asks him if he ever just thought of stopping being biracial essentially, telling him to throw half of his identity and race away and get rid of his problematic “ethnic features.” She is literally Microaggressions: The Character.

And I know IY is fiction and demons aren’t an actual race that exists in real life, but I’m of the belief that fiction does not exist in a vacuum, it influences and informs reality just like reality informs it. The whole “demons vs humans” conflict that is at the center of the narrative and a hanyou’s place in it feels like it’s meant to be a direct allegory/metaphor for racism between different ethnic groups out in the real world and how mixed people are often caught in the middle. Inuyasha to me reads as a very POC-coded character with very distinct physical features alien to the dominant human society that he is judged for constantly. And maybe I’m just being overly sensitive but it feels really wrong that shipping drama is people’s biggest issue with Kikyo when they’re kinda ignoring this big 5ft pink elephant in the room? I mean tons of other fandoms are always ready to decry and call out the racism inherent to their franchises so why doesn’t the IY fandom? (Though the callouts of Sunrise over whitewashing Shiori in Yashahime was a good start)

InuKik’s whole relationship in general is just really uncomfortable and has these weird racial power undertones to it, I mean Kikyo is a respected village authority who is a Miko in charge of protecting the village in demons, so literally in the position of a “cop,” while Inuyasha himself is a poor, disenfranchised minority youth who’s discriminated against day in and day out and Kikyo basically takes it as her task to play white savior and try to “rehabilitate/civilize” him society, all while she clearly has the upper hand and holds all the privilege between the two and yet she wants to play little miss “woe is me” and pretends or even dismisses the fact that she has any privilege at all? That her and Inuyasha “are in the exact same position???”

And sure we could talk about misogynist double standards and how it’s unfair I’m suddenly interested in “cancelling” her character when Sesshomaru himself is also a big ass racist, but see the difference is is that at least Sesshomaru is an upfront, out-and out open racist. Neither he nor the narrative ever attempt to paint him in the right and openly criticize and give him comeuppance for his racist attitude in life which he has to actively learn from. Kikyo on the other hand is imo the much more dangerous type of racist, she’s the insidious “covert” racist, who might not even realize they’re being racist but has internalized a lot of toxic societal messaging regarding certain skin colors (Or I guess in IY’s case, supernatural powers and animal-like physical features) and so overtly looks down on POC and does a lot more institutional harm to them than a KKK-style racist like Sesshomaru could ever do. She’s not a self-aware racist, which imo is the much more dangerous type.

Anyways sorry for going off on this long rant to you like this, it’s just always bugged me that the fandom seems to overlook this major flaw and problematic connotations surrounding Kikyo’s character when this is an an extremely important issue that deserves to be talked about more and has much more serious implications than any petty shipping debates.

I'm gonna preface this by saying I'm not white either. However, this doesn't necessarily make me an expert on the subject by any means. It's definitely not my intention to speak for every people of color in the fandom. I'm simply sharing a personal opinion.

Of course Inuyasha is fiction and demons aren't an actual race, but as you so pertinently put it: fiction doesn't exist in a vacuum. It influences and informs reality and, in return, reality equally influences and informes fiction.

Inuyasha's predicament is a very clear representation of racism. Just because it doesn't get called out by name, it doesn't mean it's not there. The prejudice, the discrimination and the ostracizing he went through certainly are.

The unfair way in which he has been treated might have nothing to do with his skin tone, but it's deeply associated with his status as a half demon, something he can't nor should naturally change. For an allegory, it can't get more explicit than this.

In that sense, it matters little which real life minority we think Inuyasha was coded after. What's really important is recognizing that his half demon heritage carries an undeserved stigma. It shaped who he is and how he's perceived by others. As a result, everything concerning his demonic blood will inevitably rise very real racial issues. That's why Kikyo comes off in a bad light.

She initially spared Inuyasha's life because she didn't see him as a half demon, but as a half human. And then she got into her head that, due to their shared loneliness, they were not so different — completely neglecting the fact that said loneliness came from totally different places.

Like I've said before: Inuyasha didn’t choose loneliness. Everyone else chose to isolate him. Kikyo, on the other hand, isolated herself. Both Kaede – as the village priestess – and Kagome – as the new guardian of the Jewel – proved that it's more than possible to fulfil their duties while still mantaining deep, meaningful connections to other people. Kagome in particular relied on those connections for her power to grow.

And so Kikyo had the option to simply drop everything if she so desired: pass the Jewel on, stop using her powers and start fresh somewhere. She had the option to ask for help, to let people in.

At the same time, all the reasons why she doesn't are completely understandable. It makes perfect sense for her character, fleshs out her personality and it makes her interesting from a storytelling perspective. What she didn't have was the right to compare her situation to Inuyasha's, who didn't have the luxury of choosing.

Of course, having a little sister who loved her to death and an entire village worshipping the ground she walked on aren't impediments to feeling lonely or depressed, but it's still way more than what Inuyasha ever had at the time.

Kikyo's sorrow doesn't take away from the fact that she was privileged and therefore, could never speack to Inuyasha from a place of parity. Presenting herself as his equal is a false equivalence and the way the scene was framed made it look like Kikyo was asking Inuyasha for sympathy when the goal was — or at least should have been — showing him compassion and understanding.

In that sense, suggesting to use the Jewel to turn him into human is just awful. Not only would it be a selfish wish, but also there's no way for us to know exactly how it would backfire, only that it would. Inuyasha was being used to test a theory that would have failed. Spectacularly.

Sure you can. You're half human, after all. But if it was used to turn you into a human... the Jewel would be purified and would probably cease to exist.

The repetition of the word "human" emphasizes said circumstance. Also, notice how it gets confidently associated with "purity", while such certaninty is not applied to what could happen to the Jewel, which would only "probably" cease to exist.

Not to mention Inuyasha canonically hates being human. It's bad if Kikyo doesn't know that fact, because it shows just how little they actually knew about each other for two people who are supposed to be in love, but for obvious reasons, it's even worse if she does know.

One might argue that her intentions here were good. Adopting the "we're not so different" approach was her way of reaching up to Inuyasha and turning him into human was mutually beneficial in theory. Regardless of what her reasoning was, though, the point is that she never should have done it in the first place. It was highly insensitive at best.

And even if you believe that Kikyo didn't have an actual issue with Inuyasha's demonic features — which is as valid an interpretation as any — there's no denying she wasn't too fond of them either, otherwise she wouldn't have jumped at the chance to get rid of them. She liked Inuyasha despite of who he was, not because of it.

The situation gets even worse when you realize that this arrangement isn't mutually beneficial at all. Hypothetically, Kikyo would be free of her duty, becoming an ordinary woman with a human Inuyasha by her side, which was already everything she wanted. But what about him?

Inuyasha is the one making all the compromising. He was the one putting his life — the one his demon father died to save — on the line. He was the one sacrificing his powers, his physical appearance and his father's legacy (because he wouldn't be able to wield Tessaiga as a human, even if he didn't know about its existence yet). Inuyasha being a half demon was the living proof of his parents tragic love story and he was turning his back on that not because he thought was what he wanted — like becoming a full demon, for instance — but because someone else suggested it to him.

What was Inuyasha getting out of it? "Acceptance" from villagers he didn't really care about and who would only be friendly to him because he wouldn't look like himself anymore, while still being racist to other demons? An "official" relationship with Kikyo, even though there isn't really a good reason as to why he couldn't have that without forsaking a part of who he was, since relationships between demons and humans, though rare, already existed and he eventually got that with Kagome?

Unless, of course, Kikyo's offer to live together was conditional. Which raises the question: what was Kikyo giving up, apart from things she wanted gone anyway? And what would have happened if Inuyasha refused to go with her plan?

Because it was one thing to kiss him in secret — like the anime-only scene in the docks — or after she was technically dead and had nothing to lose, but it's a totally different thing to own up to that relationship without the prospect of using the Jewel to change him. Unfortunatelly, her character isn't written well enough for us to draw our own conclusions based solely on canon material.

The point I'm trying to make is that despite the narrative portraying Kikyo's suggestion as a selfless act on her part, she would be the only one actually benefiting from this deal long run. In the end of the day, it was more about her needs than his, because the kind of acceptance she was offering Inuyasha wasn't the one he needed, which Kikyo should've known.

Inuyasha going for it isn't the proof of love Takahashi — and part of the fandom — tend to paint it as. It's a proof of desperation: desperation that Kikyo would walk away if he told her no. Desperation to belong somewhere. Anywhere. Remember: Inuyasha had his mind set on becoming a full demon literally a few days prior.

That's why this ship was build to wreck, with or without Naraku. There were no trust, no intimacy, no honesty. They barely knew each other. Inuyasha put Kikyo on a pedestal and was constantly trying to act like someone he wasn't to please her (restrained, apathetic and unsure). Their whole relationship was based on loneliness and idealization.

All of this is to say that the way Kikyo treated Inuyasha's heritage is a defining trait of her character and, by extension, of Inukik as a pairing. And although it is possible — even preferable — to call out her behavior outside the shipping discourse, it's also perfectly understandable that both things will blend together because Kagome and Inukag are direct paralells to Kikyo's actions in this regard.

Trust and acceptance are recurring themes in Inukag's relationship and the lack thereof, in my carefully curated fandom experience, is the biggest source of Kikyo and Inukik criticism and it circles right back to those racial issues. Sadly, the closer we ever got from the narrative challenging Kikyo's perspectie on the matter was having Inuyasha end up with Kagome, who had an opposite worldview.

Obviously, there are still people who will make this solely about the love triangle and there will always be, but as far as I can tell, they're mostly casual anime watchers nowadays, not at all comparable to how it used to be back when the ship war was still raging on.

I dislike Inukik and Kikyo is one of my least favorite characters not because I'm an Inukag shipper or a Kagome stan, but because as an Inuyasha stan and someone who appreciates themes and character growth, I can't get behind it even if Kagome never became a part of the equation.

And I believe a considerable amount of people who share this feeling think the same, we just don't express it more often because... Well... You said it yourself: I'm mostly an Inukag blog. And I'd much rather focus on the things I love instead of the ones I dislike.

You see, the Inuyasha fandom is old and the Inuyasha material is older. Inevitably, some part of its content did not age well and inevitably, someone has already pointed that out. It's understandable, though, that some people would chose not to engage the discussion in exchange of peace of mind. Especially with the "let people enjoy things" trend going on.

I think your frustration is completely valid and strongly encourage that you keep the discussion going on your blog if voicing your opinions and experiences will make you feel better. Particularly, I'll be avoiding the topic unless prompted by asks such as this one, in which case I'm fine talking about it.

Fandom is my escape from reality and using my recreative time explaining to the white people in it why certain dynamics portrayed in the show can be considered problematic in a racial level feels exhausting and it's not really my — or any other people of color's —obligation to do so if we don't feel up to it. Especially when there's a huge chance of backlash and of people reducing valid points to ship wars.

It's funny you shall mention the Shiori incident because, unlike Inuyasha, the sequel doesn't have the "test of time" to blame for its poor "creative" choices, since it's from 2020. I distinctly remember calling out the blatant white washing her character suffered, along with the sane part of the fandom and either got ignored because people thought we were overreacting or straight up got told that we were only speaking up because we didn't like a specific ship the show portrayed and that what Sunrise did was fine because Shiori's dark skin is, and I quote: actually orange. So yeah.

That being said, I have reservations about comparing Kikyo to a cop because, personally, I've always thought the priestess occupation — at least as it was originally portrayed in the series — had more to do with medical and spiritual care than with mantaining law and order. Plus, cops tend to do everything in their power to keep their authority and privilege intact, while Kikyo was willing to give that up to become an ordinary woman, but I do see where you're coming from.

As for the double standards, Kikyo isn't the first female character to fall victim to rooted misogyny and unfortunately won't be the last. Kagome herself gets hate for sexist reasons, often from the very people who reprove it when the same thing happens to Kikyo. However, I feel like claiming misogyny is the only reason Kikyo gets hate is not a completely honest statement.

I'd say this argument would hold a lot more water if Kikyo hadn't constantly belittle and actively tried to kill the female protagonist — who had been nothing but kind and understanding towards her — over jealousy, or if her post death existence wasn't literally based on feeding off of miserable women's souls.

The double standards regarding Sesshomaru are real, but it had little to do with gender and everything to do with context. Kikyo was a fallen priestess. One the narrative asks me to believe is in love — or at least loved — a half demon. Sesshomaru is a racist demon who despised his half demon brother and humans alike.

So when Sesshomaru takes a little human girl under his wings and acts somewhat respectfully towards Inuyasha, that's a huge deal to me. But when Kikyo, who is already dead, gives up her "life" to save the child she was planning to sacrifice for the greater good and treats Inuyasha with dignity, my reaction will naturally be "alright, what else is new?" Swap or even their genders and my feelings will remain the same.

It's not a crime having higher expectations for her than for an actual antagonist when the narrative insists on sweeping the bad things she has done under the rug and focusing on how she is still as good as she has always been because, in that case, doing good deeds is not some extraordinary feature, but rather the bare minimum.

Sesshomaru's bad actions were openly and correctly portrayed as bad. He was forced to face his limitations, his weakness and his loses. That made him grow as a character. And if I criticize Sesshomaru, people will most likely ignore me or agree instead of try and justify his actions with his daddy issues. Kikyo being armored by the plot didn't do her any favors in this regard.

Besides, if we're talking double standards, I frankly don't think some people would be as willing to look past Kikyo's mistakes — Sesshomaru's too, for that matter — and ship her with Inuyasha if she wasn't so pretty. And honestly? That's fine. No one needs an actual reason to love or hate a character.

Lastly, it's not like I don't get Kikyo's tragic backstory, it's just that a huge part of why it's tragic in the first place is because of the choices she made. Naraku was detrimental to her fate, yes. But Kikyo's appeal is that she wasn't a passive person to whom things just happened to. She had agency to make decisions for herself.

People like Inuyasha, Sango and Kohaku had way worse than her and definitely not by their choice, but they never used their traumas as an excuse to be cruel. And I'm not saying this is a competition. Kikyo's pain it's just as valid. I'm just saying that, given these circumstances, in a fictional level, it's way harder to relate and empathize with her character.

And it's not like I didn't want to stan Kikyo. On the contrary. She's beautiful, cunning and interesting. I have a long list of powerful, unapologetic, morally grey female characters that I love and most of them were a bigger treat to my ships than Kikyo ever was to Inukag. The difference is that they were well written.

Kikyo's entire concept is fantastic, but the execution was abysmal. It's very clear to me that Takahashi didn't know what to do with her and it's a shame to see so much potential get wasted. I don't mind her characterization at all. She should be flawed and controversial. It's the lack of character development and satisfying redemption arc that I take issue with, if the narrative is gonna sell her as a changed woman worthy of our sympathy.

Anyway... if you want her complexities and nuances done justice, I've heart the Sesskik fandom is the place to be. They actually acknowledge her flaws, hold her accountable for the things she's done and explore very interesting sides of her personality.

I didn't mourn Kikyo's death for a second. But I mourn the character she could have been every single day.

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he��-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[pettyprocrastination]

Hell is a Nine to Five Max Philips x Reader

Summary: Max Philips is your new boss at your hellscape of a job. He can’t help but be drawn to you and when he learns your lineage and last name (Harker) he fears this may put a dwindle on his plans. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask you out though,,,right?

Chapter summary: Max doesn’t show up until next chapter this one is just set up about your place in the office environment. And for those who don’t know her last name is Harker as in Jonathan Harker from dracula. Don’t worry future chapters will be full of that sweet sweet tension and yearning. 

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ this legend has fucking iconic writing and got me to watch bloodsucking bastards and HERE I AM. Please check out their stuff yall holy shit. 

“Yo Harker!”

Your eyes flicked away from your computer screen just in time to see your grinning blonde coworker push himself over to you in his cubicle chair with a flourish. “Mike is kicking my ass this round and I know somewhere under all that nerd there is a girl who loves video games, tap in?” He pointed to his own cubicle, his computer screen flashing with some video game that he and 90% other men on the floor were constantly playing. You knew this because no matter how loud your sales call was, you can always hear him scream profanities in agony when he inevitably gets killed by some other dumbass who should also be doing his job instead of playing video games like a fifteen year old with a rattail.

You feigned interest for a moment, before your focus went back to your screen, fingers tapping away on the too-damn-old-and-fucking-sticky-to-properly-work keyboard so you can finish this report that Mike was suppose to have done...Yesterday. 

“Hard pass.”

“Oh come on!” Tim pushed his chair closer to you so he could slump his head on your shoulder, but you remained focused on the task at hand. The task being doing your goddamn job which nobody on that floor seemed to do. “I've got to piss like a racehorse but if I drop this round I owe him fifty bucks!”

Okay. That got your attention. 

“Where the hell did you get fifty bucks?” You pushed yourself away from your tiny desk for a moment, wheely chair spinning to face him. “I know for a fact that not even ten fucking minutes ago you asked Evan if he could spot you a twenty so you could pay Dave for the NBA pool that you always lose.”

Tim opened his mouth for a moment before closing it with a huff. “You fucking suck, you know that Harker?”

“Love you too Tim.”

That’s how your work days went. 

Spend hours on end stuck in a windowless room, hunched over a computer from the fucking 90’s, doing not only your work, but the work of 70% of your coworkers who are too busy playing video games, gossiping, or watching porn to even pretend like they're doing their job. Occasionally Tim would try to pull you away to tag in for him on his video games, rate the new interns, or make fun of Evan during your lunch break.

Speaking of which. 

The fluorescent lighting wasn’t any less nauseating in the breakroom, but it offered you a slightly lower volume of the endless ringing of phones, piss poor marketing tactics used by your coworkers to convince people to buy whatever dogshit product you had to push for the week, and the oh-so-obnoxious shouts of Mike, who’s main purpose in life was to bully nine-year-olds who he played video games with. 

“That’s right you fucking pussy! I’m the king!”

Keyword: slightly lower volume. 

“All I’m saying is that you're one of the smartest people here.” Tim plunked himself down in the plastic chair to your right, while Andrew sat on your left. “You’re always doing work-”

“Because I’m at work.”

“-you can type without looking at your hands-”

“Really not that complicated of a skill but okay.”

“-And you're not easily distracted!”

“Because nothing in this hellhole is worth my attention.” You mumbled into your sandwich, which was then flung out of your grasp and onto the floor as Tim slapped you on the back with what you assumed was supposed to be gusto.

Five second rule maybe?

“Which is exactly why you-oh my bad sorry- but that is why you should team up with me and Andrew to kick Mike’s pimply ass!”

Andrew’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Dude. I agree with you but I could do without the description.”

You stood up to retrieve your fallen turkey on rye. Looks like you're going without lunch today “Yeah, I second that notion.”

“Listen I just think-”

Evan, your lanky acting sales manager walked into the breakroom with purpose, and coincidentally, right onto your lunch.

Yup. Definitely no saving that. 

“Hey Tim, have you started on the Phallicite presentation yet?”

Tim froze, stroking his chin in fake thought before letting out a sharp laugh “Yeah no.” Evan threw his head back and groaned. “Sorry buddy.”

“Come on man! Could you please, just this once-”

“I already did it.” You cut in, Evan turning to you, bagged eyes wide. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked twice, then again before his mouth hung open.“Like..like the WHOLE presentation? All on your own?” 

You shrugged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him as you waited for him to take his foot off your fucking sandwich. “Yeah. stayed overnight yesterday because I knew damn well Tim wasn’t gonna do it-”

“Rude but fair deduction Hark.”

“-so I pieced something together. I emailed it to you ten minutes ago. Now all you have to do is nail the actual presenting part.”

Relief washed over your not-acting-sales-manager-but-still-kind-of-sales-manager’s face. “Oh thank you so much Harker, really. That means a lot. If we land this then-”

Enough was enough.

“You're standing on my sandwich.”

“What?” Evan looked down at his feet and winced at the site of your squashed lunch under his shoe. “Shit. Sorry Harker.”

You gave your food one last wistful glance before shrugging. “It’s fine. My break is almost over anyway.”

“Harker.” Mike snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only goddamn person who adheres to a timed lunch schedule. Just stay over! Who the fuck cares?”

You stuffed your water bottle back into the fridge before standing up straight. “This job may suck ass, but it’s the only one I have and I don’t feel like losing it. So I do what I can to keep it.”

You turned on your heel, their voices dying as you walked back to your desk. As you sat down, the hairs on your neck seemed to stand and a prickle went down your spine, you turned around to see if anything was out of the ordinary. 

Coworkers not doing their job? Check. 

Interns being taken advantage of? Check. 

Broken clocks still broken because it keeps employees from constantly seeing if it’s time to leave? Double check. 

You pushed your paranoia away and answered a sales call, though the feeling never truly left you until the work day was over and you were driving out of the parking lot. 

Notes: Anywhomst chapter one is just set up of your place in the work place, as well as relationship to the other characters. In future chapters their will be plenty of interaction between you and max, as well as a deeper look into your family line! Please don’t hesitate to send me reuquests and headcanons i need some fuckin interaction lmao

[bigskydreaming]

In the best (personal) news I have had in oh, over a year, FINALLY got the results of the MRI back and it is NOT a tumor lurking in my nonexistent jaw joint area and causing all my Issues, as my doctor was worried about from the latest CT scans. Which, like. Yeah. I don’t really have the words for how grateful I am to hear that because like, hahahaha I was getting super tired of my rock bottoms introducing themselves to new rock bottoms, you know???

So I am currently buzzing and high on that news, life in general, and y’know, sleep deprivation, cuz ngl, it was definitely not fun hearing I should know by Monday whether or not like, I have cancer, only for that to be dragged out until freaking Friday. Hahaha what is sleep, I have had like, five hours all week maybe? Needless to say I am super behind again on work, rent, insurance and all that fun stuff BUT as long as I can say “but I don’t have cancer!” at the end of each of those things, like....yeah I’m gonna milk the fuck out of that qualifier for energy, as long as I possibly can lololol.

Did talk to my insurance ppl today though and I’ve got at least until Tuesday to pay my premiums, so got a couple more days of breathing room there. Can’t get it extended past that though because my doctor’s already gonna be calling in preauthorization requests for like, the actual surgery and stuff as early as Monday and I reeeeeally don’t want ‘okay but this dude hasn’t even paid up yet’ being a factor at all in whether or not they approve my 25K surgery.

Fingers crossed that my good luck continues to hold, as there’s a possibility this might all get dealt with once and for all, a lot sooner than I’d hoped for?? Like, cuz of the MRI she was able to get a clear view of exactly what the problem is, the inflammation around the joint and actual erosion of the bone, etc, which cut out a lot of the other steps we were preparing to take to isolate the exact issue before moving forward. It also apparently lit a hell of a fire under their asses cuz they were able to see not just that the joint is totally wrecked (which we’ve known for like, nine months now, wasn’t news), but just how badly eroded my jawbone is at like....the other point of the jaw that holds it at least somewhat connected to my skull still even though the joint itself is nonexistent? Idk not explaining that right because again, sleep deprived like whoa. 

ANYWAY. Point is my doctor was like, so basically because of the constant damage being done in that area every time you open your mouth at all, you’re fracturing it further and its only hanging on by the barest sliver at this point - which, DUH, is exactly what I’ve been telling all these doctors it felt like, for over a year BUT I DIGRESS - so she’s all, yeah, we need to move this along as fast as possible because if you erode that area much more like, she doesn’t even know what that’ll look like in practice cuz she’s never actually had to deal with a case that bad, but reading between the lines it sounds like I would just not be able to close my mouth shut at all after that point, which....lol bye bye basic eating and talking? Idk. So its super fun being the worst case of this particular issue she’s ever seen personally haha yay me (but at least I don’t have cancer!)

So. Still putting it in the win column.

But yeah, so she found another surgeon that does potentially take insurance for the actual surgery costs, if we can get my insurance to approve it, and in the meanwhile now I gotta set up appointments at this OTHER imaging place for another more specific CT scan to measure how big the prosthetic will need to be, and they don’t take insurance there at all so that’s gonna be $600 no matter what. BUT, this new surgeon has a bunch of premade prosthetics they keep on site and so there’s a possibility they might be able to fit me with a premade prosthetic that’s already the right dimension instead of having to order a custom made one. And if I can get the surgery approved by my insurance and they find a premade that works, the surgery can be set up in as little as three weeks (which omg holy shit is that a light at the end of the tunnel, IT JUST FUCKING MIGHT BE crap I totally jinxed it didnt I fuck). If they can’t find a premade that works though it’ll still be the 4-6 months to make a custom one so, boooooo, we’re really hoping that doesn’t happen, cuz, again. I do not know precisely what several months of not being able to swing my jaw shut at all even lopsidedly and thus no eating or talking....like lmao what would that even look like how do you not like, starve in that case? Idk. So....super duper hoping that we can find a premade and get the surgery scheduled quicklikearabbit and not have to wait several more months and risk just eroding whatever it is that’s still up there in that general vicinity that’s left to erode, idk, like I said what are words right now even.

YEAH. SO. That’s my status update for those who’ve been messaging and checking in and whatnot, like, y’all are rockstars and I fucking adore you and am so grateful. I am now going to go sleep the sleep of the dead because hahahahahaha ow light is actually physically painful at the moment, I just came to sit up straight at my desk and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.

Then its back to work for me but also I might have some fic updates??? lol. Cuz of people who’ve donated and made non-imposing requests or suggestions for things I could write and thus mitigate my OMG I Do Not Deserve Your Generosity ulcers of doom. That I’ve been writing off and on but mostly just off this last week in particular where I unfortunately did a lot of like, staring at the wall watching paint dry except not really cuz they weren’t freshly painted or whatever, look you get what I mean probably. 

Right. So. Assuming any of this makes sense to anyone and I’m not actually just stringing together nonsense series of words here at this point, still likely to be scarce for a few days to a week. Gonna leave my paypal link again, cuz I mean, yeah. I’m way more sick of posting it than anyone could possibly be of seeing my post it lolol, trust me, but hopefully there is a point now in the near(ish) future where I will once again be able to work productively and non-chronic-painfully again and thus not be in desperate need of the kindness of strangers 24/7. That would be so awesome omgwtfbbqicanteven. You don’t even know. 

But also! At least I don’t have cancer. So. I actually have a bizarre amount of energy at the moment despite being two seconds away from faceplanting into my keyboard from exhaustion. Look I dont even get how that works either. I’m nuanced okay.

I feel like there was something to write here like in conclusion or in summation or tl;dr but also fuck it, I think I literally just heard my last remaining synapse fire in my brain I gtg ttyl byyyyyyyyyyyye.

https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

[mysynthfetish]

Alisa 1387, Part I

Well, my invisible droogies, it was Xmas in March, me brothers. You see, my Belarusian pal Egor, out of the bloody sincere kindness of his heart, shipped me a goddam Alisa 1387. FOR FREE! I offered to at least pay for shipping (no idea how I’d have done that though, as PayPal doesn’t seem to allow sending money to Belarus last time I checked, maybe it’s different now) but nope. I mean WHO DOES THIS KINDA STUFF?! In this day and age of Drumpf and Breggzit and Me First, Fuck You! Duuuude. Egor, I really appreciate it!!!!!!!

Not in the best (or worst) shape. But the lass is in need of some serious refurbishment. As you can see in the photo above, a number of switches were broken and missing their buttons. But Egor sent me a box of extra knobs, buttons and switches!!!! Goddam man! I owe you, for real. Anyway, I had no idea where I was even gonna start, because before he sent it he provided me a long list of ailments the poor thing is suffering from: “Keyboard is really buggy to not working so I couldn’t get envelopes to work, osc1 is working but something wrong with triangle additional wave shaping, PWM works. Osc2 sounds too low so I think there something with capacitors there. On output only pulse, so need to check triangle waveshaper also. LFO works. Filter works but pots everywhere are almost dead, they need careful cleaning and resoldering. So a great amount of work is needed with it not only soldering but also work with hardware refurbish. Do you still need it?” Bwaahahahahahaha!! I said “yeah!” And so, here we are. First thing I decided to unfuck was this:

WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?!?! I had the same deal on a DW-8000 I just flipped here a month or two ago. But that’s not it, ohhhhh no, it was even scarier on the inside!!!!

The wires were being held together with scotch tape!!!?? Fucking Holy Electrocution By A Russian Synth, Batman! I wanna just yank the socket and put a standard jobby in but the frame is damn near 2mm thick, and it’s fucking STEEL, so cutting/filing is Not Going To Be An Easy Job, so I’m still on the fence as to how to remedy the Power Cable Connector Conundrum.

Next job was replacing all the electrolytic capacitors. Not a super hard job, but I started noticing that the values of components on the schematics and those in the actual synth in front of me did not match. That, and what looked like a polarized electrolytic on the schemo was in fact a Gifuckingnormous mylar or in some cases poly cap. What?! Jeez. And then I found this:

Milk carton time. Have You Seen Me? MISSING CAPACITOR! I was like, you have gotta be shitting me. And the fucker wasn’t rattling around loose inside the synth either!? And there are vacant areas on the Generator 1 (VCO1) daughterboard where the schematic shows capacitors should be. What, they run out at the factory and just decide “fugg eet, no capahceetorz for you, comrade synth!” or what? And that ain’t all the shenanigans going on with that board either! Get a load of this!

What the Jumping Fuck On A Stick is this Soviet Spaghetti here?!?! Flying resistors tied together with a goddam chunky diode thrown in for WHO THE FUCK KNOWS WHY!!??!? All I could do was shake my head. After some minutes of being rendered absolutely speechless had passed, I cleaned the menagerie of components up, just reflowing solder and nudging stuff closer to the board, really. But what the hell is up with this? Seriously if anyone out there has ideas, I am all ears!

I gave up on that board for the time being and then went about replacing all the switches that had their business ends broken off. Egor kindly supplied me with more than enough of the same type switches he got from Bog Knows Where. They all work now (mechanically anyway). The hardest thing was the Generator 1 Waveform Selector Assembly, as it has three switches that are mechanically interlinked, so when you press a new one down, the currently pressed down one will pop up—meaning only one selection can be made at a time. I uncovered the secrets of the inner workings of the assembly after desoldering the three switches and removing the whole shebang. I also discovered that the switch actuators themselves are different, as you can see below:

On the right, with bee-you-tee-full blue base, is an original switch from that assembly. On the left, a typical (standard?) switch. Same electrical connections and pinout (check out those legs! and on both sides too!!) so whatever. The actuators in front are broken ones from two of the three blue switches (I was letting them set after carefully superglueing them back together). See how they have little grooves in them? Those are there to slide a spring-loaded metal inner-faceplate along that then forces the other switches up when you press one down. Anyway, I swapped the blue ones out with the all-brown ones, so maybe if I get the Generator board working again, it’ll be possible to engage more than one waveform at a time. I’ve read reviews of this synth that say doing just that is possible, so I dunno what gives.

After some general cleaning and reflowing of sketchy looking solder, I was ready to plug it in to my step-up transformer and duck for cover. No explosions or smoke or arcs of unbridled electricity occured, thankfully. Oh I forgot to mention I replaced the 5-pin DIN main out with a standard 1/4” jack. Yeah. So I turned it on, the power LED came on, and the LFO LED lit up and cycled on and off properly, and the speed changed accordingly when I twiddled the speed knob so that was reassuring. But, no sound and no response from any key, period. I could make the LFO send the filter into near self-oscillation, but even that was super, super quiet. Nothing happened when I raised or lowered the Gen 1, Gen 2 or Noise knobs in the Mixer section. Oh well. Kind of a big let down. But I knew what I was in for when I started all this. In any case, I dunno where or how I’m gonna start troubleshooting this thing. OH and I found a loose wire too! One side is soldered to the switch in the LFO section that selects filter or Generator as the LFO’s destination. No idea where the other end belongs soldered up to. The schematics aren’t as easy to decipher as those of the Polivoks either, so there’s that to deal with too. In any case, I don’t expect I’ll have her up and running again all that soon. And as I said before, anyone out there with experience refurbing/resurrecting an Alisa 1387, feel free to chime in, as I’d really appreciate it!

To Be Continued.

[blublirb]

Medic | Peter Parker

A/N: Oh my god I finally wrote something. It’s not angst like I hoped I would write, but, hey, i got it done! And whoa it takes forever to format on here. Sigh. Let me know what you think!

Word Count: 3,450 (nice, right?)

“I’ll see you later! Good luck!” You ushered your friend out the door, making sure to lock it before you made your way to your room. You quickly changed into sweats, shoving your hair into a ponytail before plopping onto your bed. You had just finished helping your friend Kara plan out and create a homecoming proposal for her girlfriend Erin. It was a cute idea, to say the least. Simple, consisting of flowers, chocolates, and a cute poster board with a pun, but it was adorable. It was about 11 p.m. on a saturday night, and you were excited to see how it would play out on Monday, but you were exhausted.

You couldn’t wait to finally get back to your book, ready to finish the next part of the novel. You reached down below your bed, feeling around on the floor as your eyes gazed through your instagram feed. So many damn homecoming proposals already, and the dance had only been announced a week ago. You rolled your eyes, only realizing you had yet to grab your book when your phone buzzed with a new notification.

M.J.: I’m coming over.

You sighed, giving up on grabbing your book. You quirked a brow as you read the message over and over, trying to find context between the lines. You quickly tapped over the keyboard before pressing send.

You: uh why??

You reached over to close your window curtains, your body threatening to fall off the bed. You caught yourself with your hand, using your other one to grab the curtain and tug. Shit, it’s stuck. Groaning, you pulled yourself off the bed, army crawling over to the curtain and violently pulling it across the window. It still wouldn’t budge, so you stood up, setting your phone on your nightstand and standing on your tiptoes to manually fix the curtain.

Your fingers grazed the hook briefly before you had to stop and take a breath. Why was that thing so damn tall? You reached one more time. Close, closer, almost got it…

Something tapped your window.

“Jesus--” You yelled, stumbling backwards, the curtain coming with you. Well, shit. Now you had to reach to put the hooks on the rack. Perfect. You put a hand over your heart, taking deep, slow breaths. You cautiously looked to the window where your best friend sat, face worried and hair uncontrollably wild. “Michelle?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Open the window.”

“Why are you--”

“Hurry, y/n,” she pressed, looking to her side, muttering words to whatever was there, then looking back to you. You dropped the curtain, stepping over it to unlock the window.

“What are you doing--” You stopped yourself, looking down to a fallen figure at her side through your now open window. You instantly recognised the red and blue suit, the mask, and the iconic spider emblem of Queens’ very own superhero. Spider-man. Spider-man was on your fire escape. “Holy shit.”

“Help me get him in,” Michelle urged, going to the other side of him to grab his legs. You grabbed his arms, struggling to pull him into your room. You weren’t the weakest person in the world, but damn this guy was heavy. You and Michelle laid him on your floor when blood started to pool onto the floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” You muttered, grabbing your fallen curtain and setting it under Spider-man’s body. “Where is he even bleeding from?” You asked, lifting his arms and legs to inspect the injuries you assumed were there. He had a big gash on his side, carving through his abdomen and into his stomach. It wasn’t deep, but it was large. What was he fighting? He had bruises on the exposed skin you could see, and there were several scratches and cuts on his arms and legs. There was blood everywhere, and you were sure you would have to buy a new curtain. “Why did you bring him here? Where did you find him?”

Michelle sat on the other side of him, tucking her knees under herself as she thought over her answer. “He came to my place.”

“He what?”

“He.. I.. Well, I know who he is.”

“You what?”

“Damn, let me finish, will you?” Michelle huffed before fully sitting down, crossing her legs in front of her. “I’ve known who he is for a while now. He comes over to my place sometimes when he has injuries he cant take home and I help patch him up, but… This one I can’t fix.”

“And you think I can?” You asked, pushing yourself up off of the floor. You walked to the door, opening it a bit to stick your head through, making sure no one was awake in your house. Your little brother and your parents were home and hopefully asleep, so you had to make sure you didn't give them reason to look into your room. After making sure the coast was clear, you opened the door wide and tiptoed across the hallway, opening the small linen closet beside your bathroom.

“Well, shit, Y/N, are you an EMT or not?” Michelle whispered.

“Not. I’m still taking classes, M.J. I practice on minor injuries and cuts. Not superheroes.” You grabbed a white towel and held another one, debating whether or not you’d need a second one. You decided you might, so you grabbed it and closed the closet door as carefully as you could. You tiptoed back to your room and quietly closed the door, hurrying to kneel by the man’s (boy’s?) side.

“At least patch him up? He heals quickly.”

“I.. fine. Fine,” You held your hands up in surrender. You scrambled to look for your medical supplies in your room, digging around your desk and in your closet. You produced alcohol pads and rubbing alcohol, grabbing tissues from your desk and setting them beside the hero. M.J. dug into her black backpack (that you just noticed she had) and produced a hefty first aid kit. “Whoa, you came prepared.”

“I figured you wouldn’t have some of the things you’d need. And I’ve been doing this for a while, so I’ve been stocking up.” You nodded along, grabbing the kit from beside her and opening it, finding some stitching supplies (which you needed) and various patching utensils, including gauze and neosporin and the like. You looked to the patient in front of you, examining the open wounds you could see.

“This is gonna be difficult.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I have to get his suit off to properly disinfect his wounds.”

Michelle made an ‘oh, right’ before pressing on the spider emblem on his suit, the fabric expanding with a mechanical ‘shick.’ She grabbed the material and shoved it down his torso, resting at his hips, making sure not to touch the mask on his face.

“Perfect,” you said, and then you got to work. You set to the big cut on his abdomen first, laying a towel on the ground in front of you and pressing it under his side, laying it out to catch any blood that dared to avoid the curtain. “You can start cleaning the cuts and shit on the other side while I work on this one. It might not be all that deep, but It’s deep enough to need a few stitches.” Michelle nodded before grabbing a few alcohol pads and setting to work on her side. You grabbed a few tissues and doused them in rubbing alcohol, patting the wound with little force.

“Ow,” Spider-Man said, raising his head a bit. You jumped back, watching him struggle to sit up. “What’s happening? M.J?”

“Holy shit,” you whispered.

Michelle jumped to action, pressing down on his shoulders to lay him back down. “No, no, don’t get up. We’re patching you up.”

His visors widened and focused on her, before lulling his head around the room. “We?” He asked, before setting his eyes on you. “Y/N? What?” His voice rose, striking a chord with you. You squinted your eyes, thinking you had recognised that voice.

“Peter?” you responded, leaning forward slightly.

“Yeah? What?” He responded. You gasped. Michelle cursed, slamming her forehead.

“Look, what you just fucking did, Spider-Man.”

“Oh, shit, did I just--” Peter started.

“Yes, you did.” Michelle groaned, throwing her hands up. “Take off your mask, you idiot. There’s no point in hiding it anymore.” You started with wide eyes as Spider-Man slowly reached up and pulled off his mask, revealing that one dork you had in your geometry class, Peter Parker.

“Oh my God,” You whispered, setting the bottle and pad down, standing up. Peter waved pathetically.

“Hi? Sorry you had to find out like this.”

“She shouldn’t have found out at all, Peter. I was busy being careful this entire time and you ruin it in 30 seconds.” Michelle crossed her arms, glaring daggers at the boy beside her. You moved over to your still open window, climbing out onto your fire escape, wiping your bloody hands onto your sweatpants. It’ll wash out. Maybe.

You took several breaths, trying to steady yourself by holding onto the railing. You sat by this idiot every weekday at lunch and you never even had the thought that he could be stopping cars with his bare hands and swinging around Queens after dark. You were just patching up your love interest.

Now let’s clear this up. You never liked the word ‘crush.’ It was too immature and reminded you too much of middle school, which wasn’t a good time for anyone involved. That being said, you didn’t like any other words to describe what you felt, so you decided upon ‘love interest.’ It made you feel as if you were a part of a story and it added just a touch of irony that made Michelle approve when you suggested it, so that’s what you’re going with. There was distant arguing inside as you calmed down, wincing when Peter’s voice rose an octave.

You turned around and climbed onto the windowsill, leaning into your room. “Could you guys argue with less gusto? My family’s sleeping.”

“Gusto, she says,” Michelle, mocked, falling silent when there’s a knock on your door. Everyone froze, faces going slack as the door opened to reveal your 5 year old brother, Michael.

“Y/N?” He asked, small, chubby hands on the doorknob. Peter scrambled to put on his suit and mask, hitting the spider, sitting up (with several ‘ow’s) and turning to face Michael. He noticed Spider-Man, his eyes going wide as saucers. Thank god Peter got the mask on in time. “Spider-Man?”

“Hi, Michael,” Spider-man lowered his voice, trying to sound older and more authoritative.

“You know my name?” Michael responded. Spider-man smiled. At least, you think he did.

“Of course I do! Your sister’s told me a lot about you.” Michael looked to you with disbelief, jaw hanging open like he just met Santa Claus. You put on a smile, shrugging.

“Uh, Spider-Man and I are good friends,” you said, climbing into your room. You got down to your knees as you approached Michael, shutting the door behind him and setting him on your lap. “We like to talk about how good you’ve been this year and that Santa would be happy to hear that.” Your baby brother looked to you, then looked back to Spider-man.

“You know Santa?”

“Of course I do!” Spider-man replied, confusion lacing his voice. He was improvising and he clearly wasn’t used to it. I mean, super heroes knowing Santa Claus? You were sure you broke at least six rules on what you can and cannot lie about to children. “You’ve done a lot of good things this year, Michael.”

“Really? He thinks that? Even when I pulled on Sally’s hair and called her a toad?”

“You what?” You looked from Spider-man to Michael, who’s eyes gazed at his favorite superhero with adoration. “Michael!”

“Er,” Spider-Man started. Michelle covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing. You ignored her. “You shouldn’t have done that, kiddo.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agreed. Standing him up. “Listen, Spidey and I have some very important Christmas things to discuss, so why don’t you head onto bed, okay? And don’t tell mommy and daddy. This will be our little secret, okay? Can you promise that?” You held up your pinky. Michael nodded vigorously and wrapped his little finger around yours. He leaned in close, heavy breaths and all.

“Can you tell Santa that I want a big red firetruck for christmas?” You looked to your friends in exasperation, then back to Michael.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll tell him that.” Michael hugged you, then turned to Spider-Man.

“Bye, Mr. Spider-Man!” He said. “I wanna be a hero just like you when I grow up!”

“And you will be,” he responded. “Goodnight!”

“Night!” You kissed Michael on the forehead and ushered him into the hallway. You watched him walk into his room with baited breath until he closed the door. You sighed.

“Holy shit that was close.”

“Spider-man pyjamas, huh?” Michelle asked. You shrugged.

“His favorite superhero,” you explained. Peter took his mask off.

“I talk to Santa now?” He quirked a brow.

“Like you had any better ideas. I’m just glad he didn’t notice the blood. Now lay back down so I can finish patching you up.”

Patching Peter up took another hour. He had gotten into a pretty bad fight with The Rhino, apparently, and the big gash on his side was a spike on the villain’s suit. Brutal. You asked him various questions every now and then, asking how he started, (‘field trip gone bad,’ he had said.) how long he’s been doing it, and who else besides M.J. knows about his abilities.

“May and Ned,” he responded. “Oh, and Tony Stark.”

“May must’ve been pretty pissed-- wait, Tony Stark? Is that what you do on your internship?”

“How’d you guess?” He quipped, voice flatlining.

“Well, this is fun,” Michelle interrupted. “But I gotta get home. I would stay the night but, frankly, I don’t want to wake up to more Michael and even more Spider-Man questions.”

“Fair enough,” you responded.

“I gotta go, too,” Peter sat up, grabbing his mask. “I’ll, uh, replace those curtains.”

“Uh, no you don’t,” you took Peter’s mask from his hands, instead shoving pain relievers to replace them. “You have to rest. I may have stitched up those wounds but it’s not a good job. I ran out of thread, which means if they break, that’s it. Michelle says you heal fast so I expect it to be all healed in the morning or at least good enough for you to do whatever else you do on the weekends. Until then, you stay here. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ouch,” M.J. says. “Bed rest.” She shouldered her backpack, propping one leg on the windowsill.

“Not bed rest,” you corrected. “Just.. room rest?”

Peter scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can, and I am.”

“Well this’ll turn out great,” M.J. glanced at you. You glared back. She shrugged. “Whatever. I’m out. See you, Spider-Dude. Y/N.” she gave a two finger salute, and then she was gone. Peter grunted and leaned back against your bed, his arms crossed like a child-- like Michael. You shook your head, gathering the various medical supplies Michelle left behind (‘you’ll need it more than me,’ she said). You shoved them into an empty shoebox in your closet, shoving the door closed with your foot.

“This damn curtain,” you lifted it off the floor (the stainless floor, thanks to your curtain). “I guess this is goin’ in the garbage.” You unhooked the matching curtain from your window and bundled them together.

“Sorry about that,” Peter chuckled, running his hand through his hair. You forced yourself not to watch, choosing to shrug instead.

“It’s whatever. I’ve been wanting to redecorate my room anyway.” Shoving them under your bed, you sat beside Peter, shoulder to shoulder. You nudged his arm with your elbow. “So, Spider-Man, huh?” He looked to the ceiling. Your eyes lingered on his jawline (and his busted lip). He didn’t notice, thank god.

“Yeah. Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. This wasn’t supposed to happen and you weren’t supposed to find out--”

“I figured, what, with M.J. and Ned knowing and not me, and the fact that you said ‘oh, shit’ after you revealed it.”

“Yeah, well, we aren’t exactly close, so…” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry. That was kind of rude.”

You laughed. “That’s pretty obvious. Listen, I get it. You don’t think we’re as close as you are to M.J. or Ned. No problem. I don’t expect you to be my best friend because I know your secret identity, Pete. You can go on doing you and I’ll do me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, that’s…” He shoved his palms into his eyes, rubbing furiously. He mumbled to himself under his breath for a second, but you didn’t care enough to hear; you just got acquaintance-zoned. You grabbed your phone from your nightstand and unlocked your phone, viewing your texts. A new one recently popped up from Michelle.

M.J.: how’s Spider boy

You spared a glance to the boy beside you, who was busy trying to figure out what to say. Your eyelids drooped impassively, looking back to your phone, typing out a quick reply.

You: Pretty sure I just got acquaintance zoned. Stay tuned.

M.J.: Acquaintance zoned.

You: yup. More to come once he figures out wtf to say.

M.J.: Dare I say, mood.

“Look, I--” Peter stopped himself again once he saw the look on your face. Neutral, yet impassive. Are those the same thing? It didn’t matter. He drew a long breath, turning his body to sit facing you, wincing a few times as he did so. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk, apparently.”

“Noted. Anything else?”

“Damn, you’re cold.” You gave him a cold stare. “I mean-- shit, okay. I wouldn’t mind if we, uh, tried to get closer or anything, you know? Like, you already know I’m Spider-Man, why not stick together?”

“Basically, you don’t want me snitching, so you’re gonna keep a close eye on me.”

“Jesus, no. I--” He covered his face with his palms. “Fuck it-- I like you.”

You stopped breathing. “I’m sorry, what?” You put your phone in your pocket, turning to face Peter. Was this really happening?

“I like you. Like, a lot. More than I should, probably, and I just want you to know that I don’t regret revealing myself to you. Yeah, it was an accident, but I really don’t want us to go back to how we were after this.” He took deep breaths. “I think, since you know now, we could use you on the team. Maybe as our medic! You know what you’re doing, and you’ve already helped me and stuff, and you sit at our table anyway, so I don’t think this would be much different. Just a little bit better, and--”

“Peter,” you interrupted. “You’re rambling.”

He shut his mouth, face going red. “Oh. Sorry, I do that a lot.”

“Yeah, I know, you dork,” You smiled. You climbed over to him, gently grabbing his shoulders and pressing your lips to his cheek. He stared in awe, absolutely speechless for the first time in his life. You didn’t give him a chance to say anything, pressing your lips to his own for something a little more expected. “Luckily, I know how to shut you up. And I think it’s working.”

He remained quiet, staring at you like you were an angel made just for him. Like you were Tony fucking Stark.

“Come on,” you said, lifting him to his feet. “Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can steal some of my older brother’s pyjamas. He’s away at college, so I don’t think he’d care. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna stay the night tonight, anyway, if your wounds haven’t made any progress healing.” You sit him on your bed to wait there as you grabbed the door handle.

“Wait,” he said. You looked back. His face was still red. “So… You’ll be our medic?”

You smiled, hand turning the knob, the other gripping your phone. “Yeah, I think I can make this a full time gig.” You winked, heading down the hallway to your brother’s vacant room. You turned on your phone, going to text M.J.

M.J.: well???

You: Looks like team Spidey has a new medic.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket, smiling like a maniac as you grabbed your definite love interest’s borrowed pyjamas.

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

If Things Had Been Different - Gabe

Hello again! I’m so glad to be back! Things have finally settled down, for the most part, so here’s a post. Finally. 

So, while I was absent I got a bit of writing done when I needed a distraction and this is the result. I kept thinking about Raper and how different things might have been for Gabriel if he had found out about little Sonya before she was born. So I wrote about it. And I fucking love it. A lot. So yeah, have just over 3,100 words about pre-fall Gabe getting a call in the middle of the night about his ex.

If Things Had Been Different - Gabe: pt 2

Daughter Series - Reaper Installments (the original story):  pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4

Gabe was sitting in his office, staring blankly at the wall across from him. He had only been in charge of Blackwatch for about six months but holy hell had it been a mess. It was secret ops, so he knew it was going to be messy, but he had gravely underestimated how much work and time this job was going to be. “I agreed to this because Jack asked me to, because I needed a distraction after pissing off my woman and my side girl, but shit . . . Might have made a mistake.” His head lulled back as he closed his eyes. It was late, or maybe early, and he was exhausted.

He had a good team, but a team that was good for black ops. Shifty, ruthless, calculating, sometimes drunk, always ready to kill black ops soldiers. They were good operatives, they were, but they all had that same broken psychology and tons of emotional baggage they kept squirreled away.

Jack had asked Gabe to watch over them, keep them under control, contain them. Because Gabe wasn’t like them. But after six months? After reading reports of sickening corruption, deadly biochemical weapons, genocide involving women and children – so many disgusting, awful, gut-wrenching things – he could feel a callous growing around his heart. He’d held a dying child in his arms, he’d sent agents after a politician who was using a children’s home as a cover for human trafficking, he’d watched a woman stab herself in the abdomen with a shard of broken glass once she found out she was pregnant with a warlord’s child. Gabe had always known there were fucked up people in the world, everyone knows that, but coming face to face with their victims was getting to him. Most of the people he saved nowadays weren’t grateful and full of praise, they were drained, body and soul. He was quickly becoming just as empty.

And if terrified him.

But it was worth it. He could be a husk of a man if so many others could live their lives in peace. “I can handle it,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll get by. I’ll find a way. I have to.”

It was nights like this he missed having someone to go home to, someone to make him smile – or at least fake one. Fake it ‘til you make it and all that. Ruby, the woman he’d had an affair with, always made him grin, until the sex was over. Nora, the woman he’d betrayed, made him feel at ease, for the first ten minutes he was home, then it turned into a guilt trip about settling down.

None of that mattered now, though. Both of those relationships had crumbled into a sea of regret, quite catastrophically, too. He was alone with his work now. No reason to leave the base unless it was a mission, no reason to pretend he was fine unless Jack or Ana came around, and no reason to go back to his room. He would likely get back to work and fall asleep at his desk. Again.

Before Gabe’s fingers reached the keyboard the phone rang and he froze. A call? This time of night? “Nothing good comes from a ringing phone at 2:30 in the morning,” he sighed. “What atrocity am I dealing with tonight?”

The HR department’s extension number registered in Gabe’s mind just as he hit the speaker button. “Fuck,” he hissed. Human Resources. Someone on the team had made a mess. Pollas en vinagre.

“Good evening, Commander Reyes,” came a tense voice clearly trying to play it cool.

“It’s morning, miss, and I’m getting a call from HR, I doubt anything about this is ‘good.’ Just tell me what’s going on,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“The local hospital called, sir, they are asking you to head there right away,” the woman said hurriedly.

“I swear to God,” he growled. “Who did it? Who ruined my night this time?” Then again, his night had been shit long before this.

The woman on the other end hesitated and Gabe grew concerned. These calls were nothing new, and no one had ever struggled to give him the news quite like this.

“Is someone dead,” the commander asked gravely.

“No, no,” she clarified, sounding worried, “but there was a close call. With a woman named Angelica . . .”

He reeled. “Ruby? Why the hell are you calling me about her? That woman is no longer my concern and I intend to keep it that way.”

“I understand that, sir, and I told the hospital that but they thought – ” She faltered again. “They thought you might be concerned with the baby she’s carrying.”

Gabe suddenly felt very cold and his fingertips felt as if they were being pricked by needles. Baby? Baby? When the fuck had that happened . . . It couldn’t be his, could it? Yeah, they had been screwing a while ago, but – holy shit. Holy shit. He had probably gotten her knocked up.

He took a deep breath and forced the panic away from his mind. “Is this Lydia,” he asked the woman on the other end.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No, sir.”

“Good, good,” he huffed. “Don’t. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can and sort things out then.”

“Sure thing, Commander,” she agreed, “I’ll tell everyone you’re handling some Blackwatch business. They know better to ask anything more after that. Except for your agents, they might be suspicious, but I’ll keep them off your tail as long as I can.”

“Thanks, Lydia. I owe you,” Gabe moaned.

“No problem, and, uh, good luck.”

He laughed dryly, “Thanks, think I’m gonna need it.”

They both hang up and Gabe headed for the door, throwing on a hoodie with shaking hands. The cab ride was excoriatingly long, giving the man plenty of time to scream at himself for ever getting together with Ruby in the first place while subsequently praying she wasn’t hurt too bad. For the baby’s sake. “Baby,” he whispered in the back seat. “There’s a baby and it’s mine. Maybe.” He should have asked Lydia what had happened. Sitting here, wondering what had put his pregnant ex in the ER was killing him. He darted out of the car before it actually stopped.

A grumpy man behind a desk pointed him in the right direction. The two of them had seen each other before, usually when one of his agents got drunk and roughed someone up – or got roughed up themselves, but the nurse seemed particularly judgmental tonight. Guess he had reason to be. There was a doctor closing the door to Ruby’s room as he approached.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Gabe said, his voice slightly more high pitched than usual, “is Rub- Angelica in there?”

“Yes, she is,” the doctor nodded brow slightly pinched in a way that made Gabe feel weak. “You must be the father?”

“Um, yes,” he choked out, “I guess I am.”

“You didn’t know about this,” she asked in surprise.

“No, I had no idea. I would have . . . No, I didn’t know.” Gabe couldn’t say exactly what he would have done if he had known about all this earlier, but he would like to believe he could have kept Ruby out of the hospital at least.

“Well then,” the doctor began, seeming satisfied, “I’m glad you got here so quickly. Perhaps you can help us figure a few things out. She’s being uncooperative.”

“Sounds right,” Gabe sighed. “I’ll tell you anything I can, but I haven’t seen her in around half a year.”

“I see,” she frowned at the chart in her hands. “Was she taking any illegal narcotics when you last saw her? And please, be honest.”

“Na-narcotics,” he gaped. “No! Ruby likes to get a little wild, party harder than most, but I never saw her taking any heavy drugs. Not once.”

“She is now,” the doctor said pursing her lips, “and she’s clearly not been taking care of herself or the fetus in any other way. I’m stunned we haven’t seen her in here before now.”

Gabe felt cold all over again, but it permeated deeper this time. He swallowed hard. “The baby’s okay though, right?”

She pursed her lips and looked away a moment. “There’s still a heartbeat, but it’s not as strong as it should be, and the mother is very malnourished, meaning the child is too. In all honesty, you’re lucky there hasn’t been a miscarriage. We would like to do some testing and a proper ultrasound but she keeps fighting us. We’re worried that if we force anything we will hurt her or the baby.”

Gabe ran his fingers through his hair and hunched over. “Christ, Ruby, what the hell happened?”

“Look,” the doctor sighed, losing a bit of her professionalism, “she’s awake now and she’s said your name a number of times so maybe you can get through to her, convince us to let us help her. She has an IV she keeps messing with but she NEEDS it. That baby needs it, too. If you can calm her down that would help a lot.”

He scratched his scruffle and nodded despite his lack of faith. “I’ll do what I can.” She stepped out of the way and allowed Gabe to see the patient.

Ruby was almost unrecognizable. Her hair had been dyed some unnatural shade of black, her skin was marred with scabs and scratches, her face was hollowed and limbs unsettlingly thin. If it weren’t for that trademark red lipstick Gabe would have thought he was in the wrong room. A thin blanket was covering her lower body, but he could see the shape of a large bump at her midsection. “Mierda, Ruby, what have you done to yourself?”

She leaned her head up and scowled. “What are you doing here, goody two shoes?”

He came closer slowly, timidly, and leaned on the foot of her bed. “Docs called me. Said you were asking for me.”

Ruby scoffed and pulled her covers closer. “There’s no way I did that.”

“I sure as hell haven’t been keeping tabs on you anymore,” he said flatly, “you must have said something.”

“They were drilling me for an emergency contact,” she muttered, “musta let something slip.”

“I’m glad you did,” Gabe murmured more gently before looking from a nasty bruise on his ex’s arm to her face. “You should have told me, Rube, about the baby. You should have told me.”

They stared right into each other’s eyes, both refusing to give in. She had an awful glare, but it began to slip, bit by bit until she was biting her lip as tears formed in her eyes. “Don’t you fucking chide me, Gabriel,” she spat, “don’t you dare.”

“What do you expect me to do,” he said coming around to the side of her bed, “you’re pregnant, really pregnant, and I had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me?”

She picked at the nubs of her chipped, bloody fingernails. “Didn’t see the point – if this thing survives I’ll be dumping it off at an orphanage as soon as the cord’s cut.”

Gabe lost it, gripping the rail on her bed and leaning over Ruby as she jolted in shock. “What the fuck do you mean, if the baby survives?! Were you trying to kill it? And yourself? Is that why you picked up a needle and started jabbing yourself? WHY?! Ruby, I could have helped you. If you didn’t want the baby that’s your call, I would have accepted that, but pumping yourself full of poison and starving yourself is not okay. That’s not fair to our kid. It’s not their fault you got knocked up, it’s mine. Punish me if you want, but don’t become a junkie and torture yourself like this. Please. You’re better than this.”

“Gabe,” she whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks and trembling, “I’m not better than this and you know it. I know I should have told you but I couldn’t. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t! That fucking pregnancy test came back positive and I just spiraled out of control. Christ, I hardly even remember the past few months. It’s like I just kept getting bigger and no matter what I did this thing kept living and every part of me kept hurting. I’m sorry Gabe, I am, but – but – ” She began to sob and shake, hands clamped over her mouth as she tried to control herself.

“Alright, alright,” he said softly, “deep breaths.” Gabe was still irate, but he wasn’t going to be cruel and berate Ruby while she was lying in the ER. He rubbed her shoulder until she stopped hyperventilating. She looked exhausted, as if the outburst had drained the last of her energy.

“This baby is better off never being born,” she whimpered, “I’m sure she’s already sick and rotten like me, and we all know I shouldn’t be a mother. I don’t want to be one.”

“No one is going to force you be a mom, Ruby. Honest, but that little guy is pretty big now, I don’t think an abortion is an option anymore.”

“It’s not,” she groaned. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll try to take better care of the baby until its born and I take over,” Gabe said firmly. She frowned up at him.

“You’re going to take her? Mr. Overwatch man who has no time? The guy who got together with me because he didn’t want to get serious with his lady?”

“Things are different now,” he said somewhat aggravatedly, “it’s not Nora harping at me, there a kid. My kid. A kid who didn’t ask for any of this and needs me. I’m not saying I’m going to be father of the year, but I’m going to try.”

She eyed him thoughtfully for a long minute before sighing, sounding relieved. “You’ll take good care of ‘em,” Ruby nodded. “They’ll be okay with you.” Her eyes closed and she buried into her pillow.

“Hey,” Gabe said encouraging her to stay awake, “you gotta let these doctors know you’ll work with them, okay?”

“Fine,” she griped, rolling over onto her back. Her stomach looked massive on her withered body.

He hit the nurse call button, still staring at her belly. “Uh, Rube?”

“Yeah?”

“How far along are you?”

“I dunno, maybe seven months? Maybe more?”

“Wait,” he said pursing his lips, “you broke it off with me when you were already pregnant? Did you know?”

“Shut up and go find the doctor,” she snapped, waving him away with a disgruntled look. He knew better than to press the issue at this point. Besides, no changing it now. He’d be less pissed if he kept thinking about the future and not how things could have been.

There was some discussion, some paperwork, and a lot of Ruby rolling her eyes, but in the end, Gabe was given access to his ex’s medical information – he would be kept informed at all times on the status of both patients.

“Is there anything else you need from me,” Gabe asked.

“No,” Dr. Faraday, the woman from the hall, replied, “everything should be in order. We will let you know once the test results come in and when an ultrasound is scheduled. For now, Ms. Cotter needs to get some rest, we’ll start treatment tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “Can I have another minute with her? I’ll be out soon, I promise.”

“So long as you keep it short,” she agreed, leaving the room. Ruby yawned and glanced to Gabe.

“What else do you want,” she asked sleepily. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He leaned on the bed again, hands in his pockets. “All I want to say is thank you for being amicable about all this. I’m not going to condone what you’ve done, but I’m glad you’re trying to make it right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, “I’m just glad it will be over soon.”

“If at any point you want to change your mind, if you want to see your baby – ”

“No,” she all but yelled. “I don’t want anything to do with either of you after it’s born! I’m putting all this behind me, like it never happened.”

“Okay, okay.” Gabe knew he should leave, let her be, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was just one more thing he –

“What is it, Gabriel,” Ruby growled, “I know you want to say something. Just do it so I can go to bed!”

“I was hoping I could, maybe,” he fumbled.

“Spit it out.”

“Could I  . . . feel your stomach? Just once? I’ll understand if you say no, but – ”

“Will you leave if I say yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then go for it. Little shit won’t stop moving around so you may as well do it when I can’t ignore the kid.” She pulled her blanket down and exposed a filthy crop top and some unbuttoned jeans surrounding her mostly bare belly. There were bruises and what looked like cigarette burns on her tight skin. Gabe was equal parts enraged and entranced. His little mijo or mija was in there. A goofy smile blossomed under his curly mustache.

He placed his palm gently on a patch of unmarred flesh and rubbed his thumb along the curve of her stomach. “Hang in there, conejito,” he murmured.

One soft little pat thumped against Ruby’s skin just to the right of Gabe’s hand. He laughed and moved his hand to the spot and the baby kicked right in the center of his hand. “That’s my girl.”

Ruby squirmed awkwardly and yanked the covers over her. “I’m tired,” she said in a voice so meek Gabe hardly believed it came from the party animal.

“Sure,” he said moving away, thumb rubbing the spot on his palm where his child had kicked. “Get some sleep and try to take is easy on the docs, okay? They’re trying to look after you, both of you.” She nodded and closed her eyes.

“And take care of my girl for me,” he said just above a whisper as he opened the door.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“You really think it’s a girl?”

He thought a moment. “Guess I do. Just a feeling.”

“Don’t name her after me.”

He held back a snort. “Alright.”

“And . . . make up a story about her mom. Something nice. Don’t let her grow up knowing what I did to her. That I was this shitty.”

“I’ll do what I think is right for her,” he said determinedly, “but I’ll be gentle when I tell her about you.”

“’Kay. Night, Gabe.”

“Night, Rube.”

@watch-your-grammer @winchester-sonsandcastiel @envy-kitty

[suspiciousgay]

this is gonna be really funny or really fucking stupid

so @ohxfiddlesticks and i went on a lil midnight adventure so uh let’s begin shall we also this is probably gonna be super long so uh

oh and quick thing the reason it’s in text format and not screenshots is they stopped saving past the seventh pic so uh

broadway trash: i mean i can always rebrush alrighty i’ll see if we have anything that’s the equivalent to ginger ale

therapissed: Whoops

broadway trash: i’m taking my phone time for a midnight adventure except not really it’s just bread anyway

therapissed: Yeah I’ll go try to get smth too Bringing my phone

broadway trash: *starts screeching out the mission impossible theme* DUN DUN DUNNA DUN DUN DUNNA BWANANAAAAA

therapissed: We still have that lemon from last time lma o

broadway trash: pfff

therapissed: We have oatmeal cream pies Which isn’t healthy probably but Damn I really need an emoji keyboard for that shrug thing

broadway trash: i’m like prancing around while trying to be super quiet what is this ballerina superspy bullshit

therapissed: Lmao “I’m taking my phone time for a midnight adventure” It’s one lmao Oh we have bread Guess I’ll get that

broadway trash: I JUST COLLAPSED INTO THE FUCKING PANTRY IM

therapissed: Good job

broadway trasg: also good lord everything is so loud at night like plate shush

therapissed: Me @ the pantry door And the fridge door

broadway trash: i looked to my left and i thought someone was running at me i’m dying pfff same

therapissed: We have two radishes in the fridgs Fridge Why can’t I type fridge

broadway trash: ?????? well then

therapissed: They’re just like Laying there Not in a container or anything They’re just

*and this is where you imagine just two radishes sitting there in a fridge*

broadway trash: i almost dropped everything i was carrying hoooooo golly that would’ve been BAAAAD pffff

therapissed: I have two slices of bread and an oatmeal cream pie how did you get so much

broadway trash: ?? what??

therapissed: Idk you said “everything” you it seems like you had a lot Idk my brainsbdndnsnnfndnd

broadway trash: ohh *slams face onto the stove* nah i had some bread and got super hungry so i decided fuck it i’m making a sandwich and i almost dropped the condiments and the plate

therapissed: I could get saltine crackers *faceplants onto crackers* Oh ok Me, making a sandwich: Ok we got the bread and mayonnaise that’s all i feel like getting

broadway trash: pffff

therapissed: Mayonnaise sandwich i guess I found a ginger ale do you want it

broadway trash: sure

therapissed: *throws vaguely in your direction*

broadway trash: pfff thanks

therapissed: Yw It landed about 200 miles from you though Sorry

broadway trash: i misread that as the “uwu” face

therapissed: Lmao

broadway trash: oh well i need the exercise anyway

therapissed: “Here’s to happiness freedom and life” I hear through my earbuds as I make a mayonnaise sandwich at 1:10 AM

broadway trash: pffff same whoops ok the sandwich has been gotten now i want chocolate milk

therapissed: I filled my water bottle and forgot to bring it to the event lmao I’ll grab it when I go up

broadway trash: welp ok i feel like i’m about to get murdered every fucking noise is making me jump help something’s moving around down the hallway THE LIGHTS JUST WENT OUT FUCK IM A GONER

therapissed: Hey no that’s my job Being scared of everything

broadway trash: wtf when did i get mustard on my shirt

therapissed: Pfffft

broadway trash: where are the ghosts

therapissed: Shshshhshshsshshs

broadway trash: mother of fuck the towel keeps falling from its place

therapissed: SHUDH

broadway trash: STAY ON THE FUCKING COUNTER YOU DEMON

therapissed: SHUSH SVUSHSSDHHHHHH

broadway trash: SORRY

therapissed: ITS OK MY HOUSE IS FUCKING CREEPY THO IM DYING SHUS H

broadway trash: alrighty i’m still fucking hungry guess this is what happens when you eat nothing for a whole day wtf i forgot i had a light switch right next to me i was standing here paranoid in the dark for a decade doing nothing

therapissed: Lmao Where’s my water bottle One sec

broadway trash: okie then MOTHER OF FUCK MICROWAVE BE QUIETER actually y’know what fuck it *throws microwave out the window* uuuuuuugh it’s so fucking ominous i feel like i’m about to get sacrificed kill me now

therapissed: My bottle was in the sink under a few things but still full for some reason and when I took it out I died it was so loud

broadway trash: eH

therapissed: Yo do you wanna see ominous

broadway trash: uhh sure

therapissed: One second lemme get back downstairs bc I’m in my room right now

broadway trash: okie

*now imagine a staircase, like the kind from a horror movie*

broadway trash: fUCK

therapissed: There’s two lights on this stairwell and they turn on one at a time slowly

broadway trash: ok i just grabbed the biggest knife we have

therapissed: And that plastic up there? It moves a lot even if there’s only a fan on downstairs Also that pic doesn’t have all the stairs And to the right of me I have this

broadway trash: YEEZUS aAH NOISES FUCK YOU DEMON YOU CAN SUCK MY DICK

*ok now just imagine a black screen, like a void or something idk*

broadway trash: it’s just dark

therapissed: That’s to the right of me Ik Bc the lights are off

broadway trash: CHRIST ON A BIKE WHY IS THE NIGHT SO SCARY

therapissed: And my kitchen spans one side of the entire house (fuck you open-floor plans) and it uses three light switches to light it up and it’s really creepy bc smth could come from either direction while you’re making food and you wouldn’t know And behind me where I was making was a really big window lmao

broadway trash: oh god i legislation just yelled “HONEY CALM DOWM” save meeeeee ;-; legislation good fucking job me

therapissed: Pfffft

broadway trash: NOISES HOLD ON KNIFE WHERE ARE YOUUUU ;-; I JUST GRABBED THE FUCKING BLADE OW

therapissed: I’m eating in my room which is still creepy but like fuck no not the kitchen

broadway trash: wow i’m a real fuckup when scared

therapissed: Same What are you eating btw

broadway trash: chicken whoops there was a single chicken breast in a bag so

therapissed: At 1:30

broadway trash: y e p

therapissed: Lmao I somehow put too much mayonnaise on this sandwich I’m dying

broadway trash: ok so so far i almost broke a plate, got scared of a light, almost stabbed myself in the hand, and almost dropped my glass which is still full of milk my night is going derek swell** who the fuck is derek

therapissed: Pffffft

broadway trash: maybe he’s the thing making all the noises if it’s not him it better fucking be my cat

therapissed: I feel like I’m gonna one day haunt this house and people will just hear the weird laughter of me texting people

broadway trash: pfff yes and same acutally

bob: i was literally gone for like thirty minutes what happened

broadway trash: oH SHIT HI BOB

therapissed: Lmao

bob: oml

therapissed: We scavenged for food and died of fright seventeen times

bob: i

therapissed: We’re like those fainting goats

bob: y’all need a supervisor

broadway trash: i just started cackling for no reason help

bob: like an actual supervisor

broadway trash: is derek possessing me

bob: I’m hiring a babysitter omg

therapissed: Bob you’re our supervisor duh

bob: i was literally gone for thirty minutes

bob sent a video.

therapissed: HDHSNFNDNSJF

bob: this is literally what happened inn the last thirty minutes omg why also jemmy u ok

therapissed: Wait lemme find a video of fainting goats bc that’s what’s been happening to us

broadway trash: THAT WAS ON FULL VOLUME I THINK I WOKE MY NEIGHBORHOOD UP DAMMIT ME am i ever ok oh fuck my chocolate milk got all over the stove ;-; nOISES-

bob: i oh my god

broadway trash: MY SISTER JUST SCARED ME SO BAD I ALMOST KILLED A BITCH

bob: ok also fiddlesticks I’m going to call u tommy unless u want another nickname

therapissed: HOLY FUCK I JUST FOUND A CALL OF THE WILDMAN VIDEO IM CACKLIN G That’s fine

broadway trash: my sister thought i was crying

bob: y’all need a babysitter and r u crying or r u laughing

broadway trash: no i was like nervously cackling

bob: oohok

broadway trash: i think derek’s possessing me

bob: ok

therapissed sent a video.

bob: tell derek it’s bedtime

broadway trash renamed the group “Flagelise, Bucko, Tim, and Bob (and Derek???), the best truer friendshit that lives on Mt. Guf and is made up of beginner crocodiles and trrible draaings that canr tyoe wayways and definitely aren’t suspicious so don’t be suspicious rup lmal iips”

therapissed: TIM I FOUND US OMG

broadway trash: derek is our new demon friend

bob: please tell ur new demon friend it’s past bedtime

therapissed: Dude: *sneezes* Us: *dies* I forgot how ridiculous that show was I think the dude died by crocodile though

broadway trash: e H wow now i’m sad ;-;

trerapissed: Sorry But Are we fainting goats or are we fainting goats

broadway trash: no we’re fainting goats

therapissed: Good argument I take my statement back Bob where’d you go we’re gonna die without you

broadway trash renamed the group “Flagelise, Bucko, Tim, and Bob (and Derek???), the best truer friendshit that lives on Mt. Guf and is made up of beginner crocodiles, trrible draaings, and fainting goats that canr tyoe wayways and definitely aren’t suspicious so don’t be suspicious rup lmal iips”

therapissed: Lma o Oh

Call, 3s

bob: what

broadway trash: WAS THAT ME SORRY wait what

therapissed: Nvm

broadway trash: oh what i’m confused

therapissed: I forgot lmao Tim are you still eating or

broadway trash: no i’m brushing my teeth

therapissed: Okie dokie I love TGC’s Tony performance wtf

broadway trash: i almost fell into the bathtub help

therapissed: . Fainting goat

bob: what are y’all doing

therapissed: We are literally fainting goats personified wtf

broadway trash: i’m dying

bob: jemmy no jemmy please tommy don’t encourage this please

therapissed: I’m not Not trying to at least

broadway trash: I JUST DROPPED MY PHONE IT WAS SO LOUD IM SNORTING HELP

bob: omg

therapissed: WTF TIM WHAT ARE YOU DOIN G

bob: i love u all but what

broadway trash: MY SISTER SCARED ME

therapissed: TIM WHY

broadway trash: HEY BLAME HER NOT ME

therapissed: You are a disaster But so am I So it’s fine

broadway trash: YEA NO SHIT HONEY

bob: how does ur sister scare you so often u were literally in the bathroom

broadway trash: I GET SCARED EASILY WHY DO YOU THINK I HAD A BIG ASS KITCHEN KNIFE WHILE I WAS EATING A SANDWICH

bob: why did u have a knife if u know u get scared easily

therapissed: Bc she gets scared easily

bob: doesn’t that mean ur chances of stabbing someone rises

therapissed: But

broadway trash: ye but

therapissed: She didn’t want to be stabbed by someone else

broadway trash: ye

bob: ur literally in ur own house

broadway trash: IM PARANOID OK

bob: ok fine but no more knife

therapissed: Yes more knives All of the knives

bob: no more knives

broadway trash: they’re right in my kitchen??

therapissed: ALL OF THEM

bob: tommy no

therapissed: Tommy yes

bob: tommy n o

broadway trash: and i have like two pocket knives in my room?

therapissed: Tommy y e s

bob: ok jemmy 1) no and 2) tommy wtf

therapissed: ;)

bob: g r o u n d e d

[yoichooseno]

Jaytim Soulmate AU

Inspired by the AU where anything you write on your skin also appears on your soulmate' skin (you know the one. Wink wink, nudge nudge) Tim sat in the lecture hall, leaning over his keyboard and typing quickly to keep up with his professor's lecture. "Hey," whispered the girl to his right. Steph, a pretty blonde with big eyes and an inability to sit still. "Can you send me the notes after class? I can't write and listen at the same time or I fall behind." Tim nodded, already opening the key to share the document with her. She grinned. "Thanks." "Me too?" Whispered the dark haired boy to his left. Connor, the exchange student, Clark Kent's son, was looking at Tim with his startlingly blue eyes. Tim shared the document with him quickly, and then began to type twice as quickly to catch up. Steph and Connor smiled first at Tim, then at each other, before settling into their seats to listen to the rest of the lecture. When it ended, Steph grabbed her bag and stuffed her notebook inside. She made to put away her pen, bit her lip, and turned to Tim. "Hey, so, I feel bad for mooching notes off of you all the time. I mean, we have three classes together and I've already asked you for notes in all three of them. Can I take you for coffee some time to make it up to you?" Tim grinned. "I would never turn down a free coffee." Steph laughed. "I know," she said, pointing to the two empty coffee cups on Tim's desk. "Here, gimme your arm." "Don't you have a pad of paper?" "Tim," Steph said seriously. "If you think I'm going to pull it out of my bag again, you are wrong. Besides, I've never once seen you even hold a piece of paper. How do I know you won't lose it?" Tim sighed, holding out his arm. She had a point. He was rather prone to losing papers. Behind him, Connor grunted. "Don't worry, she does this with everyone-" he held out his arm to show Tim the very number Steph was writing on his own arm as Connor spoke- "She's taking me for coffee tomorrow to thank me for lending her the change to buy tater tots." "Oh, hey, that's right! Tim, you should come with us. Then I can hit two birds with one stone." "You mean paying us both back at the same time?" "No, I mean coffee and making new friends." Tim sighed dramatically, teasing Steph. "If I must." Steph giggled. "Great! I gotta run now, boys. See you two tomorrow!" And with that, she ran from the lecture hall, bag bouncing against her hip as she went. Tim turned to Connor. "Is she always so... sociable?" Connor shrugged. "Beats me, dude. I've only known her two days. It's only the second day of the semester. If she IS always so sociable, I may regret spotting her on those tater tots." Tim laughed, smiling down at the phone number scribbled on his arm under her name, which she had written in bubble letters. That night, Tim ambled down to the communal bathroom to take a shower. Unfortunately, the showers were halfway across campus from his dorm. There was no longer such a thing as a "quick shower" in Tim's life. It took fifteen minutes just to get there, he may as well stay in a little while longer than usual. On his way over, he pulled out his phone and dialled the number written in blue ink on his skin. It rang twice. "Hello?" "Hey, Steph, it's Tim." "Tim!" The phone made a noise like wind in Tim's ears as Steph shifted her phone around. "How's it going?" "Pretty good. I'm just on my way to the showers, I thought I should call before your number washed off." "Ah," Tim could hear her smile as she spoke. "Okay, so- coffee tomorrow. It's a Friday so we won't have classes in the afternoon. I was thinking we could go at, like, 12:30? You and I will just be getting out of biology so I was thinking we could pick up Connor and take my car over? I know this great little cafe. Kind of a hole-in-the-wall joint, but great coffee." "Yeah, that sounds good. See you then?" "You betcha!" The phone clicked as Steph hung up. Dick will be so proud of me for making friends, Tim thought. Dick Grayson was Tim's legal guardian. Although he wasn't many years older, fewer than ten, he had battled for custody of Tim after his parents had tossed him out at the ripe old age of 9. Dick had always been a big brother figure to Tim, having grown up down the street from him, and it was a big Fuck You to the Drakes when the 18 year old boy down the street got custody of their young son. They had to see him each and every day, but they couldn't do anything about it. They would be charged if they tried to harass Tim the way they had when he still lived under their roof. Today, Tim still lived with Dick. He was 17 years old, and Dick was 26. Now that Tim was starting college- a year early because he skipped a grade, and holy shit was Dick ever proud of him- he lived on campus with the promise that he would return home on holidays. Of course, it wasn't so much Dick that Tim had promised, but Dick's girlfriend, Koriand'r. Tim really liked her. Kory wasn't from Gotham and she spoke somewhat broken English, but she was sweet and kind and mothered Tim in a way that Dick, as a young man, could not. She made Dick happy, she made killer cupcakes (if nothing else), and knew all sorts of great bands. Plus, she had bright pink hair. What's not to love? Tim slipped through the door into the bathrooms and found an empty shower stall, shaking off thoughts of his family. His strange, loving family. Inside, he shut the door, flung his towel over the top, and undressed. He let the water run over him, warm and soothing. He should call Dick when he got out. He should go grocery shopping tomorrow. He should remind his roommate not to leave his dishes in the sink. He should... He should... The warm water ran these thoughts from his mind. The warm water, and the singing from two stalls down. Whoever was in there had the voice of a rock god and was singing one of Tim's favourite songs, It Has Begun by Starset. Tim swayed on his feet as he listened, scrubbing down his body with soap and water. The singing abruptly stopped, interrupted crudely by a loud, "Aw, fuck!" Tim couldn't help but laugh. "What're you snickering about over there? I just lost a clue to finding my soulmate!" The guy who had been singing had an equally mesmerizing speaking voice. "I'm sorry," Tim said, still trying not to giggle. "You were singing so beautifully and then you just- 'aw, fuck!' And it was hilarious. Sorry about your soulmate, man." "Nah, it's my fault. I knew I should've written it down as soon as it showed up on my arm." And then the stranger continued singing, although a little more aggressively, and Tim continued to sway under the spray of the water. Jason Todd was 19 years old and attending the college of his dreams. He was a little late, due to the delay in his schooling after he had ended up on the streets, but now he was back on track and holy shit was he ever excited to be here. He owed the opportunity largely to his adoptive father, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was Gotham's richest, most elite gothamite and, as Jason saw him, the biggest badass around. Bruce had two kids- Jason, and a younger, biological son named Damian. Despite being hugely busy with running numerous businesses, he made all sorts of time for his two sons. That was not something Jason had ever known. When his mother was still alive, she was working four jobs to pay for the bills and couldn't afford to make time for Jason, regardless of how deeply she loved him. But Bruce made time for Jason, cared for him, loved him, and even payed for his college education. And because of this, it was Jason's mission to do well and make Bruce proud. He wouldn't allow himself to be distracted by trivial things. When the ink had started to bleed into his arm from an invisible pen, the tripping of his heart beats told him that the mysterious writing was coming from his soul mate's skin. Jason had immediately called Bruce. This was not trivial, and he was definitely distracted. "Come on, come on, pick up." Jason bounced on the balls of his feet in the courtyard. Bruce answered on the fourth ring. "Jason? Are you okay? Did something happen?" "It happened." "What did?" Damian asked in the background. "Wait, am I on speaker?" Jason stopped bouncing. "Yes." "Hi, Jason!" "Hi, Dami. Dad, can you take me off speaker? Please?" "Sure, Jay." A pause. "Okay, go." Jason resumed bouncing like one would breathing after holding their breath. "It happened. The thing. On my arm. It's there. It's-" "You mean your soulmate finally-?" "Yes! I'm freaking out, Bruce, I don't know what to do. This has never happened before." Jason chewed nervously on his lip. The thing was, Jason's soulmate wasn't one to use their skin as a canvas. They never made notes, never drew pictures, never tested pen ink, nothing. In fact, they never even got graphite smudges on their fingers. Jason guessed that they typed things, mostly. A few times he had written notes on his leg, or other discreet places people wouldn't see (afraid an outsider would see the note on Jason's skin, or on his soul mate's) , asking if they could see his writing, but they never replied. Jason worried that, maybe, they were his soulmate, but he was not theirs. Perhaps that was why he never got anything special on his skin. Or worse, what if he didn't have a soulmate? But now, now he knew that they were out there. "Well, does it say something?" Bruce prompted. "It's a girls name- Steph- and a phone number underneath." Jason spoke on a single exhale. It was quiet on Bruce's end of the line for a second, and then, "can you call it?" "What?" Jason stopped bouncing again. "Call the number. If someone picks up, ask if it's Steph that you've called, and explain." Jason took a deep breath and held it. That could work. The problem was, his next class started in two minutes, and he wouldn't be released for a couple of hours. From there, he would have to head straight to work. There wasn't time to make that kind of phone call, and even if there was, Jason wanted to be ready for any kind of let down. Suppose the number was a dead end- he couldn't go into work after that. "I'll have to call them later tonight, after work..." "Call me when you know something, okay, Jay?" "Will do." Jason could hear the smile in Bruce's voice. "Good. Now go get to class." "Yessir." And that had been the end of that. Jason had hurried off to his next class and struggled to stay focused through the whole lecture. How could he focus on WWII when his soulmate had just inadvertently sent him a message? He couldn't help but stare at the blue ink. Was this his soul mates writing, or someone writing on their arm? It didn't matter. It was on his soul mates skin, somewhere in this world, and that alone made it the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. At work, Jason was a space case. He was relieved when his shift finally ended. He had barely gotten his apron off before he bolted through the door, buckled his helmet on, swung a leg over his bike, and kick started the engine. He was tearing down the street to get back to the dorms before anyone could even ask him why he was in such a hurry. Unfortunately, upon returning to his dorm, Jason realized that his nerves were too shot to try and call anybody. He couldn't even call Bruce due to the violent shaking in his hands. "Dude, go take a shower or go for a walk or something. You're acting like a crazy person." His roommate, Roy, was sprawled on the couch with a bag of popcorn. "You're gonna pace a hole in the rug." "Shower. Right. A shower would be good." So Jason ducked through the dorm, grabbing his things, and headed out for a shower to calm his nerves. He wasn't worried about washing the number off. It wouldn't come off until it came off of his soul mate's skin, and it couldn't possibly be gone by the time he was out of the shower. But it was. Jason looked down at his arm as he belted out his favourite song, hot water from numerous showers filling the room with steam. "Embracing it's starlit fate as we wait in the night, It's written in the- aw, fuck!" Someone a couple of stalls over laughed. "What're you snickering about over there? I just lost a clue to finding my soulmate!" Jason hadn't meant to snap at the stranger, but he was tremendously upset. "I'm sorry," the stranger said, obviously holding back laughter. "You were singing so beautifully and then you just- 'aw, fuck!' And it was hilarious. Sorry about your soulmate, man." The stranger's voice was oddly soothing, but Jason couldn't focus on that now. "Nah, it's my fault. I knew I should've written it down as soon as it showed up on my arm." Jason ran a hand through his wet hair, sighing loudly. He wouldn't cry here, not if he could help it, but he just met cry when he got back to his dorm. He had been so close. The next day, when Tim's biology lecture ended, Steph grabbed his arm and dragged him out to her car, chattering the whole way. Tim wanted to listen, to chat with her, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the guy who'd lost his chance to find his soulmate. He sort of knew how the guy felt. His soulmate used to write to him all the time, but he could never read the notes through the gnarly bruises his parents left on his skin. There would be more bruises if he tried to tell his soulmate so. By the time Dick had him and the seemingly perpetual bruises finally faded, his soulmate had stopped writing and Tim had forgotten all about it. Occasionally, Tim wanted to write to his soulmate to explain to them why he never wrote back, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. "Hi, it's me, your soulmate. I never replied to you when we were younger because I couldn't actually read your notes since you always wrote them in the places my parents beat me. Also, they would have beaten me twice as hard if I tried to tell you so. I'm not being beaten now so I'll see the thing you send me, but-" he wasn't sure how to continue. Besides, the whole thing was so awful that he wasn't sure he should try. "Okay, seriously, what's with you?" Steph snatched Tim's attention from the drivers seat as Connor leaned forward in the backseat. "Do... Do you guys know your soulmates?" He expected Connor to scoff and Steph to immediately gush, but he was surprised by their reactions. "No," said Steph simply, starting the car. "They've never responded to my notes or anything. I think maybe there may be a language barrier because I always get random little words and reminders in Portuguese." She shrugged as she began to pull out of the parking lot. "I'm trying to learn the language but so far I haven't got enough to talk to them." "I do," Connor said. He sounded surprised at his own words, like he hadn't expected to have an answer to the question. "I know my soulmate," he continued. "Her name is M'gann." Steph squealed. "Oooh tell us more!" Connor blushed, an odd look for his stoic face. "She's not from around here either, but her English is pretty good. Actually, I'm meeting her in person for the first time on Sunday." Steph screamed. Both boys stared at her. "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. "I'm just... Really excited for you." She was fighting back a huge smile and losing. "What about you, Tim? Do you know your soulmate?" "Hold that thought, Tim. We're here." The odd group piled out of the car and entered the cafe, the delicate bell on the door chiming as they did so. The barista was a tall man, approximately 20 years of age, with dark hair and broad shoulders. Tim recognized his voice, but couldn't put his finger on where he might know the man from. Steph spilled into a booth, Connor following her, so Tim slid into the booth seat opposite them. "So, Tim, tell us about your soulmate." "That's the thing," Tim complained, "I don't know them!" "You mean you never...?" "They used to write to me, but I could never read what they wrote because-" Tim swallowed, backtracking- "I could never read what they wrote, and my parents would beat me if I drew on myself, so I couldn't write back. Eventually, they just stopped writing to me." Steph frowned and Connor took a long pull from his drink, eyebrows knitting. "So what got you thinking about it?" Tim relayed to them the story of the night before. Steph's face puckered. "And I thought my soulmate situation was crappy." "No kidding. So now I can't stop thinking about that guy and his soulmate. What if he never finds them?" Connor spoke up. "He will, Tim. They're literally made for each other. If they weren't meant to find each other, they wouldn't be soulmates." Oddly enough, the brooding boy across the booth made Tim feel a lot better about the whole situation. A lot, but not enough. Jason looked up from the mug he was washing as Roy entered the small cafe. "Hey, Roy." "Hey, Jason. Feeling better today?" Jason sighed. "Not particularly." "Well, when's your shift up? We can hang out when you're off the hook, maybe take your mind off things." "Sounds good. I'm off in ten. You want something while I'm still behind the counter?" Roy grinned. "A large coffee and a pen." "A pen?" Roy smiled devilishly. "I have a plan." When Jason's shift was up, he made himself a coffee, slipped off his apron, and joined Roy at the small table in the far corner of the cafe. "What's this master plan of yours?" "You'll see. Give me your arm." "No, I'm not giving you my arm. You could be planning to draw penises for all I know." Roy snorted. "That's exactly it. See, if I draw enough dicks on your arm, at some point your soulmate has to pick up a marker and tell you/me to fuck off, am I right? So when they do that, we write up all your info on your arm and bam, there you are." Jason sighed. "I guess." He hated to admit it, but the plan was genius. Nothing would get his soulmate's attention sooner than a shit load of dicks drawn on their arm. He held out his arm to Roy, who began to draw. Steph and Connor were trying desperately to distract Tim. Currently, Steph was telling the boys about her vacation in Vancouver a few years ago. "- and they had this epic bioluminescent exhibit. Tim, you would've loved it. Seriously. They had hundreds, if not thousands of jelly fish and all sorts of little bioluminescent fish and- holy shit!" A few people paused to glare at Steph. Connor winced. "Please do not scream in my ear." Steph ignored Connor. "Tim, there are dicks on your arm!" "What the fuck?" Now Connor was leaning forward to take a closer look at the tiny dicks crawling up Tim's arm in purple ink. "Woah. That's a lot of dicks." "Are you fucking kidding me?" Tim groaned. "Nothing for years, and now this shit?" They all paused to watch as more and more tiny dicks appeared on Tim's skin. "WHO THE FUCK IS DRAWING DICKS ON MY SOULMATES ARM?!" The entire cafe quieted at Tim's outburst. Forks clattered on plates. Cups hit tables, spilling. A few patrons giggled. Then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence, "That would be me." A ginger man with tattoos up his arms stood from his seat at the other side of the cafe. The man with him, whom Tim recognized as the barista, was blushing furiously. "And this is your soulmate." "Hi..." The man was tomato red and struggling to lift his eyes to Tim's. "I'm Jason." Steph squealed in her seat, wanting to push Tim toward his soulmate but trapped in the booth by Connor, who was sitting with his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Go!" She yelled, gesturing wildly. With all the speed and elegance of a zombie, Tim hauled himself to his feet and shuffled across the cafe. The ginger man beamed at the two young men and side shuffled away to join Steph and Connor in their booth. Tim took the empty seat across from the barista- his soulmate- Jason. "I-" the boys both began at the same time. "Sorry, you first," Tim whispered. "You're here. You're actually here. You- why didn't you answer me when I wrote to you?" Tim blushed furiously, his cheeks an angry shade of red. "I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But- see, I couldn't read what you wrote to me because my biological parents- well, anyway, I couldn't read it. And I wasn't allowed to respond. But I wanted to. I did." Jason nodded slowly. "You were the guy in the shower yesterday. The one who laughed at me. I thought I lost you again, but you were right there." Jason was right, of course. That was where Tim had known his voice from. He was aware of the eyes of every person in the cafe on them. "Yeah." All of a sudden, Jason pushed himself from his chair. In a single, fluid movement, he had wrapped his arms tightly around Tim. Tim, shocked at first, gasped. But he immediately knew this embrace to be safe, and he felt warm and happy. And he snaked his arms around Jason's waist, pushing his face against the taller boy's chest, and sighed. The entire cafe burst into applause. Steph and Roy climbed up onto the seats of the both and cheered. Dick will be so proud of me, Tim thought, holding Jason tighter. Dick will be so proud.

[expectoepatronums]

Coffee-Stained Hearts

A/N: the ‘someone just spilled coffee all over me and my computer which had the only copy of my paper due in 15 minutes, and it seems like that someone might be the lead actor in my favourite show’ au that no one asked for

Her last assignment was due in 15 minutes. Lily could practically taste the freedom, could feel the summer months ahead. She sipped her coffee, hovering her mouse over the ‘send’ button. She took a deep breath, about to hit the button, when she heard the high-pitched sound of shoes sliding against the tile floor and all of the sudden her skin was burning - 

“What the hell!” Lily exclaimed, jumping up from her seat in the coffee shop, glaring at the person who had just spilled incredibly hot coffee all over her, her new dress and her computer. She did a double take, because it seemed to be that the asshole who had just ruined her day was the lead actor in her favourite show, The Marauders. But that didn’t matter now. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he said, immediately grabbing some napkins from the table and handing them to her. “I’m so so sorry.”

Under any other circumstances, it would be a dream to meet James Potter. Devilishly handsome, a phenomenal actor, relatively famous, and just generally a cute person, he was every girls dream. But not Lily’s, at least not at this moment.

Lily scowled, her eyes burning into him. And if looks could kill, well, let’s just say that there would be a lot of crying teenage girls all over the world.

“Say that to my computer. That was the only copy I had of my final English Lit  paper, that just happens to be due in 15 minutes.”

James reached a hand towards her laptop, napkins at the ready to try and sop up the mess. But Lily stopped him. It was no use. the keyboard was drenched, the dark coffee seeping beneath the keys, like a million connecting rivers. The screen had gone all fuzzy, like someone had given it a good shake and everything ended up in a different place. Lily knew immediately that it was gone.

“It’s no use.”

“Well what can I do?” James asked, running his hand through his hair. “This is entirely my fault.”

“Of course this is your fault!” Lily tried to keep her voice down, thoroughly aware of the people now staring at them in the café, but she was finding it to be a very difficult task. “But I don’t think my professor will understand when I say, ‘hey some prick just happened to spill coffee on my laptop fifteen minutes before my paper was due.’”

“Honestly I can’t explain how sorry I am, I’m such a fucking klutz.”

“Well your apology isn’t going to be worth 30% of my grade, is it?” Lily sighed. “I’m sorry that was mean, I just really needed to do well on that assignment.” 

“Maybe I can talk to your professor, try to-”

“That would definitely not work. He probably wouldn’t know who you are, and even if he does, he would not care. My friend once spent the night in a hospital getting her appendix out and missed handing in her paper, and the next day he told her that she would have to hand it in by the end of the day or she’d get a 0.”

“Damn. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“I’m not sure what else to do. I’ve never been good under stress.”

“Well for starters you could buy me coffee. And then a new laptop.”

“How about dinner?”

Lily laughed. “Are you seriously trying to ask me out after you just ruined my day?” 

“Maybe.” James looked at her sheepishly, and she couldn’t help it, she smiled a little. He is cute, even cuter than on TV, his hair like a hurricane and his glasses slipping down his nose. 

“How about coffee now, and then we’ll see about dinner.”

“I’ll take it.”

“My name’s Lily Evans by the way.”

“James Potter.”

They talked for over an hour. Lily knew that she should probably be mad at him, but she quickly discovered that he’s the kind of person who is very difficult to stay mad at, especially when he’s telling awful jokes or when his eyes light up as he tells a story. She forgot that she drives past his face on billboards on her way to work and that she and Marlene once had a full conversation on whether his season 2 or season 3 hair made him more attractive. He just seemed normal.

When she finally glanced at her phone and realized it was way past when she was supposed to meet Mary, she sighed, standing up. 

“I had fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Here,” she grabbed a napkin from the table and scribbled down her phone number. “I’m gonna need a very nice dinner to make up for my lost grade.”

He winced, but he was still grinning. It made her stomach flip. “Sorry again about that.”

She waved him off.

“Just be careful with your coffee next time.”

And then she was gone, the door jingling behind her. She realized half-way home that she forgot to give him back the sweatshirt he’d lent her to cover up her coffee stained dress. Oh well, she thought, a smile slipping onto her lips. I’ll see him again soon. 

In hindsight, she should have thought of this. But she’d never really encountered super-fans before, how was she supposed to know this would happen?

She was just lying on her couch, about to email her professor to try and salvage a grade when Marlene called her. 

“Holy shit Lily Evans I cannot believe you!”

It’s safe to say Lily was a little more than confused. 

“Are you actually dating James Potter? How? When? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” She sounded excited. Lily was still incredibly confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you, in James Potter’s sweatshirt on CelebrityGossip.com.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen it yet! I’m sending it to you right now. And then I want an explanation.”

She hung up. Lily clicked on the link she’d sent, and gasped. Because yes, that was her face on CelebrityGossip.com.

WHO IS JAMES POTTER’S MYSTERY GIRL?

Everyone’s favourite onscreen bad boy and real-life sweetheart James Potter was spotted out and about today - with someone new. 

Fans spotted the Marauders star at a cute little café this afternoon, and he wasn’t alone. He seems to be engaged in a very exciting conversation with a red-headed someone in these photos, posted below, courtesy of Instagram user @maraudersfan4ever who just happened to walk by and spot the pair. Talk about good timing! 

Fans haven’t been able to identify the girl in the photos yet, and I don’t recognize her either. Whoever this mystery girl is, she’s a lucky one, Potter seems to be enamoured with her. And she’s wearing his signature sweatshirt. That’s some serious #couplegoals! 

Lily was in shock. How had she not noticed someone taking a photo of them? She felt so stupid. She was about to call James - he’d texted before she was even out the door of the café - when her phone rang. It was Marlene again. 

“Did you read it? I need details.”

Lily sighed, brushing her hair to one side. “He spilled coffee on me.”

Marlene started laughing, words spilling between giggles. “Wow I can just picture it, you must have been so mad.”

“I was livid. The worst part was that I was about to send in my English Lit paper and then my computer got destroyed.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck is right. I almost killed him, I didn’t care who he was. But he was so frazzled and it was kind of cute, and we ended up having coffee. He only gave me his sweater to cover up my ruined dress.”

“That’s such a meet-cute.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it that. It was not exactly cute getting hot coffee spilled all over me.”

“Nah, that’s such a meet-cute.”

“Whatever you say, Marls,” she smiled thinking about it. Just a little. “It’s just so weird that someone took a photo of us. Without even asking.”

“Well you were with a celebrity.”

“But still.”

“Yeah, it does seem pretty creepy. And that the internet, like, cares about it. People are writing articles about you.”

“I know. At least they don’t know who I am. Yet.”

“Yeah,” Marlene sighed. “Okay I need to know more. Was he amazing? Are you seeing him again?”

 “We’re going to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Can you get me an autograph?” 

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, come on Lily! Is he as dreamy as he seems on TV? What does his hair actually look like?”

“I’ll tell you all about it after tomorrow night. But I’ve got to go email my professor now and try to scrape together some semblance of a grade.”

Marlene winced. “Good luck.” 

He knocked on her door just as she was pulling on her coat.

She pulled it open a minute later, and her breath caught in her throat. They’d opted for something casual - James had suggested a diner he knew - so he didn’t look much different than the other day. His hair was still all over the place and his glasses were crooked on his nose, but her heart skipped a beat. 

“You look great,” he said, smiling. She blushed, looking down at her gingham dress. This was just as perfectly awkward as any first date should be. 

“Here,” he passed her a box he’d been carrying. She hadn’t even noticed. “To make up for the one that is… extremely coffee-stained to say the least.”

It was a new laptop. 

“James! you know I was kidding right? I didn’t mean you actually owed me a new computer. My old one was pretty shit anyways.”

“I know. But I did ruin it. And I cost you your grade. It was the least I could do.”

She didn’t know what to say. So she just kissed him. 

“Thank you,” she said, pulling away. His lips cracked into a smile. 

“Shall we go?”

“So tell me, what’s it like to go to work everyday on a TV set?” 

James ran his hand through his hair, shrugging. “It’s just normal. I don’t know, it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. It’s hard work, but I love it.��

“You know I was an actor once,” Lily said, stealing one of his fries. 

“Oh really?”

“Yup, you’re looking at Tree #2 from St. Thomas Middle School’s production of Into the Woods.”

James laughed, leaning forward. “I bet you stole the show.”

“I was the best tree anyone had ever seen. But I gave it all up. Though I reckon I could reclaim that life if I wanted to.”

James just raised his eyebrows, questioning. 

“Well I’ve got this angle going, you see. ‘James Potter’s Mystery Girl.’ I figure I can play that up until someone gives me an acting gig.”

He looked down, biting his lip. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” she said, reaching across the table to touch his shoulder. “You didn’t ask anyone to take a picture. Besides, its not like I don’t have an Instagram account. My photo is already on the internet.” she smiled at him. “But I am keeping that sweatshirt.”

“Oh are you?”

She nodded. “Its officially property of Lily Evans.”

“I think I can live with that.” 

“Good.”

“So,” he said, pointing a fry at her. “What are your plans for the future? You said you’re majoring in creative writing, but where do you want to go from there?”

“I have no idea. I’ve always wanted to be an author, but I don’t know, it just seems impossible sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. But you’ve got time to figure it out, take some chances. I’m sure you’re a fantastic writer.”

“Hopefully,” Lily shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “Okay, time for the real questions.”

James leaned forward. “I’m ready.”

“Is Prongs really dating that blonde girl? He and Steph were so perfect together!” James laughed. Lily just continued. “And what is his real name? This show has been on for three seasons and we know none of the main characters real names! It’s frustrating.”

“I didn’t think you watched the show,” James was smiling, his eyes bright, it made Lily feel like the sun had poured light into her stomach. 

“Everyone watches that show,” she said plainly. “Now I want some answers.”

“So that’s why you agreed to go on this date with me.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I can’t tell you his name because no one will even tell me, probably because they don’t trust me enough, but I can tell you that I am team Steph. All the way.”

“Well that’s good. Because that would have been a dealbreaker.” 

JAMES POTTER’S MYSTERY GIRL IS A MYSTERY NO LONGER!

Ever since Marauders actor James Potter was spotted with a pretty red-head last week, the world has been asking the question ‘who is James Potter’s mystery girl?’ But alas! The couple stepped out again today, hand-in-hand as they meandered through the streets. One of our reporters caught up with them as they strolled, and enquired about the girl’s identity. 

“This is Lily,” James answered, positively glowing from our reporter’s account. 

From there, it wasn’t hard to find her Instagram account which we’ve linked below. So James Potter’s mystery girl is a mystery no longer, but this couple doesn’t need the mystery to be absolutely adorable!

[sunshinemiranda]

Anatomy 101 - Anthony Ramos x Reader

Summary: Anthony is an art student who needs someone to model nude. He chooses the reader, who happens to have an unadvisable, annoying crush on the sunshine-y boy. 

Warnings: Swearing!

Word Count: 2,966

A/N: It is officially the first day of the Write-A-Thon! I may have stayed up until 12 just for this, oops. But I’m super excited because I love Anthony Ramos and I love this AU and there is just a LOT of love to give, okay??

askbox | masterlist

Really, when it came down to it, Anthony Ramos had asked you to be naked for him three times in total.

Let’s get some context in here.

As a student majoring in journalism, school was crazy most of the time. There was always something to do; an extra assignment to hand in, a project to finish up, extra studying to be done. Work dripped so excessively that there was no surviving college without a friend to kick you into gear and a bottomless coffee mug.

The former was named Anthony Ramos. The latter was a blue travel mug, which turned out to be a gift from the aforementioned friend. He was an art major whose grin embodied the entire sun. Anthony was the person who was always there to nudge you out of your morning bleariness and into work mode, or the person who stayed up with you into the wee hours of the morning to celebrate a finished report.

He was always there. And you would always be wrong to say that his laugh didn’t flutter your heart, or that the way he hugged you didn’t make you feel at home, but that was the only option right now. He never looked at you the same way you looked at him. You had accepted that.

The first time he mentioned you without clothes, was on your dorm bed, the both of you curled over laptops as you worked in silence. His thigh was pressing against yours, breaking your focus more than you cared to admit.

The tap of his fingertips against the keyboard slowed, and then stopped completely. He was thinking.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah, Ant?” You replied immediately, mentally kicking yourself for appearing so eager to hear him speak. God, you had it bad.

“So, we’re doing this anatomy study in class right now.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. We’re um, supposed to find someone to model for us.”

“Really? Who’d you ask?”

“No one,” he swallowed. “Yet.”

A pause passed through the room and you continued typing, completely oblivious.

“It’s a nudity based unit.”

“Oh?”

Your hands went back to writing, mind only partially in the conversation until his words seemed to settle in and the equation seemed clear in your mind.

“Anthony-“

“Please, (Y/N), please, please, please.”

“No! It’s weird!” You insisted, a burning flush working its way up your face as you tried your hardest to fight it.

“It won’t be, I promise! I sound like a shallow douche, but all the people I ask think I’m looking for some weird sex proposition. Please.”

The colour on your cheeks worsened at his words, and you took a deep breath, setting your laptop to the side. Your thoughts were whirling into a tornado of, holy fuck, what the fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, a cycle that refused to end.

“Okay, but here are my conditions-“

“Thank you, holy shit, thank you so much.”

“You owe me, Ramos. Big time. First, you buy me coffee for a month. Second, you make me cinnamon buns. And third, you buy me lunch for the next three days. Okay?”

“Yes, absolutely.” He stood up, reaching to clasp your hand with a grin that brightened your small dorm. “Is tomorrow okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I can meet you at the studio.”

“Awesome.” He leaned to press a quick kiss to your cheek as he retreated out the door. “You’re a lifesaver, (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get out.”

At the sound of your door clicking closed, you fell forward and buried your face into a pillow, groaning audibly. Damn that boy for smiling like the goddamn sun. Damn that boy for making you actually want to get out of bed to face the day. Damn that boy who you could never say no to.

There was no denying that you adored Anthony, much more than a friend possibly should. This situation was dangerously close to breaking the rules you had set around the issue. Actually there was only one rule, in the end: don’t tell him.

The decision to keep your feelings a secret had been made a long time ago and you were sticking to it, even if this whole nudity thing had a chance of messing it up. When you had imagined the chance to be clothes-less in front of Anthony, it had been very different. This was a sort of vulnerability that was incredibly new to the both of you.

You fell asleep thinking of him, just like you always did.

What in God’s name was one supposed to wear to a nude modelling gig? Wasn’t the point supposed to be a lack of clothing? Images of Hollywood-esque film scenes, involving beautiful women dropping a robe sensually, came to mind.

In the end, you wore a t-shirt and jeans.

The walk to the studio was painfully slow. There was more than enough time to overthink things and that is exactly what you did. More than once did your hand drift to your phone so you could text Anthony a sorry excuse and turn back while you could, but the thought of another woman taking her clothes off, stopped you. The thought of a body prettier than yours, the thought of a version of Anthony who loved this anonymous woman, the one your brain had created, an imaginary antagonist whom you had never met and already hated. It was enough to push you all the way to the studio without turning back.

The glass door pushed open fluidly and your steps echoed against the cold stone floor. The room had high arches and wonderful lighting. A thousand canvases of varying types of art hung on the wall, or perched against a beam to dry for the night. Anthony was turned around, cleaning his brushes in a tub of soapy water as he knelt on the ground. He was humming a tune and it made your heart flutter against your ribcage. That boy had always had such a beautiful voice.

“Hey, dork.” You called, and he turned around, a bit startled.

“Hi! I didn’t see you come in, you scared me.” He grinned, standing as he pressed his wet brushes to a dry rag.

“Which ones are yours?” You asked, gesturing to the pieces strewn haphazardly around the room.

He stepped over, letting his hand fall to the small of your back as he guided you to the east wall. Your heart stopped working. “These three. I have other ones, but they’re in the back room.”

All three were flower themed pieces, a swirling amount of acrylic paint that was applied thickly, allowing a sort of texture. You had always known that Anthony was good at painting but these were great. There was a sort of “at home” feel to all three; like sitting in your favourite chair after a very long day.

“You ready?” His voice broke you out of your stupor and you turned around, cheeks already flushing.

“Yeah.” It was the biggest lie you had told in your life.

He was blushing too, and that made you feel a little better. Gesturing to the centre of the room, he disappeared to grab a blanket to lie on the cold ground.

“Yeah, um…whenever you’re ready.” He mumbled, all but running to hide behind his canvas as he pulled up a stool.

Taking a breath, you kicked off your shoes and stepped onto the quilt, feet pressing into the soft sakura flower pattern. Gently, your hands drifted to the hem of your shirt and with a quick tug, you pulled it off in one go, not unlike ripping of a band-aid. Then, your fingers moved to pull at the button of your jeans, tugging at the zipper. Within a moment, your jeans were gone too and you were left there, shivering in a blue bra and pink panties that were definitely not matching, or the nicest (the embarrassment almost killed you).

“Anthony?”

“Yeah?” He replied, voice muffled from behind the canvas.

“Can you just…show me how to pose before I…”

“Oh!” He startled and stood up, rushing over to you. “Yeah, of course, of course, I-“

As soon as his eyes caught the sight of you, his voice choked to a stuttering stop. His gaze was determinedly set on your face, not daring to look an inch further down and it made you smile. Always a gentleman.

“If you could um…yeah just sit, and pull your knee up to your chest and let the other one down? And sort of, lean over your knee and just keep your hands on your ankle. That’s-that’s good. Yeah.”

You replied with a nod, heart still beating at a painfully fast pace. As soon as he returned to his place at his canvas, you turned away, reaching behind you to hover your fingertips at the clasp of your bra. You took a breath, then with a turn of your wrist, the band came undone and you slid it gently down your shoulders. Then, your fingers hovered at the band of lace that was the only article of clothing keeping you from being completely naked in front of the boy you loved. With a push, they slid down your legs, and you kicked them to the side.

That was it. You were completely exposed. Lowering yourself to the ground, you mimicked the posture he had showed you, leaning over one drawn up leg and letting the other fall to the ground.

“All good?” His voice called and you swallowed nervously.

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage at the moment.

He peeked out from behind his canvas. You couldn’t see it, for your head was down, but his eyes softened at the sight of you. Shoulders set demurely down, hair falling against your jaw, the curve of your spine; it was the most innocent and yet, sexiest thing Anthony had seen all day.

The hours passed quickly and in silence. He sang quietly under his breath and you found yourself relaxing at the sound. Every now and then, the soft clink of his brushes against a glass jar of water would perforate the atmosphere but it added an ambience that oddly calmed you.

After two hours of being hunched over, your legs had started to go a bit numb and your shoulders were stiff and starting to ache. It was becoming harder and harder to stay still.

“Anthony?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I take a break?”

He startled, almost dropping his brushes as he pushed his seat out so he could stand.

“Yes! Jesus, sorry, I lost track of time.” He stood, turned away from you and came back with another blanket, this time coming over to tuck it around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, altogether too distracted by the way his fingers had brushed against the bare skin of your shoulders.

“Here,” he smiled, leaning to grab a Tupperware container beside his easel. “I made those cinnamon buns you were wanting.”

Grinning, you took the treats from him with a grateful grin. As you bit into one, a sound fell from your mouth that sounded dangerously close to a moan. He blushed. You didn’t notice.

“So can I see it?” You smiled.

“No!” He choked it out quickly. A little too quickly, and you frowned quizzically at him.

“It’s just…” He breathed. “It’s just not ready. When I’m done.”

The rest of the session went well. The ice had been broken and things were better. It’s just as you’re heading out to leave, fully clothed again, that he asks you to be naked for him, a second time.

“It’s not finished.” He admits. “And I need you to come back for a reference, please, I promise it won’t take long.”

You stare at him, wanting and wishing you could just say no, but the hope in his eyes is too much and before you know it, you’re agreeing and setting a time and place.

This boy had such a strong grip on your heart.

The second session went well, actually. It flew by, if you decided to ignore the fact that you were very much not clothed. The two of you had started to crack jokes that made the discomfort melt away.

Then he asked you to come in a third time. You said yes without thinking of ever trying to fathom turning him down.

“And…” he moved his brush, pushing a bit of ochre paint against the canvas. “Done!”

You immediately pushed yourself out of your position, stretching, before the realization that you were one hundred percent exposed came flying back into your forgetful brain. Blushing, you reached quickly for the extra blanket and wrapped it around your body.

“I wanna see!” You stood, smiling as you made your way over to his easel.

He hurried to grab it, avoiding wet paint and pulled it away, turning it to hide from your sight. “Um, no. Don’t.”

“Why not?” You pouted, kicking at the blanket tucked around you.

“Just-just wait till you see it at the art show. You’re going, right? It’s in a week.” He looked up, a little wide-eyed.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smiled, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

He set the canvas down so he could bat at your hand, reaching up and grabbing at your wrist. He tugged, pulling your body into his and you were very suddenly aware of the combination of closeness and the blanket that was keeping you from being completely naked.

He was looking at you, eyes half-lidded as a small smile tips the corner of his mouth up. He was so fucking gorgeous. Unable to wait a second longer, you pushed up onto your tiptoes and pressed your mouth to his with an urgency that you had been suppressing since you had met him. Your arms found their way up and wrapped around his neck as he froze in shock. A moment passed. He startled into movement, and kissed you back. The notion was like a splash of cold water in the face and, internally freaking out, you pulled away quickly.

“(Y/N)-“

“I have to go.” You mumbled, leaning to grab your clothes and escaping into the bathroom to change before leaving quickly and quietly.

You didn’t see him for a week. However, that wasn’t to say that you didn’t think of him. You did. Constantly. The moment your mouth had met his was the moment you had completely and utterly fucked everything up. You had broken the one rule, or at least bended it. Did kissing the boy you love count as telling him the truth? Probably.

As you enter your dorm, kicking your shoes off, red marker on the calendar catches your eye. Ant’s Art Show, is written neatly into the little box and your heart tumbles like a clothes dryer. It had started a half hour ago. There was no way in hell you were letting your best friend down by not going to something you had promised. All feelings were set aside. It was his moment now.

Running across campus, your jacket only half on and your shoelaces left dangerously untied, the wind hit your cheeks and added to the exhilaration. As soon as the glass doors of the studio came into view, you pushed yourself into a sprint and all but rammed into the door. Crowds of people came into view and after a moment of fruitless searching for a familiar head of curly hair, you dove into the masses in the hope of finding him standing near his exhibition.

A painting of a naked girl hunched over in a familiar pose catches your eye and nearly punches you in the stomach with its beauty. There’s a familiar set of shoulders turned away from you, guarding the piece as he speaks to his art professor. The conversation wanders into earshot.

“Anthony, this piece is wonderful. You painted her so vulnerable, and open. How did you access that emotion?” His teacher is gushing, gesturing to the painting with an open hand.

“Well…honestly, professor, I just…I painted the girl I’m in love with. I painted her the way I see her when she lets her guard down, when she shows me just a glimpse of what she hides underneath. I wanted to do her justice. She’s beautiful.”

His professor, taken aback at Anthony’s honesty mumbles his congratulations and finds his way back into the crowd.

“It looks good,” you murmur, stepping forward as he whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Thanks.” He smiles, but it is faint and nervous.

“Anthony, about the-“

“Listen, I don’t know how much you heard, but that wasn’t just bullshitting for a good grade. I’ve already got that.” He grins, and you smack his shoulder playfully. “(Y/N), I love you. Always have. And I don’t know why I’ve been dumb enough not to say something, but if you could just…say something positive or at least slap me and walk away, it would give me a better idea of how bad I’m making myself look right now.”

Your smile had grown into a full grin as he spoke, and you paused, just to make him squirm a bit. Then, reaching forward, you took his hand in yours, brushing a thumb over his knuckles.

“God, I adore you.”

He grinned but you only had a second to take in the sight of such a beautiful smile, because he was already kissing you, hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. As the two of you broke apart, you sent a glance to the painting.

“You sure you’re gonna get a good grade on that? You definitely didn’t hire a professional model.” You grinned.

“Oh, would you just shut up.”

A kiss was most effective in doing just that.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Swap

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew, welcome aboard! This is my first try at a soulmate AU so I hope you like it! Tagging @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, and of course, our stalwart captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

It wasn’t often that Dean woke up without any aches or pains. Without the sound of Sami’s snoring near-deafening him. Callihan had a habit of ending up in bed with Ambrose, seeing as how their mattresses were right next to each other on the floor. It was kind of like having a king-sized bed.

Dean reached out to give Sami’s shoulder a shove, the usual way he woke his roommate. When he came into contact with nothing but air though, Dean assumed Callihan was already up. Which meant he must still be dreaming. There was no way Callihan would be conscious in the morning before him.

Had his bed always been this comfortable?

When Dean finally opened his eyes though, things got weird quick. Where the hell am I?! He flailed around in the blankets for a second, terrified at how clean and white everything was, like a hospital room. He caught sight of his hands and barely kept from screaming because that’s not my fucking skin, oh my god, is that a tattoo?! It was, thick and thin lines of solid black tribal design weaving over tan skin that was definitely not the bruised-up coloration Dean’s had been the night before.

There was a door across the room that hopefully led to a bathroom. Where there would be a mirror, maybe. Dean flipped the sheets back and flinched as he realized that whoever he was, obviously he slept in the nude. Feeling weirdly like a pervert, Ambrose quickly wrapped the flat sheet around his newly-thick waist and shuffled to the door on shaky legs.

This was officially the strangest dream he’d had. Did he finally go after that Chinese food that had been festering in the neighbor's trash? The guy in the mirror was…well, he sure as shit was not Dean fucking Ambrose.

This guy had brown eyes and hair, lots of it, jet-black and all rumpled from sleeping. This guy had a tattoo that looked fucking important instead of stupid or gaudy, like most of the musclebound morons with tribal tattoos. This guy had an immaculate face, the ghost of a five o’clock shadow barely visible over his jawline and throat. Nice mouth. Dean snarled experimentally and was floored with how threatening he looked with well-kept facial hair and straight, white teeth.

Dean gingerly turned his head to one side, then the other. A scar creased the area over his right eyelid, the skin still pink and new from healing. It didn't hurt at all when Dean rubbed his fingers over it, but there was a strange ripple in the back of his mind like it should have hurt.  Ambrose pinched his arm. Hard. Pain made him jerk upright. So it wasn’t a dream! Somehow, somehow, this was real. Either that or he had the mother of all concussions and he was hallucinating this shit.

He looked back up at…whoever the hell it was in the mirror, shrugging shoulders broader than his own. His disbelief suspended for a few more minutes, Dean was curious, just who the heck was this guy and why was he wearing his skin like a bad suit?

He’s got to have a wallet around. Some form of ID. Dean scuttled back to the bedroom, still holding the sheet up around his waist. A pair of pants and a crisp red button-up were folded on the chair beside the bed. The first warning sign for Ambrose was the fact that there was a passport and a plane ticket on the bedside table. Fuck. Reading the name on the ticket made him double-take because Jesus fucking Christ, that was a name if he’d ever seen one! The name seemed...familiar for some reason. Dean narrowed his eyes at the ticket. He couldn't place it, but it nagged at him.

“Roman Reigns.” Ambrose jumped at the sound of his suddenly-smooth, baritone voice, flushing as red as he could. It wasn’t really fair that this guy was the whole package! The hotel phone also on the bedside table gave him an idea. Dean dialed his own number, pinching the bridge of his nose nervously.

The gritty sound of Callihan’s voice greeted his ears. “He ain’t up yet, whoever ya’ are. Don’t ya’ know what time it is?”

“Could you possibly have him give me a call back? Tell him it’s uh. It’s Roman.” Dean knew there was a maybe one in seven chance that Callihan would even remember he’d called, but he could try.

Callihan snorted. “Like the guy from GTA? Sure thing, cousin Roman.” The line clicked dead.

I am so screwed. Dean hoped this guy didn’t have panic attacks, because if Roman was piloting his body, he was in for one hell of a rude awakening.

…

Pain throbbed in what felt like every cell of his existence. Roman had been roused by a rough voice saying his name, but he wished he’d never woken up. What happened last night? Did I get into a car accident? He wondered blearily, doing his damnedest to open his eyes. He remembered going to sleep, and then…nothing. Not even his usual dream of Blue-Eyed Guy, weirdly.

Upon finally managing to get his eyes open, Roman was more than confused. He was laying on a mattress on the floor of a dingy apartment. The rug touching his hand was sticky. The mattress felt paper thin, like every spring had given up years ago. Roman’s whole body hurt, pounding like a fresh bruise.

There was a battered-looking young man smoking a cigarette on a mattress beside him, scrolling through an equally battered-looking phone. The guy, seemingly upon noticing that Roman was awake, cracked a grin and put his cigarette out. “Mornin’, sugartits. Some guy called for ya’ while y’ were snoozin’. Said his name was Roman.”

A flip phone plopped down onto the middle of Roman’s chest. His…very pale, bruised chest. Roman swallowed hard, trying to be casual as he raised a hand. Every muscle in his arm screamed in protest but that was not his hand, where the hell was his tattoo--

Oh. He raised the hand higher, going to fumble with short hair and wincing because ow those are fucking stitches, what the fuck. The guy beside him didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, thank fuck. Roman cautiously propped himself up on his elbows, flinching in pain. Christ. He was thin, lithe muscle, laced with faded scars across his torso and arms. Roman gathered from the bruising and small fresh wounds on his body that whoever this guy was, he’d taken a hell of a beating.

“Wha’ happened?” His voice. It sounded shot to shit. What if this guy is a druggie or something?!

The man beside him huffed loudly, seeming indignant. “Man, Nick effin’ Gage happened. That guy is a big ol’ bag a’ dicks.”

“I feel like I got hit by a train.” Roman cleared his throat once or twice. Nope, that’s apparently just how he sounded. Okay then.

“Y’ handed his ass to him on a silver platter. Didn’t think you were gonna’ pull through for a little bit. Y’ just kinda’ got laid out on the ground an' I was like ‘shit, that’s the end of Dean Ambrose’. Figured you popped a stitch. But you fuckin’ tripped up Gage and pummeled his face in like a pro. Gave as good as y’ got.” The man’s expression softened a little bit. “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit. At least she had the brains t’ scream. Good thing we were there, eh?”

Roman pressed his fingers to his temples, grunting. The guy beside him patted his back awkwardly after a minute. “You jus’ sit tight. Sami’s gotcha’. Give that guy a call back and I'll...I'll dig through an' see if there's still anythin' to eat.”

“What time is it?” I missed my flight, didn’t I?

“Half past noon or so?”

Fuck. “Thank you. I’m not…I don’t feel quite right.” Roman tried to explain, opening the flip phone with trembling hands and punching in his number. “I’ll call this guy back.”

Sami(?) seemed worried, but he left Roman alone and headed off through a side doorway. Roman ran a hand down his jaw, flinching when his fingers caught on yet another cut by his chin. Hopefully whoever this guy was, he was near his phone.

“Holy shit, okay. Okay. Are you…are ya’ in my fuckin’ body? Like how I’m in yours?” It was so strange, hearing his own voice with such an odd cadence. Like he’d left himself a drunken recording. Ambrose sounded panicked. “Shit man, shit, is Callihan okay?”

“Near as I can tell you took the worst of the beating. What do you even do for a living, man, Christ.” Roman groaned in his newly-gained rasp.

“What the hell is goin' on?”

“Where do you live? I need you with me if I'm going to explain.”

“I'll ask the fuckin' questions here, buddy!”

“And I'm the one that knows what's going on, so I suggest you do as I say!” The rasp gave his voice a new edge to it, and not like the stern bark he employed when things got heated in the boardroom. He sounded fucking dangerous. Roman couldn't help the shudder than ran through his body, wincing as the bruises flared up.

Ambrose was silent on the other end. “Shit, it is a fuckin' trip hearin' myself talk.” He said finally. “Is it weird for you too?”

“Extremely so. Where do you live?”

“Cinci, Ohio. And you?” There was a rustling sound and then Ambrose let out a squeak that was absolutely ridiculous coming from Roman's baritone. “Christ, this place is tall!”

“You're in Cincinnati, you should know the area.”

“Tell me you don't live in this place, please let this jus' be some dumbass hotel.” Ambrose begged. “It's so nice in here, I'm losing it man.”

“Focus!” Roman snapped. “What I need from you, first and foremost, is a ride. You have my credit cards, ID, passport, et cetera. So you need to grab the laptop.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I'm so sorry, man, I...shit, let me find the thing. Uh--” There was a loud clatter that made Roman wince and pull the phone away from his ear. “I got it. I think. This ain't a laptop, man.”

“Tablet, whatever the hell, it has a keyboard.” Reigns waved him off. “Flip it over, punch in my password, blah blah blah.”

“I don't know your password, now do I fancypants?”

“Don't call me that. A-F-A-S-I-K-A.” Roman replied shortly. “All uppercase.”

“Bossy, slow the hell down.”

“Don't. Just do as you're told.”

“Fuckin' bossy--Jesus Christ man, will you close ya' fuckin' porn windows! What the hell even...wait shit, what even is this stuff? Is this fuckin'...”

“Venture ideas from my father. Don't get distracted. Ignore that shit and get me a goddamn Uber.” Roman demanded.

Ambrose didn't seem to be listening though. “What is this stuff, Roman?”

“I just told you--”

“I know, but...shit. I'm sorry, I gotta'...Uber. Shit. I've never done one of these before, man, what do I--shit, I closed the thing. For fuck's sake, c'mon.” Ambrose protested, his voice pitching up high enough to make the other man snort. “Shit, hang on.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” Roman said dryly. What the hell kind of name is Ambrose, anyway?

“I…oh for shit’s sake.” Dean grumbled finally. “Fuck it, fuck this shit. I know how to call a cab, you’re getting a fuckin’ cab and liking it. God this shit is fuckin’ stupid.”

“That’s fine.” Roman could tell that arguing with the man was a pointless move. “Where do you keep your clothes? These jeans are kind of a wreck.”

“Where do I keep…buddy, those are my nice jeans. I didn’t really expect t’ get into it with fuckin’ Gage last night. Don’t remember much, but if there isn’t any vomit on ‘em they’re better than my other pair.”

“You only own two pairs of pants?” Roman asked incredulously.

“Hey, fuck you! Don’t fuckin’ judge me man, I fight for my fuckin’ meals. This body doesn’t look like you’ve had so much as a fuckin’ bad day in y’ life!”

“Christ, alright, I’ll wear these jeans. Didn’t realize that fucking pants were a touchy subject.” Roman relented.

“I…shit, I’m sorry man. I dunno’ what to do, I know y’ got the worse end of this an’ I know I should be grateful because I woke up lookin’ like a fuckin’ god, but I--what if we’re stuck like this?” Ambrose asked fearfully.

“Call me a cab, I’ll get washed up. When I get there I should be able to explain.” Roman gentled his tone a little. “I promise it won’t be too bad.”

“Okay man. Deep breaths. I’ll uh, I’ll see ya’ in a little bit I guess.”

Roman pulled himself to his feet, bracing his arm on the wall. “Sami?” He called tentatively, barely keeping his laugh in check when the other man’s head popped quickly out from behind the doorway to the kitchen. He’d obviously been eavesdropping.

“’Sup? Finish ya’ phone call?”

“Yeah. I have a…meeting I need to take care of. I…I guess I’m a little more rattled than I thought. Which way is the bathroom?”

Sami’s face wrinkled in concern. “Ambrose…shit, m’ sorry man. I know you ain’t one hundred percent, I was there at the doctor’s office, ‘member? I shoulda’ kept ya’ back instead of lettin’ ya' get into it with Gage’.” He pointed at the other doorway. “That a’ way, man. Call me if ya’ feel like ya’ gonna’ pass out, okay? Don’t want y’ fallin’ in the tub again.”

“Thank you.” Roman replied shakily. Not one hundred percent? Things slowed to a halt when he finally reached the bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror over the sink.

Oh no.

It was him. Sandy blond hair, wide blue eyes which went even wider in disbelief. Blood crusted on the underside of his chin and bruises purpling the skin of his right cheek; he looked like hell, but he wasn't unrecognizable by any means.

Fuck’s sake, that was why Roman had been having so many dreams about this guy he’d never met ever since his dad had moved his operations to Cincinnati. Blue-Eyed Guy was his soulmate, who in turn was apparently Ambrose.

Oh no.

Roman felt like his legs were about to give out and he hastily grabbed the sink, ducking his head and breathing slowly for a second to fight back the urge to faint. This guy who lives in an absolute hole and owns two fucking pairs of pants. Seriously? The world was a wild place.

“Waking up in the body of your other half encourages you to understand them on a deeper level, Roman.” Easy for his dad to say, he and Mom had both been business-inclined individuals! This…this was totally foreign and not only that, obviously dangerous. Sami mentioned him seeing a doctor. There were stitches in his fucking head.

What the hell had he been through, that he would still be fresh out of the hospital and just go fling himself at something else? “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit.” Roman flinched as he realized what Sami had meant. Ambrose had gone after that Gage guy with extreme prejudice, as well as total disregard for his own health. He felt stupidly proud for a second.

You’re dumb, but the kind of dumb that I can live with.

Roman splashed some water on his face, rinsing the dried blood off his chin. Fuck’s sake. I’m going to have to email the client in Germany. Should probably get in touch with Dad first, though. Let him know it’s happened and that I'm okay. Roman winced. The idea of telling his father that his soulmate was an unshaven guy who ‘fought for his meals’ was not a pleasant one.

…

Dean tapped his fingers on his knees nervously as he waited on the bed. He had finally gotten dressed after indulging himself in a brief full-body exploration in the shower because really, this guy had no right being this good-looking. Roman did have a few other fresh scars on his back, which made Dean curious.

He was so goddamn hungry, his stomach rumbling loud enough for him to hear. But Roman was supposed to be here soon and he definitely wanted to know what the everloving hell was going on.

The knock that came still made him jump. Which was more than a little entertaining, due to the heavier weight of the body he was currently inhabiting. Roman was obviously not much for flinching.

Dean opened the door and…well shit, it was his skin alright. But this guy held his frame in such a rigid way it made Dean’s spine hurt. Shoulders back, tense and tight. He looked uncomfortable. “Fuckin'...God that's strange.” Dean said without thinking as the other guy walked past him.

“You have no idea.” Roman grunted, flopping down on the bed in a way that completely contradicted the posture he'd possessed a second ago. “I'm absolutely famished.” He wiggled around for a second then sat up, fixing Dean with a quizzical look. “I figured you would have ordered something by now. Aren't you hungry?”

“Well yeah, but I-I ain't gonna' take ya' money an' shit, s'fuckin' rude.” Dean stammered. “I thought...I figured this was the safest place to be. I ain't left the room, man, I ain't a body snatcher.” Also I have no idea how man, c'mon.

“You’ve been in the room this whole…damn, okay. I’ll tell you what to say and you can order us room service. I can’t, not with my voice being all…not Roman Reigns.” Roman grimaced.

“I-I’m really sorry, man. I…shit, ya’ got the raw end of this deal.” Dean apologized. “I jus’ got outta’ the hospital, I busted my head open when I uh. Fell. And then with that…that piece of garbage, pawin’ at that chick, I fuckin’ flew right off the damn handle.”

“Sami said something about a man named Gage.”

“Nick effin’ Gage.” Dean snarled, clenching his fists. “Wasn’t him that put me in the chop shop, I got Brain Damage t’ thank for that shit. But Gage has a nasty habit of goin’ after girls that don’t want him. She was screamin’ loud enough t’ wake the fuckin’ dead, an’ I just…shit, I reacted.”

“Sounds like you did the right thing. It’s not like you knew that this was going to happen.” Roman said quietly.

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t do the right thing all that often man, usually ends up bitin’ me in the ass. Jus’…show me how to do the food, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here.” He knew his change of subject was about as subtle as a flashing neon sign that said I am changing the subject now!, so he was grateful when Roman reached for one of the pamphlets beside the room phone.

“Did the doctor give you any pain medication for this?” Roman asked after Dean had fumbled his way through the order, tapping his head and then wincing.

“I told her I didn’t want anythin’. I always say no. Callihan’s been clean for so long, I can’t fuckin’ put that kinda’ shit around him. He’s got a real job now, man. I-I can’t.” Dean didn’t know why he was telling Roman all this. Just say no, you dumb shit! “If I'd known I was uh. Goin' to be renting the place out, so t' speak, I woulda' taken the meds.”

“No no, it's fine.”

Dean felt awful. Roman was obviously in pain. He was pale even for Ambrose's normally light skin color, laid out on his back on the bed. “You jus'...jus' stay put, okay? The doc told me to be kinda' still an' quiet.” Dean said finally.

Roman snorted, rolling onto his side. “You're not much for that, I gather.”

“Nope.”

“I'm sure you're dying to know what the hell is going on.” Reigns began after a few minutes of awkward silence. “I just need food, feel like I'm inches from passing out. When was the last time you ate?”

Dean had to actually think about it. “...Um. Before the hospital. My head was hurtin' too bad to eat.”

“I'm...wake me up when it gets here, okay?” Roman requested, his voice hoarse. “Room's a little--” He held his stomach and paused, swallowing loudly. “I-”

“Man, shh, stop. Jus' stop. I can wait on an explanation, okay? Believe me I know ya' in a mess of fuckin' hurt right now, so we'll get some food in your belly an' then if you're okay, you can explain.” Dean chastised him, more than worried at this point. How long had it been since he'd eaten? It was normal to just pop a spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth for breakfast and see where the day took him.

What must it be like for this guy (who obviously had an easier life than he did) to suddenly have to deal with stitches, a painfully empty stomach? An unfamiliar body full of fucked up aches?

Dean cautiously laid a large hand on Roman's head, stroking at his hair and being careful to avoid the stitches. It always worked for him when he was in his body, hopefully it would still work now. It seemed to. Roman's eyes closed and he relaxed a little, snuggling down into the hotel bedspread. Dean was grateful for the other man's smooth baritone as he started humming quietly, some old song his mom used to listen to.

…

True to his word, Ambrose woke him when their food arrived. Roman's manners fell by the wayside as he dug into his meal of salad and cranberry-glazed chicken, years of rigorous lessons taught by his mother evaporating at the first bite.

His stomach began to protest barely five minutes in, though. Roman frowned, swallowing a mouthful and then glancing over at Ambrose. Dean looked lost, picking at the salad that came with his meal.

“How much do you normally eat?” Roman asked, watching curiously as Ambrose flinched.

“I…I mean, food’s hard t’ come by. I um. Your body seems super fuckin’ hungry, man.” Dean grimaced down at the salad. “Really wanna’ eat my burger but this green stuff is appealin’ to you.”

Roman couldn’t help his chuckle. Ambrose looked like a small child with a plate of peas in front of him. “Just eat, man. Don’t worry about what order food goes in.”

“We don’t eat much.” Ambrose mumbled like he hadn’t heard him, still staring down at the salad. “We waste even less. I…this is so much food, Reigns.”

“It’s okay.” Roman realized why his stomach already felt tight and stuffed. Ambrose’s reaction to the amount of food in front of him was all he needed to piece the puzzle together. “Take your time. I know your brain isn’t on-board with who it’s piloting, but I promise I usually eat that and way more. Just go easy. Don’t want you to make yourself sick.” Roman shrugged. “It’s okay if you can’t finish. I could probably stand to miss a couple meals.”

His joke was apparently unappreciated as Ambrose snapped his head up to glare at him. “This body is fuckin’ ridiculous, I don’t think there’s a wasted ounce on ya’ so don’t give me that shit.” He grunted. “Built like a fuckin’ tree trunk.”

Roman laughed, a little surprised and not sure if Ambrose actually meant it as a compliment. “Why, thank you! I do my best. But my mom’s cooking has me soft around the middle. Not quite in peak condition at the moment.” His ability to defuse situations had always made him one of his father’s most valuable assets in the boardroom. Just because he sounded and looked different now didn’t mean he had lost his edge. This was proven accurate when Ambrose offered him a nervous smile and tucked back into the salad.

Once he'd gotten free of Hunter his mother had coddled him mercilessly. Roman was her baby, her last child, and the notion that he'd dealt with suffering seemed to tear her apart. She'd doted on him so much he might be a little...tiny bit out of shape because of it. But it had only been three weeks ago.

...

Roman asked for his phone and went into the bathroom while Dean continued to slowly make his way through the food set in front of him. Ambrose could hear most of the conversation through the door, though.

“Dad, it’s me…I know I missed my plane. No I don’t have a cold. I…yeah. I know. I’ll email the client and apologize. I know, I’m sorry...you'll have to send Jimmy. I didn’t mean to scare you guys. After everything that happened…yeah.”

Dean’s brow furrowed as he chewed. ‘Everything that happened’?

“I’m…I found him. Woke up across town. He had the brains to call me. He got me a cab so at least I’m here with him now. Yeah…I’m a little beat up though. Guess he just got out of the hospital...stitches in his head. Shit, you didn’t say I was on speaker, I didn’t want Mom worryi--hi Mom, sorry.”

Ambrose felt kind of like Gage had just punched him in the head again. He’s got parents. He’s got a real job, an obviously successful job.

“No no I’m okay. He’s a little tougher than I was…I’m sorry. I know it’s too soon to joke about it. Sorry Mom. Yeah, I remember how scared you were. I’m sorry.”

That still-pink scar over his eye began to throb. Dean flinched, startled. It wasn’t the pain that surprised him, but the abrupt presentation. He pressed his hand to the area, grunting when he attempted to rub the pain away and it just. Stayed the same. Like it was all in his head.

“Listen, I have to go. I love you. I still have to explain everything yet…I’ll do my best, Dad. Okay. Goodbye.”

When Roman emerged from the bathroom Dean fixed him with a stern look. Which was rather difficult because Roman resembled a kicked puppy at that moment. Dean had never realized how potent his big, blue eyes were, and he filed the information away for later use. “Alright bossy, spill it. What the hell is goin’ on here?” He asked, still gamely working on the damn salad.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been so patient.” Roman sighed heavily. “This is going to sound absolutely asinine.”

“More asinine than wakin’ up in someone else’s body?” Dean asked, grinning when Roman cracked a smile at that.

“Almost.” Reigns sat down on the bed beside him. “So my family is a little…strange. We uh. After we hit the age of twenty, when we get within a certain distance of the person we’re supposed to…to be with, you know, be with, we um. We switch. Bodies. Temporarily. This is how it’s always been as far back as I remember. I…are you okay?”

Dean had his head down between his knees, feeling like he was going to pass out. Be with. There was no way. This guy looked kind, looked strong and like a guy that he would want to be his friend, his partner. But people like Dean Ambrose didn’t have that kind of luck. “This has to be some kinda’ mistake.” Ambrose finally said weakly. “You must be for Sami or somethin’, I-”

“There aren’t mistakes.” Roman interrupted him quietly. “I know I’m…I know it’s a lot. Believe me, I know.”

“Ya’ whole family does this stuff?”

“Men on my father's side, yeah. Nobody knows why, we just know that we do.” Roman was silent for a few seconds while Dean processed that.

“A-Are y’ even gay? Bi?” Ambrose croaked, his voice almost failing him.

Reigns shrugged. “Never gave it much thought. When you know that someone is predetermined for you, it kind of takes the fun out of dating.” He squinted at the other man, seeming suspicious. “Are you?”

The “no!” was on the tip of Dean’s tongue, so used to crushing it down and being safe that it had become commonplace to deny it. “N…not sure.” He stammered instead.

Reigns’ smile was gentle. It looked weird on Dean’s face. “It’s obviously fine with me, man. You wouldn’t be my one otherwise. But I get it. I mean, I’ve never really had to worry about my preferences and all that, so I don’t get it from personal experience. I get that people are awful though.”

“Oh fuck.” Ambrose choked out. “You have no idea, man, I…fuckin’ shit.” He gestured wordlessly up and down the body he was currently in.

“I’m sorry.” Roman apologized. “It must have been awful to wake up as…well-”

“Hell no buddy, no fuckin’ way. You seen what my everythin' looks like. Trust me, this is a major fuckin’ improvement. Shit, if I looked like you all the time I woulda’ gotten a job modelin’ an’ told off every ugly, homophobic fucker around.” Dean said bitterly. “Instead, I been fuckin' fightin' for my food an' a place to stay, keepin' everythin' all tucked in. It ain't like any guy would go for me, man. M' not...not anyone's type, not really.” Dean knew he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to get his words to cooperate. “Not a guy t' bring home t' ya' parents, y'know.”

“Hey.” A hand landed on his arm. “Obviously you're at least one person's type.” Roman pointed out.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, because ya' family is fuckin' cursed or some shit. I...I ain't a good person, man. You're obviously a good person and--I mean, I'm not.”

“Well yeah, you would have invested in a third pair of pants if you were a good person.” Reigns whacked his shoulder, startling him. “Buck up, Ambrose. We're soulmates. That means that somewhere, deep down in your heart, you have the capacity to love me.”

“I don't love nobody.” Dean replied sulkily.

“Not yet, obviously.”

…

Dean was remarkably resistant for someone who had nothing. Roman woke up the next morning to an empty bed. His panic was short-lived as he rolled to his side and saw Ambrose (actually Ambrose, apparently they'd switched during the night) curled up on the floor with his jacket wrapped around him. Roman sighed, shifting to his back again. That lasted for exactly three seconds before he was struck with an uncomfortable twinge of pain across his shoulders. Where he'd been hurt.

Reigns flopped onto his stomach, grunting in irritation. The therapist had said he would heal fine, that most of it was in his head and in time it would fade.

“Traumatic injuries take their toll on you mentally and physically.”

It hadn't really been all that long, he reminded himself. Three weeks wasn't that long. He would be alright. And hopefully, the incident had taught his father not to run his mouth about the pairbonds. Hunter could have done so much worse than what he did, that fucker. Roman hugged the pillow a little closer.

A hand touched his shoulder blade and he flinched. Dean made a low sound in his throat, like he was shushing him. “Easy. What happened here, man? I seen my fair share. Y' don't get these kinda' marks inna' fistfight.” He gathered Roman's hair up out of the way, exposing the nape of his neck. “These either. Somebody put ya' in a world of hurt.”

Roman shuddered. “It's nothing. Not...it's over now. It's alright.” He said weakly, trying to dismiss the situation.

Ambrose climbed up over his body and knelt on the bed beside him, stripping off his jacket and then, to Roman's confusion, his shirt as well. “This one.” Ambrose pressed fingers to the stitches on his head, not even wincing. “Skilsaw.” He reached back, tapping his shoulder and twisting a little so Roman could see. “Barbed wire.” Ambrose stared at Roman's back long enough to make the other man feel nervous, then moved closer and raised his arm. Two scars ran parallel to his ribs. “Dinner plate.” Ambrose grinned at that one, his tongue poking out between his teeth. Small lines up and down his arms and torso, “more barbed wire.”

“What are you doing around that much barbed wire?” Roman finally asked.

“I fight.”

“In barbed wire?!”

“Gotta' keep guys in the cage somehow.” Ambrose shrugged. “Look, the point is, I been around. An' I only seen marks like yours from real sharp shit, like a dinner plate. Or a knife.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what happened? There ain't no slices on ya' tattoo. Shit was deliberate. But somebody still took a couple good fuckin' divots out, just enough t' scar. Jealous a' how pretty you are?”

Roman knew his laugh was on the wrong side of hysterical when Ambrose straightened up. “I told you it's nothing. Can you please just leave it alone?”

“Listen. I been doin' thinkin' so don't start that shit with me, bossy. If this is all on the up an' up, ya' stuck with me for a while. Somethin', somewhere out in that universe, likes me enough t' hook me up with your gorgeous ass.” Dean said plainly. “Sami always says that if ya' wanna' get to know someone, ask about their scars over an' over. Because eventually they get tired of lyin' an' they'll tell you the real story. So fuckin' spill it.”

“My dad doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, okay? He's a great businessman but he's too trusting. He...he told someone he shouldn't have about the soulmate thing. I got hurt. That's the gist of it.” Roman was all but strangling the pillow at this point.

“Recently, though.” Dean pressed him. “Skin's still all pink from healin', Reigns. This was...wait. Shit. Reigns. I'm a fuckin'--” He slapped himself on the forehead, grunting 'ow! Fuck' when his hand landed on his stitches. “Your ass was in the papers like a goddamn month ago. That's what I knew ya' name from, shit I'm dumb.” He went still. “Y' got held hostage or somethin', right? That Helmsley guy?”

Roman bolted from the bed, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he started the shower.

“You think a locked door is gonna' stop me, man?” Ambrose blustered from the other side of the barrier. “Bossy, you ain't seen shit yet.”

“Ambrose, I'm just-”

“Y' hidin' from me! I ain't fuckin' dumb, man. Somebody hurt you an' you ain't used to it like I am, y' think it's a bad thing or that you're fuckin' weak or somethin'.” Ambrose said loudly. “It ain't like that man. I got no idea what you been through, okay? I know that. But I...”

Roman climbed into the shower and Dean's words faded to a dull mumble beneath the spray. He breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head and just letting the water flow over him. His hair slowly untangled and Roman ran his fingers through it, staring down at the drain without really seeing it. He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the wall.

This would be so much easier if that hadn't happened.

“Toldja'.” Ambrose grunted, making Roman yelp as he jerked the shower curtain to one side so he could glare at him. Roman felt weirdly exposed, even though the other man had already seen every inch of him. “Ain't a door fuckin' made that I can't get through.”

“The door was locked for a reason, Ambrose!”

“An' I unlocked it for a reason.” Dean retorted. “Man, I can't fuckin' believe ya' ass. Hoppin' in the fuckin' shower and you ain't even invited me.” He whipped the curtain closed again. “M' comin' in anyways. Need it more n' you do. I showered ya' yesterday.”

“I don't shower with-”

“Ya' do now, bossy, so get used to it.”

“What about your stitches?”

“Fuck 'em.”

“Dean--”

“Don't ya' gimme' that shit. We're soulmates, yeah? Y' better get used to me bein' a pain in ya' fuckin' ass.” Ambrose pointed out. “I need ya' help anyways, can't scrub my back. How much shampoo do y' normally use? I only used a little bit yesterday but I dunno' if it was enough. We usually jus' use a bar of soap, s'been ages since I had t' use liquid shampoo.”

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Roman grunted, irritated but also somewhat disarmed. No one usually gave him this much trouble about anything.

Dean climbed in behind him and Reigns half-turned, jumping and going red when Ambrose gave him a playful swat on the small of his back. “I definitely got the better end of this bargain.” Dean grinned.

“Don't do that.” Roman ordered.

“Do what?” Dean's hands were back, framing Roman's hips. “Don't touch you? Don't fuckin' skim my fingers over ya' pretty fuckin' skin?” They moved up, roving curiously over Roman's tender shoulders.  

“You're real free with the compliments, Ambrose. This how you get into everyone's pants?” Roman needled, trying to wiggle away from those greedy fingers. He had never been touched like that before and it was...strange. “How am I supposed to help you wash your back if you're behind me?”

“Fuck, ya' got a point. Alright.” Ambrose turned around reluctantly, backing underneath the spray of water and shaking his hair out of his eyes. “I ain't free with my compliments unless y' earn 'em, anyways.”

…

When Roman put his hands on his back, something happened. Dean wasn't sure what. Large fingers traced carefully over the scars on his shoulder blade, making him shudder. Lips pressed to the base of his neck. Dean Ambrose wasn't scared of goddamn anything, but this was making him reconsider getting into the shower. “That's not washin' my back, Reigns.” He finally said, a little breathlessly.

“Shut up.” Roman murmured. “If you're uncomfortable I'll stop.”

“I didn't say that.”

“So be quiet.”

“Can't, I'll explode.”

Roman made a frustrated noise, almost a growl, and Dean's whole body felt like someone had turned up the heat. Roman's hands left his back and Dean wasn't able to keep in a pitiful whimper. “Hey, you're the one who wanted me to wash your back, don't get all bent out of shape because I need to actually get something to wash you with.” Roman chided.

“Want ya' to touch me.” Ambrose admitted. “Normally I don't let anyone touch me.”

“Too busy moving?”

“Too dangerous.”

Soapy hands slid over his shoulders, kneading the skin there and making Dean's head loll forward, chin resting on his chest. The sound he made was pornographic and he felt more than heard Roman's chuckle. “I guess you really don't let anyone touch you, huh?”

“Mm, no.” Ambrose wasn't sure why he felt like he needed to tack on an I promise at the end, swallowing the urge. Soulmate or not, he wasn't anyone's property. Never had been, never would be. However, he could definitely get used to only Roman touching him. The larger man was deceptively gentle, scrubbing his back with a care that was totally foreign.

Roman's forehead came to rest at the nape of his neck. “They threw a bag over my head when I was in the elevator.”

It took Dean a second to catch up to what the fuck Reigns was talking about, his brain busy drifting away in a state of half-arousal.

“Threw a bag over my head and knocked me out. Helmsley said that me deciding his son was my soulmate would be best for business. I told him it didn't work that way.” Roman said quietly. “He didn't like that much at all.”

“What a fucker.” Dean grunted.

“I'm not going to say it was the absolute worst thing that could happen, you know? I understand that it would have been far less traumatizing to just agree to the terms, pretend Seth was my soulmate. Seth's not a bad guy at all, we've had some great conversations. His dad is just fucking crazy. But...” Roman inhaled shakily. “I wanted what my father has, what my uncles have. You should see the way my parents look at each other, Ambrose. Like they're each other's sun, moon and fucking stars. I...I wanted that more than anything in the world.” Dean wanted to scoff at how pathetic Roman sounded, but his heart was doing some weird shit in his chest. “So I declined Hunter's offer and accepted the consequences.”

“I mean, you got outta' there, so somethin' musta' gone tits-up.”

“Yeah.” Was all Roman said in reply, making Dean frown when he pulled back. Ambrose turned around, watching Reigns duck his head under the spray of the shower.

“Hey, I've kinda'...been through my fair share of shit, man. If uh. If there's anythin' I can do, any skulls y' need cracked, I'm your man.” I'm your man. Dean winced at his choice of words. I could be, I guess. It wasn't so bad if he admitted to to just himself.

The smile Roman gave him was small, but still there. “That's very kind of you.”

“Yeah, I'm offerin' outta' the goodness of my heart.” Dean jibed, making Roman laugh. “Not on account of the fact that I'm healin' an' I'm still itchin' t' fight. Some spoiled-brat business guy would probably suit my fists 'bout now.”

“And then sue your fists.” Roman said dryly. Dean snickered, which got Roman to smile again. Dean really, really liked it when he smiled, he was quickly realizing. Which had the potential to be...bad.

The real question here is, do I actually give a shit?

Roman yawned, stretching his arms up over his head and Dean leaned in to bump their foreheads together. There was an odd jitter in Dean’s vision and then he was suddenly back in Roman’s body, finishing his stretch. “Ugh, really?” Roman complained. “Of course, I just got clean.”

“Ah c’mon, s’not so bad.” Dean teased, stepping out of the shower and crossing his arms. “Now ya’ can slap my ass without me punchin’ ya’ in the face. Win win in my book, man.”

“I have never--“

“Better get used to it then, bossy. Because ya’ ass is designed for that shit.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him and Roman huffed. Dean turned around to look in the mirror, running a thumb over the grown-in stubble on his jaw. “Should probably wait until you’re back in the drivers seat as far as shavin’ goes. Ya’ look like this fuzz means somethin’ to ya’. Might be kinda’ funny t’ shave it all off though.”

Abruptly, Roman’s hand full-on walloped Dean’s ass cheek. Ambrose grunted, startled. Not really by the slap, but by the way the body he was in reacted to it. “Shit, Christ-“ He sputtered. “Damn Reigns, you’re really into that shit huh?”

“I’ll murder you if you shave my...wait, really into w--oh my God.” Roman put his hands over his face. Dean had never seen himself blush, so the visual of pink flooding his shoulders was a new one. “No, no no no I’ve never-”

“Uh oh, someone’s got a dirty little kink.” Dean smirked, rubbing his buttock and flinching as his cock twitched in interest. “Damn, ya’ gave me the fuckin’ heater on that pitch. Easy on th’ goods. You’re the one who’s gonna’ have t’ deal with this shit later.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bullshit.” Dean cut him off. “Don’t ya’ start lyin’ t’ me now, bossy. Now. I’m gonna’ raid your suitcase an’ borrow some clothes for ya’. Seein’ as my jeans are still all fucked up.”

…

The notion that he, he, Roman Reigns, might be interested (the way his cock looked indicated a little bit more than interested) in play that even bordered on rough was strange. Roman was immensely grateful that Dean didn’t make an attempt to touch his dick at all, the other man simply ignoring his cock until it softened. Roman didn’t know why it would bother him, but it did all the same. At least let him be in his own body if it was going to do embarrassing things like make his cock hard over a swat to the ass!

Roman was lost in thought, pulling on a tank top that was far too large for Dean's athletic frame while Ambrose tried to dry all his hair with a towel, the other man growling every couple of seconds that “this is fuckin’ stupid, jus’ put the shit in a ponytail or somethin‘.”

“That’s what you get for-” Roman paused mid-sentence as there was a loud series of knocks on the door to the room. “What? Who the heck could that be?” He finished tying his shoes and got to his feet, perplexed.

“Don’t look at me, man.” Ambrose grunted. Then, he shot up, dropping the towel and grabbing Roman’s hand. “Wait. Genius, what if it’s someone else comin’ t’ nab ya’?” Roman hadn’t even thought of that, his eyes going wide. Dean pushed him back into the bathroom and made a shushing motion. “Stay put an’ be quiet.” He whispered. “If they’re here for ya’, I ain’t rollin’ over without a fight. Sorry for any bruises on ya’ body, I'll try not t' wreck the paint.”

Roman watched with his heart in his throat as Dean crept to the door, looked through the peephole and then…

He shrugged and started undoing the deadbolt and chain. Ambrose opened the door carefully, seeming confused. “Can I-”

“Sweetheart, you’re alright!”

Roman cringed. Mom?!

“Roman, thank God.” His father was the first one through the door, wrapping Dean in a furious hug. “Where the hell is he? Did he hurt you? I know this is just another one of Hunter’s tricks!”

“I-I uh, y-you guys have th' wrong--” Ambrose stammered, attempting to peel Roman's mom and dad off him. “Roman? A little help here?” He called, his voice cracking. “I thought ya’ told them--”

Sika Reigns flung open the bathroom door and grabbed Roman by the front of his shirt, hauling him into the bedroom. “How much did Hunter give you, you piece of garbage?!” He roared.

“You stay away from my baby!” His mother was in tears, clinging to Dean like her life depended in it. It was strangely gratifying to see the lengths his parents would go to defend him. But not right now for fuck’s sake!

“Wait, wait guys hang on a sec.” Dean sounded a little shaken. “I…let us explain. I promise, I promise it ain’t a trick, please just let us explain.” He pleaded, “This is all my fault, don’t haul off on ya’ kid over me, shit. He’s been through enough crap wakin’ up in a body that looks like mine.”

“Roman, why-”

“I ain’t Roman, alright? I’m jus’ hangin’ out in his body. Roman’s camped in my shitshow. This…this is a lot for me t’ wrap my head aroun’ but he’s done good at explainin’.” He pointed at Roman, grimacing. “That’s Roman, ma’am. Ya’ might want to tell ya’ husband t’ ease off. Wait until I’m back in my body an’ I promise y’ can kick the crap outta’ me then.”

“I just might.” Sika growled. “Roman, is this true?”

“Papa, please-“ Roman hadn’t called his father Papa in years. He felt some of the fight ease out of Sika. “It’s me, I swear it’s me, ask me anything.” He begged, terrified that his father might do something like take Dean away and leave him stranded here.

“When you were very young, what toy did your brother Rosey throw away?” Sika asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Big Dog, it was Big Dog, he was a red and black checkered puppy. I was six.” Roman replied, his voice trembling. “Papa, I-”

“I’m not done.” Sika cut him off. “What did Hunter say to you right before I broke his damn jaw?”

“H-He said--”

“Sika, no, no.” Patricia sounded sad. “Don’t, ask him something else.”

“I need to know that this is Roman, 'Tricia.” Sika said firmly.

Roman didn’t want to repeat what Hunter had sneered at him. Especially not in front of Dean, who was just standing there awkwardly. “He said…he said, ‘Sika is so damn lucky, having you for a son. Strong, loyal, obedient. Too bad you’re so fucking stubborn, though. It’ll take time to retrain you, but I know you’ll make a great son-in-law.’ A-And then you came through the door and Hunter spat on me before you broke his jaw.” Roman swallowed hard. “I swear it’s me, Dad, Papa, please.”

Sika hauled him in for a hug, cupping the back of his head. “I’m so sorry. I had to be sure. Are you alright, Roman? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked worriedly, hand running over the short sandy-blond hair.

Roman closed his eyes and tucked his face down into his father’s shoulder, fighting back tears. “M’okay.” He mumbled.

...

Ambrose cleared his throat after a minute. “So uh. Hi there Mr. and Mrs. Reigns, my name is Dean Ambrose an’ apparently your son is stuck with me for um. The foreseeable future.” He wiggled his fingers in an odd waving motion. “How’s it goin’.

“I’m incredibly sorry about all this, dear.” Mrs. Reigns seemed the more level-headed of the two. “You have to understand, we only recently had some…problems with this.”

“I completely get it. Only a couple weeks out from some jerk tryin’ t’ hurt ya’ kid he supposedly finds his soulmate? I’d be suspicious too ma’am.” Dean figured it wouldn’t hurt to agree. “Promise ya’ though, it’s the real deal. I wouldn’t wish my busted up body on anybody an’ he’s handled it like a champ.” He said quietly.

“So you're his soulmate, huh?” Mr. Reigns mused, holding Roman at arms length so he could give him a visual once-over. “Look like you've been through the wringer, kid!”

“I'm aware.” Ambrose bit out. “Life ain't been kind t' me, sir.”

“Dad please, don't be rude. Christ.” Roman groaned. “We've been trying to get to know each other better.”

“I'll say, you put him in your clothes.” Mrs. Reigns pointed out, obviously teasing her son. Roman blushed, tugging at the hem of the tank top. “Have you tried switching back yet?”

“We were straightened out this mornin' but somethin' happened.” Dean tried to explain. “Not really sure, it was kinda' like I slid sideways an' then I was just. Roman again. Like cracking ya' back.”

“Get over here.” Mr. Reigns ordered. “Foreheads together.”

Dean obliged, a little scared of what might happen should he decide to not cooperate. Roman looked just as confused as he felt when their foreheads touched.

“Eyes closed, hands on each other's shoulders.”

“I don't see how this is gonna'-” Dean's voice changed mid-sentence and blue eyes flew open, locking with brown. “Damn.”

“Shit.” Roman seemed like he was breathless.

“That's better.” Mr. Reigns said approvingly. “That's my son, see the set of his shoulders? Our Roman.” He sounded ridiculously proud and Ambrose felt a sharp spike of envy for a second.

But Roman was suddenly kissing him like his parents weren't in the room, body crushing against his own in a hungry embrace that left Dean absolutely reeling. Reigns finally pulled away, stammering out an apology and then Ambrose grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him back just as hard.

“Sika, you shouldn't rush them!” Mrs. Reigns protested.

“Don't blame me! This is all them, 'Tricia.” Mr. Reigns chuckled fondly. “Remember when we met again?”

“How could I forget? You showed up to my all-important meeting with my hair an absolute mess, wearing a pantsuit of all things! I was mortified.”

“It was amazing.”

Mrs. Reigns rolled her eyes. “Boys, we're having dinner at six. We expect you to make an appearance.”

“Mmhm.” Roman mumbled into Dean's mouth, giving his parents a thumbs-up. Dean had no idea where the urgency in his stomach had come from, just that it was there and burning red hot. The door to the room closing sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears and Roman jerked back. “Shit, I uh...shit. I don't know why I did that.” He gasped. “Oh my God that's so embarrassing, I really hope they're not upset with me.”

“Ya' dad sounded like he was gonna' bust with pride, so I don't think so.” Dean grinned, tangling his hand back into Roman's hair. “Now, 'bout that mouth of yours, bossy.”

“I haven't really done much, I'm--”

“Bullshit, y' kissed th' air right out of my fuckin' lungs.” Dean was pretty sure his smirk was permanently etched onto his face. “Not a lot of people got what it takes t' shut me up, Reigns.” He slid his other hand into Roman's back pocket, making Roman snap immediately to attention.

“Dean, I've never...um.”

“I ain't rushin' ya'. Don't worry. Jus' wanted to touch.” Ambrose murmured, palming over Roman's ass through his slacks. “I know this is scary. We don't have t' do anythin' you're not ready for.”

“I mean. I...it doesn't feel bad. I'm just...I haven't with another guy, is all.” Reigns said awkwardly. “What if I hurt you or something?”

“I dare ya' to try an' hurt me.” Ambrose challenged, laughing a second later at the horrified expression on Roman's face. “M' kiddin', teasin'. I don't mind a little rough play in the bedroom but when you're ready, okay?”

“What do you mean by rough?”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever y' want, I guess. M' up for just about anythin'. I denied this part of me for most of my life, man. I'll take what I can get.”

“No no, I mean...” Roman covered his face with his hands, seeming flustered. “Dean you fight for a living, I seriously don't know what rough is to you.”

“Oh! Shit, s'good point. I uh. I mean, obviously I can take a little more punishment than the average Joe?”

Roman frowned. “But do you want that? Or are you tired of it?” Dean went still, his brow furrowing. Roman, as if he sensed his weakness, pressed on. “Would you rather something...I don't know, a little kinder when we...”

“I dunno'.” Ambrose said finally. “Are you willin' to do somethin' like that for me?”

“Absolutely.” Roman's tone was firm and it choked Dean up a little bit if he was being honest. “You're my o se tasi ma e na. I will cherish you. Like my father did my mother, my uncles and cousins their significant others. I'll do my best to give you anything you need.”

Yep, Dean was definitely going to cry.

Roman crooned quietly in his throat, pressing their mouths together again. It was gentle this time, like he was afraid of breaking Ambrose. Dean grabbed Roman's upper arms, stupidly worried that his legs were going to give out. “I...” His words got all twisted up in his mouth. There were so many things he wanted, so many things he needed.

“Shh, it's alright.” Roman murmured, “It's alright. You're allowed to want other stuff besides what you've already had.”

Dean hadn't been waiting for permission or anything like that (I'm not anyone's property), but it seemed to help just the same. Roman rubbed over the front of his pants and Ambrose was surprised to find out that he was already hard. When the hell had that happened?

Roman made a noise into his mouth like he was just as startled, pulling back. “Oh.” Reigns sounded breathless. “Can I...?”

“You can do whatever th' fuck ya' want just keep fuckin' touchin' me.” Dean said all in a rush. “Already told ya' I don't let people touch me but for fuck's sake please keep touchin' me, I don't even care if y' bossy.”

Roman unzipped the overlarge slacks Dean was wearing. They fit Reigns just fine but Dean was practically swimming in them, the waistband just barely hanging onto his narrow hips. “God you're thin.” Roman gulped immediately after speaking. “Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to. Uh. That was supposed to stay in my head.” He said hesitantly. “I'm...I'm going to take really good care of you, okay? No more being hungry. Not while you're with me.”

“What about Sami?” Dean challenged, suddenly realizing why he felt so guilty about this good shit happening to him. “I can't just--”

“Shh, easy. He took care of you for me. I'll get him whatever the hell he wants.” Roman promised, making a sad noise when Dean rubbed his eyes. “Are you...no no, don't cry, it's okay.”

“S'not fair.” Dean sniffled. “Y' jus' come in here an' say ya' gonna' fix everythin' like it's no big deal. I wanna' believe ya' an' I know it's gonna' kick my ass when ya' leave because you'll figure out there's some fuckin' mistake, like I ain't your one at all an' it hurts.” He wasn't prone to being overly emotional; it felt foreign to be this close to tears, words spilling out of him. “I wanna' be yours like I ain't never wanted anythin' else before an' I'm jus'...I'm so fuckin' scared that I'm gonna' wake up in that alley with Gage standin' over me again an' this is all jus' some fucked up dream. Good shit doesn't happen to me, man.”

“It's going to from now on.” Roman said softly. “Loʻu loto ma aiga.”

“I ain't got no fuckin' clue what th' shit ya' sayin'.” Dean replied, flustered and trying to distract himself from the way Roman was looking at him. Roman slowly knelt, hands framing Ambrose's hips. “Reigns, I--”

“Let me do this for you. After all, you're the one who has to suffer through dinner with my parents.” Roman pointed out, getting a watery snicker from Ambrose. “Sorry about them, by the way.”

“They seem nice. Like they love ya' a lot.” Dean wasn't trying to sound fucking wistful, but there it was. “Y' had a stuffed puppy, huh?”

Roman laughed, propping his forehead up on Dean's bare thigh. “Yeah. Big Dog. Rosey hid him in the trash because I was being a little shit. He wasn't going to actually throw him away or anything, but the garbage guy came while he was at school. Mom was so pissed when Rosey finally 'fessed up because I made her life absolute hell the whole day.”

“You, causin' trouble? I don't buy it.” Dean had to bite back a smile at the way Roman nonchalantly referred to a stuffed animal as a 'he'.

“You'd be surprised.”

Dean's fingers wound into Roman's hair again. “Surprise me, Reigns.” The groan that left his mouth at the first slow stroke Roman gave his dick was unintentional.

Roman looked up at him, seeming startled. “Dean...?”

“Ain't had anyone touch me in a while.” Dean quickly rasped. “Please.” Roman's smile made Dean's stomach drop out. “Wait, wanna'...wanna' touch ya'. Fuck, I need to. While y'...get up over me, I'm gonna' suck your dick while you let me fuck ya' fist.”

“Wh--what?” Roman sputtered, his reaction incredibly endearing.

Dean pulled him to his feet, kissing him hungrily while he fought with Roman's slacks. “On the bed, get on th' fuckin' bed. Need y' like this.” He wasn't sure if he was demanding or begging. Roman was obviously all for it though, quickly working on the buttons of his shirt while Dean pulled his large tank top off over his head. “Fuck, look at you, look at you. Fuckin' gorgeous.” Ambrose breathed. “Wakin' up in ya' body...I wasn't sure for a second if I'd fuckin' died an' I was reborn or some shit, y' so fuckin' pretty.” He said honestly.

“Dean, Christ.” Roman kissed him again, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His tongue pressed into Dean's mouth, licking his own inquisitively and Dean was fucking gone, groaning and shuddering while Roman's body pinned him down.

As Roman got into position over him all Dean could think was I do not fucking deserve this one bit but thank God that I'm getting it anyway, kissing the head of Roman's cock and surprising a sound out of the other man.

“A-Are you going to be okay? Not going to crush you, right?” Roman asked worriedly. Dean wasn't sure why the hell he'd kept his slacks on but nodded anyway. He silently appreciated the way the dark gray fabric stretched over Roman's thighs and framed his cock, which looked painfully hard at this point. When Dean took Roman into his mouth he felt Reigns' forehead impact his hip, the other man's breathing suddenly harsh. “Fuck.” Roman's hips twitched and Ambrose moved a hand down, grasping his own cock loosely. “Shit, shit, sorry, you're just...” Roman swatted his hand away and Dean made a noise of protest around Roman's dick.

Ambrose slid his hands into the back pockets of Roman's slacks, urging Roman to fuck his throat. This was something he was good at, dammit, Reigns should be taking advantage of his skills. But Roman seemed more focused on him, stroking his cock just fucking right. Dean thought he was going to come out of his skin when Roman's mouth closed tentatively around the head of his cock. He knew Roman didn't really know what the fuck he was doing but shit that was hard to remember with that fucking tongue on him.

“Oh, dammit-” He had to pull off for breath, Roman moaning in a way that sounded almost like a complaint when he did. “I know, m'sorry, gotta'...s'been a while.” Dean gasped, loving the way Roman's cock looked as it hung over him and twitched in his hand. Reigns' hips bucked ever so slightly. “Y' ever throat-fucked someone, Reigns?” Dean asked, swallowing hard when Roman shook his head. “Well that explains that shit, I guess.”

The larger man hadn't moved his forehead from Dean's thigh in a while, his breath washing over Ambrose's skin in fast pants. “I'm really close.” Roman confessed. “Can I try sucking you off?”

“Oh yeah, lemme' think about that obviously goddamn.” Dean slammed his fist down on the bed when Roman enthusiastically slurped up the side of his cock and then swallowed him down. “Fuck, Reigns, shit, fuck you gotta' be lyin'-” He choked out, “There's no way you ain't f-fuckin' done this before, I--shit.”

Dean wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that Roman was smiling while he dragged all these embarrassing sounds from him. Fingers cradling his balls, tongue laving over the head of his cock and all the while those damn thick thighs slowly rocking his cock down into Dean's mouth. “Is that good?” Roman gasped finally, a strand of spit stretching from his lower lip to the head of Dean's dick. Ambrose was pretty sure that he'd never been more turned on in his life.

“'Is that good', he fuckin' asks. Like y' can't feel me fuckin' shakin' underneath ya' about t' go off in ya' fuckin' mouth.” Dean rasped, his hips jerking up. “Yes it's fuckin' good, Roman, fuck, fuck's sake-”

“Are you going to come?”

“Y' can't fuckin' tease me like that.” Dean protested. “I-if y' ask me, it's--”

“Because I'm going to come, and--” Roman swallowed hard, Dean watching in fascination as his stomach shuddered with the motion of his breath. “Wanted you to come. O-on my face.” Roman finished hurriedly.

Dean's teeth punctured his lower lip. “What? Why?”

Roman shrugged, flushing. “Just...someone asked me to do it to them once and they looked so...fucked out when I did, I wanted to know how it felt. If you think it's weird--”

“Hell no, hell no. Get ya' hair outta' the way, I will fuckin' oblige the shit outta' ya'.” Dean growled. “Roll onto ya' back, get ya' hair outta' the way. I will come on ya' fuckin' face whenever th' hell you want.”

Roman climbed off and laid on his back, laughing breathlessly when Dean tapped his cock down onto his cheek. “Should I still...?”

“I think I've got it from here. Damn, ya' fuckin' good lookin'.” Dean groaned. “Touch y'self for me, huh?” He bit his lip as Roman dragged his fingers down his torso, the larger man finally taking his cock in hand and hissing out a breath.  Dean stroked his dick slowly, wanting to prolong the pretty sight in front of him. “That's right, make y'self feel good for me.”

“Christ, I...” Roman's voice cracked and he swallowed, seeming nervous. “I dreamed about you every night, you know. Since Dad moved me here after what happened.”

“Didja'? What'd I do in ya' dreams?” Dean asked curiously.

“Kissed me, mostly.”

“'Mostly', huh?” Dean's grin felt predatory but he couldn't be fucked to fix it. “Don't suppose I fucked ya', did I? Maybe I came on ya' face? Woke ya' up all fuckin' hot n' bothered in the night?”

“Dean, Jesus--” Roman's expression was all Dean needed for confirmation. Roman tilted his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat as his shoulders dropped with a quivering sigh. The picture was just...too much for Dean. The visuals, the fact that this was his now, Roman was his--

“Close y' fuckin' eyes m'gonna' come.” Dean said through gritted teeth, groaning loudly when Roman wrapped his fingers around Dean's and stroked him in tandem, urging him on. “God, fuck, fuck--” Ambrose grunted, his whole body shivering as he came. The sight of Roman covered in his come shouldn't have been such a raging turn-on for him but then Roman snarled and painted his own abdomen with his release and yeah, yep, that sound he made was fucking hot.

Dean collapsed on his back beside Roman, both of them breathing too hard to speak. Roman finally started laughing. “Was that too weird? I feel like it might have been too weird.” He asked.

“Fuck no, I'll let ya' ass know when shit gets too weird.” Dean replied. “That was...shit, that was fuckin' nice. Anyone ever told ya' you're a natural?”

Roman laughed harder at that, fumbling in the sheets for the tank top so he could wipe his face and stomach off. “Christ, I've never done anything like that before. That was wild. You're a bad influence.”

“Maybe next time you'll get ya' pants all the way off.” Dean teased, getting Roman to flush. “We'll work on it.”

“How about we order something God awful for us and we can try again? Dinner is...kind of a ways away.” Reigns looked hopeful but wary, like he wasn't sure that Dean would want literally anything and everything he was willing to share.

Ambrose rolled on top of him, kissing him hungrily. Roman responded after a second, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and rolling his hips up into Ambrose's smoothly. Neither of them were hard but it still felt so fucking good that Dean sighed into Roman's mouth. “That's an excellen' fuckin' plan, Reigns.” He whispered.

Roman tilted Dean's head down, pressing his lips carefully to the skin a safe distance from the stitches before offering the other man a grateful smile. “Glad you think so.”

(Translation Note: 'O se tasi ma e na': One and only. 'Loʻu loto ma aiga': My heart and home/family.)