#I FORGOT TO ADD SOME NICE HEARING AIDS

[schpeenor]

Partially deaf Dabi and spinner who has problems with learning and repeating signs because of his big curled owl claws.

didn’t adhere to the ask COMPLETELY like i wanted to but still definitely implies he’s fumbling his sign language in the ways described!

i used asl here bc i found some funny ass blunders for it, so i’m sorry it’s not language accurate!1!1!1

also in comes the headcanon that dabi can cook quite well, the texture’s good bc he’s more keen on texture, but he doesn’t bother to season bc of his taste buds (or he over seasons)

ANYWAYS.. favorite faces below the cut…

ONE REQUEST DONE, ANOTHA TO GO!! (whenever i’m free again..)

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

happy father’s day to wayne munson 💕

excerpt from gone away, my love letter to wayne…

Miss Dunham, the teacher’s aide, opened the front door for him as he ran, heart pounding, toward the building. “Hi, Mr. Munson,” she greeted him cheerfully. She didn’t sound angry. “Eddie’s waiting for you in the Activity Room. I’ll show you where it is.” She chatted to him as they walked through the school, telling him that Eddie had a good day, he was a very bright and sweet boy— Wayne already knew that, but it still made him happy to hear it— and, most importantly, that a few of the teachers ran an after-school daycare program for kids whose parents both worked. “Or guardians,” she added hastily, glancing at him. “I don’t know if that’s something you’d be interested in, but if so you could enroll Eddie any time during the year.” Wayne assured her he would definitely be interested.

He eagerly scans the room for his nephew as soon as Miss Dunham pushes the door open, and his heart does something funny in his chest when he catches sight of the boy. Something that he’s fairly sure a flowery dime store novelist would describe as “leaped for joy”. Eddie is sitting at a small table with a few other kids, all of them coloring pictures of what looks like Halloween monsters. A brief half-formed thought about costumes flutters through his head, but it completely vanishes when Eddie catches sight of him and his entire face lights up with a huge smile. He jumps up, nearly knocking his chair over, and Wayne is dropping to his knees before he even realizes what he’s doing, holding out his arms to catch Eddie as the little boy flings himself wildly at him.

“Hey, little darlin’,” he murmurs into his nephew’s curly hair. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got here as quick as I could, honest.”

“‘S’okay,” Eddie whispers, and Wayne squeezes him a little tighter before letting go. Miss Dunham is watching them with a fond smile. He breathes a sigh of relief; he hasn’t messed up too badly. “Ready to go?” he asks, and Eddie nods happily, rushing to grab his jacket and backpack. He whispers a goodbye to the kids he was sitting with, and Wayne’s heart does the funny leap again at the kids’ friendly sounding chorus of “bye, Eddie!” with smiles and waves. It leaps even harder when Eddie thanks Miss Dunham on their way out.

He wonders briefly if it’s odd to feel so much pride— after all, he wasn’t the one who taught the boy those nice manners— but he can’t help the warm glow that washes over him when Eddie reaches up to take hold of his hand. He decides to quit trying to figure it out and just enjoy it.

“I’m sorry I was so late,” he apologizes again as he leans into the car to buckle Eddie’s seatbelt. “Be honest, now,” he adds, “did you think ol’ Uncle Wayne forgot you?”

“I didn’t think you forgot,” Eddie says quietly. His lower lip quivers as he continues, “But I was scared something bad happened to you.”

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen to me, little darlin’. I’m fixin’ to be around for a long time.” He gently wipes away the single tear that escaped with his thumb. “But I’m sorry I made you scared.” He slides behind the wheel, and catches his nephew’s eye in the rear view mirror. “I’m usually real good at keeping promises. I feel bad that I promised you I’d be here and then I wasn’t. Will you let me try again tomorrow?” And Wayne’s heart does that strange leap of joy again when Eddie smiles and nods.

As they’re passing Benny’s diner he has a sudden impulse, and pulls into the parking lot. “I think your very first day of school deserves a little celebration, don’t you? Let’s get some ice cream and you can tell me all about it. Sound good?”

“Sounds real good,” Eddie agrees. He’s barely out of the car when Wayne has another sudden impulse. He pounces, lifting Eddie up high and swinging him in circles. The little boy’s delighted squeals and giggles fill the air and Wayne’s ears and an empty place in his heart he hadn’t even realized was there.

[saltysplayt00ns]

...

No comment , THIS already sums up in volumes of Rogio not learning from his lesson and Rogio not changed since he escaped from Vjall the ghoul god and the deer portal.

You had one job...

Fun fact; when I saw this page/panel for the first time, I literally felt sick to my stomach, like no lie nor joke, I felt my body convulse and wanted to puke. SO congrats kique, you're the first to ever made me feel " sick to my stomach " - literally. BULLSHIT, WHERE'S THE ANTLERS, AND WHY THE GODESS CAN BRING BACK DEAD BODIES??!!! YOU ALREADY HAVE A SPIRIT THAT DOES THAT!!!!!

We could have had a moment where Rogio sacrificed himself or him actually being more villainous of bartering Kargo for someone else like Ranach/ showing that he still has attachment to him. But Kique forgot his own lore again AND/OR he didn't want to use it and thought have a deer god do something that is not part of it's purpose to do it for convenience for Rogio OF ALL DOGS. He basically cheat coded his way through. and the Deer is it's wash-down Therapist.

I guess free breath means a free ticket pass. to his self-inserts

there was no hidden, mystery nor some subtle text to pick apart, this is as clear as the sky guys. Not something to overthink on - not that deep. period. ---- This would also be interesting if he failed the trial or was put in a delusional area like what is showing of Kargo returning, but realized something was...off and stressing. Like his brain is trying to tell him something but keeps digging down on this fantasy that everything is fine but it's not, and the more he digs the more plastic and distorted it felt. So as he really, finally going deep down on himself and seeing who he truly is and he needed to work on, despite everyone telling him not to - Heck have Ranach in the mix as well to mess with his psyche. The Ghoul beast is only much a façade of what he really is the beast been consorted of preventing him from trying to change from his own mind. Rogio running deeper down the rabbit hole, we hear now everyone speaking what he thinks they're saying from his eyes as the environment becomes more warped and just become more survival horror until he sees himself, Not of the beast but of himself, His natural, crusty, dog self is the problem, is the Marghoul. Rogio has to face the fact from him in Meteor to now, he's ' mental chain' is much more his ' chain reactional excuse' that he kept repeating and falling for. The Vjall had some strings towards him but only if it's been fed or given access to - his fears and deniability. Rogio is given now a timestamp - LIKE ACTUAL TENSION AND DUE DATE of getting his shit together, talking with the Spirit of the dead if he really felt remorse to remand or Accept it still but remand it acknowledging his mess ups and do better. She can not cure the Ghoul, not yet at least, but she will give her a prong of her antlers to ward it off, just enough until he makes the choice. Vjal may be aware of it and would be a problem down the line. The deer is benevolent but not a charity case, She gave her wisdom ( and therapy session) and gave them a choice with a bit of aid. We could have had a nice Intense chapter of Rogio working himself until final conclusion of him not changing and being far worse then he was, a bittersweet one where he choice to heal, accept and admit his faults, working from the ground up with or without Roamer. or him sacrificing himself for Kargo's life as a finale apology. The prong can either symbolizes like a barrier to protect from the Ghoul but it can also be Kargo's spirit along with him, so it adds more motivation of why Rogio has to do it or not. Hope you enjoy that ♥

[lindsaystravelblogs3]

Days 88-89  Monday-Tuesday  21-22 August

Monday

We were both pretty whacked from the last few days so decided to spend a restful day in the room.  We both busied ourselves with all the usual things we do, including ringing the kids, and had an easy lunch at our ‘desks’.

I decided I needed to get out for a while and had wanted to go down to the Vistula River, nearly two kilometres away.  I took my camera and binoculars in the hope of seeing some different birds and walked most of the way that our guide had taken us yesterday or the day before.  I could see the river from there and walked across the parklands to get there.  There was a huge water feature down there, with hundreds of water jets dancing up and down in tune with some music, and quite a few people were picnicking there and watching.  Part of the area was closed with some workmen making some repairs but I found an underpass to escape the busy traffic on the big dual carriageway highway and reached the river quite easily.  I couldn’t really get that close to it and almost all the birds were on the far side anyway, but I did identify about six or seven species to add to my Polish list.

I walked a couple of kilometres along the river to a huge tramway bridge with walking/cycling paths along both sides and made my way very gingerly across the wide river and back again.  The bridge is very (very) high and I found it quite frightening, but I had to do it to confirm a couple of my sightings.  One tiny bird I had seen from the bank looked a little like a White Wagtail at two hundred plus metres away (it just flashed momentarily across my binoculars while I was focussing on a Gull) and I went right across the river and saw it on the rocks immediately below my shaking knees.  Worth it?  Maybe, but I really didn’t need the adrenalin!

Once back on the original side of the bridge, I took quite a convoluted path over a hill and back to the parklands, seeing a couple more birds and passing a cordoned-off area with many active beehives in it.  From the signage, I think it may have been part of a scientific research or government project of some sort, but I don’t read Polish so I am really not sure – but there were plenty of bees there anyway.

Back at our room, I was again locked out because the code had been changed again.  Fortunately, Heather heard me banging violently on the door and came out to open the door from the inside where no code was required.  We asked the people at the other hostel associated with our hotel to arrange for it to be fixed – and in due course they did so.  We did a few puzzles together – we have done very few this trip, mainly because we have been woken early most mornings so that we can be ready for the day’s activities and it would be nice to have a few days to just lie in and loll about without trying to fit in with other people’s timings.

We went out to dinner at a restaurant around the corner and when we got back, the code had been fixed and we were able to get into our room again.

Tuesday. So endeth our Warsaw sojourn.

We were in our room for most of the day, reading, writing and sorting/editing photos, as well as packing ready to leave well before dawn tomorrow.

We had booked a food tour for 3 pm and had to meet our guide a bit over a kilometre away so walked up there around 2:30.  I decided not to take my backpack with my heavy camera, but forgot that my spare hearing aid batteries were in the backpack.  Sure enough, a few minutes before we met our guide, my aid warned me that the battery was dying so I rushed back to our room to get a replacement - only to find I was locked out again - for the fourth time.  We think the cleaners assume we are leaving each day and reset the locks when they leave.

By now, I was late for the tour, but I called in at the hostel near us and told them about the problem and the guy there said he would look at it while we were doing the tour.  I raced back to our meeting place to find our small group waiting, but in no hurry to head off.  The rest of the group was just two young Austrian 'madchens' and an older American guy and after us all chatting in the sun for fifteen minutes or more, we set off to our first tasting a couple of hundred metres away.  Our guide took us on a slightly circuitous route and pointed out a few more interesting features and historical perspectives along the way.

We started with a tasty soup in a hollowed-out bread bun, with some delicious potato pancakes to follow.  We sat and chatted over a drink or two before walking to a very pretty little restaurant in a narrow alley.  Our guide had plenty more interesting comments about things we passed (or detoured to pass) - he was very knowledgeable and had fascinating stories to tell every few steps.   We had four different types of pierogis at this restaurant and lots more chat.   The American guy was a lot of fun and had his own stories to tell, including some about Polish history because he has a PhD in European History (I think).   Our final stop was at a restaurant just under our window - and that was to sample a couple of local vodkas, very delicious they were too!

The tour and the food was all very traditional, especially the second stop in the alleyway. It was in an old house or apartment with tires of flowpots and bright flowers all around the door and beautifully-worked wall hangings and more flowers inside. This is apparently the way many Polish families arrange and decorate their homes and it quite delighted me. The whole effect was very homely and comfortable, even if the pierogis aren't our most favourite food.

We broke up the party about 9pm because we still had to do a few things ready for the next morning and we thought we may still be locked out of our room.  Fortunately, we weren’t!  The guy from the hostel up the road must have sorted it out and we were able to get in without difficulty and ready ourselves for tomorrow’s trek.   (I looked out the window an hour later and noted that our fellow foodies were still sitting at the restaurant.)

[self-shipping-selfcare]

The Forest Goddess | River x Reader

《I love her <3》

✎Self Indulgent

✎Fluffy

✎Reader is Gender-Neutral

reblogs with comments > reblogs > likes

《↬.•.•✿•.•.↫》

You walk through the beautiful forest admiring all the pretty plants, music playing in your earbuds. You like going on nature walks and you decided to go in the forest for your walk today. It's nice and peaceful and everything looks so whimsical and magical. It's so quiet and beautiful...

You stop when you hear something. It sounds like...a woman humming? Her voice is absolutely beautiful and alluring... You slowly walk towards the sound of her, not wanting her to stop her singing.

You stop when you see her; staring at her with awe. She's a tall, tan woman with a curvy and thick body type. Her long, dark brown hair flows in the wind; a perfect flower crown of calla lilies and leaves attached to the top of her head along with two branches like deer antlers. Her outfit is made entirely of vines and leaves, which is quite revealing but hides the parts needed to be hidden. There's some moss and small flowers growing on her shoulders and some vines covered in moss in her hair. She looks like some beautiful forest goddess and you can't help but stare...

She was petting a deer the entire time you've been staring and it seems like they haven't noticed you yet...

The deer makes eye contact with you then runs away, which causes the woman to perk up and look over at you, making eye contact with you as well. Her eyes are a beautiful forest green and they shine like the sunlight.

She smiles brightly when she sees you, her chubby cheeks showing, as she gets up and makes her way over to you. "Why hello there, little dearie~! What brings you into my forest?" She asks; her voice as beautiful and lovely as a lullaby.

"I-I just came for a walk to a-admire the beautiful plants." You stutter out, feeling nervous and flustered to be in the presence of such a beautiful goddess.

"Oh, that's wonderful! I'm glad you like my plants!" She smiles cutely. "I grew some of them myself!" She adds with a happy grin.

"E-Excuse me but- a-are you some sort of forest goddess?" You ask nervously.

"A goddess? Oh, no dear! I'm the forest guardian! What makes you think I'm a goddess?" She asks. Her tone is always so soft and it sounds absolutely adorable.

"W-Well, y-you're beautiful like one-" You mumble softly.

She blushes slightly and smiles wider. "Why thank you dearie~! That's so kind of you!" She says happily. She looks down and notices a band-aid on your knee. You had tripped earlier and scraped your knee and you had some band-aids in your bag/backpack. "What happened to you?" She asks softly.

"I-I tripped earlier. It's nothing too bad, just a scrape." You say with a shrug.

"Would you like me to heal it~?" She asks with a grin.

"O-Oh, it's okay. It's really not that ba-" You get cut off when she gives you a kiss on the forehead. Immediately the slight pain in your leg goes away. Any other pain you had in your body is replaced by an amazing sensation. You feel amazing and completely healed and healthy.

"There we go~! Apologies for the sudden kiss- it's how I heal people! Creatures and humans alike! The deer I was petting earlier was injured and I healed him the same way I healed you!" She says.

"Th-Thank you! Uhh-" You were about to say her name before you realized you didn't know it.

"Oh! I forgot to introduce myself, haven't I? Silly me! My name is River, it's nice to meet you!" River smiles sweetly at you.

"Th-Thank you River! M-My name is Y/n, it's nice to meet you too." You say. Your phone beeps and you check your notifications. It's your friend asking you for help on some mundane task. "I-I have to go, my friend needs me." You say.

"That's alright! Won't you come visit me again?" River asks.

"Y-Yeah, of course!" You say with a smile.

"Perfect! Till we meet again~!" River says in a sing-song tone, beaming happily.

"B-Bye!" You say as you quickly make your way to your house.

《↬.•.•✿•.•.↫》

[roscgcld]

RYOMEN SUKUNA || by his side

request: Hey! Can you please write an imagine with sukuna finding and having a soulmate/s.o. thats the total opposite of him (very sweet, kind, compassionate, etc.)? The oc has a bunny, loves sweets, picking flowers, etc. :D

Hello! I requested the sukuna soulmate/soft s.o. imagine and i forgot to add that s.o. pronouns are she/her. I apologize my phone glitched and it sent before i could typing the request. I’m sorry 🥺

note: hey lovely! i love this idea so much - big strong men with cute and sweet little babies 🥺🥺 and they are so soft and sweet to their lover, who just sits there and smiles up at them lovingly; completely unaware of how their lover was basically ripping someone a new one with their sharp tongue or glaring a hole through them with their scary eyes 🥺🥺🥺 my most favourite trope to write for honestly 😭✨ i hope you don’t mind that this is set in a more historical era - I have another idea with sukuna in the modern era, so i want to write something different c: 

pronouns: she/her

"Do you believe in soulmates, my Lord?”

“Hah?,” Sukuna grumbles out as he flicked his beady red eyes over at Uraume, who was curiously scanning their eyes over a scroll clutched in their hands. At the moment Sukuna, the King of Curses, was enjoying an evening in his study. Beside him, like always, is his trusted aid and devoted follower, Uraume. It is not uncommon for Sukuna to have his most dedicated follower by his side, as the former-monk-turned-Curse-User had proven themselves to be a loyal follower of his. It was because of this loyalty that Sukuna decided to hear them out instead of blasting their head off their neck for asking such an absurd question. “What brought upon this, Uraume?”

Wordlessly Uraume walked towards the towering man, keeping their eyes downcasted out of respect as he held the scroll out for Sukuna to inspect. Sukuna’s four red eyes glanced downward to read the text before him, a neutral expression on his face even as he got deeper into the lore that is ‘soulmates’. 

In a world where Curses and monsters roam about freely, it is no surprise that the entire idea of soulmates came to be as well. Whether it was because of the story of the dying lovers making one final vow to find each other in the next life, or how ‘God’ had wanted to give humans some hope as they traversed through the evils and stresses of being a mortal human - however you interpret the story, the ending is always the same. 

That if you open your heart to the world, you might find the other half that completes you.

“The entire idea is not far-fetched in our world, but the stories surrounding it makes it sound so childish,” Sukuna admitted after finishing the end of the scroll, not necessarily dismissing it, nor sounding interested in finding the truth about something as insignificant as this. If he was being honest, he was not against the idea - Sukuna believes that everything in this world is worth studying if there is some substance behind it. And no matter how cheesy he may find the entire ‘soulmates’ to be, he is not against it. “But to be fair - the entire idea of you meeting that one person is one in a million chances. That’s more of the issue here then how the lore began.”

“I think that it’s a nice thought to have. That someone out there is made for only for you,” Uraume admitted quietly as they turned the scroll to face them once more, Sukuna following their movements with a curious raise of his brow. Uraume just gave him a soft smile and shake their head, bowing their head in apology for thinking out loud in his presence. 

Even as Uraume left for the night Sukuna still sat on the comfortable cushion in his study, eyes scanning away from the swimming words on his scroll to watch the moon outside. His ruby red eyes held confusion, yet there seemed to be gleam in there that reflected off the moonlight. If you squint a little, it might even look like longing. 

“Soulmates, huh...?”

“‘kuna, look!”

The same red eyes that was staring out at the moon on that faithful night snapped back into reality, their gaze turning away from the lantern that was hanging above the grand throne room towards the woman by his side. She was dressed in a beautiful kimono, the design on the fabric printed in such vivid detail that it looked like the cranes were flying across the fabric with each one of her movements.

Said woman was currently holding up what seemed to be a ball of black fluff; bright green eyes looking up at the King of Curses in confusion whilst its pink nose twitches curiously. The King of Curses raises a confused eyebrow back in response before he turned back to face the smiling farmer standing before his throne, recalling who he was almost immediately. 

“Ah, Kaede-san,” Sukuna greeted, the older man bowing his head respectfully in response. “Good day, my Lord,” He greeted before he straightened his back once more, resting both his hands on his wooden walking stick as he glances over at you; where you were completely enamored by the bunny in your arms. “I am glad that the My Lady has found her brand new companion from one of my litter.”

You had grown up in the village, and from a young age, you’ve always had a soft heart when it comes to animals. Cats, dogs, cows, horses - and now, you’ve gone about and fallen in love with bunnies. Sukuna cannot stand animals; he understands that they are important for things like travel, food, and are useful companions to have when traveling - but he had never been interested in having a pet himself. But since it’s you who had begged and pleaded to have a pet...well, he can survive living with a furball or two. 

Many are shocked, but honestly not surprised by the fact that Sukuna has a soulmate - even if he is not exactly what you would call a regular human. He was once but a normal man that roamed the face of Earth like everyone else, so it is not that hard to imagine him with a soulmate. But it’s more so the fact that you two are such polar opposites that has a few raising their eyebrows. 

The older man somehow manages to gather the bunnies that did not peak your fancy back into the whisker basket they came in, and after a final bow he was hobbling off, Uraume asking one of the guards to guide the older man down the mountain and back into the town safely. Sukuna, on the other hand, sighs as he leans against the arm rest on his throat, watching you with unmasked amusement as you smother the bunny in love and affection.

You were quite the oddball. Sukuna had stumbled upon you in the middle of the woods one night whilst he was strolling about, crying and curling in on yourself as a nasty Curse cornered you against a large tree. Usually Sukuna would sit back and watch, even encouraging the Curse to just go for the kill and to stop ‘playing with their food’. But when you glanced over at him with tearful eyes, immediately begging him for help; something inside of him just snapped. 

Sukuna brought you back to his palace after exorcising the Curse, carrying you in his arms whilst you napped against his chest; having been worn out from all the running and fear that had coursed through you. He really didn’t know what possessed him to clean your words and have the maids help you change into some simple garments so you can sleep in comfort. He even kept a close eye on you as you were healing, since you had twisted your ankle whilst running in the middle of the night.

At first you were scared - you were basically living under the roof of what you viewed as a literal God. The King of Curses himself had saved you and provided you with shelter as you healed, the same King of Curses who had been watching over your town for the last 50 years. The same person you’ve heard stories and worship in the small shrine in your house. You were in the same room as him, even breathing the same air as he was.

However it didn’t take too long for the shock of the situation to finally wear off, and after some time you started to grow curious. Sukuna, who still makes time out of his day to visit you, was suddenly bombarded with your ever growing list of questions. Yet instead of getting upset, Sukuna just gave you an annoyed look before answering them to the best of his abilities. Even thought he gave you half assed answers and grunts for the most part, your enthusiasm and curiosity did not stop.

And if Sukuna was being honest, after a few weeks of just having you around, he found himself seeming to enjoy your company more and more. Maybe that was why he never really told you to leave his home, even after you’ve made a full recovery. 

“My parents say that they want to visit, by the way,” You mentioned after you remember the letter that you received this morning, to which Sukuna just grunts before he casts you an curious look from the corner of his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?,” Sukuna asks, since he was genuinely confused by your question. It wasn’t like this was your parents’ first time visiting you whilst you’ve stayed with him. Even if it was the first, he has made it clear some time ago that you can do as you please. 

In response you just smile before you lean over to rest your head on one of his arms, enjoying the warmth that radiates from the strong limb whilst he raises an eyebrow at you. You didn’t even need to look to know that Sukuna is probably sporting a light blush, yet the click of tongue in annoyance was a dead give away. Even more so when he just grumbled at the sound of your giggle. 

Sometimes Sukuna wonders what was it that made him put up with your weird antics.

“You ever wonder what it’s like to be able to fly?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

It was the beginning of spring, where the sun was finally out, and the air was warmer than the blistering winters. To mark the brand new change in weather, you had asked Sukuna to join you on a nice picnic outside. Knowing that you will never shut up about it if he declined, he just grumpily cleared his schedule so he can spend the morning outside with you. 

That is how you found yourself quietly playing with his hair between your fingers, four red eyes staring at you in annoyance beneath hooded lids whilst you smile over at him adoringly. Even though he looks annoyed or angry, you know that it is just in his personality to look annoyed by everything. So instead you just gave him a fond smile as you gently tapped the tip of his nose, to which he just narrowed his eyes at you, one of his hands reaching up to swat at your hand lightly. “You heard me. Have you ever wondered what it was like to fly around on the sky? Kinda like a bird.” 

Sukuna just deadpan in response, to which you just stuck your tongue out at him before you reached over to grab some grapes from the wooden bowl that the maids had washed. Popping one into your mouth, you grabbed another from the bowl before you held it out to Sukuna. The Curse opened his mouth, sharp teeth playfully nipping at the tip of your fingers whilst you giggle and gently pull your fingers away from his mouth. Just hearing your giggle had him smiling a little, eyes watching your features with a soft look in his usually cold and mischievous eyes. 

“I think that flying isn’t something I am interested in. Mainly because to me, there is more fun in not knowing what lays before you,” Sukuna mumbles quietly, his genuine answer causing you to pause as you snap your gaze down at him curiously. You had genuinely not expected him to answer your question at all; much less sincerely. “But if you want, one day when I am free, we can go and try. It wouldn’t be flying per say, but it’ll be as close as it gets,” Sukuna hums, his answer causing your heart to melt further into a puddle. 

Yes, sometimes being with the King of Curses can be quite the jarring experience. 

On some days it feels like you cannot climb up the tall walls that Sukuna has put up around him; almost feeling at times as if you two were not lovers. Sometimes it even hurts you, how blunt and rude Sukuna’s words can be. He had never needed to filter his words, or try to soften the edges of his hard and rude personality; so it takes him some time to get used to being softer around someone. But he tries; he tries his hardest, and you can tell. And honestly, having to sit through the days where he just doesn’t seem to remember that you are his lover. Having to sleep in a lonely bed late at night because he is working late, or because he was in a bad mood and refuses to see you. 

“I can’t wait,” You mumble quietly with a warm smile on your face, reaching down to brush your fingers along Sukuna’s face gently. Enjoying the moment where the both of you get to be together without the fear of people’s wondering eyes to stare at either of you. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, just laid there whilst you showered him in attention, enjoying the feeling of your soft fingers gently tracing along his face. It was during moments like these where his emotions are in check; where he doesn’t need to worry and think too much about all the troubles that are happening around him. Sometimes things do get quite overwhelming, and many times he feels like he needs to always be fighting and reaching higher and higher to get to his goals. 

But as he laid his head on your lap, nose twitching ever so slightly to enjoy the smell of your yukata whilst your fingers found their way into his hair; he realises that there is no reason for him to always be rushing and trying to reach the top. He can have moments to himself, have moments where he can turn to someone and lean on them for support. Taking a step back to do things like he is right now - enjoying the feeling of being babied and wrapped up in your arms without a care in the world. Forgetting about all of his troubles. Even if it is for a few moments. 

Because at the end of the day, even if the world outside is burning to the ground, as long as you are by his side, he can ask for nothing more. 

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform.

[odditiesofnicole]

Lay Down Your Sword

A little drabble about burnout, exhaustion, and purpose.

As my usual disclaimer, Ougi belongs to my wonderful bf. I just steal her for writing and drawing purposes when the gals stay on my mind. 😌 ♥

Word Count: 4,868

~*~

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Not many deities questioned their purpose. It just wasn’t something they did. When may have been a more accurate interrogation, like when was their purpose over? Not how, not why. After all, only the oldest divinity had special privileges, meaning their existences would rarely ever die out. Some deities, like Mii, had more finite time limits. Born to serve humans and all life. When mortals forgot her, she would forget herself and cease to be. If she could not perform that function, then what need did she have to be around?

“Don’t you ever get sick of it? What have we done for you?”

It was why Ougi’s question had left Mii sufficiently befuddled ever since.

Mii had never known a sentence to rattle her so like Ougi’s question had that summer morning; she’d grown used to the intrigue and curiosity of her companion over time. Although Ougi maintained a gruff manner, Mii knew that was more a byproduct of her bluntness and her father’s expectations than any malice. In fact, Mii had come to know the quiet softness and consideration in Ougi. A gentility that when Ougi asked questions like that, Mii knew she came from a place of sincerity. It was rare to form a bond with a god and be allowed to freely ask such things, even sometimes among other deities.

To any other, they may have taken offense at the inquiry. How could they not enjoy what they were born to do? Yet Mii had hesitated to answer. She had always been just as forthright as Ougi was, but for some reason, that day she failed to put an answer to words. Knowing her answer left an odd chill that spread through her entire limbs. Like someone above waited to cast judgment on her reply.

She and Ougi hadn’t spoken in a week. Mii wouldn’t have thought much about it due to Ougi’s semi-princess status. Ougi could be needed by many and in many places at many times. Mii was always at the ready whenever Ougi required her aid, so why add an extra place Ougi needed to be? The need of her people surely outweighed any need Mii would have had just to chat inconsequentially.

But they had begun talking more—little musings at night, before breakfast, when waiting for the rainfall to subside. Sometimes on the material plane, sometime in Mii’s plane, and sometimes separated and speaking afar through their telepathic connection. Ougi started checking in more where Mii didn’t have to. She spoke despite not embarking on any excursion for the day, and it was…nice. Very nice, actually. To be wanted and not needed.

Which was all the more reason why the week that passed frayed Mii’s nerves.

Why couldn’t she have given Ougi the answer she’d wanted to hear? Was there one? Why did she have to laugh it off and lie? Mii rarely lied—she hated it. It made her feel twisted inside whenever she did, whether or not the lie was tiny in comparison. She’d told Ougi that she loved what she did, and to an extent, that was still true. “Why would I ever be tired of that?” she’d added.

Liar.

Mii’s fingers spun along the strings of her flat loom, weaving the fibers through the pegs and using her crochet hook to begin the cycle anew. When she’d had fewer believers, she’d have to find means to keep herself busy during the interim. As long as she had a couple who remembered her, she wouldn’t fizzle from being. Yet with Ougi, her following had grown bit by bit. It wasn’t anything popular, but it was substantial—so much so that she could settle for two hobbies in a day rather than twelve.

Knitting scratched an itch Mii’d had for decades without much to do. There were others across the region who guarded similar domains as she did, and in Ougi’s specific township and city areas, there were only a small number of magical and non-magical medical practitioners praying to Mii for guidance. So in weaving and knitting—creating new pieces of fabric—she found solace.

During her third layering, a tingling sensation nipped at the tips of Mii’s ears, familiar yet somewhat unexpected. Ougi’s faint voice floated through moments after. “Got a second? If you’re busy, I can wait—”

“No, of course!” Mii hastened to detach her fingers from her loom, nearly clattering the entire thing in the process. “Do you want me to head over to where you are right now?”

Two blinks illuminated her already bright blue eyes, making them near-blinding. She was so used to tapping between the planes that the switch to find Ougi flipped effortlessly. In her eyes, she saw Ougi standing in front of her altar, like the first time they’d met.

“Can you take me to you instead?” Ougi asked.

Mii stood, treading past the curtained archway of her drawing room and into the planar access space. Flora filled the entire chamber, complemented by a pond at the epicenter and rimmed by gold metal rods cross-hatched together, which came up to Mii’s ankles. Aside from the railing, the chamber looked as though it’d been plucked straight from an overgrown rainforest. It even had that fresh dew smell.

Her dress trailed behind as she stepped into the pool, silk fluttering like wind-tossed blades of grass. She knelt, closed her eyes, and placed her hands into the pool. The surface of it bubbled before lighting up with a bright blue. She could see the light through her lids.

At one time, opening this doorway would have left Mii breathless; she’d kept the fact from Ougi initially, although it seemed Ougi had figured it out on her own accord either way. Now as Mii sat back, awaiting the water’s movement to subside, she felt tense only because of the moment—not because the world needed to settle on its axis.

Where there was no form, a weak geyser propelled Ougi’s body from underwater, first leaving her prone before she, too, sat up and met Mii face to face. The eye-level closeness colored Mii’s cheeks, but she did not look away. Seeing Ougi up close in any capacity was enough to feel like she’d run a marathon. Why didn’t they want to be closer to mortals’ heights like this? There were so many benefits to it. Being able to see the flecks of brown in Ougi’s green gaze was definitely one of them. The color reminded Mii of summer grass. She would roll through Ougi’s eyes an entire day if she could.

“Are you in there? Hello?”

The palm waving in Mii’s sight brought her back down to earth, as she realized Ougi’s furrowed face had drawn closer to hers, seeming worried. Mii’s posture stiffened, which intensified as she shot to her feet. “Yes! I’m keeping you waiting, we should go inside because you must have things to get back to,” Mii blurted, combing her fingers through her bangs. “I’ll set up the room so that you’re—”

However, before she could fully retreat, a hand tugged her backward. Mii froze as Ougi rested her chin atop her head and kept her other hand on Mii’s shoulder. Ougi’s brazen affection, even when Mii had grown used to it, never failed to catch her off guard.

“You can be like you usually are,” Ougi said. “I like that side of you too.”

Mii tilted her head a bit, trying to catch Ougi’s gaze, but ultimately gave up when her chin locked her head in one direction. “How…How is that?” Mii asked.

“Big.”

For a second, Mii stared blankly toward the curtained archway until she extricated herself from Ougi’s grasp. She studied Ougi’s expression. Embarrassment was hard to see on Ougi, but she had one tell. And upon noticing her pursed lips, Mii smiled. “Okay. I can do that.”

Mii splashed and scuttled to the middle of the pond. Once she had enough distance in the water to spin, she used the twirl of her gown to encapsulate herself in a whirlpool that expanded higher and higher into the air, shaping, forming, and taking her body along for the ride. When the tornado of water transformed into petals and scattered gingerly across the pond’s surface, Mii stared down at a seven-inches-tall Ougi.

Her stance had changed—arms crossed, weight shifted to a single foot. The side of Ougi’s mouth lifted. “Show off,” she remarked lightly.

Mii beamed and curtsied, no matter her warmed cheeks.

She led the way past the curtains and into the main area. Despite her size and the potential perils that came with it, she had no worry over Ougi underfoot. Mii could float just millimeters above ground if she wanted the extra caution, but she didn’t need to. And just as Mii anticipated, she heard the patter of Ougi’s footsteps trailing behind, less cloppy than usual however.

Flats instead of her geta? Mii wondered. Maybe Ougi wasn’t going out somewhere after all.

According to Cameron, the way Mii presented her home was filled with many “useless” things. She was reminded of this as she led Ougi to her chaise. Cameron didn’t mean any harm in saying his first impression; most deities didn’t have a kitchen to cook, or a dining table to host others—mortal, divine, or in between. Sometimes her sister, Jihae, would visit for a spell or two and they could congregate for something sweet. Neither of them needed to eat, but ever since Mii could remember, she’d always enjoyed making things. Fruit-based dishes were her favorite.

Inside of the kitchen cupboards was where Mii kept utensils, jars and vials of tea leaves, and ginger roots. All of them (save for the utensils, of course) had a healing property in some way. Most of the herbs she grew herself, and the utensils had been gifts from her earliest days that she’d found no reason to part with. Ougi was as welcome in her home as Cameron and whatever company he brought were. At least one could gain more from eating than the other, though she appreciated him humoring her.

Specifically, her living room was where she spent most of her time. While she had a bedroom to reset her power levels rather than sleep, the room was a bit sparse in comparison to the main area, where she had a window to her outside garden and her stenciling wall just beside it, filled with the requests and prayers of those who still remembered her. “I hope you’ll guide me through my cold” or “let your light still guide us.” Words used when calling upon powers Mii could bequeath. It wasn’t something she necessarily had to keep track of, but she liked to. The stenciled words had increased little by little.

At the very bottom of the wall, though, a few stick figures danced around the edges of the baseboard. She and Ougi had drawn them months ago one night. Back then, she might have offered Ougi a sip too much of wine to ease the gash she’d obtained from a particularly nasty werewolf scuffle. Mii’s well of power had run dry that fight, and there was only so much magic Ougi herself could perform. Wine was the only other natural solvent she could offer during the interim. She’d hated hearing Ougi in any kind of pain.

Regardless, seeing the simple pictures always made Mii smile. She hadn’t had the heart to remove them. She didn’t think she ever would.

As they approached the folding desk beside her chaise, Ougi spoke up. “Is that a new scarf? Starting on them early this year, huh?”

The pink and lilac yarn remained untouched beside her loom, half finished. Once, Mii pondered asking Jihae to find a yarn feeder as a “Coming-into-Existence” present, but in the end, Mii appreciated using her fingers more than the tool. She plucked at the intertwined strings. “It’s going to take me a while with what I have in mind for patterns, so I thought it'd be nice to have it ready before wintertime,” Mii replied. “I’ll show it to you as soon as it’s ready!”

Mii bent over to hold her hand out for Ougi, who hopped into it with no stumble or hesitation. If she was acting normally, then perhaps Mii’s concern was for naught. Though as she sat down, Ougi instead slid off Mii’s palm before she could place her across her tabletop. Mii’s other hand shot out to catch her but stopped when Ougi bounced harmlessly onto her thigh. Mii sighed and shook her head.

“I really wish you told me these things before you went and did them,” she said in a murmur.

Soon thereafter, Ougi lay on her back while Mii took up her threads of yarn again, weaving them between the pegs and picking up where she’d left off. She tried not to think about the whys to Ougi’s company, only staying appreciative of the fact she was there. Companionable silence didn’t bother Mii; the less Mii could say to embarrass herself, the better. And Ougi had welcomed it just as much. Miss Hangaku, a woman of few words and even fewer judgment.

All of this hemming and hawing—she’d overreacted after all, hadn’t she? Or was Ougi expecting Mii to be the one to bring up the topic? Maybe she could have if the anticipation weren’t choking her. She wasn’t ready to think about how those questions made her feel, or why Ougi had even asked them in the first place.

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable before."

Mii watched Ougi shift her position and dig her shoulders deeper into her makeshift pillow, blinking at her more than necessary. Ougi crossed her arms, and it was that motion which prompted Mii to sputter. "I wasn't! Really! There's nothing wrong with asking those sorts of questions, and I really wasn't—"

Two raised eyebrows met her reply. Mii flushed.

"I was just a bit caught off guard, that's all," Mii added, this time weaker. "It wasn't something you've ever asked me before."

The two fell quiet again, but it was different this time, weighed down by an unspoken discomfort. Mii tried to concentrate on her knitting, yet the longer she stared at the loom, the less she saw the shape of her scarf and instead saw a pile of unorganized, chaotic color mush. Would this carry on for another week? Was Ougi expecting Mii to be the one to get it over with? Ougi had already apologized, so the least Mii could be was honest.

However, Ougi's sigh brought a flinch out of Mii, and she braced herself.

"I was working through some things," Ougi said. "I wasn't really asking you specifically, because I know you're very enthusiastic about what you do. I just…"

Mii waited for her to continue. Ougi hadn’t sighed a second time, but it clung to the ends of her words, making them flutter. Mii made another loop around her loom’s pegs, doubled back, and started it again. Her eyes kept flicking back and forth between her scarf and Ougi, each time lingering longer on the latter.

But as more time passed without another sentence, Mii wondered if Ougi still hadn't worked them out quite yet. That was fair. She hadn't either.

"I noticed you've been wearing a lot more pastels recently," Mii said. "It looks nice on you!"

"Oh." Ougi’s eyes went a bit wider, and she rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, I guess I have been. I'm trying something different. Season's changing and all. Figured we could match for once? I didn’t think you’d notice."

Loose. Minimal. Earthy and muted tones. That was the style Mii had first been acquainted with when she'd begun to notice Ougi. And while Ougi favored that type of wardrobe still, today she wore a crop top and knee-length pants the color of daffodils. The ensemble had the faintest accents of periwinkle too. Mii's own gown was a deeper sapphire, although because they'd deigned to relax in the main room, she'd cut her gown in half, trading the veil and hem for shorts.

Mii smiled. "That's so sweet…" Hesitating, keeping her gaze on her yarn, she then asked, "Does that have to do with what you've been thinking about recently?"

Skin-to-skin contact made Ougi’s tensing unmissable. She huffed and, in a low voice, said, "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"We don't have to talk about it if it makes you—"

Ougi held up a hand. "No. That's what I came here to do. I'm not going to keep you for long."

You'd never be bothering me if you did, Mii thought, frowning. Instead, she slipped one of her hands down to her lap. The touch was brief, but it was enough to curl her fingers around Ougi, giving her a small squeeze. Ougi squeezed back, one arm companionably wrapped around two of Mii's fingers. They stayed like that for a few moments until Mii eventually pulled away.

Once Ougi settled down, she spoke. “Sometimes, I get tired of being out there, y’know? People always speak of ‘duty’ and your ‘bonds’ to others. Obligations.” Ougi waved her hands, chopping and slicing them through the air. “Then I think: what am I really doing that all for? Is it for me? Do I want to do any of it? Years don’t mean a lot to you, but it feels like I’ve been living this way for an eternity and I’ll die doing it too at this rate. And I'm tired.”

She clenched her fists. “Then I’ll see someone gardening, or one of those dicks who lives in the desolate parts of town and complains about society, and I think: is that really so bad to want something mundane like that? It sounds so much better than right now, where fighting feels pointless and every day of it feels the same. I know I have a duty, but I want to say to hell with them all. I have an obligation to be happy, too, don’t I?

“But when I thought about it, I understood why you out of anyone else would look so panicked then when I brought it up.” Ougi settled her palm atop Mii’s thigh, her voice softening. ”So I’m sorry. Also your yarn is about to fall, by the way.”

Like a corrected train track, Mii jerked her gaze from Ougi to her table, yelping as she fumbled with the wrapped bundle of yarn before it hit the floor. Ougi’s chuckle moments after soothed some of the heat left by her diatribe, but the sound of it seemed dry.

Mii picked at the tangles in her bundle, then frowned. She knew Ougi had read about her in one of the few history compendiums in the city library. During the Dividing War those centuries ago (they had so many names for it, it was hard to keep up with), the people’s hope had been Mii. Their desperation and uncertainty had been what had created her, and she’d maintained her subsection of the country, keeping them alive and out of the fury of her divinely counterparts. Jihae had been there to provide support as well, as any previous war-god would have been able.

Saying Mii was anything but grateful to be of service to them somehow, whether they remembered her or not, seemed like a slap in their predecessors’ faces. How could she admit to anything like that? Yet if Ougi no longer wanted their pact, where would Mii fit into her life anymore…?

Mii's grip loosened from around her yarn bundle, and she noticed, with disdain, the bent places of where her fingers had been. "Are you leaving?"

A pause. Mii's heart bounced between eardrum to eardrum.

Finally, Ougi responded, "No. No, I don't think I want to leave here necessarily. Or at least not forever. But I do think it would be nice to travel. See some other places. Learn a bit. And I thought…" her voice warbled for a split second, "it'd be nice to have you along, too. Not in my sword or whatever, but with me."

Mii smiled faintly. "Gardening together?"

"It doesn't have to be gardening. Unless you want to. You do have a forest growing out of your window."

"It's tame!" The window in question, or terrace actually, was the one connected to the dining area, fringed with orchid vines and strings of daylilies along the sill. Beyond the glass, first in sight, were the orange bushes and the rest was obscured by the distance. Eventually, Mii glanced back down to Ougi and shrugged. "It could be worse?"

"Fine, then we'll get a cottage with a huge garden and plenty of space."

What mirth their spontaneity spurred was sobered in an instant, and Mii's face fell. She fiddled with her hands as she spoke. "I… It does sound nice…"

Two smaller points pressed into her flesh. She could envision Ougi propped on her elbows. "But?"

"When you asked me that earlier," Mii continued, voice smaller, "I wanted to say that I did understand that feeling, because I've felt it before and I shouldn't. We who stray from the path—rarely any good comes from it. That's how the war happened. It's how I came to be."

"Mii, you are a good thing that happened from that. Just because some other god did that and fucked it up doesn't mean you trying would start the next Armageddon," Ougi said.

Mii’s smile grew with sincerity. “Thank you. I just mean I’m here because they needed me at that time, or at least they needed someone as a buffer between them and the other gods’ fighting. I came to you because I thought I could help you too, and by doing that, I’m still doing what I was meant to do,” she said. “But if you left to do something else, you wouldn’t need—”

There was another shove against her thigh that brought Mii’s gaze to Ougi, where she saw Ougi pushing her hand against her leg, face pinched and eyes alight.

"I want you there, Mii."

There it was again; the want instead of the need. Neither of them had ever thought about what they'd wanted until they'd come across one another it seemed. What Ougi proposed wasn't an entire uprooting but sounded more like a vacation of sorts. They could take their time away and simply just be. No deity, no future empress. Just Ougi and Mii. While she would never be able to erase her presence, she'd ventured enough to assimilate properly. Maybe it could work.

But people would always feel something was a bit off about her; a bit ethereal and uncanny, as most mortals did. They referred to it as a “sixth sense.” Though it wouldn't have been enough to have them treat her with any hostility or reverence.

Mii finally smoothed the remaining knots in her yarn, although instead of restarting her knitting, she set her loom aside. Her hands cupped around Ougi again. "I think you're allowed to be happy doing whatever you want," she whispered. "And if that's telling someone to stop stepping on your grass, that's okay."

"I didn't say I'd be that bad." Chuckling, Ougi nudged her shoulder into one of Mii's fingers. "What sort of mental image of me do you have in that fluffy head of yours, mikan?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Mii poked her. “Someone dependable? Someone who enjoys turning my furniture into tightrope walks?” She didn’t stop, even as Ougi half heartedly squirmed away from her prodding. “Someone cute and little right now?”

Ougi pursed her lips. “I’m not always cute?”  

“No, of course you are! I—” Stopping, noticing Ougi’s sly smirk, Mii pouted and pinched Ougi’s cheeks together. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that.”

The sigh Mii let slip allowed Ougi ample opportunity to slip from her grasp, sliding onto her feet then climbing atop the back of Mii’s hand. As Mii observed her, she was struck by her own fit of playfulness, and she turned over her hand slowly. It was enough to make Ougi totter and fall back into her palm instead of what she otherwise would have done, which was probably to venture onto Mii’s shoulder. Lifting her up, Mii transferred her to the table.

“If you—we—” she amended quickly at the downward slope in Ougi’s brows, “—ever went anywhere just to…be, I suppose, I still think I’d be able to answer to other people too. Maybe I can talk to more people too and let them know!” When Ougi’s expression still hadn’t changed, Mii shrunk back. “What?”

“That’s still you working, though.”

Eyes shifted, averting to the window, as Mii twirled her hair around her fingers. “It’s a little different for me. When others call on me and I don’t answer, they’ll eventually forget me and find someone else. As much as it would be nice to completely live like that, I…can’t. I’m scared I’ll disappear.” She met eyes with Ougi again and smiled, reaching out to rub her thumb against her cheek. “I know what you’re thinking. As long as there’s you, I won't disappear, and you’re right,” she added. “But I shouldn’t be your responsibility either. That would just make me another ‘duty,’ no?”

A minute of silence passed before Ougi said, “The things you gods have to do to exist sounds like it sucks.”

“Maybe so,” Mii replied, laughing slightly. “But then I get to meet you, so it’s not so bad, I’d say!”

With Ougi now on the table, she saw it as an opportunity to meander around the tools Mii had lying about. She weaved between peg to peg, careful when stepping over and around the curled threads. The last thing Mii wanted to see was Ougi trip and impale herself somehow. The pegs weren’t sharp per se, but they would still hurt to fall on when they were around hip height to Ougi. Someone would have said Mii could just fix any bleeding wound, and while true, that didn’t mean she wanted to do that any time soon.

As Mii watched, chin propped up with her palms, she was struck with the image of the finished scarf layered upon Ougi’s shoulders. When she’d first had the idea to make it, she’d wondered if Ougi would like those colors. Pink and lilac weren’t her usual. In fact, with the physical effort she did day in and day out, Mii couldn’t recall seeing her wear much of a scarf when the colder months drew near. The closest thing had been a neck gaiter, although they weren’t as wooled and thick.

But today, Ougi was in light colors, and they looked great on her—like she’d be plucked up from a meadow. A pink and lilac scarf would definitely suit her in the wintertime.

Ougi almost looked menacing as she picked up the crochet hook, flailing it around like she would have her katana, rotating her wrists and tapping at the pegs. Time away from her plane would have been nice, Mii thought.

In the past, she didn’t have nearly as much energy to stay on the material plane for longer than a few hours at the time. She’d mostly done so to spy on the people—or spy on Ougi before they’d known each other—but now that her influence had grown, did that mean Mii could remain there longer without breaking any rules? Over the course of her time with Ougi, Mii had grown more confident of fitting in with mortal ways—their speech, dichotomy, their values—yet there was still the matter of her presence.

However, Cameron stayed closest to the mortal plane all the time and it hadn’t caused any civil disturbances. Nothing more than a few at a time, really. Perhaps she would pay him a visit. If there was anyone who knew how to skate around the eyes of deities and mortals alike, it was him.

Something brushed against the side of her arm, and Mii glanced down to see Ougi seated beside her, hair tickling her skin. She still had the crochet hook in hand, but she let it rest against her lap while her eyes looked through the window. Mii turned her eyes to the window too.

“Do you really want to stop?” Mii whispered.

Ougi replied just as softly, “Yeah. For a little while.”

“And you still want me along as a…” —Companion? Partner? Oh gods, what were they?— “travel buddy? I can still keep you safe if we ever ran into anything—”

“Mii.”

“—I should still have enough strength if I pop in every now and then to check on others—”

“Mii.” Ougi’s tone of voice sounded as if she’d rolled her eyes.

Mii pouted. “I just wanted you to know I still can!”

“And I’m telling you to quit worrying you have to be useful all the time. It’s fine. You’re fine as you are. We both know you like it when I carry you around anyway.”

The flames from previous experience—of being palm-sized around Ougi rather than the opposite, held to Ougi’s chest—licked at Mii’s face and she covered her eyes with a squeak. Ougi’s laughter drowned whatever protest she would have given.

[cosmiceverafter]

20 for the touch asks?

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury

@chamblerstara / @manesalex - sorry this took me so long, but I hope you enjoy it. It was wonderful writing for our boys again. Thank you for the inspiration. ❤

***

I'll take care of you.

Alex missed Michael, which was why he had picked up a 6-pack from the local market and was now standing outside of the alien's trailer even though a windstorm had just passed through Roswell.

They were both single, and any time they were together, the air seemed to grow thick with desire. It was undeniable. Not that Alex wanted to deny it, not anymore.

It was crystal clear at this point that Alex's heart would always belong to Michael. Whether the alien felt the same...well, that's what Alex wanted to find out.

Taking a deep breath, he commanded his feet to step closer to the metal door. With a tap, tap, tap of his knuckles, Alex waited patiently.

After a moment, he heard a shuffle and then something dropping to the ground.

"Michael?" Alex called out, suddenly worried. When he didn't hear a reply, Alex pounded with his fist. "Michael, are you in there? Are you okay?"

Finally, he heard Michael say, "Alex, I'm fine. Just...come back later."

But Michael wasn't okay—Alex could tell by the tone of his hoarse voice. "Open the damn door, Michael."

When he heard a loud curse, the door opened up by itself with the help of his love's powers. It always sent a thrill through Alex to witness it.

Alex took all but two seconds to maneuver his body into the airstream, and that was when he saw Michael huddled over his small bed, shirtless with blood trailing down his back.

"Damn..." Alex hissed out as he took in the sight of the alien's body. He rushed over to Michael.

"I've been working out," Michael quipped, shifting to give Alex a half-grin.

Alex ignored Michael's deflecting. "What the hell happened, Guerin?"

Michael winced as he sat onto the bed, "Nothing. Just a stupid accident. It's fine."

"I swear to God, Michael—"

The alien put his hands up, "Okay, okay, Manes. Don't get your blood pressure cookin'."

Alex frowned, raising an eyebrow, "Well? Tell me."

Michael smirked and tilted his head to the side, "Yea' know, you're pretty sexy when you get in protective control mode."

Alex's heart fluttered, but he shook his head, getting even closer to Michael. "Please, just tell me what happened."

Michael's humorous expression fell. He glanced down at his hand, which Michael had finally uncovered, "I went out in the middle of the desert to analyze my new equipment, and it didn't go according to plan."

"Which equipment would that be?"

"I didn't tell you?" Michael asked, confused.

"No..." Alex answered, feeling put out over that fact. There had been a time not too long ago, where they were working closely together side-by-side. What had changed? And why did it hurt so badly that it was no longer the case?

Michael winced as he twisted his upper body to grab a wet rag. "I am trying to build a device, well, a pod-like type structure to communicate..." He suddenly looked up, and if Alex didn't know any better, embarrassment was showing upon Michael's handsome scruffy face.

"With your kind?"

"Somethin' like that."

With a reassuring smile, Alex sat on the far side of Michael's tiny bed, "That's amazing, Guerin. Any success so far?"

Michael shook his head in disappointment, his curls swaying, "I thought maybe I had gotten somewhere with the damn thing...I heard somethin', but just before I could examine what I was actually catching, that damn windstorm came out of nowhere and blew one of the metal rods directly onto my back."

Shit. "Did it break?"

"Yes, unfortunately. It got pretty messed up." Michael groaned and rubbed his hand over his face, "I clearly won't be attempting it again any time soon."

Michael stood up with a hard sigh and attempted to reach behind his back to wipe the cut.

"Can I help you?" Alex asked before he realized the words were out of his mouth.

Michael tensed but acknowledged Alex with a stiff nod, "Sure. Thanks."

Alex took a deep breath and stood up, taking the rag from Michael, trying to ignore the thrill he felt at their fingers touching. Only Michael made his body come alive like this—Alex never wanted the feeling to disappear.

Gently, Alex touched the rag onto the deep cut, and Michael hissed. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine," Michael responded. "Here, let me turn on a bit more light." With his powers, a lantern slowly illuminated the small space with a glow.

It was the first time, in far too long, that Alex could observe Michael's body properly. In the light, Michael's skin shone as the moon covers the sand with sparkling dust. His beautiful curls twisted and turned, capturing the light as it touched his soft tan neck.

Alex swallowed and demanded his attention to Michael's injury. With deliberate action on his part, Alex wiped the blood away and could see Michael gripping at his jeans. "Maybe we should have Kyle come look at this. You may need stitches."

"Nah, it's late, and the good doctor probably has far more important patients to look after."

But you are important, Alex wanted to say.

"Besides," Michael added, turning his head, looking Alex up-and-down, "I'm obviously in good hands here."

"We'll see about that," Alex replied with a laugh. "It's been some time since I've had to put my first-aid skills to the test."

"But you learned the skills, right?"

"Yup, in the military, we're trained in all areas."

"Mmm," Michael murmured, "no wonder you're so talented with those hands."

This. This right here was what Alex missed. The playful banter between the two, with that suggestive flirting. It came so naturally to them both, and Alex wanted to soak it up like a sponge. "Hush, let me finish."

"Yes, sir," Michael laughed, swirling back around. Michael propped his muscular arms up against the wall in front of him and bowed his head down.

Alex had to keep reminding himself that Michael was injured and now was not the time to think what he was so desperately imagining at that moment. But it was challenging with Michael bent over like that, his backside so close to the front of Alex's pants.

It had been so long since they had been together like that. Only in Alex's dreams did he allow himself to travel into the memory of bliss once more.

"Okay," Alex said, breaking the silence, "can you sit back on the bed?" He cleared his throat, hoping Michael couldn't hear how low his voice had become. "I'm going to bandage you up now."

Michael glanced back at him as if he caught on to Alex's dirty ideas and nodded, "Yup, I can do that." He sat down and pointed to the dresser, "The bandage is in the first drawer."

"Thanks," Alex said, stepping in front of Michael to retrieve the bandage. When he picked it up, Alex noticed a picture underneath.

It was of them, younger in the desert. Alex was holding his guitar, and Michael was smiling as he stared over at him. Alex could remember the exact day, it had been a lovely day between them, and Alex's chest suddenly felt tight.

"You okay?" Michael asked from behind him.

Alex nodded, not trusting his voice as a wave of emotion came over him. The past connected them, and Alex wondered if the future was theirs for the taking or if they would forever remain in the memories.

"Alex?"

Gripping the bandage, Alex turned around, holding the photograph of them in his other hand, "The picture of us in the desert."

"Oh, yeah," Michael's mouth fell open in surprise. "I forgot I put it in there."

"You kept it, after all this time?"

"Of course I did," Michael replied with a shrug. "We don't have many together."

"Well, we should change that," Alex instantly responded.

"Yeah, I think we should." Michael smiled that beautiful smile of his and laughed, "Should we start now? This moment is quite the experience to share with the world—your incredible wrapping skills and my epic loss to the windstorm."

"It would give the people of Roswell something to talk about," Alex added as he joined in with laughter. "That's for sure."

"As if they need more to discuss. Hell, we have enough tourists trying to spot little green aliens!"

Alex smirked, "I'll just add the caption, 'Just wrapping up a cowboy alien, who's anything but green. How's your night going?'"

"Yee-haw! I like it!" Sharing a good laugh, Alex put the picture back into the drawer and closed his eyes, hoping for more moments shared such as these.

Beyond the humor, it wasn't a deep conversation of their future together, but it was, in fact, a door opening.

Feeling a deep sense of relief, Alex finally came back towards Michael and sat behind him. Letting his abilities take over, he started wrapping the bandage around Michael, allowing his fingers to trail over Michael's chest greedily. The light moment between them had shifted; now, another emotion took its place.

Alex pushed up closer to Michael's back, and he could smell Michael's scent: Bourbon, rust, and rain. It was 100% Michael, and it felt like coming home.

Michael sighed and seemed to lean back without even recognizing he was moving. Alex steadied him and peered down at Michael's back. The bandage covered the injury nicely, and Alex's lips hovered just above Michael's skin. He wanted nothing more than to press a soft kiss right there as he had so many times before.

The alien trembled as if he could sense what Alex desired. The invisible string that pulled Alex in was a smooth ride; pulling away was the challenging resistance.

"All finished."

Michael turned to face Alex, and his fingers grazed the back of Alex's hand. "Thank you. I appreciate those gifted hands of yours."

Alex beamed, enjoying the compliment probably a bit too much, "Anytime." He meant it. Alex would always be there for Michael.

They gazed at each other, which felt like an eternity and a flash of a second all in one. It was so easy to get lost in those eyes.

Finally, Michael shook his head and moved away, snapping Alex out of his trance, "Sorry, I didn't even ask why you stopped by tonight."

"I just wanted to see you," Alex answered truthfully. "I even brought you something you like."

"What is that? You?"

Alex blushed, but luckily it was still too dark in the airstream for Michael to witness, "A delicious elixir of sorts." He nodded towards the beer.

"Not as good, but a very close second," Michael laughed as he set his warm hand on Alex's leg. "You're so thoughtful, Manes."

"What can I say? I try to be," Alex said, raising an eyebrow. The flirting was strong tonight, not that Alex was complaining.

"Who knew you'd have to take care of an alien instead?"

"I didn't mind," Alex shrugged. "Truly."

Michael squeezed Alex's leg and bit into his lip. His expression was somewhat changing, "I have something to ask you."

"Okay...shoot."

"Will you help me?"

"I thought I already had." Michael narrowed his eyes, and Alex smirked, "Help you with what, Michael?"

"With my communicator? I can't do it alone, and with my genius of a brain and those magnificently talented hands of yours, I think we could create some magic here." Yes, they could. In more ways than one. Getting serious, Michael looked down at the blanket on his bed, "I should've asked you a while ago."

"You're asking me now. That's what matters," Alex replied. "I would love to help create with you, Guerin."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say."

Alex smiled, feeling love for Michael pour out of his heart. He would create it all with Michael if only given a chance to do so. "While you rest that shoulder of yours, explain your vision, and we'll go from there."

Michael returned the grin and started expressing what he imagined within that brilliant mind of his, never faltering and never losing the gleam in his eyes.

This moment was proof that even though they had been through hell and back, the two of them could face any challenge—weather any storm.

Together, Michael and Alex could conquer the galaxy as long as they had each other.

[idratherdreamofjune]

@sunheart wrote in her tags on another post:

Genuinely hate being alive ... I completely understand on so many levels why you would hate being a woman. Its horrible. And then as a Christian there's this whole really ugly dynamic- that i know is probably a lie i just haven't worked out how yet- that we're the 2nd best. The afterthought. The mediocre option. Almost everything in life men are better at and it's hard to believe it's just cultural-  math logic leadership writing cooking writing physical activities on and on, and women are good at being Nice :)   Which ok i like being nice   but it's like that's my only option   I feel like any other impact i might wish to have upon the world   will be paltry in comparison to what i could do   if only i was a man.   I feel incompetent. Irrational. Emotional. Obnoxious.   I feel like I'm supposed to be a plaything for the beings that were *actually* created to be in harmony with God   like I'm not supposed to have a connection with God-  only through my husband   which what does that make me as a single childless bitch?   I can't even fulfill the main point of my existence. Jesus interacted with women but did he care about them like he did the men? David and John were named his favorites not Deborah or Hannah. And like i said i'm sure none of that's true but i don't know how and it feels awful. hate it.

   Hopefully others have shared encouragement on this already, but just in case I wanted to give some thoughts. Please know that if I sound riled at all (and I’m going to try to avoid that) I’m not upset at anyone who feels this way but am deeply upset by the enemy’s lies that so many are hurt by. As a younger believer I did struggle with some of these questions myself, and for a long time it was difficult to reconcile these concerns with the promises that God loves me.

   Your instincts are right - it is a lie that women are second best. And before I go any further let me also agree that yes, we are physically weaker than men and have other weaknesses too. But since when has weakness meant that someone is any way “less than” others? Men have weaknesses too, just different ones. That’s the nature of humanity: every person is a mixed bag of strengths and weaknesses. I’ve never heard before that men are better at cooking?? My dad literally struggles to cook a hotdog in the microwave and has never touched a grill in his life. And okay men may (possibly, not sure on this one either) be inherently better at math, but which gender is drastically underrepresented in the nursing field? I suspect there are fewer male teachers, too, though not as huge a disparity. Men are more prone to recklessness and violence - part of the reason married men live longer (gotta get that stable influence). Again yes men are physically stronger but have you watched ballet dancers (oooh i mean ballerinas, sorry there’re so few ballerinos that I forgot to differentiate) or female gymnasts? Nothing “less than” there! The famous Proverbs 31 woman is a good insight into Biblical support of female abilities and value: “strength and dignity are her clothing”, “she opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” “Let her works praise her in the gates.” (The gates were essentially the city hall or forum of ancient Israel.)

   Going back to the beginning - women were created second, true. But did God not know His own plan? He was always going to create women. And the really amazing thing that I learned in the last couple of years is that, when God says He’s going to make Adam “a helper” (Hebrew ”ezer”), that’s the same word that is used to describe God’s actions for His people throughout the Old Testament: - Exodus 18:4 “The God of my father was my help.” - 1 Samuel 7:12 “Ebenezer” means “rock of help” and is a memorial of Yaweh’s help. - Psalm 30:10 “Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper!” - Psalm 115:11 “You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord, He is their help and their shield” - Psalm 121:2 “My help comes from the Lord” - Hosea 13:9 “‘You are against Me, against your helper.’“

It is a common word for “help” used in other settings, yes, but the fact that it’s used of God illustrates that this is no poor or second-rate role. Helping - aiding - supporting - incredibly important! In fact this article I just found puts it this way:

In two cases it refers to the first woman, Eve, in Genesis 2. Three times it refers to powerful nations Israel called on for help when besieged. In the sixteen remaining cases the word refers to God as our help. He is the one who comes alongside us in our helplessness. That's the meaning of ezer. Because God is not subordinate to his creatures, any idea that an ezer-helper is inferior is untenable. In his book Man and Woman: One in Christ, Philip Payne puts it this way: "The noun used here [ezer] throughout the Old Testament does not suggest 'helper' as in 'servant,' but help, savior, rescuer, protector.'

   Moving on to the New Testament, and the topic of John, who is known as “the disciple whom Jesus loved”. John is the one who wrote the book which tells us that (under the direction of the Holy Spirit, yes) and he only uses that wording as a title, in place of his name. Nowhere does it say he was the favorite disciple, or even most loved, just that he was loved. To me it seems more as if John is saying “Jesus loved me! Can you believe it?!” It has a feeling of awe and thankfulness as opposed to superiority.

  Getting into marriage specifically, I do believe that a wife should be under the headship of her husband ...mainly in the sense of letting him have the last word on decisions and plans. This is in part due to differing areas of strength, and in part because in some situations it’s better to have a family leader - most groups of humans need a leader, and following an assigned (or picked) leader does not make one inferior. All that being said, a wife should be able to provide input, advice, and feedback to her husband, who should take into strong consideration his wife’s needs, insights, and concerns (Ephesians 5:25-29).

   The lie that women cannot be connected to God outside of their husband is refuted not only by all the vibrantly faithful single or windowed Christian ladies of history (Amy Carmichael, Gladys Aylward, Mary Slessor, and Elisabeth Elliot are some of my favorites) but also Scripture itself. When Christ spoke with the divorced Samaritan woman the disciples were shocked not because she was a Samaritan but because she was a woman (John 4:27; she was shocked on both counts - John 4:9) - I hope they got used to it because Jesus spoke with women a lot. Despite the culture of the time, Jesus clearly had very warm and caring direct relationships with Martha and Mary, Mary Magdalene, and other women. Anna the Prophetess in the temple had been widowed for decades and was serving God alone “night and day” (Luke 2:37). Incredibly, in a culture where women were looked down upon, the Lord chose women to be the first to discover the empty tomb, and Mary Magdalene to be the first to see the risen Christ! I love that passage so much (John 20:11-18).

   Another example is when Jesus stopped on His way to heal Jairus’ daughter (i.e. He put aside a powerful man’s urgent request) to lovingly interact with the woman who’d suffered bleeding for years - a terribly personal and female problem (Mark 5:21-35).

   To try to wrap up, I’ll return to David in the OT, who was a “man after God’s own heart”. But again, it doesn’t say that he was actually a favorite - it does say David was chosen by God though, to lead Israel and establish the family from which Jesus would ultimately come. You know who else was chosen? Esther - “for such a time as this”. Once she realizes the task she must complete, she tells Mordecai how it’s going to go, and “Mordecai then went away and did everything Esther had ordered him.” Esther gets a book named after her and is remembered in the holiday of Purim to this day. Also note that Esther was married to an unbeliever. Likewise Ruth was chosen, as a young foreign widow, to be part of the Messiah’s kingly line. As an aside, my favorite thing about Ruth’s story (besides all the faith and beauty of it) is the simultaneous deep respect and protectiveness Boaz shows towards her (okay enough mush). Anyhow what it comes down to is that God chooses and loves both men and women, and both have a place (singly and married) in His plans and kingdom. See also Galatians 3:28 “ There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

   This post has all over the place, and I probably forgot a bunch of things I wanted to add (if anything else comes to mind I’ll add it later), but I hope it’s been encouraging. Yes I’ve struggled with some aspects of how women are portrayed in the Bible, but what I shared above, plus the love and blessings I’ve known as a single woman are more than enough evidence that we are known and loved. If anything is unclear or anyone has any questions please speak out/send an ask! Anon asks are on too. Also if anyone wants to add or amend anything do so without hesitation!!

[lizhly-writes]

i do not have anything very new for you this week.  i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite.  i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her.  to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long. 

Why’s it so fucking loud.  Who’s screaming bloody murder in here?  Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better.  If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed?  You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair.  It better not be vomit.  Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me.  “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes.  Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really?  Wow!  Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet.  Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar.  Did I get run over by a carriage or something too?  I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.  

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that.  Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it.  The aesthetic here is… really something.  Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now.  I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over.  No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right.  If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me.  Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something.  Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is.  Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose.  Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice.  Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face.  The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes.  Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull.  It’s a wonder he still has them!  Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt.  Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him.  But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid.  You might have a concussion.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding.  A lot.”

…Hmm.  

“Am I?” I say.  I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah.  My fingers come away red.  

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound.  Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed.  Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say.  “Lil later, then.”  After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch.  Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though.  He ain’t wrong.   I know how head wounds work.  But those rules on what to do with them?  That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please.  Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.  

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of.  So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever.  Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?  

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand.  Real fancy, real nice to look at.  Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to.  Nice little add-on, this.  I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power.  Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do.  That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.  

The face he’s making is probably hilarious.  It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that.  If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm.  How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin.  And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.  

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth.  “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot.  I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it?  It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order.  The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear.  Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying.  There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for.  It should be gone.  Is it not physical damage, then?  What, is it psychosomatic or something?  That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking.  “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest.  He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently.  “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university.   Not even close.  Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up.  Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear.  Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here.  Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No.  I should have noticed that before, too.  I don’t pass out.  Alcohol fucks me up, sure.  But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious.  I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now.  I didn’t go out drinking last night.  No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me.  I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead. 

But I didn’t get to that part.  The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing.  That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something.  I know I am.   It’s pissing me off.   

That fuckwad.  What did he do?  Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight.  If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor.  I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know?  You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please.  Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say.  “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth.  Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth.  It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked.  But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing.  There’s a name he whispers: Allison.  But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece.  I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where?  It doesn’t matter.  I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building.  Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country.  An entirely different world.

How long was I out?  Am I missing memories?  What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started.  He can’t have just coincidentally run into me.  He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up.  It doesn’t matter which.  Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet.  And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on.  Say it.  I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen.  I’m looking forward to it, actually!  Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness.  How pretty.  How valuable.  Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color.  Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

[mywonuderful]

Close Strangers

Summary: You recently move in to a new condo complex, finding that a very attractive neighbor lived beside you. You’ve encountered each other multiple times, exchanging shy glances blushes and conversation and before you know it, you’ve fallen head over heels for your next door tenant. The new years is coming up, which you’ve spend either video calling your parents or alone for the most part, but the ending of this year and the beginning of the next is sure a surprise.

Pairing: Optional Male Bias (H/N) X Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff, and poorly attempt of humor

Warnings: Drinking

A/N: Happy new year everyone! 2020 has been a year filled with the unexpected, upside downs and rollercoaster rides but with the start of 2021, let’s all stay positive, healthy and make lots of memorable memories. I hope everyone has a wonderful start of the new year!

main masterlist

You knew he did the big three (squats, deadlifts and bench press) by the way he walked passed the front gate security, nodding a ‘hello’ before flashing his charming smile to whoever passed him as he walked back to his unit. It’s been almost a year since you moved into your new home, and also almost a year since you’ve fell for him; your extremely attractive next door neighbor. You were leaning against your balcony railing, sipping on your hot drink while following his small figure from your floor. Despite living on a higher level, the veins on his arms and hands popping out were still visible through his thick sweater where his sleeves were pulled up, holding the packed bags of groceries. 

You’d be lying if all those times you coincidently bump into him in the halls or the elevator weren't planned, trying the start a conversation with him to only chicken out, stuttering majority of the time as you sound like a blabbering mess. Sometimes you’ll see his blurred figure on the balcony beside yours through the frosted glass screen as you find yourself unconsciously heading out, sitting on your patio couch, reading your novel, looking at the sky or people watching with his presence of him typing on his laptop which you found oddly relaxing. It was new year’s eve, a normal day for you where the most you did on this day was video call your parents. But this year, you decided to add a little spark to the last day of the year, which was attempting to cook yourself dinner, something you don’t find your most confident. You decided to do some shopping before supermarket closed early. You threw on a sweater and some pants before putting on a jacket, closing the door behind you. As you turned around, you saw the elevator doors open, like the gates to heaven were opening, as he walked out, eyes raising to meet yours before his lips curved up into a smile, his eyes crinkled making your heart flutter. You smiled, walking towards the elevator.

“Good afternoon.” His slowed down his steps as the two of you approached each other.

“Good afternoon.” You replied, eyes tracing down on his white knuckles from clutching onto the bags. “Do you need some help?”

“It’s okay. I’m almost there anyways.” His eyes followed yours. You looked back up, seeing his smile which definitely had a different affect up close.

“Are you sure?” You tried asking once more, seeing that one of the bags were on the edge of ripping. Right as he was about to open his mouth and decline, the bag ripped as vegetables bounced onto the floor, rolling off into different directions. “Well, it seems like there’s no deny for needing help now.” You chuckled as he followed.

 “Let me drop off these bags first.” He quickly walked to his door, entering in his passcode before dropping them in the doorway, helping to pick up the fallen veggies.

“Are you throwing a party or something? This is enough to for a feast.” You questioned as you picked up what seemed to be a never ending motion of standing up and kneeling down. He laughed at your comment, kneeling down beside you to pick up the last bits. You turned to the last one as both of you reach out for it, his hand landing on top off yours before you retreated, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Thanks.” He said, standing back up. You placed the vegetables in the bag he opened up for you. “I just bought extras since the supermarkets won't be opening until a few days after new years.” He explained. “Are you headed out to a gathering?” He questioned, seeing you ready to head out.

“Oh no. I’m just headed out to get some groceries before they close.” His mouth parts as he lets out a silent ‘ah,’ nodding along. “Well...”

“Well...” You mirrored, finding yourself in an awkward silence, staring at the floor as he looked around the hall as if it was his first time being here. “I’ll be going then.”

“Be careful.” He watched you click the elevator button before heading back into his home. Once you heard his door lock, you couldn’t help but to break out into a smile, from his words that probably didn’t much. Your steps were light to the grocery store, feeling cheery as you hummed while shopping.

---

“Okay... This can’t be too hard.” You mumbled as you placed your laptop with the recipe on the kitchen counter, putting on an apron before tying your hair up. You settled on making a 'one sheet pan dinner' recipe that highlighted 'fail-proof, lazy, quick and easy' which sold you away, feeling hopeful that it'll turn out well. You walked over to the living room, opening the curtains to the beautiful sight of the sun setting. One of the things you've loved about your condo unit aside from the fact that your dream man whom you barely know lives beside you and the fact that you have a breathtaking view of the sky, being able to see the sunset or rise was one of the main reason you sit out on your balcony so much. You opened the door to your balcony for some fresh air when your nose was filled with a delicious scent of meat and baked potatoes. You couldn't tell where it was from but the scent was sure strong enough that you almost wanted to drown yourself in that smell. Returning back to your kitchen, you started prepping your ingredients, off to a good start. You seasoned the meat, veggies and seafood when you froze, coming to realize that you forgot the potatoes. You could’ve just moved on, substituting it with another option but you had a sudden crave for it. You pondered for a few minutes before recalling that your neighbor, H/N bought a whole bag of potatoes.

‘He won’t be using all of the potatoes today right?’ You thought to yourself. You placed the pan into the oven first, so the food could start roasting while you fought between your two choices: ask Mr. Handsome or go craving for your sudden want of potatoes. You washed your hands before putting on your shoes, walking over next door before lightly knocking on his door. You heard faint holiday music behind his door before he opened it, a wave of flavorful aroma hitting your noise. “Is there something wrong?” You stared at his features. “Oh, sorry. My music must’ve been too loud.” You blinked yourself back to reality. “No no!” You said rather too loudly. “I couldn’t hear it. Don’t worry.” You reassured as he smiled, letting out a relieved laugh. “Um... I was wondering if you have any extra potatoes I could use.” “For sure. How many do you need?”  “2, if it isn’t too much to as for.” He nodded, heading into his kitchen as you took a peek into his apartment. It had a minimalistic vibe with a pop of colours here and there. As you eyes were about to wandering in more, his figure appeared before your eyes, passing you a bag. “Here you go. I washed a few extras so they’re already clean.” You took the bag, fingers brushing against each other for a split second as both glanced at each other before he let out a chuckle as his cheeks started tinted red. Yours following because of how adorable he looked. “Thank you.” You managed to speak through your pounding heart. “Do you have guests over?” “Guests? No, I just thought I’d make myself a nice dinner.” He spoke, you nodding. ‘Ask him over for dinner!’ a part of your mind spoke. You shook your head, getting rid of the weird thoughts as your eyes met his, eyes confused on why you were shaking your head. “And what about you?” “Same here. Except, I’m attempting to make myself dinner.” The both of you broke out into laughter. “Sounds like fun. Maybe the both- is something burning?” He stopped mid way of his question when both your noses lingered the scent of odor of burnt food. You eyes widen, remembering that you were roasting your dinner. You quickly ran back into your apartment and kitchen, to see that there was heavy clouds of smoke coming out of the oven. “Oh no!” You yelled, opening the oven door before involuntarily sticking your hand towards the pan to pull it out without wearing gloves before a shock of pain travelled to your hand as you pulled it back, shaking it frantically. You turned on the tap of cold water before running your hand under it, hissing as the pain still remained. There was motion of someone fanning something in the corner of you eyes when you turned your head, to see that H/N was not only in your home but also very sexily fanning the smoke alarm so that it doesn’t go off, alarming the whole condo complex. He dropped the rolled up magazine before running over to you. “Are you alright?” His hand wrapped around your wrist as he took a look at your redden hand. The pain started increasing as you scrunched your face, telling to hold in everything that you can to scream in pain. “This doesn’t look too good.”

---

You found yourself in a situation that happened all in a flash. One minute you were outside H/N’s door and the next moment, he’s sudden in your home, sitting on your couch with his first aid kit as he started putting on ointment on your injury. Your eyes went up to his face, which was dangerously close to yours as he dabbing some medication on your palm before you moaned, feeling the burning and irritating on your burned skin. “Sorry. Does it hurt?” His head shot up to yours. His voice was soft and his eyes filled with worried made you almost wanted to cause a dramatic scene. “Just a little bit.” You whispered. His touch was gentle as he wrapped a bandage around your hand. “Thanks.” “No worries. It might take a while to heal. It looked pretty bad.” He said, eyes lingered on your covered hand before up to you. “Sorry to bother you like this.” You felt guilty for taking up some of his time in the evening when he could be enjoying his fancy dinner. “If there’s anything I can do in retur-” “It’s no worry. I was the one who wanted to help you.” He avoided your eyes as your heart started skipping again. The two of you remained quiet, staring away from each other as his eyes looked around your simple and cozy home. “Do you.... By any chance want to have dinner with me?” Surprised, you turned to look at him. “I mean... You can’t really cook with your hand looking like that and my co-worker cancelled on my last minute so I made enough servings for 2 people...” He started rambling along, you finding it cute as you let out a laugh without thinking. “I can probably just order some take out.” You said, half wanting to accept his offer. “I’m technically already finished with cooking and all. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” He voice was soft, with a hint of desperation. “Well... I guess I can’t turn down a delicious meal.” You said after ‘thinking’ about it. His eyes sparkled from you answer as he stood up. “Would you like to come over to my place or would you want me to bring the dishes here?” “Either is fine with me. Whatever works better for you.” You smiled, looking up to him. “I’ll bring the dishes over then.” He left. You sat there, in confusion on why he wouldn’t just invite you over to his place since that’ll save so much more of the hassle and all. But then again, you were extremely thrilled that you were about to have dinner with your long-term crush. He laid out a line full of dishes before your eyes. He sat on the seat across from you as you both exchanged awkward glances before breaking out into shy laughs and smiles. “Would you like some wine?” You offered, seeing that the only drink on the table was water. He smiled, nodding as you stood up, heading over your wine cooler. “Wow. I didn’t except you to be a wine drinker.” He commented as you pulled out the trays of wine.  “I know a thing or two about it. Is there anything you’ll like in particular?” Your hands hovered over the rows of wine, seeing what catches your eye. You did study wine in the past, as a hobby since you loved winding down to some good wine.

“How about Pinot Noir?” He suggested, as your eyebrow rose as the perfect wine came to your mind. You looked up, seeing that the bottle was at the very top. You tippy toed, trying to reach for it before a hand overlaps yours. You backed out, out of panic, hitting your back on his very toned and firm chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there. Thought you needed some help.” He took the wine down. Your cheeks burning red as you touched them, hoping it’ll do any good to cool them down. “This is one of my favorite brands. I guess we have some things in common.” He chuckled. You brought over the wine glasses before he popped it open, pour you a glass before himself. “Cheers.” He held up his glass, the both of you toasting before digging in.

“This is amazing. Your co-worker is missing out on this.” You complimented as you sliced the meat, seeing how tender and perfectly cooked it was. “It’s nothing special.” He laughed as he took a sip from his glass. “I might need to start taking lessons from you.” You teased as you shared a light laugh, feeling a sense on comfort. “Anytime.”  You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at his offer as you thought to yourself how lucky you were. “Do you normally spend new year’s eve with your co-workers or friends?” You questioned, seeing if he would bring up his significant other, if he had one. “No, I usually spend new year’s alone. My co-worker and I planned on having dinner together but he canceled last minute, saying that his wife was coming back from overseas.” Your ears tingled as you heard ‘he.’ “You don’t have a girlfriend?” You daringly asked as he eyes glanced at you before looking away. You couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if it was the wine. But nonetheless, it sure did something to your feels. “O-Oh.... No, no I don’t.” He confessed as a wave of relief washed over you. “What about you? About spending new years that is.” “I usually spend them alone as well.” You answered with him looking at you. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” You laughed as you felt him asking that question through his eyes. He leaned back on the chair with a small nod and a “I see.”

The both of you finished dinner, fighting over who cleans the dishes. You won over him, as he sat on your couch, watching you as you washed the dishes. You felt his stare as you tried to remain focus, looking down on the sink to finish up rinsing the dishes. You sliced some fruits and bought out some dessert, placing them on a tray before bringing them out to the coffee table. “I normally have a sweet tooth after dinner so...” You trailed off his his eyes scanned the tray of desserts. “I love sweets.” The rest of the night, you both started sharing common interest, way more than you thought. “It’s been a year since you’ve moved in? I thought it was longer.” He refilled his glass of wine. “Right? I guess time flies when you’re in a comfortable place.” You smiled, looking around your home. “I still recall the first day you moved in.” He sudden spoke, as your eyes widen, the embarrassing memories coming back to you. On the first day you moved in, you tried to open the door of your home when it wouldn’t turn unlock, making you juggle, shake and whack around the key hole violently out of frustration. You turned around, seeing a man standing there staring at you as you realized that you were putting your keys into the room unit. Later on that day, you were handing out gifts to your new neighbors as you knocked on the door next to your, where you also tore down. The door opened as you were faced with the man from earlier, your eyes filled with horror and confusion because your landlord told you that a female lived next door. You handed him the gift, telling him to pass it on to the female tenant when he told you that he was the tenant living there, as he opened the present, pulling out a laced blouse.

“Hey, I was informed by the landlord that the person who was living next door was a lady who apparently shared many common interest with me! I thought you were her boyfriend or something.” You confessed as he started laughing. You stared at him for a second before laughing along, retracing the memories. “Well, she’s only right for the second half.” “Why do you still even remember it? I wish I could erase it from my memory forever.” “I mean you left quite the impression.” Your eyes fluttered up, feeling guilty. “That wasn’t meant to be an insult. I have seen anyone like you so it was quite refreshing and adorable.” Your mind couldn’t settle as his voice saying ‘adorable’ repeated in your head a thousand times.  After the two of you settled down, you turned on the TV, displaying that there was about 10 minutes left until the new year. There was a crowd of people in front of the town hall, where faces of couples, children and people happily smiling were shown on the screen. “I had a wonderful time today.” He turned to face you as you place down your half eaten cookie. “Me too. I realized how boring it can be being alone on new year’s eve... Or just any occasion honestly.” His eyes met yours before smiling. “But having dinner with you today was sure one of the highlights of my year.” “Likewise. I’m always a door away. So you’re welcome to stop by and chat no matter what time or day it is.... Just as long as I’m home and awake.” He laughed at the last part, you taking a mental note of it.

“Your company on the balcony is what make me feel like I have someone with me, even though they don’t see or realize it.” You suddenly confessed, regretting it after the words left your mouth. “Sorry I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.” “No, it’s alright. I see you out in the balcony reading sometimes so I work outside too. I mean, the company is nice.” Your ears couldn’t believe what they heard as the both of you fell into a deep shade of red. You stared at the TV, not knowing where to look as the both of you would catch each other giving each other shy glances.

“10! 9! 8!” People were screaming on the TV screen, counting down the remaining seconds of the year. “Shall we share a toast?” He stood up as you followed, holding up your glasses. “7! 6! 5!” “To a brightful start of the new year.” He said and you copied. “4! 3! 2!” “And a hopeful, promising future for the both of us,” He smiled, your heart was pounding like crazy as you followed his words. “1! Happy new year!” Couples kissing where shown on the screen as you and H/N stared at each other, holding up your glasses. He was looking at you as you looked at him, in shock and confusion with your heart almost jumping out of your chest.  “together.” He said with a gentle smile, lifting his glass towards yours. “together.” You smiled in return, as your glasses clinked together. 

And you knew for a fact that the new year was sure going one filled with heart fluttering surprises, events and memories with your next door tenant.

[rantingwriter]

Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) pt. 4

Trigger Warning: strong language, long hospital stay, and angst if you squint.

“No, I’m serious,” You are laughing so hard you nearly drop the little brush you were using to paint your nails. You were listening to your fellow patient and quickly rising to new friend status, Hime, tell you and another patient you were starting to befriend named Ayame, about the time a patient went up to every female therapist and asked them out. “I watched this guy go up to Yumi and ask if he could have her number. When she said no, because he is her patient, without missing a beat he asked her.” She takes on the pose the guy pulled during the exchange and mimics the voice as closely as possible, “so when I leave on Friday I can come back and ask again? And at that same moment, her husband walks in and says-”

“You’ll have to buy dinner for three then.” Yumi had been listening and helped to finish the story. 

Hime fake gasps in shock, “you stole the best part!” 

The whole table laughs and the nice recreation therapist takes a look at your progress. “Very nice, I like the colors you chose.” You had gone with your favorite color and added a neat little sticker to both middle fingers. 

“Thanks, I wanted to flip people off with style,” you half joke as you blow at the polish to speed up the drying process. 

She chuckles, “I’ll have to keep that one in mind next time I get mine done. How about you two?” She looks between Ayame and Hime to check their progress. 

“I kept it simple with a dark blue, [y/n] promised to help with my hand.” Hime was missing an arm and had gauze around half of her face. The doctors still don’t know if her eye will be fully functioning or if she will need to be fitted for a glass one once they remove the gauze. “It’s been a royal pain trying to paint my toenail instead of my whole toe.” 

“It’ll take time to adjust, but you did really well.” Yumi praises.

“I went with teal and tried that crackle stuff,” Ayame holds her hand up as high as she can. She had a spinal injury that affected her upper body. She was working to regain mobility, but it was still unclear if she would ever regain all of it or just part of it. She still has a molded jacket on so she can only focus on her arms for now anyways.  

Yumi leans forward to get a closer look, “Very nice, much better than last time,” you can hear how excited she is to see the progress. “Maybe next time we can try those stamps.” 

“We’ll see,” she rests her hands fully on the table and hefts a sigh. “It’s still hard to hold my arms up for longer than a few seconds.” 

“Remember when you started? You couldn’t hold up your wrist, you are doing great and don’t you forget it. Same goes for you two, I’ve heard you started standing without the parallel bars [y/n].” 

You nod in confirmation, “they still need to adjust my prosthetic, or I’ll be pulling a Captain Morgan every time I stand up.” This gets a chuckle from the people who drank rum or at least seen the commercials. “Once the adjustment is made, Mayu told me we would try walking.” 

“I wish you luck, I’ll be rooting for you.” She holds her arms up like she is going to start a cheer. 

“Miss? Can you show me how this works again?” A man at another table waves to catch Yumi’s attention. 

“Be right there! Keep up the good work,” with that the young woman hurries over to help the other patients. 

“Alright, I think my nails are dry enough now.” You pick up the bottle Hime had been using and gesture for her to hold her hand out. 

She does so and Ayame takes the chance to ask, “so, what’s the deal with you and that Hawks guy?” 

You shrug, “he just likes to visit, why do you ask?” Your gaze never leaves your task as you speak.

“Rumor has been going around that you two are dating,” your hand jerks up and you end up painting part of Hime’s pinky. 

“What? That’s ridiculous,” you quickly grab a cloth to wipe away the excess. Unaware that your cheeks are burning hot with a blush. “Why would I be dating a pro hero?” 

“He is easy on the eyes, could probably get you anywhere you want to go for free, and on the top ten leaderboard. Sounds like a good deal to me,” Hime comments, earning a slight deadpanned look from you.

“He barely has enough free time to make visits, I highly doubt he has the time to date. Besides, he is the guy who crashed into me and gave me a concussion, not exactly the best first impression.” You try to wave it off, but deep down a small bud of feelings was starting to grow for the winged hero. “If anything, I appreciate him for his help and would be happy to have him as a friend...for free trips.” You add on the last part quickly earning a snicker from the two girls. The group wraps up shortly after you finish Hime’s hand, the three of you go your separate ways to rest up before the afternoon groups. You weren’t expecting to make friends while you were hospitalized, but the three of you ended up bonding rather quickly. Both girls were like you, they were here because of that villain attack. Their injuries were different, but they understood the frustration and the struggle better than anyone. It has really helped you, especially on the days where you feel like you can’t get out of bed. As you roll into your room, a faint tap on your window alerts you to a visitor. You sigh a chuckle as you open up the window for Hawks to come in. “You know, they have this magical entrance known as a door.” 

He rolls his eyes, holding in a smile as he sets a bag of food down on the little table. “Where’s the fun in that?” He tugs his gloves off and shucks off his jacket. “It’s getting warmer and warmer out there,” he is visibly sweating and his messy, windswept hair is clinging to his forehead. He fans himself with a wing as he flops into the chair near your bed, “what have you been up to?” 

“Just finished up a group,” you show off your nails, he nods idly as he looks at them. 

“That’s considered therapy?” 

“Well, I only went because two of my new friends were going and they needed it more than me.” You hefted yourself into your bed, “remember the girls I told you about last time you were here?” 

“Hime and Ayame?” You nod in confirmation. 

“Yumi said it’s good practice for them to work on smaller, more precision based tasks.”

“I guess it makes sense when you spin it that way.” 

You nod again and peek into the bag he brought. “Did you buy one of everything off the menu?” 

He laughs and shakes his head, “no, I thought about it, but no.” He grabs the container taking up most of the bag. “I figured we could share.” He opens it up to show it holds fried chicken. 

“Is that all you eat? I feel like you bring fried chicken every time.” 

“No, it’s my favorite, but I eat other stuff too.” His feathers ruffle up and his cheeks puff out, you can’t help the bubble of laughter at the sight. “If you don’t like it, I’ll jus-” You snatch a piece before he can pull it out of reach.

“I didn’t say that,” he snickers as you take a huge bite. “Anything is better than hospital food.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” he uses his feathers to move the table so you both can reach comfortably. 

“I guess the jello is okay, but the rest of it is barely palatable.” He shakes his head, “I swear, it’s like they took goo and shaped it into food.” 

The two of you continue to talk while you eat, you give him an update on your progress, he talks about his daily patrols. You have grown to love his visits, even if they weren’t as frequent as you would like them to be. “So, I’ve been curious,” he wipes his hands and face clean after finishing the last of the chicken. “What is your quirk?” 

“I can make cloth,” you hold up a hand to show tiny holes in your fingers, “I run thread through my fingers and it weaves together.” His brows lift in amazement, “I’ve earned the nickname of human sewing machine at my old workplace.” 

His brows knit together in confusion, “don’t looms make cloth?” 

You could hear the loading sounds in your head as you think about it, “oh shit, I’ve been living a lie!” 

Laughter fills the room, one of the nurses in the hall checking in on you, “everything all right in here?” 

“Yes, sorry if we are being loud,” you wipe a tear from your eye, still giggling softly. The nurse acknowledges both your statement and the hero in the room before leaving to continue their original task. “Man, I don’t know why that never occurred to me until now.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, when I started flying I would run into windows constantly.” 

“No way,” you look skeptical as he continues.

“I’m serious, I thought the buildings just had openings and I would smack into the window.” 

“Do you still do that?” He gets really quiet, his feathers give him away as you fall back on the bed laughing. 

“Only when I’m tired!” He tries to back pedal, but to no avail. “Anyways…” he shifts the conversation back towards you. “The reason I was asking was to see if it was anything like this guy I know; Best Jeanist.” 

You tap your chin, he has been helping you learn some of the more prominent heroes, at least when the two of you are talking about his work stuff. “He’s...the guy with a super long neck right?” 

“Long collar, but close enough, he can manipulate people’s clothing.” 

You shake your head, “I can’t really manipulate the cloth, I can manipulate threads, but it’s limited.” You look around the room for something to showcase your ability. “If I had some spools I could show you. I don’t want to mess with the hospital stuff.” 

“I’ll bring some next time I visit!” He looks excited, his wings fluttering lightly. His phone suddenly rings, he quickly answers and frowns, “Damn, I gotta go, they need back up to catch a villain robbing jewelry stores.” He pulls his jacket on, a thump from something in his pocket reminds him of something else. “Shit, I forgot,” he pulls out a can of WAX coffee and hands it to you. “Hope it’s not too hot.” 

You take the can and smile, “Thank you.” He gives you a two fingered salute as he falls out the window backwards. You watch him fly off to aid whoever called him, you hate to admit it, but you miss him already. 

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon: Weekdays with you

Snippets of life with Kiro, Victor and Gavin

F L U F F

🌻KIRO

[ Morning ]

Waking up is a struggle for your little sunshine

Sets ten alarms on his phone with 1 minute intervals between them

You sympathise with him, knowing that his days are packed with rehearsals, photoshoots, fan-meets, sneaking snacks into his mouth when Savin isn’t looking, running away from Savin when he gets caught, etc.

So you adopt a more encouraging approach:

“You’re going to miss out on breakfast. I made the pancakes extra fluffy today.”

“...”

“If you get up now, I’ll wear your fan t-shirt over the weekend. The yellow one with a hundred Kiro faces printed on it.”

“...”

“Didn’t someone say that it’s been a long time since we last showered together?”

“...!”

When he’s more-or-less conscious, he stares at you with wide puppy eyes and puckers his lips

You give in, responding to his antics with a quick peck on the forehead

“Go brush your teeth. You’ll get your reward later.”

He becomes much chirpier after freshening up and getting his kiss

Beams widely when you set his breakfast plate down in front of him even if it’s just a plain sunny-side up

“Miss Chips, your cooking just keeps getting better! Should we open a restaurant after we retire? You can cook, and I’ll be the mascot.”

Definitely demands for goodbye kisses

[ Afternoon ]

Kiro video calls you during lunchtime because just hearing your voice isn’t enough

He also wants to make sure that you’re actually eating

Cheekily slips in a suggestion for you to include fewer vegetables into his lunchbox next time:

“The vegetables deserve to live.”

On the screen, you see Savin whacking him on the head lightly with some rolled documents on your behalf

Props Apple Box onto his lap to show you its newest outfit

(pretty sure that golden retriever owns more clothes than you do)

The two of you seldom eat out for dinner because of Kiro’s highly-noticeable hair

“And obvious charm,” he adds.

[ Evening ]

Depending on how early you end work, you’d either cook a simple dinner or get takeaway

And also restock the tidbit shrine in the living room

After dinner, you and Kiro play the Wii Fit to aid digestion

But end up with stitches because both of you keep making the other laugh

When you’re unable to sleep, he sings you fractured nursery rhymes while stroking your hair

“Baa baa black sheep have you any chips? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for Kiro and one more for Kiro, and one for the pretty Miss Chips in my arms.”

“Kiro... it doesn’t even rhyme...”

🌹VICTOR

[ Morning ]

Victor’s alarm goes off at 5am

He isn’t worried the sound would wake you up because he shuts it off almost instantly

Knows you wouldn’t stir even if the sky collapses anyway

If the weather is good, he heads out for a morning jog

If it’s raining, he’d grumble resignedly because he knows it’s going to be an even greater challenge than usual to coax you out from under the covers

Since he has a head start to the day, he finds ways to add special touches to breakfast

For example, drawing pictures on the omelette using tomato ketchup, doing latte foam art, etc.

Spends the remnants of his quiet morning reading the business news and answering emails

At around 7.30am, he wakes you up with a string of ‘threats’:

“I’ll cut your company’s funding.”

“Your report is due in 5 minutes.”

“There’s a spider on your arm.”

Would literally carry you out of bed if you refuse to get up

The breakfasts that Victor prepares are divine in both presentation and taste

He tries to vary cuisines every few days so you wouldn’t get bored

He isn’t the type to demand for goodbye kisses

Instead, he sometimes wears his tie slightly slanted so you can fix it for him

He strikes when your guard is down, leaving you a blushing mess

[ Afternoon ]

Most communication is work-related, occurring via email

If you happen to find pictures / videos of cute animals, you’d forward them to him

Victor usually doesn’t reply

But Goldman has witnessed Victor smiling while using his phone on numerous occasions

The sight haunts him.

[ Evening ]

Picks you up from work and takes you out for a nice dinner

Enjoys a cooling evening stroll in the park after dinner to aid digestion

Towels your hair dry after your shower

Not-so-secretly enjoys your shoulder rubs while he works at his desk

“Oh? Is that a smile I see on Mr Victor’s face?”

“No.”

If you have trouble sleeping, he’d tell you bedtime stories

“Or would you prefer if I read you the very first proposal I received from a certain dummy?”

“No thank you, that would just give me nightmares...”

Gives you a goodnight kiss (or two if you insist

Tucks you in tightly so you don’t kick the blankets (or him) off the bed in your sleep

🎐GAVIN

[ Morning ]

Gavin is an early riser

He spends the first 15 minutes of each new day thinking about how fortunate he is to be waking up next to you...

...and also waiting for the numbness in the arm resting beneath your weight to go away

Thinks your light snoring is the most melodious sound in the world (apart from your laughter and the way you say his name)

Once he finally feels his fingers again, he carefully extricates his arm and heads out for a morning run

While he can prepare simple dishes like eggs and cup noodles, it’s his mission to give you the best possible start to the day

So he usually buys your favourites from a nearby cafe

After he returns home with breakfast, he tries to wake you up by shaking your shoulder gently

When he’s done with his shower, he realises you’re still asleep

Finally wakes you up properly after peppering ticklish kisses on your face

Sets up the table with breakfast and coffee while you freshen up

Sends you to work on Sparky

Gets a little pouty if you forget to give him a goodbye kiss

“Thanks for the ride Gavin.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm? Nope, I’ve got my bag.”

“[coughs lightly] ...Sparky says you forgot to say goodbye to his owner.”

[ Afternoon ]

Gives you a call at noon to remind you to have a proper lunch (while eating cup noodles himself)

Gives you a call an hour later to check if you have had lunch

Gives Minor a call right after to verify

(It’s Minor’s favourite part of the day)

[ Evening ]

Picks you up from work and brings you anywhere you want to go

“My evening is all yours.”

Winding down for the two of you involves watching television on the couch

He enjoys pressing random kisses on the top of your head while your head leans on his shoulder

“Mm... I haven’t washed my hair yet.”

“Want me to wash it for you?”

“Yes please.”

If you’re unable to sleep, he’ll count sheep, or talk to you about the future

Whenever he returns home past midnight after a long mission, he’d find you asleep, snuggled comfortably with his pillow in your arms

“Thanks for keeping her company, Softie.”

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Five (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Denali and Rosé officially enter the arena.

A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing comments on the last chapter! It really does mean a lot to me, especially because this one has been a little challenging to write. I'd really appreciate any feedback you have on this chapter!

Denali opens her eyes to gray.

The arena is gray and wet, mist falling over the damp grass, fog curling around tall trees and a massive cliffside. A chill bites at her, but Denali doesn’t mind. She might even have an advantage here. The warmer districts don’t know this cold, wet weather, but Denali knows the cold like an old friend.

Rosé coached her for this part, said to find a bow and whatever she could grab, but not to go in too deep or engage in any fights. After that, her first priority is getting far away and finding water.

Denali repeats it to herself, avoiding how the other tributes tower over her. The gong sounds, and she runs—

“Denali!”

Rosé’s voice brings her back, and the world around her isn’t wet, but grassy, with forest all around. Pine hits her nose, and it reminds her of the hours in the woods back home, her dad showing her which plants were safe to eat. The odds just might be in her favor this year.

Rosé is on her platform a few feet away, and the Cornucopia looms in front of them, an enormous golden horn stuffed with weapons and supplies. The others are spread in a circle around the Cornucopia, waiting for the gong that releases them.

The gong sounds.

“Denali, run!”

Denali doesn’t think twice. Her boots fly over the grass, the other tributes just blurs in her vision. She reaches the Cornucopia seconds before anyone else, and in those seconds, she finds what she needs: a bow and a quiver stuffed with arrows. The quiver is a comforting weight on her back, the bow warm in her hand, and if it wasn’t for her pounding fear she could almost convince herself she’s back home. She grabs a backpack and two knives in another heartbeat before footsteps and shouts erupt.

The tributes have arrived.

Most brush past her, deeper into the Cornucopia, where the best stuff is--weather-proof tents, huge bags of food, medicine. Part of Denali wants to join them, but there are always a lot of deaths at the Cornucopia, and she has what she really needs. She can’t get killed on the first day.

Blood suddenly splatters over Denali’s boots, and she sees the District 7 man hit the grass with a knife in his back. Denali tugs it free and adds it to her weapons, running towards the woods. She can’t see Rosé among the bodies at war with each other, and her heart skips a beat at the thought that something happened to her--

A distinct flash of red comes on her side, and Denali almost crumples in relief. Rosé has a sword and two spears, plus a backpack. And better yet--four full water bottles. Denali doesn’t want to know what she went through for those.

“You good?” she asks Rosé.

Rosé nods. “Let’s get out of here.”

---

They go for hours, switching between walking and jogging, trying to get as far from the Cornucopia as possible. They haven’t run into any dangers yet--no murder-wasps or anything--and Rosé doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. They don’t want to be complacent, and they keep pushing themselves, not even stopping to check their supplies, taking only the smallest sips of water. Rosé’s grateful for all that running with Denali--she probably would have dropped by now without it.

When the sun sets, bathing the arena in a golden light so warm and peaceful it almost makes you forget where you are, they finally stop. They’re in a clearing, and Denali arranges thick bushes and leaves to cover them.

“Let’s see what we have,” Denali says, and they lay out their stuff.

A sword, two spears, a bow, thirty arrows, three knives, four water bottles, a tiny first aid kit, six packs of dried meat, matches, and a sleeping bag.

“Damn, we did good,” Rosé whispers. “I got a freaking plastic tarp and a sword I didn’t know how to use for my first round.” She doesn’t want to get overconfident yet--it’s still day one, after all--but there’s comfort in knowing they have stuff, in not ending the first day so hungry and thirsty it hurts.

Denali nods, splitting up the food, and it’s almost nice in their little hiding spot. If they weren’t in the arena, if they both weren’t constantly looking around for danger, it’s a place Rosé might like to be. Berries even fill the bushes, ripe and juicy-looking.

“You think we can eat those?” Rosé asks. Denali taught her the most common edible leaves and plants when they trained, but Rosé’s never seen berries like these.

Denali almost jumps in the air. “Do not eat those, Rosé. They’re nightlock, they’ll kill you instantly. If we--if we get separated or anything, promise me you’ll remember.”

“Promise,” Rosé says. She’s quiet after that, and it’s because of what Denali said. If we get separated. Rosé’s been with Denali so much lately that she can’t imagine her not being there. She did fine on her own last time, and figured she’d be on her own again this time. But they’ve somehow crawled back into each other’s lives, and Rosé doesn’t want to do this--doesn’t want to be here--alone. The thought of them getting separated, of losing Denali in the arena, is enough to make her sick.

The anthem cuts across the dark sky, and they look up to see the images of the tributes that were killed today. It starts with the man from District 3 and ends with the woman from District 11. Ten dead tributes ticked off on Rosé’s fingers. Pretty high for day one, but not the highest. She knows she should feel something, but she doesn’t. She didn’t even learn their names. It’s easier that way.

“Twelve more left besides us,” Denali says.

“Glad all that math help I gave you paid off,” Rosé teases, and Denali smiles big enough to show her dimples. God, those dimples. Rosé forgot how much she missed them. She grabs the sleeping bag and hands it to Denali. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Wake me in four hours.” Denali slides into it with a white-knuckled grip on her knife and her bow within arm’s reach. She keeps twisting in the bag--Rosé figures she’s right on Denali being afraid to sleep around people--but eventually settles down, exhaustion winning over.

It’s too dark to see much, and quiet enough to hear Denali’s gentle breaths. Rosé doesn’t think any tributes will attack tonight--they’d only be putting themselves in danger attacking in the dark--but she wouldn’t put it past the Gamemakers to spring something. Rosé is sure she keeps hearing noises, every muscle tense in preparation of an attack. The only thing that eases the tension is closing her eyes and listening to Denali breathe. It centers her somehow, helps Rosé figure out what she’s really hearing and what her mind is making up. As long as Denali’s here, as long as she’s breathing, Rosé is okay.

“Denali, wake up,” Rosé says softly after four and a half--she gives Denali some extra rest; she probably won’t know--agonizing hours. She’d tap her shoulder, but something tells her it’s not a good idea. Definitely not, because Denali immediately shoots awake and her knife hits Rosé’s chest. Even with the tip there, Rosé’s reluctantly impressed at how good Denali’s sight and aim are in dim moonlight.

“It’s just me. Rosé.”

Denali inhales sharply, yanking the knife away. “I--Rosé, I--I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rosé understands. She’d shoved Lagoona after a nightmare once, her brain convinced her sister was a threat.

Rosé crawls into the sleeping bag and feels Denali’s unease seep over her. Besides her family, she never has anyone around when she sleeps. What if something happens? What if they’re attacked before Denali can do anything? What if she has a nightmare in front of Denali? She doesn’t know if they’re on camera, but that won’t look good in front of the Capitol. They want strength and toughness from their tributes. Waking up screaming from a nightmare will only hurt their cause, make them question Rosé’s strength, and she can’t do that.

But she’s tired, really tired. The sleeping bag is surprisingly plush, so thick she can’t even feel the hard ground beneath her. Everything is warm and soft, and though she tries to fight it, she sleeps.

---

The sun wakes Rosé before Denali does.

Day two in the arena, and Rosé resists the urge to burrow back into the sleeping bag and sleep until it’s over.

“I was just about to wake you,” Denali says. She’s ready to go, bag on and weapons in hand, and Rosé thinks Denali gave her some extra rest too, paying back the favor. “There should be a water source nearby,” Denali continues.

Rosé nods and follows, trusting Denali to guide them. Rosé’s world was one of icing and sugar and butter, of kneading dough and sweating in front of hot ovens. But Denali knows forests better than anything, her childhood made of branches and trees and plants. Rosé is amazed at how she keeps track of it all. Those water bottles won’t last forever, and if anyone can find water here, it’s Denali.

They continue through the woods, and again they don’t encounter anything. It has to be deliberate. The Gamemakers want to lure them into a false safety so the danger is that much more frightening when it does come. Rosé doesn’t want to think about what they might send.

She makes a mental map of the arena as they go. The forest seems to be the largest part of it, leading to another large valley, and then the mountain. Not an obviously threatening arena, and again Rosé thinks it was a choice. When faced with tributes who’ve seen so many different arenas with so many different dangers, leave them guessing about what to expect. A basic arena like this could accommodate anything the Gamemakers want to unleash.

But nothing is unleashed the second day, and they trade uneasy sleep shifts.

---

Day three brings the first threat--a group of lizards in bright neon colors that roam down a tree when Denali and Rosé are resting. They're definitely a Capitol hybrid, and Denali isn't sure if they're poisonous, but she doesn't wait to find out. Five arrows, five dead lizards, before they even know what hit them. It's almost comforting, in a way, to have something to fight against for a few seconds. Instead of just wandering the arena and waiting.

They decide to move on in case more lizards come, and see the District 4 tributes crossing the field.

Denali freezes, grip tight on her bow. They're out in the open, and she could get them both before they even hear her arrows whistling by them. Two less tributes to worry about. More odds in their favor. But they're defenseless. No threat at all, just walking along. Denali knows that they'll have to be killed eventually if she wants to win. She just doesn't want to be the one doing the killing. At least not unless they try to kill her first.

She lowers her bow. "Rosé, I don't think I can do it. I'm sorry." She hangs her head, expecting Rosé to tell her she's being stupid, or get mad at her for blowing an opportunity most tributes would literally kill for. What if Denali's lost her nerve? Will she be able to kill when her life really is on the line, when she really has to?

But Rosé just nods. "It's okay."

And they move on.

---

By day four, Denali is on edge. She flinches at every rustle, every snapping of a twig, but they haven't run into anything or anyone since District 4. Two tributes die, cutting it down to ten more besides them. They’re at the halfway point, and that surely means something big is coming. The Gamemakers won’t leave things alone this long, won’t let the tributes stay separated. This suspense, this tension hanging over their heads, while intentional, has to break at some point, to the interest of the viewers and horror of the tributes. Something has to come.

And on day four, it does.

Denali senses the change in the air before the rain comes, reaching her hand up to catch a drop.

It sizzles against her palm.

“Run!” she barks at Rosé, cradling her singed hand to her chest.

Burning rain pelts off their jackets as they tear through the woods. The material offers some protection, but tiny drops make their way over Denali’s hands, on her face, down her back. She hisses against the burning, and Rosé curses beside her as they try to find dryness. In one direction, gusts of wind almost bring Denali to her knees, ruffling her jacket and making the rain pound down, and she glimpses a thick spiral in the distance that she numbly realizes is a tornado. A fucking burning rain-tornado combo. The Gamemakers really want their money’s worth today.

“There,” Rosé pants, and Denali realizes a valley to their left is perfectly clear. They sprint into it, collapsing on the grass, and Denali can’t even look at the blisters on her hands. There’s a plant that helps burns, her father told her, she just has to remember--

“Aloe!” She runs to the leaves. She finds the plant and cuts it with her knife, letting the cool gel soothe her hands and face, sighing in relief. She cuts more and takes it to Rosé, who’s bent over in the grass so no one sees her face screwed up in pain.

“Rosé, it’s okay. I can help.” She places the gel on Rosé’s hands, ignoring the tingle in her arm at the touch.

“Can I do your back?” Denali asks gently, and Rosé only hesitates a second before she nods.

Denali lifts Rosé’s shirt and jacket, letting her hands trace up the hard muscles of her back as she spreads the gel over her blistered skin. She keeps her touch gentle, not wanting to cause more pain, and she knows this has to be on camera and exaggerates her touches, makes herself seem extra caring, even if she hates herself for it.

“Let me do yours now,” Rosé offers.

Denali freezes. For the briefest second, her ankle tightens with the grip of the girl from District 4, but Rosé isn’t her. Rosé is only trying to help, not hurt, and Denali nods, even if she hasn’t asked for help in years. It would blow their cover if she refuses anyway. She holds her breath as Rosé moves her shirt, not letting herself tremble or show pain in front of the Capitol.

“I’m gonna put it on now,” Rosé says. Denali sighs when the gel hits, grinning when Rosé scolds her to stay still. She hasn’t had someone care for her like this since her mother died. In seconds, the pain is gone, and they watch the rain. Denali wonders how long they’ll be trapped here. Not to mention that finding aloe seems too good to be true. Too suspicious.

“Some rain, huh?” Rosé mutters.

“Don’t forget the tornado,” Denali laughs bitterly.

“Wait.” Rosé stills, ear toward the rain. “Do you hear something?”

Denali doesn’t hear anything before five tributes sprint into the clearing. The storm was clearly meant to send them into one dry spot, and even with the burns, a windswept tribute from District 1--Denali thinks his name is Castor--launches himself at her with a sword. It’s too late to string her bow, and he’s too close--but Rosé jumps in front of her, the sword cutting across her leg as she swings her own sword at him. Metal clangs as they go at it, and Denali can’t even process that Rosé just saved her life before the woman from District 4 comes at her. Denali grabs a spear that Rosé dropped and blocks the woman’s arm, sinking the point into her chest a second later. The woman hits the grass, and cannon fire joins the noises of battle.

“On your left, Fox!” someone yells. The voice is too deep to be Rosé, and Denali realizes it’s Finn from District 4, currently locked in battle with the man from District 8. She barely has time to thank him before the woman from District 1 pounces at Denali, nails clawing at her neck. Denali blocks her just in time. The world is sweat and blood and heaving breaths, and Denali just hopes Rosé is still alive.

The fight ends as suddenly as it started, when Denali stabs the woman and looks around and realizes the rain has stopped, and there’s no one left to fight. The man from District 8 escaped into the woods, but the clearing is littered with dead tributes from Districts 1 and 4. Her bloody hands still grip the spear, just in case. Her arm is trickling blood, and her neck stings with scratches from the woman grabbing at her, but she’ll survive. She hardly feels it, hardly feels anything, really, as she looks around. And Rosé--Rosé is still standing, thank God, limping over to Denali. The gash on her leg is huge, soaking her pants with blood, but she’s alive, and Denali’s knees almost buckle in relief.

“Are you okay?” Denali asks. “We gotta get out of here, then we can bandage your leg.”

Before Rosé can speak, a wheeze sounds from the ground, and they dart toward the noise. It’s Finn, clinging to whatever life he has left. The man from District 8 must’ve got him. As she looks at him lying there, golden hair stained red, she finds the numbness fading into emptiness, emptiness that swallows her heart. Sparing his life yesterday had been for nothing. But deep down she knew it would be. There's no escaping the fate of the arena. He had been kind, had offered her an alliance she barely considered, had warned her of an attack even when she killed his fellow tribute. And now he’s dying. Would things have been different with an alliance? Would they have protected each other? Would he have become a friend that she would inevitably lose? He was going to have a baby, she remembers, but hearing it in the training room and remembering it now are two different things, and she wishes she didn’t remember. She understands why Rosé avoided the other tributes and didn't talk to them, why she tries to avoid the Games entirely.

“You said he was having a kid,” Rosé says quietly. Her normally wary eyes seem sad.

It’s not a question, but Denali nods anyway.

Finn wheezes again, letting out a hoarse please. Please what, Denali has no idea, and watches in confusion as Rosé approaches him. She can’t mean to kill him--he’s good as dead. Instead she crouches down, takes his hand, and begins to hum something. It’s a simple melody, one that sounds like a lullaby. Denali understands--Rosé can’t help him, no one can, but at least he won’t be alone. Denali kneels with her and just listens, goosebumps on her arms, and pretends she’s somewhere else. Somewhere she never had to do this. Somewhere the two women she killed today never attacked her in the first place.

The cannon sounds, and they leave the clearing in silence.

---

They don’t talk again until that night.

They bandage each other up and eat some fruit Denali found as they walked, lost in their own minds. Rosé’s eyes finally lose that far-off look as she eats, though she keeps turning her apple over and over like she’s never seen one.

Denali doesn’t know what to say. The cold side of her has already calculated that six other tributes remain--both from District 2, both from District 8, the woman from 7, and the man from 9. But how can she focus on who’s left after this afternoon?

They both jump when two parachutes appear.

The first contains a medicated cream, one that instantly starts healing their burns and soothes any remaining pain. The second is a platter of bread and fish, clearly from District 4, the fishing district, and Denali knows it’s because of what Rosé did for Finn. She swallows the lump in her throat, resenting the part of her that’s so hungry it wants to grab the food and shove it down without a thought. Another part of her doesn’t want to eat it at all, doesn’t want this reward when there’s blood on her hands. They don’t deserve this. They weren’t even friends with him, didn’t do anything to help. But Rosé made his last moments easier, and maybe that counts for something.

“I almost don’t want to eat it,” Rosé whispers, and Denali knows she feels the same way.

“I know. But I think it’s disrespectful not to,” Denali says.

Rosé nods. She turns her head, because there’s clearly a camera on them, and thanks District 4 for their gift. They split the food and eat slowly, savoring each bite.

The silence continues until the anthem ends, and Rosé nudges the sleeping bag toward her.

“I don’t really feel like sleeping,” Denali admits.

“Me neither. Nightmares are a bitch.”

Denali had long assumed Rosé had nightmares, given that the lights in her house are on almost any time Denali wakes up in the night. Denali’s not worried so much about dreams--it’s more that she’s sure she won’t be able to sleep and will just be lying in the sleeping bag with nothing to do but think of today’s deaths, or how Rosé protected her. Denali’s come to rely on her, to enjoy her company, and today just proved how close she is to losing Rosé and doing this on her own.

“Things seem...different now,” Denali says.

“It feels more real,” Rosé says simply, because she understands.

Denali nods. “We left while everyone fought at the Cornucopia. We didn’t see the other deaths. But this time...”

There’s a difference between watching someone die and killing them yourself, and it’s a difference only a few people fully understand.

“We did what we had to,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali nods, because it is true. She never wants to kill just to kill, only when she has to in order to live. And being in the arena again makes her realize how much she wants to live. She wants to go home and and watch the sunrise each morning instead of just ignoring it on her runs. She wants to invite Kandy and Kahmora over for dinner, and talk to Jan and Lagoona again, wants so many people in her house that she’ll need a whole new set of coffee mugs. And she really wants Rosé to be part of it. Maybe she can. Somehow.

Denali doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, and she can tell Rosé doesn’t either, from how she’s picking at her sword.

“I--I’m glad we both made it,” Denali says. “I’m glad I’m here with you. Thanks, by the way. For saving me back there.” Her subconscious knows it's a good thing to say strategy-wise, to prove the romance, but she really means it. She’s used to fighting tooth and nail for what she wants, not anyone helping her or protecting her. She didn’t have an older sister running to the stage to save her from the Games, didn’t have an alliance in the arena last time. She really is grateful for Rosé.

“So am I,” Rosé says sincerely. “And you don’t have to thank me. We look out for each other, okay?”

“Yeah. What was that thing you were humming?” Denali asks before she can stop herself.

Rosé looks down at her lap. A shaft of moonlight falls over her face and bathes her in silver, and Denali’s heart skips a beat. “It’s a lullaby my mom used to sing us. I don’t actually know all of it. We were usually asleep before she finished. But I never forgot the melody.”

“Oh.” Denali’s mother wasn’t one for singing. She told stories instead, old fairy tales of princesses and knights that Denali used to fight sleep to hear the end of. Sometimes her father would join in, and when he died, Denali lost not one but two storytellers. Her mother became a half-finished story after losing him, one that ended abruptly eleven years ago. Denali’s hand goes to her necklace, but she meets empty space.

No. No no no--

“What’s wrong?” Rosé asks.

Denali hadn’t realized she was speaking aloud. She doesn’t answer, instead digging through their bags while her heart pounds. She’s making too much noise as throws aside knives and food packets, but she doesn’t care because it’s gone--

“Denali,” Rosé says, and her calm voice breaks through. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom's necklace. It’s gone. I must’ve lost it in the fight.” Denali remembers the woman from District 1 clawing at her neck. She must have torn off the necklace in her struggle, and Denali didn’t notice among the chaos. Now it’s gone and she’ll never get it back, when she has so little of her mother at all, and she angrily forces back the tears stinging in her eyes. She won’t cry. Not in this arena.

“I’m sorry. It's your mom's, right?” Rosé asks quietly, and Denali nods. “Tomorrow we can go look for it. It could still be in the clearing.”

Denali knows it’s a long shot, but the mere offer—an offer to go back into danger for something that’s not physically necessary—stirs something in her chest. It’s more kindness than she’s been offered in years, more kindness offered without any reward expected, just like Rosé sneaking cookies into her bag, and it’s too much to take. She mumbles a thank you and crawls into the sleeping bag, explaining that she’s tired after all. It’s an excuse to not look at Rosé, at the concern in her eyes, because Denali can’t bear it. No one has looked at her like that in years. She feels too exposed, just like at the interview, and looking at Rosé is impossible when every part of her is raw and laid bare.

Surprisingly, sleep comes easy, and it brings not nightmares, but dreams of Rosé.

---

The sound of trumpets wake Rosé the next morning, after a restless sleep of tossing and turning. Her leg felt like it was on fire, and sweat ran down her neck all night even though it was cool outside. Her head kept swimming with images of the fight, but what really kept her awake was her confusion over Denali. Why couldn’t she look at Rosé, and why did she throw herself in the sleeping bag minutes after saying she didn’t want to sleep? Maybe it was the stress of losing the necklace. Maybe she wanted to hide in the sleeping bag so no one saw her cry. The necklace is obviously a touchy subject for Denali, and she’s probably just stressed. They both are. Rosé won’t pry.

She sits up and rubs her eyes with a groan. “What’s with the trumpets?”

Denali shrugs, seeming back to normal. “Must be an announcement. Maybe because there’s only eight of us left? We’re at the last third.”

Rosé can’t believe sixteen people have died, that they’re already at the final eight. It feels like ages and yet like no time at all has passed.

“After we win this, I should be a math teacher,” Rosé says, heart lightening when Denali smiles. Announcements are usually done to bring tributes together for a big bloodbath. Though the rain accomplished that yesterday. Maybe this is something different.

Rosé listens as the announcer explains an unprecedented rule change. In light of three full teams remaining, the most ever at the eight-tribute-mark, both tributes from the same district will be winners if they are the last two alive.

“Does that mean…”

“It does,” Rosé answers. If she and Denali are the last two standing, they’ll both win.

“We can do this. We can really do this.” Denali leaps to her feet, all the sorrow from last night gone. Rosé hesitates, a dark part of her wondering if there’s a catch, or if this is a trick. But they can’t just announce something like this and take it back, not when the audience will expect a team victory. Not when the audience will expect a District 12 team victory, because the parachutes last night just prove that they’ve succeeded, that their love has won over the crowd. They can win this, and the audience is rooting for them.

Rosé nods. “Let’s move, before they send more rain.” She hauls herself up, but a sudden pain explodes in her leg. The world spins around her, blackness closing in on her vision. She hears Denali saying her name but she can’t answer, can’t do anything but close her eyes and let the darkness take her.

[altagraye]

Faith  miniseries (part 1)

**T. W.!!: self harm, suicidal thoughts, self doubt, sad reader.

*this is my first xreader ever so i hope it aint sloppy. 💋

There were very few things that scared the Winchesters but tonight their fear was palpable. Most of the time they were passive and observant. Even Dean didn't want to open that can of worms. Ever since that hunt a few weeks ago, the one no one talked about on the 2 day drive home, something with you has been wrong. Like you got your wires crossed and you haven't been the same since. It has been gradual, like watching someone sinking in quicksand or dying of cancer.  

You weren't stupid, you could tell that they have been distantly observing you as if you had a ticking time bomb strapped to your torso at all times. You noticed the change of mood in the kitchen when you'd finally gotten yourself out of bed to grab a cup of coffee. It's like your presence sucked the life out of a room, much like a Dementor from Harry Potter. You didn't know which hurt more, the deafening silence, the obvious coaxed smiles from Sam, or the steady stares from Dean when your back was turned. Sometimes when you were awake enough, you heard the brothers arguing about something, you'd tricked yourself to overhear certain words in their heated arguments, and convinced yourself they hadn't been arguing about you. But they clearly were.  

Cas, the usual flat faced stoic of the Bunker had twinges of concern in his oceanic orbs. Were you that messed up? That a fuckin' angel was concerned about you? What the hell happened? It started with that hunt. That much you know, right? Maybe it started before that? When it did sink in, you started to spend much more time cooped up in your room. You liked the softness of your bed and the warmth of your bed-covers. Suddenly you didn't want to go...anywhere. You spent your days sleeping and struggling to keep your eyes open enough to hear what Sam had conjured up about a potential case. The nights, those were the worst though. In the night you couldn't get to sleep if you tried. And that was when you felt most alone. You hated being awake, if you were awake you were thinking. And thinking means remembering just how much of a screw up you knew you were.

Team Free Will just came back from a hunt which you had to pull teeth just to get to stay in the confines of the Bunker. It had been a few days. You don't remember the last time you ate. Was it when you ate the second to last slice of apple pie in the middle of the night when your insomnia was at its peak? Or was that this evening when you woke up to a grumbling stomach that you couldn't ignore, so you quelled it with warm chicken broth. You didn't feel deserving enough to eat solid food today. Your lips were cracked and severely chapped even though you knew you kept your lip balm in the bedside table, within reach. Your long hair is disheveled in its bun and you can't stop sneezing because you forgot to take your medicine today, again. What a failure. You can't take care of yourself. It would be so much better if you could just lay down in your bed and sleep. Sleep and dream, forever.  

Face it, the Winchesters are so much better without you. Dean doesn't need you burdening him. He would only have to carry your dead weight around on cases. You can't even muster up the courage to walk up to houses and round up info on the local legends, doing door-to-door sweeps. What in all Hell makes you think Dean could be attracted to someone, some frail little girl trapped in the past? You weren't his type anyhow, a plus-sized book worm didn't turn him on. How could it? You saw his porno-mags. Those girls were, perfection. Miles away from what you were. They were tall, sculpted shades of golden skin. They were the definition of success, confidence, beauty. Qualities you'd convinced yourself you weren't. You saw their type in multiple bartenders that you painfully watched Dean flirt with. From your table at the bar, it stung to see Dean's pearly whites brighten in the lights of the illuminated bar. His expression full of child-like glee, effortless and innocent. Sam was next to you for protection, his face buried in his tablet searching diligently through lore and articles of missing peoples.  

You shuffle your feet audibly into the kitchen. Even though you don't feel like eating, you need to eat at least a sandwich in Dean's presence. The brothers were sipping beer at the table in the kitchen while you fixed yourself a wimpy pb & j. Sitting down at the very edge of the metal table you stared for a long moment at your sandwich. I hate this, it's making me sick to even look at food, you think to yourself. You take a bite and chew slowly, wanting so hard to spit it out. You're too fat already. Why do you eat in the first place? Those thoughts stew in your head as you notice the Winchester brothers are staring at you. You notice someone is talking to you but it doesn't register. You swallow the bite unwillingly, closing your eyes like you had just done something terrible.  

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" You recognize the husk in the voice to be Dean's. You flinch and look at him, wishing immediately you hadn't stared into those perfect green orbs. The expression on his face let you know that he knew there was definitely something wrong with you. God you're such a freak. You drag your tongue on your left canine, the one that has always been particularly sharp. Feeling a cold sweat begin to drip down your neck, you start to panic. You drop your sandwich on its plate and rise from your seat. You need the sanctuary of your messy bedroom, the softness of the mattress. You need the coolness of the sheets. Your small feet tap the tile of the floor beneath you but you notice sound behind you that will your body to go faster. They were following after you.  

You'd never been more afraid that they'd find out what was in your head. That Dean would find out how you felt about him and about yourself. That can't be an option. You knew what would be next, what was inevitable. The dreaded talk. You finally reach the knob of your bedroom door, your palm slipping as you fumble with it from sweating. Just as they are about to reach you, you open the door and slam it shut behind you, locking it. You heart is racing against your chest. Locking the door isn't enough. So you barricade the door with your dresser. As you do so, you feel yourself breaking and hot tears flow down your face soaking into your hoodie.  

"Y/N?! C'mon, open the door." Sam says.

"Whatever it is we can talk about it. Y/N. Please?" Dean's tone is almost unlike him. You'd only ever heard him use this kind of tone with children who were in the midst of trauma from an awry hunt. Is that what he thought of you as? A wounded child in need of coddling? Or maybe even worse, a wounded animal.

You don't answer and there is a long pause. You need relief and release in the only way you know how. You rummage through your bedside table drawer and find a thin hunting knife, the one Dean gave you a few years ago. Your first gift from him. You pull down the fleece-like fabric of your sweatpants to reveal scars, left over from self-inflicted pain, years gone by. They were raised and pink lines. They wouldn't understand. You hear thudding from the other side of your door, that can only mean the brothers are getting more desperate, using their bodyweight to try and get inside.  

"Y/N!!" Dean yells for you in between the thudding.  

"GO AWAY!" You yell as you drag the sharpness across your skin. Red bubbles up from the cut and for a few seconds you feel relief. But it doesn't stop the pain. You cry more, sobbing uncontrollably. The salty tears blurring your vision until they spill over staining your cheeks. You need more, so you add more cuts, one by one. Oddly you chuckled at your macabre artwork, thinking you just made your thigh look like a piece of lined paper. You start your work on the opposite thigh, digging in a little deeper with each line.  

You hear someone suck in a breath sharply. Someone was in the room with you. During your release, you never noticed the dresser move or the door opening. Looking up from your bloodied thighs you see Dean staring back at you. His blade still in your hand, red dripping down your skin and slipping into the pure white sheets.  

"Y/N? Hey, that's okay. Put the knife down, alright?" He said to you smiling at you flashing his bright white impeccable teeth, Sam in the background of your bedroom doorway with his hand clasped over his mouth in a blank stare. More tears sear themselves into your eyes and flood over. Your lips are quivering. You drop your knife released from your trembling hand, it thunks itself into the wooden floor below. You don't dare look back at Dean. You curl yourself up as best as possible granted the size of your stomach won't let you pull your knees to your chest.

You collapse onto your bed facing your pillows, you sob into them and hold one tight to your face in a feeble attempt to hide yourself. You feel Dean sit next to you on the bed, and he begins to stroke your back in soothing motions. His effortless acts of kindness make you break more. You feel the onset of a nasty headache forming, from the intensity of your sobbing. You can barely make out Dean telling Sam to bring a first aid kit and water. Dean shushes you and continues to stroke your back and your arm.

"You don't have to tell me anything. Just take deep breaths, 'kay? Here, I'll do it too." He breathes deep in and out, hard enough to be audible. Why was he so nice to me all of a sudden?? You begin to feel numb, and you weren't sure if this was from the emotional break down or the blood loss. Had you cut too deep this time? Sam returns with the first aid kit. You note its metal clink on the bedside table. You unbury your face from your pillow only to get a breath of fresh air. You don't look at Dean or Sam. You couldn't. Dean thanks his younger brother for the glass of water and the kit.  

"Can you give us a minute Sammy?" Dean asks.

"Sure. As long as you need." Sam confirms and you hear the heavy footed thuds of his boots exit your room. Dean does something that you don't expect. He lays down on his side, with you. Spooning up against your form. You mentally whack yourself in the head, he's getting his jeans all bloody, that you're sure of. He continues to stroke your arm softly. He hooks his chin into the nook of your shoulder.

"Whenever you're ready. I'm all ears." He tells you, the gentleness in his tone brings you to tears again. You weep silently. Was this really happening? You don't budge or say a word as sleep takes you over and you feel so amazingly content. You melt into the rhythmic breaths that Dean takes. The act soothes you into dreamland. For the first time in a while you think, I want to wake up to him next to me. And you swear you smile in your slumber.

End part 1.

*criticism is taken constructively.

*comments are golden.

[purplerose244]

Sweet Aftermath

Hi @forthegloryofdragons! I’m your Secret Santa for the @toa-secret-santa event! 😊 At this point it probably looks more like a New Year present, but Merry Christmas anyway and I hope you spent nice festivities!

Here we go with some Jlaire and our favorite punk wizard! ❤❤

Summary: Peace is momentary in their lives but when they get it, they enjoy it as much as they can. Dessert is always welcomed.

Also on the AO3

“Ouch!”

“Jim!” In the blink of an eye Claire was at his side, holding his hand before he could even process the idea of having a look himself. “You dummy, cut the strawberries, not your finger!” Granted that there wasn’t even any traces onto the actual cutting board – it was one drop at max, his girlfriend could be such a mama sometimes –, maybe it would had reached him some kind of prideful chef wound at being scolded for something this basilar.

It didn’t. All Jim could feel at the moment was the slightest pinch at the top of his finger, where the littlest red bubble was forming. It hurt. In a completely ignorable, absolutely meaningless way. But it hurt. It hadn’t hurt this little in a while now.

He couldn’t help smiling a little, even while Claire was already opening the cupboard to get the med kit. He had forgotten this type of common, after being the Trollhunter had become his everyday.

It was nice. And destabilizing. And a little freaky.

Then again, what wasn’t in his life?

While the little med kit was brought onto the counter of the kitchen and the cutting noises interrupted, the cheerful chatters coming from the living room brought his mind back. The party had been completely random, it had started with his mom wanting to know everything about what happened since they had last seen each other – well, she said that after the both of them managed to talk, with the messes of tears they had become with the both of them human again –, and it was continuing with plenty of people and food around.

Food gently cooked by the best chef of the Lakes’ house… not much of a competition really. But hearing his mom from the other room, chatting and gasping and laughing again, was enough to forget the bowl of popcorn on the table that she still somehow managed to mess up.

Jim breathed in, and then breathed out. Everything felt so new, yet exactly the same.

“Skin’s fragile. I forgot.”

“Well put it on a memo, it’s pretty important if you ask me. A mental memo…” The witch stopped midway, as she was pulling the plastic off the band aid. “I wonder if there’s a way to make that? A magical note stuck into your brain so you don’t forget it? I should ask Teach.” At last, the little medication was applied, At least none of the little red fruits got dirty. Yet Claire still wasn’t letting go of his hand, and when Jim looked up, there were those big brown eyes in front of which he could do absolutely nothing. “I’m serious, okay? Don’t get hurt, or at least try not to get hurt. I really think you had enough for a while.” She probably wanted to sound ironic.

It came out sad. Of course it did. And a lie as an assurance would had been pointless, the former Trollhunter would had made every single choice of his life all over again, to ensure the safety of those he loved. But maybe out of egoism, he would had not dragged them all in like this, knowing how much they were going to suffer for his sake. He wanted his friends near, yet not nearby. Did it make sense? Who knew? Maybe it didn’t have to.

Claire held onto both of his hands, looking up at him, lips curved in a little hopeful smile. And that put an end on any thought. It didn’t matter after all. As a human, as a half-troll, as a full troll, the sight right before his eyes had not changed. And he didn’t want it to change.

Jim sighed softly, nodding with a smile.

“I’ll do my best.” Claire sighed softly.

“Please do.” She leaned and kissed his cheek, and oh, magically there was absolutely no more pain into his entire body. A witch indeed, eheh. “What do you need the strawberries for?”

“Decoration mostly, but there’s so much chocolate in this that you need something fruity to make it less strong.” Right on cue the timer went off. He quickly stopped the noise and hurried to the fridge, taking out the cream that seemed perfectly chilled and ready to use. “Also should I say, strawberries and chocolate? Mucho romantico.” He shot a wink towards his girlfriend, who made that fond eyeroll from whenever he attempted to speak Spanish.

“Whatever, charmer. Get it over with, I’ve been smelling amazing stuff all evening and I’m really tempted to paralyze you with a spell and have it all myself.” Well if that wasn’t one of the sweetest compliments for his cuisine he had ever received. “How can I help?”

“Get me the sponge cake, it’s near the window.” Jim gave the cream a further whip to make sure it was airy and homogenous, before pulling out a spoon from the drawer – reminding himself last minute that he couldn’t and probably shouldn’t munch it anymore. “Alright, now for the tester…” He could had taken it himself of course, his sense of taste was back to human-like. Yet it was still hard to accept it, like his mind wasn’t fully into the all magical transformation that brought him back. He just needed a bit more of time, maybe. “Mrs. Nunez? If you could be so kind?”

“Oh well, if I really have to…” Claire smirked, putting the baking tray in front of her boyfriend with the sponge cake all rested and ready for the use. Then she leaned forward, taking the spoon into her mouth. She licked her lip. “Mm, oh yeah.”

“So it’s good?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “What? Let me brag a little, I’m good!”

“What if I still prefer guacamole over this?”

“Claire, you make amazing guacamole, but you also make a major bowl of it with, like, three tortillas. That kind of love is a little hard to match, even for my chef skills.” He got an elbow, because clearly some people couldn’t handle the harsh truth. “Just tell me if I should add something or mix it some more.” If it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t going into the cake.

She knew that. She knew it, and she grinned widely, putting a hand over his cheek with a very evident intention into her eyes. With the sudden realization Jim had to claw onto the bowl with both hands to prevent any catastrophes like letting it drop accidentally, because kissing Claire was that mind-blowing – and it took him quite a bit to make this cream, thank you very much. A chocolate kiss that got him such jelly knees he was considering just letting himself go with the unconsciousness, it would had been the sweetest knockout of all of his Trollhunter life. This girl had gotten so much more confident since they first started to hang out. She was as gentle as a lady, and as vigorous as a warrior.

His Claire. His amazing, beautiful Claire.

She pulled away first, perfectly in control of the situation, smiling softly at him. The aftermath was possibly even better, knowing that this was real and it happened and it was going to happen again. Somehow he still could hardly believe his luck.

Claire bit her lip, staring with those big impossible eyes.

“Too sweet, maybe?” Jim shook his head with a grin.

“Nope, absolutely perfect.” Did that come out corny? Smoothness wasn’t exactly a skill of his, hopefully he didn’t ruin- and Claire was kissing him again, never mind, he loved life.

“Okay mates, quick update, we’re out of snacks in the other room and since I lost rock paper scissors I got sent here also to sneak on the dessert, and if you’re wondering how I lost let me remind you that Binky got four aaaaaarrrrm…” He loved life a little less with their good old – apparently very old – master wizard coming into the kitchen uninvited. That sheepish little grin was kinda funny though. “So, you mess with the timeline once, and you acquire the magical ability of having a terrible timing. Noted.”

Jim pouted. Claire laughed. Jim laughed. That was just how it was, also his girlfriend suddenly had that malicious look into her eyes that told him he wasn’t going to dislike the next following minutes – and he knew she had that look before she became a shadowmancer so… destiny?

“You’re actually right on cue, these dirty dishes are dying to meet you.”

“Uh… how badly are they dying?” And now the witch was glaring, the wizard immediately raised his hands for surrender. “Can’t blame one for trying.”

“Try and ruin another moment between me and my boyfriend, you’d wish I was only blaming you. You got out with little.” That was probably true and that was probably a given, hence why a second later Douxie was over the sink, pouring down the water and reaching for the soap. Claire gave him a firm nod. “Alright, what do we got?” She turned to the counter, gathering a few snacks onto another tray. “Okay, all kinds of chips, cold popcorn from the microwave Barbara made oww, socks, so many socks, a few burritos Krel’s friend brought…” Given the discovery that aliens were real, having an extraterrestrial as a taco seller so responsible for the burrito that had gotten Gatto that nasty stomachache somehow even made sense. “This should do for a while. Be right back.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and went to the living room.

Again, human’s skin was sensible. Jim hadn’t realized it made a difference before, he had been sturdy, strong as a half-troll. And so hardly soft and easy to please. It was still a little complicated listing off what was good and what was bad of his current situation. But one thing for sure, he loved how Claire’s kisses were sweeter than ever.

A snort. Apparently he had been staring at the door for a while, and Douxie was holding back his laughter with little success. So the former Trollhunter grinned back, giving him a shoulder while putting down the cream onto the squared sponge cake.

“Shut up and do the dishes.”

“Roger that.” The wizard stopped the water as the sink was full, getting to work. A minute of silence was filled solely by the tinkling of dishes and the dripping of water. A nice moment of normality. It had been a while after all. “You know, I gotta say.” Douxie wasn’t looking, yet there was definitely fondness into his eyes. “Spending 900 years adventuring and protecting the world, I’ve seen a lot of things. But a witch learning how to control dark magic in order to save her human-half-full-troll-hunter boyfriend? That one I’ve been missing.” He was fast at cleaning, swift and careful. He must had done it quite a lot at the restaurant he used to work in.

Jim sighed, nodding softly, his eyes lingering on how nicely the chocolate smelled and look. He carefully pushed the remaining onto one side, smoothing the surface.

“I’m so lucky to have her.”

“She’s also lucky to have you. You’re pretty great, and brave. To the point where it gets scary. And worrying. A lot.” Douxie laughed a little awkwardly, clearing his voice. “Not that I can talk, really.” Right, the two of them got so close to their demises for the sake of others.

They were similar. Very similar. Jim couldn’t help smiling.

“We really need to stop trying to die.” The wizard cracked a real laugh.

“Got that right.” Another moment of peace followed, and to this mindless noise Jim was starting to get used to again. “What are you making anyway?”

“Bouche de Noel.” Wow, exactly the same frown as Claire, was it a wizard thing? The confused judging eyebrow? “Yes, you don’t have to tell me, it’s a Christmas dessert. Yes, you don’t have to tell me, it’s disgustingly anachronistic. And no, you really don’t have to tell me, because I’m not trying to pull a Christmas on July thing. You got a British accent, not an Australian one, I wouldn’t even have a stretch to work on here.” Another little laugh. “I’ve been postponed it since forever not knowing if I had the bakery skills, but now that I got functioning tastebuds back I’m all in for it.”

With the cream down, he finally went over the cake, rolling it carefully to form the base of his dessert. It had chilled perfectly and had maintained the form, it looked just like the one in the picture where he got the recipe from. The thrill of making something with his own hands. Another absolutely pointless fun of just a human. It felt great.

Douxie gave it a peak, whistling.

“That looks and smells possibly even better than the mince pies from Camelot. For what’s worth I’m very glad we’re getting Christmas today!”

“Right, because you never know what might… uhm…” Jim swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. From the wizard’s widened eyes, it looked like he couldn’t take that back even if he wanted to. “… today feels so nice. My friends are all here, my mom is here, my girlfriend is here. It hasn’t happened in a while, and I guess I realized how rare this is. We’re not even at the end of summer and we got three different apocalypses, so I thought of… not having too many regrets?” Now that it was coming out it felt very stupid. And insecure. Which wasn’t exactly weird coming from him, but at this point? A fight more a fight less? What was the difference?

He didn’t want to know what it was. He got too close already.

The master wizard breathed in and out, extremely deeply, the washing work momentarily forgotten. He picked a towel from the counter, slowly passed it through his fingers, then let it down. Only to bring one hand onto the former Trollhunter’s shoulder.

“You’ll make a fruitcake, at the real Christmas. A Panettone, or a strawberry cake maybe?” He was smiling, with that renovated determination that had gotten him ever since he came back from beyond the grave. “So you better invite me, and all the others. We’ll have another party just like this one, all together. Every single one of us.” That sounded like a promise. And this guy, this wizard was always ready to give everything for his promises.

So Jim nodded. It was barely a confirmation that everything was going to be okay. But the effort, that alone, was worth at least hoping for. They were all in this together.

Luckily for the guitarist there wasn’t much to clean up besides the bowl and various plates – for now at least, he was half sure Claire was taking this long just to pile up other stuff –, but he stayed to watch the trunk taking form. Two cuts for the shape. Ganache all over. Without worries.

Without problems. He was here. Right here, safe and alive… oh.

“I didn’t thank you, huh.”

Douxie blinked, taken back.

“… there were, like, five dishes. Doesn’t really compare with my shift at Benoi-”

“For saving my life.” Another sequence of batted eyelashes, and it was almost too easy imagining what were going to be his next words. Today Jim felt completely in charge of the situation, finally. “And I’m not talking about the whole turning back into a human thing, neither about the Arcane Order, even though that’s also worth mentioning.” Having Nari around was mildly unusual for that, but she was adorable enough to forget about it. “Claire told me about you guys at Camelot. About trying to find a way back to our time, saving everyone, saving me… the dungeon break was your idea. I wouldn’t have escaped if it wasn’t for that.”

Douxie seemed to have problems grasping this, or simply accept it. He turned his eyes back to the sink, almost as he wished there was still something to make himself busy with.

“It was nothing.” This time it was Jim who snorted.

“You messed up a timeline for one single half-troll, that’s a bit of something. I mean… I doubt Merlin would’ve done it.” That was probably uncalled for. But despite knowing how much those two wizards were close, it didn’t erase what that old man had done to him in the past.

There was no hatred into those amber eyes though. Just thoughtfulness.

“… I knew it was risky. But I also knew that too much depended on you.” The wizard managed a sad smile. “If that wasn’t a mistake, because Merlin didn’t believe in them, then I guess I really wanted to believe in the unexpected possibility that you were going to create… I didn’t want to leave a single friend behind.” He scratched the back of his head, shrugging a little. “Also my wallet couldn’t bare losing a tipper like you.” Sarcasm had to be some kind of special power of those who had been playing with life for too long.

Maybe that was also what made them so similar. Maybe that was also why, in some way or another, they had managed to survive. Jim smiled, bringing an arm onto his shoulders.

“Thank you, Douxie.” The wizard looked at him in bewilderment. And then, slowly, he lightened up, clenching his hold onto his shoulder. Giving him the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there hadn’t been many satisfactions for him lately. And this one came right on time.

“I did fix something after all.” He smiled too. “You’re very welcome, my friend.”

“So NotEnrique bet and won all the socks at Monopoli and I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming, that brother of mine will be the death of- aww, look at you.” Claire smiled at them, putting down the empty tray. “Having a little moment?” When he had taken that little detour for school at the beginning of this adventure, he definitely didn’t expect that one day he was going to be found by his girlfriend preparing a dessert for a bunch of mythical creatures and humans, while sharing a bro gesture with Merlin’s apprentice.

Did he ever say that his life was weird? Because boy oh boy it was.

Douxie took all his time to gave him one last pat and then turned to the girl, this time him being the one to showcase the little menacing grin – he never did dark magic before right… right?

“Indeed we were, guess who ruined it and will join me at cleaning dishes?”

“… well played Casperan. And that’s the only reason why I’m agreeing.” Claire huffed humorously, getting the dishes she just brought in onto the sink. “How’s the cake?”

“Almost done, just need to cover it and decorate it.”

“Good, because Toby got to his praising of your culinary skills, with plenty of more details now that he got all confident about making that one movie. So I’m pretty sure there will be a riot unless they get cake.” She breathed out, picking up a sponge only to look intensely at how her boyfriend was putting down the chocolate bark of the Bouche. It used to bring him such crazy butterflies in his stomach he could had passed out just by the knowledge alone. Now he couldn’t think of a life without those eyes on him. “We really need to do this more often. Just… this.” No silence felt more eloquent than the one that followed. It barely needed a nod from the two of them, while the dessert was finally put altogether with the covering and a smoothing for the surface.

Jim picked up a fork and started passing it over the covering, creating traces that made the trunk look somehow real. He moved the tool steadily, enjoying this, enjoying every moment of this peaceful time of them. Then he turned to the strawberries, all arranged nicely onto the cutting board, and he smiled a little.

He picked up a knife and one of the fruits.

“Let’s see…” He engraved it, creating little petals getting smaller towards the center, and placed it onto the cake. “Roses for my love.” Claire giggled, lancing her arms around his neck from behind. Then Jim picked up another strawberry, cutting it in thin pieces, then placing them onto the surface to form a note with a long tail, the only notion he had about music – at least not including that one piano kinda-serenate to Senor Uhl for not repeating the year. “And a note for my friend.” He completed with a few leaves of mint all over. “I think we’re ready now.”

Today Douxie looked so easy to please. Or maybe he really did spend a long time without being recognized for much. Because his amber eyes were shining, and it looked like he was holding back a much wider smile.

“Were you always this mushy, or was it Claire that has changed you?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, don’t ever want to find out.” Jim picked up the dish with the Bouche on it. “This is all I want.” The witch tightened her grasp – never mind, butterflies still lived.

She showed her tongue to the wizard.

“Jealous that I got the sweetest guy ever?”

“Nah, I have a punk rock soul, I’m immune to pure cheesy lovey-dovey situations.” Douxie grinned, looking fondly at them. “But if I can say it…” He lingered onto them, perhaps a little troubled. And somehow it was clear, he was pondering about the future, it was a thing that he couldn’t help doing apparently. Despite that, his eyes were sincere, and this determination still as solid as before. “Yeah, the both of you have great taste in people.”

They were going to have more parties like this. For sure.

With Claire right next to him, Douxie opening the door, and the number of smiling familiar faces waiting for him, Jim managed to push away the thought of tomorrow, with everything that was most likely still going to come for them. Here, now, they were happy and alive. It was enough.

So he snickered, showing up the cake to his cheering family.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!”