#I don’t even look in the tag anymore because it’s all the same exact flavor of ‘barely read the JLI but claims they Looooove booster’ fans

[starringbeetle]

As somebody been drawing Boostle since 1998, the uptick in their fandom is both something I like and something I hate

[binniesthighs]

Can you write something like female reader teasing hyunjin before performance and like he gets kinda mad and after performance puts her in place and maybe overstimulates her but still he is soft dom but bottom. Does it make sense?😂

which you and hyunjin have 20 minutes until someone notices, or rather, 19 minutes, leaving 1 for you to put your clothes back on

thank you anon for being so patient while I got this out!! <3

19 minutes | reader x hyunjin

Pairing: self insert, female reader x hwang hyunjin

Genre: that good good smut

Tags: idol!hyunjin, established relationship au, softdombottom!hyunjin, bratty!reader, explicit language, mentions of masturbation, semi-public teasing, thigh riding, dry humping, oral (f receiving), face sitting, spanking, overstimulation + multiple orgasms, semi-public sex

Word count: 1.8k 

Gif creds to OP!

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

It’s cold out in the back alley where you’ve led him, and the tips of your ears sting with heat. He’s slipped his hands inside your coat with curious fingers that tug at the folds of your shirt. His lips taste like that strawberry-flavored chapstick you had hidden in his pocket before.

There’s steam emanating off his body that turns into white vapor in the air. Hyunjin’s grip on you is tight, regardless of the fact that nearly anyone could see you had they turned their head.

You lean into him fully, pressing his body and yours against back door which is crinkling with old green paint. His scalp is damp, but that doesn’t get in your way of pulling his dark strands to connect your lips deeply with his.

“Is practice almost over? How much more time do you have?”

Even standing, you grind your hips into his the best you can, giggling out when you feel how hard that he’s gotten. It’s so cute; just getting riled up from this. You then let your hands slither up his shirt, and he hisses at the temperature. 

“-Not enough time to do what you want.” He answers.

“But what if I can’t wait?” You bite a smile into his lip. 

Hyunjin’s head falls back onto the door with a thud when you let your creeping fingers tug at his waistband.

“Now? We’re about to go on?” He’s slipping under your touch, but he carries an annoyed edge to his tone.

“You really don’t have time?” You teased the words out from your lips while your fingertips traced over the outline of his hard on.

“What? Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Spell what?”

Hyunjin swings you around, switching positions so that now he’s got you pinned. He kicks your legs open, thrusting one of his thighs between them. You’re helpless, and its like an instinct that you grind down on it. Your boyfriend flexes his muscle, just like you like it.

Hyunjin tilts your head to the side to imprint more fleeting kisses on your neck. “Just you wait till I can get my hands on you.”

“You don’t have any time at all?”

Even with a coat on, you can still feel the cold metal door behind your back.

“I could...make some.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?!” You would’ve been furious, but the pressure from his thigh on your clit dissolves your self-control.

His hands on your face feel huge where he cradles you. “After the performance, we have to sit and watch a couple other groups, I can get away then.”

“They won’t notice?”

“People do it all the time. I could be going to the bathroom for all they care.”

“Want to meet there?”

“The bathroom?” Hyunjin laughs out jokingly, tossing his head back. The dainty silver earrings he wears sparkle under the streetlights. “Hell no.”

He shocks you by moving his leg, and your thighs pathetically shudder from the loss of contact.

“Is that what you want? Me bending you over some sink?” He sweeps up both of your hands in his to warm them up with his breath. “I have a better idea.”

✦✧✦✧

Your cap hides your eyes where you attempt to blend in the rest of the staff, busying yourself with a clipboard that’s been left unattended. Over the loudspeakers there’s music booming from a song that you haven’t heard before--likely a comeback stage, you think to yourself. Down the darkly lit hall, you see the glow of the dressing rooms that hustle with staff members jogging in and out. They’re shouting demands at eachother, and the shuffling of feet can be heard even from this far away.

“Are you ready? Are we ready?” It’s their manager’s voice that you recognize.

“Everyone okay? Innie, youre--” Chan’s sunny laughter spills out of the room, and you turn your head as the group starts to walk out.

Your heart beats in your throat when you see Hyunjin, no longer a sweating mess and hair and makeup perfectly fixed, trail out last. None of them see you, even as they walk right past you. Hyunjin however, in the least conspicuous way possible, twists his head around to search for you.

You tug your hat down further, walking right up to him.

“Oh. Sorry.” You bow after purposefully running into him.

He says nothing, only meeting your eyes for that one moment of understanding. Hyunjin waits until they’re nearly at their seats when you watch as he whispers something into Felix’s ear, then rubs his head like it hurts. Felix nods immediately, and pats him on the back. Hyunjin does the same to his manager who looks considerably more concerned and it looks like he’s offering to go with him, but Hyunjin nods him away.

It’s only when he starts walking directly towards you that this all feels real.

He walks right past you, muttering out, “Follow me.”

✦✧✦✧

Hyunjin’s fingers lace between yours as he guides you down the length of the hallway and the pat of your hurried steps taps on the linoleum flooring.

“Hyunjin--” You hiss out the words, “Where are we going?”

“Dressing room.” He’s still wearing his green contacts, and they only make that glint in his eye more ravenous.

It’s dark and cluttered in there, and you have to tiptoe around bundles of coats, makeup organizers and to-go containers. Hyunjin shuffles around in the dark, then lights up his face with the white from his phone screen.

“What are you doing??”

“Setting a timer.” He says matter-of-factly.

“A timer?? You’re kidding.”

“We’ve got at least 20 minutes until someone might come looking for me, 19 minutes if we count the 1 it takes for us to put our clothes back on.”

Hyunjin taps the “start” button.

“You’re not kidding.”

“What? Don’t trust me? You know that it doesn’t take you that long.”

Hyunjin takes you by the hands to one of those blue (you think) plastic-feeling couches.

“Stop wasting time,” He whispers, then draws you into his arms while pulling you into his lap where he sits down. You straddle him, pouring your pent up adoration back onto his lips. In the dark, you feel him smile against you.

Once again, you grind down into him. Hyunjin’s hands fall down to the small of your back where he guides the rolling of your hips.

“Bold of you to come here thinking that you could get something out of me. You’re lucky that I have a hard time saying no to you...still, I’ve missed you.” His voice drops lowly, “Do you want to know a secret?”

You’re too breathless to give him anything else than “Mm?”

“When no one’s around, all I can think about your pretty lips sucking me off.” His fingers ticked the skin of your stomach, all the way up to your breasts which he took roughly in his hands. “When no one’s around, I imagine that it’s your hand instead of mine. Did you know that you do that to me?”

It was too much for you to handle thinking of him like that: desperately pumping into his own hand with your name on his lips. If you had more time, you would have told him that you did the exact same on your nights alone.

“Hyun--”

“But you come here, begging me...”

You circle your hips harder, both of your gasping breaths become heavier.

“I’ll give you what you want...until you can’t take it anymore.”

Your arms fall behind his back, and scrape up and down over his suit jacket--the threads of which are more expensive than you can fathom. Hyunjin holds fast to you, laying down with you on top of him.

“However long we have, I want to spend it on you.”

“Hyunjin...”

“Time’s ticking.” He snickers, then hurriedly unbuttons your pants.

Your chest pounds with excitement and nervousness being bare in the dressing room, as well as in front of him. The sound of your jeans hitting the ground seems to make everything go faster.

Your boyfriend tugs at your legs as you guide yourself nearer to his mouth. He uses his fingers first, plunging deep into your entrance. The sounds of your arousal wet his fingers and he’s laughing out in disbelief under you. After being together for this long, he knows exactly how to curve his fingertips inside of you to graze at your g-spot: an action that sends you biting deep into your lip. His thumb brushes over your clit as if on accident and your body jerks at the sensation.

Hyunjin’s fingers find you in the dimly lit room, granting you the taste wrapped on his fingers. It distracts you from his grasp on your hips and how he pulls you into his tongue. If this were any other time, he would have taken his time with you, but now, he was relentless. He had you by the tip of his tongue in the way that he could send your body reeling from each circle and stripe. His gorgeously plump lips kissed into your sensitive bud while he kept his unforgiving pace.

“Fuck--Hyunjin...”

His hair might have been perfectly styled before, but now, your fingers raked through it carelessly. For seconds, you wondered what they would say if they saw it all messed up like that just because of you.

“Close, I’m gonna--”

He didn’t pause, but rather hummed tiny little moans into your clit. You had been preoccupied, but his legs were still squirming with his twitching dick between them.

You squealed when he brought his hand back, pumping inside of you once more. He stung your skin, bringing a slap downwards that undoubtedly could have been heard outside the door. He brought you to your orgasm just as you felt your arousal drip down your thigh. You choked out your moans as quietly as you could.

His hand cupped over your mouth, then ordered, “You don’t have to be so careful princess.”

You took the hint, and your moans muffled into the cracks of his fingers.

He continued, forcing your legs to shiver and your hips to writhe over his mouth. You were lightheaded from catching your breath, and your clit throbbed in the aftermath of your orgasm with another one unbearably close.

It washed over you faster than the first, and you had little time to remember that the timer was still ticking. Your entire core felt tight while he brought you back down slowly lapping with a flat tongue.

“W-wait--”  

“Can’t take any more?” Hyunjin gifted one last lingering kiss in your wet folds.

“That was...”

“Felt good, hm?”

You stumbled off of him with legs forgetting how to function.

“How much more time do we have?”

Hyunjin wiped his mouth with the backside of his hand, then checked his screen. “Two minutes...You could’ve got me in trouble, showing up like this, you know that?”

You giggled, “I know.”

Your boyfriend tugged up a little at your belt loops, pulling the denim into your still-sensitive bud.

“When we’ve got more time, who knows what else I’ll do to you princess.”

[bobohu4eva]

Pink Lace - Chapter 8

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader (feat. EXO members)

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: sex work, mentions of sexual assault, adult themes/situations, smut 

Tag list: @smolbeanmika @leave-me-in-the-summertime @totallynerdstuff @bbhmystar @nana-banana @kimyhappy @thegreatandi @geniusloey @deligxt @baekswifey @bbhyun506 @lovebuginlove @bellamendoza @baekyeonoreo @bobohumyonlyboo @wooya1224 @strawbaeri-s @xiuweetbbh

Masterlist

For Baekhyun, the first half of the week was spent preparing. For the first date of all first dates. A first date that would be heart flutteringly romantic, yet private and comfortable. Exciting, but also intimate. Something where he could talk to you, where he could touch you if he wants, where nobody else could see and judge. But also somewhere where he wouldn’t be able to bend you over and take you if you decided to start teasing him again. That would need to wait until after the date, for which he also had big plans. 

 Endless phone calls were made. Flowers, chocolates, and champagne needed to be bought. His mind was set, this date would be nothing short of perfect. So perfect in fact, that you would have no choice but to fall for him the same way he’d fallen for you. The man was dedicated. 

First though, he needed to ask you in a way that would guarantee a yes Baekhyun, I would love to go on a date with you, and not just an ‘okay’. 

His first stop was the florist, owned by his friend Minseok. It was a quaint little shop where he knew he’d be able to get a perfect custom arrangement with all your favorite flowers. Little did you know Baekhyun had used his professor status to look up Mia’s school email, and had been in contact with her in order to make sure he got the best possible things to fit your preferences.  

“Lilies and roses, those are her favorites. As many of them as you’ll give me.”

Minseok ended up putting together a box, a wide white cylinder overflowing with lilies and roses in all shades of white, red, and pink. It was big, a bit extravagant, and quite expensive. But Baekhyun did not care, if anything he was trying to go as over the top as possible, to really show how much he cared and wanted to make this special. No purchase was too large, no gift too much. 

The chocolates were imported from Switzerland. A large box with endless flavor varieties, each one more delicious than the last. The last time he’d had them had been on vacation in Europe, and it was not so easy for him to get his hands on them outside of the EU. But after a few phone calls, he had them on their way over with 2-day shipping. 

Baekhyun wasn’t one to usually spend much money at all. Not because he didn’t have it, he just didn’t feel the need. He had a nice home and a nice car. There wasn’t anything he regularly bought, aside from food. Most purchases would either be related to movies and games online, or would be for his friends. 

But he loved spending money on you, because for the first time in his life there was a girl who cared about more than just his family’s wealth. You actually cared about him. He’d never wanted to spoil someone like this before out of fear that they might only stick around for the financial benefits, but that didn’t worry him when it came to you. He found it almost laughable that after so many years of dating ‘proper’ women, women his family would’ve liked, women who looked great on paper but brought him no excitement and used him for his money, he finally found someone who actually cared for him at a strip club. The universe sometimes works in mysterious ways, he told himself. 

Once the chocolates had arrived and he had acquired the flowers, it was time to get going. 

~

Wednesday afternoon you and Mia decided to put away your homework for a while and bake something together. Apple pie was the agreed upon project for the day. You were in the process of slicing up the apples when you started to wonder just what was taking Baekhyun so long, after all he’d already told you he was going to ask you out. Why couldn’t he just do it? 

“I wonder why Baekhyun still hasn’t actually asked me on a date yet, he said he was going to on Saturday and it’s Wednesday. Do you think he might’ve changed his mind?” 

Mia had to work to hold back her smile. Not only did she know when he planned on coming to ask, she knew the exact flowers and chocolates he was bringing, as well as the date and time of the date itself, all of which Baekhyun had carefully discussed with her. 

“He definitely hasn’t changed his mind, that’s for sure. He’s probably just taking his time to make sure it’s special.” 

“He’s only asking me on a date. He could literally just text me. It’s not like I’ll say no anyway.” 

At that, Mia couldn’t help but crack up. Maybe that was the norm for college guys, but Baekhyun? Ask you in a text? After everything he’d done? It was laughable. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing!” Mia said and put two hands up in the air in defense, but you’d known your best friend for long enough to tell when she was lying. 

“You know something. Tell me.” You demanded, taking your apple slicing knife and pointing it towards her. 

“Get that away from me! And my lips are sealed, sorry.” 

No matter how much you annoyed her about it, she wasn’t going to tell you. Not only was she sworn to secrecy, she wanted you to enjoy the surprise. 

“Come on, did he say something to you? Just tell me.” 

“I’m not saying anything. You’ll just have to see, but I promise it’ll be worth the wait.” 

“You are so evil.” 

“You still love me” 

The pie was eventually assembled and put into the oven, at which point you returned back to your own room to continue doing homework. Mia stayed out in the living room, since she knew there was a guest arriving shortly. 

~

It was finally time for Baekhyun to go to your house to ask. After approximately 30 minutes of just making sure his hair looked right, he finally grabbed the chocolates and flowers and got on his way. 

It was a pretty warm day, but even with the AC blasting as high as it would go Baekhyun was still sweating. He knew you would say yes, but his hands felt slippery on the steering wheel of his car anyway. It had been almost 5 years since he had last done this, since he had asked a girl out. It had been even longer since he’d asked someone out that he was actually excited to spend time with, and really hoped would say yes. 

The closer he got to your home, the more nervous he became. He couldn’t even explain to himself why. He knew you were home, he knew you would say yes, he knew you were free the day he was going to take you out, and he knew he had the perfect gifts. This was exactly why he’d interrogated Mia via email for days, but when it actually came down to it he couldn’t help worrying. What if you were mad that it took him so long to ask and wouldn’t wanna go anymore? What if something came up last minute and you wouldn’t be able to? He wasn’t sure if his heart would be able to take a response like that. Especially since setting up the date itself had been a whole other story, one that not even Mia knew about. 

Baekhyun could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he got the chocolates and flowers out of his trunk and started walking up to your front door. When he knocked, Mia was the one to answer. 

“Hi Baekhyun!” She said, looking him up and down, and then to the flowers and chocolates he was holding, a wide grin on her face. “I’ll go get her.” 

You heard your name being yelled from the living room so you peeled your thighs off your desk chair and made your way into the common space to see Baekhyun, holding the most enormous flower arrangement you’d ever seen. 

Mia went to her room, leaving you standing before him, slightly flabbergasted. 

“Sorry I didn’t do this sooner, but can I take you out on Saturday?” He asked, peeking over the mountain of flowers that hid the bottom of his face. 

You immediately grinned and nodded enthusiastically, pulling Baekhyun through the doorway. You grabbed the flower arrangement and set it down on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch with him. 

“I would’ve asked days ago already but I wanted to bring these too and it takes a little while for them to get shipped from Switzerland.” 

The flowers had distracted you so much you hadn’t even noticed the box of chocolates he was holding as well. 

“Baekhyun this is crazy, how much did all of this cost?” 

He only rolled his eyes. “You know none of that matter, I just want to make you happy, okay? And you like them right?” 

“Well of course I love chocolate, and the flowers are beautiful, roses and lilies are my favorites.” 

“I know.” He grinned at you.

“I never told you that?” 

“I might’ve found your friend’s school email...” 

Your eyes widened. “You did not-” 

“Professors have access to every students files and that includes school email addresses, and you mentioned her a few times so I figured I would ask her some stuff.” His hand made its way to the back of his neck and he looked down at the ground nervously. “Sorry if that’s weird, I just wanted to make sure I’d get the right things and that you wouldn’t already be busy or anything.” 

You smiled “It’s alright, this is definitely the most anyone's ever done for me for a first date, or any date for that matter, sorry if I don’t really know how to act right now.” 

“Nobody’s ever bought you flowers or chocolates before? Really? Are those boys you go to school with that dumb?” 

“I don’t really date around much anyway, and maybe once or twice for valentines day or something, but definitely never like this.”

“Well you deserve to be showered in flowers and chocolates all the time.” He smiled and grabbed the box and untied the fancy looking ribbon holding it together, and removed the lid. “Try one, this stuff is crazy, no other chocolate has been the same since I first tried it on vacation in the alps a few years ago.”

Of course he went on fancy European vacations. You wondered if someday you’d get to tag along. 

He picked a piece and held it up to your mouth and you took it between your lips. He was right, it was amazing. 

“Oh my god this is so good. Holy shit.” He was right, this would pretty much ruin all other chocolate for you. 

He watched you as you finished eating it and placed a hand on your chin, bringing your eyes to meet his. “Give me a taste.” 

He pulled you in for a slow open mouthed kiss, savoring the flavor of the chocolate on your tongue and leaving you breathless. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to get used to the way he kissed you. He was so good at making you feel like your insides were melting with desire it felt almost dangerous. 

“You’re intoxicating, I could kiss you all day.” He said as he pulled away from the kiss just enough to speak. You could feel his breath on your face and his eyes as they bore into your own. 

“Oh come on you’re just saying that because of the chocolate.” You laughed as you pulled away further, face now a bright shade of pink. 

“The chocolate is amazing, but your lips are even better.”

“God you’re so cheesy.” You rolled your eyes at him, but he still just smiled back. “So where are you taking me Saturday?”

“It’s a surprise, I’ll pick you up here around 3:00 and it’ll be a bit of a drive but I promise it’ll be well worth it.” 

“Can you give me a hint at least? Will there be food? What should I wear?” 

“Yes there will be food, and just wear something comfortable and weather appropriate.”  He considered it for a moment, trying to think of something that wouldn’t be too obvious. “It’s an outdoor thing, and something I’m almost 100% sure you’ve never done before, but that’s all you’re getting out of me. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You’re so mean.” You pouted. “You make me wait for days and now you won’t even say where you’re taking me.” You really wondered what was so special that he couldn’t just tell you. It was only a first date so it wouldn’t be anything that extravagant anyway right? 

“Once you see you’ll understand why I want to keep it secret, just trust me, okay?” You rolled your eyes again, “Hey, y/n, look at me.” 

He put his hand on your thigh before giving you a serious look. “I know this might not seem like that big of a deal to you, but it’s been over 5 years since I’ve taken someone out like this, and even longer since I’ve been this excited to. I just, I really want to make this special, so can you trust me?”  

You gave him a soft smile and a nod. “Of course, I'm impatient is all... And I haven’t really done this in a while either...” 

“It’s really shocking to me how someone as beautiful as you doesn’t have a constant stream on boys trying to take you out.” You chucked, and thought back to Lucas and how he’d asked you to a party. 

“Me and college boys don’t really mix well, I’m not someone who enjoys big parties and they usually aren’t really interested in getting to know me anyway, or once they do they realize I’m just a boring STEM major. You saw that guy Lucas, I’m sure he was just hoping I’d go party with him and get wasted enough to end up in his bed. No thank you.” 

“He was so pushy too.” Baekhyun said as his face fell into a frown at the unpleasant memory. 

“Boys will ask me out sometimes, sure, but it’s always just to a party or a movie or something, somewhere you can’t really have any kind of meaningful conversation anyway, so I assume they just want to sleep with me. And I’m not really interested in that.” 

“You seemed more than happy to let me rail you in my office last week.” Baekhyun laughed, making your face blush an even deeper shade of red.

“That’s different!” You said in defense, giving a light slap to his shoulder. “You’re not some college boy, and we have technically known each other for a while already.” 

Baekhyun had a wide smile plastered on his face again, “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one who had to keep it from happening.” 

“Which I still think was pretty lame of you...” 

He caught your eyes again, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “Baby I’ll make sure that was worth the wait too.” 

You shivered, and as soon as he had pulled away you couldn’t help but throw your arms around him and pull him into another kiss. He quickly deepened the kiss and pulled you onto his lap. The two of you sat like that for a while, exploring each other’s mouths, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of it. Eventually you ended up laying down next to one another, still kissing lazily in each other’s embrace. You knew better than to escalate it into anything sexual now, so you just enjoyed the softness of his lips on yours and his arms wrapped around your waist. 

After some time Baekhyun had to go, and you thanked him again for the chocolates and flowers. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Mia emerged from her bedroom. 

“See! I told you he’d ask soon! Also, he’s even cuter in person.” She giggled and you laughed in agreement. 

“Did he seriously email you about me? What all did he say?” 

“He asked about your favorite everything pretty much, when you’d be home this week for him to ask you, when you’d have time over the weekend, all that. I assumed you wouldn’t mind missing work for the date so I told him Saturday night.” 

“Was there anything else? Any idea where he’s taking me?”

“No, I asked but he wouldn’t tell me either. It was really cute though, the way he was talking about you. He’s seriously whipped.” 

“You don’t say.” You laughed gesturing towards the huge flower arrangement and box of chocolates still on the coffee table. 

“You have to tell me where he takes you, I’m really curious. Did he tell you anything?” 

“Just that it’s outdoors and I don’t need to dress fancy.”

You could tell Mia was thinking, trying to figure what it might be the same way you had. “A picnic maybe?” 

“That feels almost not fancy enough for him, but I don’t know. I really can’t think of anything outdoorsy that nice.” 

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to find out! Come on, let’s cut into this pie.” 

The evening was spent eating pie, and with Mia showing you Baekhyun’s emails to her. They made you feel like your heart might explode from the sweetness and consideration he had when planning everything. He’d even made sure to get you milk chocolate rather than dark chocolate. There were a plethora of other seemingly unrelated questions as well, including your favorite snack foods, colors, and more. You felt a little bad for how much he’d asked her about. 

As the hours went by, you were looking forward to the date more and more.

 Saturday afternoon couldn’t arrive soon enough. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Sorry this one is late and a bit short, but the next update will be *much* more exciting I promise ;) 

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

✨ Seven days of:

Day #3.

✨ REQUEST: Request for El Presidente 😁 I've been thinking of this idea: Maybe Bishop is trying to flirt with the reader but we all know he's flirty with most women so the reader doesn't think much of it until they are at a party and “...How long has he been flirting with me?” another mayan: “Only the entire time.” [ I hope you haven't written something like this. I love you 💖]

✨ MADE BY: @ocetevasgirl

WORDS: about 1.9k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ OBISPO ‘BISHOP’ LOSA MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

“C'mon, dance with me”.

The whisper into your ear takes you by surprise, producing you some shivers down your spin. Turning around, you frown to El Presidente. Being insistent as fuck is a personality and it's his.

“Ay, ya, Obispo. I can't believe Vicki is running out of girls to flirt with”. Rolling your eyes, you have a drink from your beer.

“Have I told you how good my name sounds in your lips?” He replies not caring a shit about what you have said. “Vamos... You never dance with me”.

“Yeah, and today is not gonna be the day it changes”. Palming his chest with your free hand, you raise both eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Because I ain't a number on your list. It's called self-love”.

“Who said I want you to be a number?”

Rolling your eyes, you can't believe that he's denying the fact that he flirts with you the whole time. You like him, and you have been about to fall into his claws a lot of times, but then you see him with another girl sitting on his lap, or clinged to his arm. The deception is bigger every time.

“Why don't you give up at damn once?”

Not giving him the opportunity to respond, you pass him away with a loud snort. Getting out of the clubhouse, you're able to have a deep breath of fresh air closing your eyes, guiding after that your steps to the sofa on the porch. Resting your feet over the wooden fence and lying back against your seat, trying to keep blank your mind. The silence outside helps you more than you could think, only being broken by the crickets around you and the bonfire in the middle of the yard.

You aren't sure when he started to act like that. At the beginning of meeting you he was kind, respectful and sweet. But bit by bit, you started to see his intentions. Being aware that the only thing he wants from you is a one night-stand. It's painful, even if you don't want to recognize it, because you were feeling something. Something good. Until he changed. Then it turned into sarcasm and rage. Every time that you turn him down, he finds his way to one of those bitches who are always in the club, cheering the view. And of course it's not their fault, but maybe if they weren't there, things would be different.

“Can I sit?”

Taza claims your attention with a soft tone of voice, pointing with a hand to the empty seat by your side. Showing him a fleeting smile, you nod in silence. As soon as he sits down, the man places his free arm over your shoulders to urge you to rest your head on his.

“What's happening inside that beautiful mind, ah?”

“You already know it”.

He draws an oh in his lips, before chuckling shaking his head.

“He's really in love with you”.

“No, he's not. And, god, please! Don't take his side”.

“I would never lie to you, chamaquita. The problem resides in that he doesn't know how to show it properly. You're the whole time kicking his ass and he's desperate for opening your eyes”. That sounds like a possibility. Like a valid one. “Why don't you give him a chance? We have closed a deal that has given us a lot of privileges. He's happy and he only wants to celebrate it with y—”.

The main door opening interrupts your conversation, seeing the crew abandoning the club.

“We're going to Vicki's, you comen'?” Coco asks, having a smoke.

Taza looks at you, arching a brow, but you shake your head getting up.

“Do you want me to ride you home?”

“Nah, don't worry. I will walk, so I can… clear my mind”.

Placing a kiss on your forehead, the older joins his brothers as you come inside the club. The silence is installed all around, once the buzz of the engines disappear through the scrapping. You were wanting to stay a little more, because you don’t have any other plans for tonight than this. And you’re not in the mood to come back home, so you are thinking about finding a bar to drink, even if it means to be alone.

When you’re about to grab your jacket from a chair, the crash between two pool balls calls your attention. Turning around with the piece of clothing covering your forearms, you find Bishop standing up from the table with a cig in his lips. You can see him pretending normality with his eyes focused on his own game. Not understanding why he hasn’t gone to Vicki’s place, you’re starting to think that maybe he did on purpose. Pressing the inside of your cheek with the tip of your tongue, you can’t help but contain a laugh by showing up a smile.

“Need a partner?”

Having a smoke and swallowing it before spitting it, the mexican turns to a side to grab another stick and offer it to you in silence. So, that’s a yes. Putting your jacket back on the chair and leaving on the poker table your phone, you two start a new game after placing all the balls forming a triangle. Bishop gives you some space, resting his back against the wall, to see how you break the formation with an accurate hit sneaking a striped red ball into a hole, in the middle of the pool. It’s the first time he plays against you, and he isn’t sure that he has seen you playing before. But he knows that it’s going to be an interesting game. Holding his stick between both of his legs under your attentive gaze, El Presidente takes off the clock in his right wrist and the ring from the same hand.

“Since when are we competing?” Tossing a loud laughter, you place both hands over the tip of your stick, resting your chin there.

“If I win, you will give me a kiss”. Bishop sounds very convinced of beating you, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt under the kutte. And you know he’s going to play hard, when he also takes off the leather garment to put it away.

Licking your bottom lip, squinting at him you offer him a hand to accept the deal.

“If you lose, you will stop with this… flirt, or whatever it is”.

At first, he doubts. You’re not stupid, you know that he will never stop flirting with you, but for a moment, you doubt too. Until he finally shakes your hand firmly, secure of himself.

Ball against ball, striped and smooth, they all end up falling through the different holes of the pool table. When the only one left is the number eight, you notice the tension installed between both. It’s your turn and Bishop is expectant, making you feel nervous with that grin contained under his black moustache. Leaning over the table with your gaze focused on the tip about to hit the ball, you calculate the exact way it has to take. Pulling it back, you move it forth with a fast move to beat the eight. Straight to the hole, bouncing against the wooden wall and coming back to the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Bishop breaks into laughs, not being able what just happened. It was inside the hole and that motherfucking ball didn’t fall through it.

“YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME! I WON! IT WAS INSIDE IT!”

Screaming like a madwoman and pointing at the pool with a hand, you turn at him. The man is running out of air, choking in laughs and almost arching back his body.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, estúpido”. Palming his shoulder with more strength than you wanted to use, he complains this time. “I’m not playing anymore, I won”.

“You didn’t”. The man leans over the table, doing exactly your same moves, but having more lucky than you.

“I’m not gonna fucking kiss you”.

“Sweetheart, how many times you can say fucking in a sentence?”

“Every two fucking words”.

Chuckling and taking off from your hands the stick, he places it in the holder close to his.

“I’m going to be a good man, and let you kiss my face wherever you want”.

Taking your right hand, Bishop pushes you into his arms, wrapping with them your waist. And even if for a moment you want to put up some resistance, deep inside you being hugged by him is everything you want. There’s still a couple inches of distance between both when you toss your hands on his shoulders respectively, rolling your eyes as if you were feeling uncomfortable. Leaning forward, you press your lips on his cheek. The fucking longer two seconds of your life. But if you were thinking that this would be enough for him, it isn’t.

Bishop embraces you tightly against himself, making you feel warm and loved for the first time in your life. It’s not only the gesture, but what he is transmitting you with it. Now you’re believing what Taza has told you almost an hour again. And you don’t reply with a single word, when he starts to kiss your face with such dearly touches, as he speaks.

“I want you —one on your neck— to be mine —another going up to the line of your jaw— and only mine —the last one close to the corner of your lips—, why don't you believe me?”

His facial hair makes you some tickles, provoking you a long shiver that bristles your skin. There’s no distance between you two, guiding your steps backwards until your body meets the pool table. His mouth is coming closer to yours, tasting the waters just in case that you really want to push him away. But you don’t. You don’t do it, closing your eyes as soon as he presses his lips against yours.

You can taste the flavor of beer and smoke in his saliva, not being disgusting for you, with your fingers getting placed at both sides of his neck; caressing with the tips of them his short beard. The heat is starting to burn down your heart barriers, transforming your doubts and insecurities into ashes.

Pulling away your faces from each other, when you are running out of air, Bishop urges you to sit on the edge of the pool table as he makes his way to between your legs. And there’s a detail that catches your whole attention. He’s not hard. You’re sure that if he does the same moves with one of Vicki’s girl, or any man with any woman he just wants to fuck with, he would be already hard. Quite the opposite, El Presidente is only focused on showing you that you’re more than a night-stand for him.

“Will you give me an opportunity?”

“Just one”. You highlight, bringing your eyes to the darkest ones.

“As if I needed more than one, querida”.

[jeonggukkiepabo]

MOONCHILD 🌙  2

SUMMARY: Soulmates are a common thing. Everyone has one. Some people think soulmates are the greatest gift fate could give, others are envious about happy couples that were lucky enough to receive a wonderful partner. One of them was Min Yoongi. Your time to meet your significant other hasn’t come yet, stumbling into the tattoo parlor with a simple idea in mind, not knowing that you will be bound to step by more often. When you leave for the first time, you’ll go home with your masterpiece of a tattoo.

When you leave for the second time, you’ll go home with not only one, but two soulmates.

The man that was supposed to be your only soulmate, the one that never wanted to tell you that he woke up with the exact same koi karp tattoo just sits and watches - until he can’t take the pain anymore.

PAIRINGS: Y/N x ?? / Taehyung x Jungkook

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, mentions of anxiety / depression / unrequited love, there’s one small mention of a quickie in the storage room but no actual smut (yet), swearing, mentions of homosexual relationships (member x member)

WORD COUNT: ~ 6k

NOTE: Now from my side, I’d love to welcome you to our baby as well. It took us quite some time to plan this fic before we even started writing, but I think we did a great job and I am really proud that we came to the part of actually uploading this fic. I think I can speak for Dolly as well when I say that we were surprised by the amount of people asking to be tagged in the upcoming party, thank you so much! Now I don’t want to get simpy and stuff, so please enjoy chapter 2 of Moonchild!

PART 01 ~ MASTERLIST  

Yoongi can’t believe it, everything is too ridiculous to be real. It’s one of those disgusting pranks you usually just see on TV, isn’t it? This isn’t supposed to be real… right? But then again, why would anyone pull a prank on him like that?

To begin with, he’s utterly pissed because of the cupcake incident. It’s pitiful; Yoongi knows it all too well, but nevertheless: he can’t help but feel like an asshole and he hates the way you indirectly and unknowingly called him one as well. The douchebag that couldn’t come to grab the cupcake that was handmade by Hoseok? That was no other than Yoongi himself - and knowing that you, out of all the people that step into the shop to get some pastries, got it instead of him makes him think that maybe the cupcake-ritual isn’t as special and important to Hoseok as it is to Yoongi. 

He goes to this specific bakery religiously, always grabbing some coffee and this disgustingly sweet pastry that he doesn’t even like. At least that’s what Yoongi tends to say when people ask him about it. 

But fuck, who could say no to Hoseok who endearingly prepares those cupcakes by hand, just to make a different flavor for Yoongi every day? The little batch of batter he whips up every morning for one single cupcake? Yoongi could never refuse such a gesture. And why would he? Hoseok pours all his heart into baking, into decorating and it’s the cutest shit anyone has ever done for Yoongi, of course he accepts them. He even eats every single one, even though his teeth hurt due the amount of sugar in them.

So, why the hell did Hoseok just give it out to you? Wasn’t their ritual as special to him as to Yoongi? How could Hoseok know that Yoongi wasn’t planning to grab it during his lunch break? Or after his shift? Right, Hoseok couldn’t know, he just assumed Yoongi wouldn’t go and get it. Great. That makes him feel like shit even more than before. 

But, it wasn’t just that. It would have been way too easy for Yoongi to let his anger consume him throughout the day. He knows that he could simply go to Hoseok later that day to get a coffee and calm himself down (not to talk about his jealousy, obviously) - that would have been it, no stubborn behavior from his side, no self destructive thoughts that will probably hunt him in his sleep tonight. But Yoongi wouldn’t be Yoongi if he’d do that, if he’d just forget about his ego once. He’s so fucking naive. 

Yoongi had obviously noticed the slight discomfort in his neck as he had been tattooing you, but even though he probably should have, he didn’t think anything of it. He just felt like it was phantom pain.

Yet, your tattoo is there, inked into his own skin, permanently reminding him what he just had to realize. He shivers at the thought, but not in a good way. He hates it, he hates himself for pulling you into the shop that day and he hates you for being who you are.

The exact same design he just tattooed onto your lower neck is proudly showing up on the same spot, covering the exact same spot on his body as well now.

But that’s not possible, you can’t be his soulmate. There’s nobody in the world that could be mated to Yoongi and he knows that. He doesn’t deserve a soulmate.

Yoongi doesn't even have the strength to stop his own hands from shaking so much, what on earth is happening to him right now? Isn’t his life complicated enough the way it already is? He wants- he needs to break something, anything really. He feels the urge to just punch into his mirror, but he can’t hurt his hands, those are the only good things about himself - those hands that create such amazing art on human bodies. But today, those hands deceived him. 

Yoongi needs a break. 

He needs to think of something else, to silence his own thoughts because his brain feels crowded, 

his breaths get shorter and shorter, he’s breathing in a more hectic way now as the panic rushes over him. It feels like Yoongi is underwater, his throat burning with the desire to fill his lungs with more air, but it feels like there’s no oxygen around him.

He’s used to his anxiety, panic attacks are more usual than he’d like them to be, but the anger that is added into the mix causes his emotions to feel unbearable. 

He even wonders for a second if he shouldn’t just go outside as quickly as possible, leaving the suffocating room, before he actually breaks something out of anger. It’s overwhelming, too much for him to manage by himself. 

Yoongi needs air, he needs to stop thinking, at least for a minute. Feeling his newly inked skin burning, he wants to scream until his voice disappears because he should not feel this pain and discomfort. This isn’t his own tattoo, and he doesn’t want it to be on his neck. He doesn’t want to share anything with you or with anyone else. Actually, he hates the thought of it. 

He hates everything: from the burning pain inside his heart to the tattoo that he wants to tear off with his nails if needed. The fresh lines of ink feel wrong under his touch knowing how precious and personal it is to you.

 It feels like Yoongi stole something from you even though you were the one that did exactly that to him. You stole his freedom, the freedom of meeting his true soulmate. Because you weren’t that for him. You weren’t his true soulmate. You stole the hopes he had to ever end up with the love of his life. He hates you. 

Breathe, he has to breathe, but it gets harder each time he tries. The air is stuck inside his lungs, aching to be released in some sort of way, but it’s hard. Yoongi feels like he just lost the ability to breathe out, just collecting his used air inside his lungs and by now, he feels like they’re going to explode soon. Maybe that would change something, maybe he could lose you like that.

He is somewhat frightened by his own thoughts, but he chuckles darkly, noticing how much his body is shivering. He can’t even open his fists, his nails digging into his palms, but he feels no pain. Yoongi is so easily falling apart because of you, and even that makes him angry. He feels pitiful, even for himself, and god knows how much he hates to see any kind of pity in the eyes of anyone looking at him. That’s until his knees suddenly hit the ground, the shock sobering him a little bit, eyes widening because of the abrupt pain. The pain of not accepting his soulmate, the pain of not giving into the bond. Instead, he gives up on both you and himself. Giving in to the pain, allowing himself to feel it all. There is a little voice in the back of his head that tells him that he needs to stop trying so hard not to see the truth, that he is preventing you from feeling this pain that you can’t control. He shakes his head violently, trying to get rid of this annoying voice.  

He refuses. You can’t be his soulmate, you can’t and you won’t. 

You won’t if he doesn’t let you know, right? You probably don’t feel it, it was him that got bonded to you, not the other way around. He has your tattoo, he’s the one that’s supposed to go and talk to you, to show you how he feels and kiss you to seal the bond. But Yoongi won’t.

He already feels awful about the decision he has to make right now, because in the back of his mind he knows that he is taking the choice away from you, he knows that it’s awful and that you will probably hate him if you find out, but what else is he supposed to do? There’s only one man he would accept as his soulmate - and you weren’t him. You weren’t Hoseok and you will never be like him.

He never believed in this soulmate fantasy anyway. He never understood how people could randomly follow those kinds of things, as if the universe would choose people to be destined for each other. The man he loves is in love with someone else, isn’t that proof enough that the whole thing about the universe putting souls together is completely fucked up? Fate doesn’t exist. Not for Yoongi. Not for his broken soul.

Ugly tears are threatening to spill, the salty drops burning in his eyes and Yoongi doesn’t know if they are meant to be shed for his newly found soulmate that his body seems to be aching for, or if it’s the pain of losing someone he never had, the one that remains in his heart, the one that proves him that love isn’t something that he can handle. He keeps on being the one who’s left out, the short straw, the one who stays on the side, never picked first. Maybe he wasn’t made for love, neither to give nor to receive.

Hoseok didn’t choose him first. He chose Seokjin. And god, that shit hurts. It hurts each time he sees them together and he quickly found himself hating the man who’s giving Hoseok everything. 

He can feel Seokjin’s confusion about his cold shoulder, with his thoughtful and gentle looks. But he doesn’t know. He shouldn’t know, because Yoongi knows that fate isn't about choosing, it’s not about who you want to be mated with, it’s about having the same souls, the same interests and the same needs. Hoseok and Seokjin are perfect together, they share the same sense of humor, they even finish each other's sentences. They’re a couple right out of the schoolbook.

Who is he kidding, Yoongi can’t bring himself to hate Seokjin and that’s what annoys him the most. Why can’t he even hate the man who stole the love of his life? Yoongi tries to tell himself that he really does hate Seokjin, that the eldest deserves his hatred, his envy and jealousy. But he can’t, he just can’t hate the kind man that seems to try his best to leave Yoongi in peace when he comes to their coffee shop. He hates the kindness that is shown to him each time he steps inside to grab a coffee. But what he hates the most is that he treats Hoseok like he deserves to be treated. Something that he wishes he had gotten the opportunity, but he didn’t, and he won’t. 

Yoongi isn’t stupid. He knows that he is nothing more than a good friend to Hoseok, they may have been more than that in the past, but that was before fate decided to step in between them. Though, Seokjin and Hoseok will never treat him with anything but kindness. 

But, oh, how he wishes that it wasn’t as forced as it is. Yoongi just wants to be loved, but he knows he probably doesn’t deserve it. What could he offer Hoseok when a full Kim Seokjin exists? 

Right. Nothing. 

The tears are doubling up and Yoongi closes his eyes to not see the blurry room anymore, tired of everything. He doesn’t care about the hot droplets that roll down his cheeks, about the ugly sob that finally leaves his lips. Suddenly, even the air in his lungs is gone and he feels empty once again.

A shaky sigh leaves his lips, the craving for more than just a cigarette boiling under his skin.

What kind of soulmate could he ever be anyway, if not a pitiful and horrible one? Would he treat anybody else different to how he treats himself? Is that why fate chose you for him? Are you just as broken, just as anxious and wrecked as Yoongi is? Are you hiding something under your soft features?

How is he supposed to develop feelings for someone as long as he’s in love with another man? He hates it. Somehow he hates it because he knows he wouldn’t be enough as a soulmate for you. Why would you pick him anyway? Does… he even like girls?

Suddenly, Yoongi is laughing. He must have lost it, truly. He’s still crying even though he can’t help but feel how ridiculous his situation is. His plan is to avoid you because honestly, he has no other choice. 

You won’t be his soulmate and he couldn’t care any less. He has to find a way to make you disappear from his life, he has to forget about you. Maybe that’s why fate sent you - to test him, to test if he is really meant for Hoseok, if his love for him is real.

If only he had never met you, he wishes he could just forget about it, never going out to bring you into the parlour and just go back to his useless crush on Hoseok. 

Yoongi’s throat is tightening again but he won’t allow himself to suffer even more. He is going to ignore everything. His life has to go on - and it will. Without you.

He is going to hate you, even if it takes years, maybe his entire life. Because as much as he just tries to believe that he hates you, he knows that he does not. It’s impossible.

He hates fate maybe even more than you. This stupid attraction. You’re his... no. You’re nothing. You’re not his soulmate. He’ll never let you be.

You won’t be his soulmate whether you accept it or not, because he does not want you in his life.

He does not, and if you ever understand who he is supposed to be for you, he is going to make you understand that he doesn’t want you, as cruel and horrible as it sounds, even to him. And that’s it.

You come back for the check up two weeks later, just like Taehyung scheduled you. It had been pretty hard to adapt too your new tattoo for the first few days. You had to turn around every time you walked past a mirror because you just had to look at it over and over again. Sleeping has been torture, though. Each time you tossed and turned in bed, laying on your back or simply move your shoulders in an unusual way was hurting your damaged skin. After that, the itch started - and it was horrible because you knew that you were supposed to leave it alone, not removing the healing skin because your ink will fade, but it was itching so bad. 

The last few days were obviously way easier than the beginning, even though the permanent itchiness of healing skin was driving you insane. Though, that beautiful masterpiece was worth every second of it.

You had indeed thought about what Taehyung told you that day - that he wanted to leave something on your skin as well. In the beginning, the thought had been slightly overwhelming. You didn’t even know why, you had felt joyful but anxious at the same time. 

You would’ve thought that the reason behind that was your fear of needles, but you did survive the tattoo you just got perfectly fine, which left you wondering why you were feeling so anxious about it. 

As time passed, you grew fonder of the idea of getting a tattoo from Taehyung. 

And to be honest, you don’t think you would oppose Jungkook doing one either, as weird as it sounds. Even to you, it sounds pretty odd. You’re not one to let anyone near you easily, especially to get a tattoo that will be on your skin forever. 

You now start to understand why people say getting tattoos is addictive.

Because strangely, the idea does not sound as frightening or dangerous if you think about Taehyung or Jungkook tattooing you. You feel somewhat safe with them and you know that the both of them would probably take good care of you. 

However, now that you’re back in the parlour, you’re not so sure anymore. 

“What do you mean, Yoongi is full? Didn’t you schedule an appointment for me last time?” You ask incredulously, because it doesn’t make any sense to you. You even noted that date in your phone, there’s no way that you accidentally wrote down something wrong.

“I’m very sorry Y/N. I don’t know what happened to the schedule either, a lot of things got changed, Yoongi switched many time slots, I’m pretty confused at his schedule myself, especially since he rescheduled you, like, in two weeks. I can’t really let that happen, you need your check up pretty soon, not in a month.” Taehyung sighs and you’re feeling confused. What happened? 

Yoongi had asked Taehyung to book you a check up session, why did he change everything without telling anyone? Especially the fact that Taehyung, the freaking co-owner, doesn’t know why is making everything even more weird.

“I mean, it’s okay, I can always come back in two weeks, it’s alright, no big deal.” You try to smile, but Taehyung sees right through it. He thinks about calling Yoongi for a few seconds, asking him why the hell he changed it all, but he knows better than to interrupt him in the middle of an appointment.

 “You know what? I don’t have any appointments right now. I’m going to call Jungkook to the front and I’m going to make sure that you have your check up session just like we promised you would. He’s probably eating his third bowl of ramen right now.” Taehyung smiles soothingly, but you’re not very sure of his words right now.

“Are you sure? Really it’s okay, I can come back in two weeks, I wouldn’t want to be a pro-”

“You’re not a bother Y/N. Don’t even think about that word. I’m going to take a look at you, it shouldn’t be long anyway, so don’t worry about it, yeah?”, his smile slowly transfers onto your face once again and you feel yourself nodding at his words, somewhat comforted. That man has some sort of power over you, as weird as it sounds. 

“Okay, then we’re going in the room just right there, the left one. That’s mine. Jungkook! Could you come to the desk? I’m taking Y/N for her check up.” He yells, still not too loud to make sure that he does not startle Yoongi while he’s working on someone’s skin. Even though you’re not sure if he’d actually hear anything that happens outside, when Yoongi was tattooing you he seemed pretty concentrated and didn’t even talk to Jungkook or you. But maybe he just felt weird around you. 

“Oh! Y/N is back? Hola! How have you been?” You can hear Jungkook running towards you, excitedly bouncing on his heels and you laugh at how fast he arrives. 

“Hi! I’ve been quite good, thanks. How about you?” He smiles widely, excited about something.

“I’m very good! I’ve been told that I was improving on the fake skin I had to tattoo all the time, so I’m determined to prove myself when I’ll get the occasion. Yoongi told me that I should be able to work on real skin soon if I get to find someone that actually ag- Y/N!” he suddenly shouts, causing you jump in shock. “Would you let me tattoo you? Please! I’d do anything, I’d even do it for free. I really need someone to let me do it. I mean, I already did bits and pieces on Taehyung, but Yoongi says that this doesn’t count”, he asks with his big doe eyes, a pout forming on his lips and you’re way too close to just recklessly say yes. 

“Not that I’m against the idea of you tattooing me, because I’m pretty sure that you must be damn good to be able to even work here, but I’m not sure when and if I decide to get another one...” You try to soothe him down but Jungkook just gets even more excited, already bouncy on his heels again.

“But then, when you’ll be ready, could I? Pretty please? I think I could come something pretty-, no I know that I can come up with something pretty. You have perfect skin and your design that you got inspired me a little bit. I’m sure I could do well, please?” 

You almost feel yourself blush because of his weird compliment, but you both are interrupted by Taehyung.

“Get in the line, Kook. I asked her first.” It’s childish, really, but Jungkook can’t help but pout at his hyung. 

“You get to tattoo people everyday, Tae! Let me have my turn!” 

You can’t help but laugh at the two of them, their friendship must be very special and it’s endearing to look at them. Jungkook must have forgotten that he’s going to tattoo people everyday soon enough as well.

“Okay, okay, Jungkook I’ll think about it, I promise. Now, I need my check up first.”

Jungkook nods with a big smile on his face, eyes crinkling a bit and front teeth showing, causing you to giggle at his adorableness. 

“He’s very persuasive when he wants to. Be careful, his cuteness is his main weapon. He uses it whenever he can at home.” Taehyung sighs quietly, a fond smile decorating his lips when you suddenly realize something.

“Oh! Are you two living together?”, you ask, genuinely curious about the two men. 

“Ah, yes. We’re in a relationship. Soulmates as they say. Bonded for life. Till death does us apart and all that romantic stuff. In the end, Jungkook can be a pain in the ass.” 

Your eyes widen at his confession. “You’re soulmates?” 

You sound so surprised that Taehyung chuckles. You obviously didn’t mean to sound rude,  you just genuinely didn’t expect that chaotic duo to be soulmates. 

Taehyung’s weirdly eased not to hear any judgement from you, even though he usually doesn’t care about the thoughts other people have about his relationship. On the other hand, he would probably be somewhat upset if you were one to judge his relationship - he really likes you, he’d even consider spending more time with you, even though he doesn’t know why. Something about you is just… interesting to him.

Taehyung’s still thinking whether or not he should include the fact that his relationship doesn’t only consist of Jungkook and himself, but on the other hand, maybe it’s not really needed at this point. He is pretty sure you wouldn’t judge him because of that, but as much as it feels like he knows you since forever, you’re strangers, barely even friends. He will keep this story for another time, maybe when the three of you get to know each other a little bit better. 

“Yeah we are. It was weird in the beginning, working together is very different from what we’re used to from our private life, but we just get to see each other more, neither of us is complaining about that. Yoongi doesn’t mind that either as long as we stay professionals - all in all: if we don’t fuck in the storage room again, we’re good!” Taehyung smiles and you can just feel his beaming happiness. 

Wait- the… the storage room? You can’t hide your chuckle because, yes, somehow, it sounds like something they would do, as weird as it sounds.

Taehyung makes it look effortless to be happy, you almost wonder if you could ever be that happy once you�� meet your own soulmate. You try not to think of it too much though, it always leaves a bitter aftertaste. Many of the people that surround you have found their soulmates already while you’re one of the few to still be looking for them. You wonder if they are searching for you too and try not to imagine too many things like their gender, skin color or looks. None of that matters anyway. It’s all up to fate.

You know that you will love them for who they are. Because you do feel it sometimes, the loneliness. It’s suffocating, even oppressing but yet, you try your best not to think about it too much, to overcome it. You just have to hope that you will find the lost part of your soul soon, because you cannot wait to finally feel whole.

“Anyway! Any recent pain, something that I should be wary of, or worried about?” Taehyung asks as you remove your shirt, letting him see the healing ink on your skin. 

“Can I touch you?”  You nod as you answer. “Nothing really, I’m just always worried about accidentally hurting myself and destroying that masterpiece. But otherwise, I’ve been pretty good the last few days.” You try not to overthink his cold finger on your back that felt.. strangely good.

“Ah, I’m sorry, my hands are quite cold, I should have warned you. Well, it seems to be healing pretty well. The crust on it looks good too, I’m glad you didn’t peel it off. Have you been able to sleep correctly? Back tattoos are sometimes a pain in the ass during nighttime.” 

It almost feels as if he tries to ask trivial questions for you to loosen up, which you really do.

“I kind of figured it out, I thought it would be hell but it’s really fine. The first few days were eventful but otherwise, everything has been good, I’m not a back-sleeper anyways.” 

His fingers are gently following the black ink, featherly touching your skin, making sure that everything is alright. 

“That’s good. No weird discomfort, you didn’t faint back at home or anything? I remember my first tattoo and how horrible my blood sugar was afterwards.” You almost chuckle even though you know he’s serious, so you stop yourself right in time to answer instead. 

“Nope. I’ve been great. I thought the aftermath would be hard but it was surprisingly okay.” Taehyung smiles at that.

“That’s good news then. Some people look like they are big, buff men, able to get through it, but they call us the next day to tell us that they can’t get up without having a headache. For the majority of them, it’s only them stressing and their anxiety coming down after getting the tattoo. We still need to check on them, because it obviously could be something else, but it’s never happened so far. Getting a tattoo is pretty intense, it’s not something that everyone can handle, and that’s fine. We’re also here to make sure that everything heals without a problem. The aftercare is almost as important as the actual tattooing.” 

His statement makes total sense, keeping your anxiety and stress at bay can come back in a less comfortable way - you’ve already experienced that in the past. 

“Anyway, I don’t think you were too stressed before getting the actual tattoo to get any of those side effects. I’ve heard from people that have to vomit before their appointment.” Taehyung laughs while you feel a blush creeping on your cheeks. Is he referring to the week where you stood in front of the shop, before running away because you were freaking out? 

“Ah please that’s embarrassing.” His laugh is the only hint that he is indeed thinking of what you’re thinking too. 

“Well then, it looks like everything is healing just fine! You’re basically free from now on, even though we can always schedule another check up in a few months if you really want to make sure everything is fine, which I can probably tell you will be the case, but it’s up to you. I know that the first tattoo is a stressful experience, so I would understand if you want to come back. You can get a free touch-up as well, just call within the next six months and Yoongi will be there to do it for you.” His soothing voice is empty of judgement and you feel secure, able to ask for anything. 

“I should be fine, thank you for telling me, though. I appreciate it a lot.” You believe every word he says and it's comforting. You feel at ease, Taehyung is an easy person to talk to and you feel yourself loosen up more and more. 

“I’m glad.” His eyes are gentle, accompanying you as he watches you walk out of the room, going back to Jungkook, who seems equally enthralled when he sees you. 

“So, when should I schedule the next one?” Jungkook smirks cheekily, knowing that he is pushing it, but he really wants to see you again. For tattooing, obviously. Right. For the tattoo. No other reasons. Because there weren’t any.

“Jungkook stop trying to convince her to get another tattoo. She only gets one if she wants to. Go back on working on your fake skin if you’re that desperate.” Taehyung is quick at reprimanding him, even though it’s more playful than really upset. 

“Tae, let me convince her, will you? She just needs a little push. I know she wants another one. I see it in her eyes.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, playfully looking at you, making you laugh as you see his wide smile. 

“Don’t be a brat about it, Guk.” Taehyung is doing some paperwork while you're trying to get yourself together. 

“Yes, Daddy”, Jungkook mumbles with a smirk. It takes a lot of strength from you not to laugh again.

“It’s alright Taehyung, don’t worry. Jungkook is probably right, though. I wouldn’t mind getting another tattoo. I'm just not sure what or when.” You grin when you see Taehyung’s surprised face. 

“See? I told you! I can totally draw you something Y/N, you can choose from any of my designs if you want.” Jungkook seems overly excited and you find yourself not being able to not think about getting another piece inked into your skin. God, what is he doing to you? 

“Y/N, are you sure? You don't have to, you know? You can always come back later.” Taehyung  smiles gently, giving you the chance to make your own choice again. A wave of comfort hits you and you start to wonder what it is about this man that makes you feel so at ease.

“I'm positive, Tae. Sure, it seems rushed and like I didn't think enough about it, which might be true. But, I really like Jungkook’s idea. If I like none of his designs, I can always say no, right?” You still ask, just in case, because you’d be crazy to sign up without any withdrawal possibility. 

“Of course you can. Anything else would be illegal. I'm pretty sure Jungkook will spend hours on it, making sure that you’ll find something that you like, but you can always refuse.” Jungkook is already mumbling his ideas, making a list on a piece of paper that he found on the desk. You both lost him already and the realisation makes you both chuckle. He is endearing as well. 

“When should I come back then?” You ask curiously, tiptoeing, trying to see his schedule as he checks when he could book you. 

“Well, would you like both Jungkook and I to work on it? Jungkook is not an official artist here, so he needs either mine or Yoongi’s approval before tattooing, but we also need yours, obviously. Let me reformulate that, it sounded like Jungkook was not pro enough to tattoo you on his own. The actual question is, do you trust Jungkook enough for him to have a part of the tattoo, more than just the design? He definitely can, but only if you agree. It would be the best for him to practise, though. I’ll be on his side all the time, making sure he doesn’t mess anything up. He has practised on fake skin a lot, he knows what he’s doing.” You hear Jungkook mumbling again that you already agreed on it. But you know that Taehyung is asking because Jungkook is only an apprentice, and as talented as he is, he still needs your consent before anything. 

“I’m 100% positive, no worries about that. That’s the whole point of it, him actually having real skin to work on, right?” 

Taehyung smiles happily, he knew that you would say so, but hearing it directly from you is reassuring.  “Good. Then, I have some free space in three weeks. It's a Saturday at 11 AM, are you free for us?” He shows you the time slot that is available and you mindlessly nod, noting it down in your phone as well. 

“So, I'll see you both in three weeks?” You look at them, silently waiting for one last smile, you wonder why you crave to see one on both of their faces before leaving, but you brush away the thought quickly.

“For sure! Take care of yourself Y/N, we’ll see you in a bit!” They both smile and you suddenly feel accomplished, you don't even know why, but it feels right. And you can't wait to be back, glad about the fact that your bank account won’t hate you this time. 

TAGLIST (hopefully I didn’t forget anyone lmao): @ ithinkileftmycoatoutside  , @ supertweetycherry ,@ rainyinseoul , @ btsismybiass , @ ray-of-sunshine10 , @ littlepinknightmare , @ quiet-anarchist , @ gali-005 , @ barbikatherine , @woosanniepabo ,  @ quiet-giant , @ asifetch7 , @ psiphidragon , @ hxsxxk-180294 , @ tellmeyoulovemepls , @ strawbewwymochii , @ do-you-dream-of-me , @intellectualxprincess​ ,

↬  COLLAB BETWEEN @JEONGGUKKIEPABO​ X @DEOLLY​

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↬ WILL BE UDPATED EVERY 3 WEEKS ON THURSDAY!

[anythingandeverything1d]

Stressed Out

You were escorted into the arena by two guards, they each had an arm on you and were pushing their way through the crowd of screaming fans who had collected outside while you were arriving. People were pointing, recording, and taking pictures of you, all while trying to grab onto you and follow you inside. Your body was exhausted, mentally and physically. You were beyond stressed and you felt as if your body was losing the battle of life. You made it inside and took a breath, leaning against the cold brick wall. The guards stood nearby, giving you space but making sure you were okay. Harry hadn't arrived yet, but you wish he had gotten there first. You wanted nothing more than a warm hug and someone to tell you everything was going to be okay. Your body was shaking, your heart rate had doubled and you felt as if you could barely breathe. 

You slumped to the floor, your back still against the wall, your face buried in your knees. You closed your eyes and thought back to simpler times. The days where Harry would surprise you at home, he would walk in carrying flowers and cupcakes, the biggest smile on his face. You would stay inside and watch movies all night while ordering pizza and laughing while he told you all of the dad jokes he had come up with on the plane. You would sleep in until noon, snuggling in bed most of the day and catching up on everything you had missed while he had been gone. In the afternoon you would get dressed only to go out to your favorite park and walk around, ending up at your favorite ice cream parlor where Harry would sample each and every flavor until deciding to get the exact same one he always got, Christmas Pudding. Those were the days. The days when your relationship was still private and fans only speculated what was going on. 

You and Harry had been dating for over a year now, and originally your plan was to keep the relationship a secret and as private as possible. Of course Harry’s fans were dedicated and involved, they had quickly speculated that the two of you were dating but nothing had been posted or confirmed. Thats the way you liked things, you could still go out to the store and not be swarmed with people or have to have guards tag along with you. It had been a month or so ago, you and Harry had gone out to dinner and a pap caught the two of you mid kiss. The news spread quickly and then Harry had confirmed it in an interview and then also mentioned you would be touring with him. Now halfway through the tour, you were breaking down. Fans had taken quite the liking to you, which at first you had been grateful for, but now it was a little overwhelming for someone who wasn't quite used to being in the spotlight and was considered “normal”. 

“(y/n)!” Harrys concerned voice echoed through the walls backstage. You looked up, tears in your eyes as he knelt in front of you. He opened his arms and you climbed into them, breaking into sobs. “Shhh...its okay love.” he whispered into your hair. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You tried controlling your breathing but were struggling. You gripped him tighter and tried explaining. “Th-they-they-they were all around us and-and-they -they wouldn't let go. They just kept pulling on me and I-I couldn't see where we were going. Everywhere I looked-there was -there was a phone recording me and-”

“Shh...Im sorry babe. I should've been there.” Harry pressed a kiss to your forehead and just held you until you had calmed down a little. Your breathing had improved and he had pulled you to your feet, escorting you to the dressing room. You sat on the couch and looked in the mirror. You had big black bags under your eyes which were now red and puffy from crying, you looked a lot thinner, and you almost didn't recognize yourself.  Harry was running his fingers through his hair, you knew you were the cause of his stress which only made you feel worse about everything. He looked at you and sighed, walking over. “I think you should try getting some rest...I have rehearsal but after we can get dinner okay?” You nodded and he wrapped his blanket around your body, tucking you in. He kissed you softly and smiled, “Get some sleep babe, it’ll make you feel better.” you smiled and whispered I love you as he walked out. As soon as the door had closed you sat up. You hadn't actually gotten more than an hours worth of sleep every night for over a week now. Part of it was due to stress, the other part was that you just didn't sleep well when you weren't in your own bed. Normally when you were traveling with Harry he slept with you, making you feel at home and sleep fairly normally. This tour however had been different. He would go from performing to writing and recording, leaving very little time together. On top of not sleeping, you hadn't really been eating either. The thought of food made you feel sick, you felt like someone was always either judging what you were eating, how you were eating, or why you were eating. You had been judged on your weight, your body, and your looks more than you could count. You received more comments on your body image than you ever thought possible and it had made you extremely self conscious. 

A little over an hour later you heard a knock at the door. You stood up confused, Harry would've just walked in... You opened it and found a man smiling. “Hi, you must be (y/n)?”

“Yeah...”

“I’m Dr. Ken. Mr. Styles talked to me earlier.”

“Okay...is Harry okay?”

“Harry’s fine yes, I’m actually here for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, Harry was a little concerned...he mentioned you may have been feeling overwhelmed lately. You may not be sleeping well, or eating...” 

You didn't answer just crossed your arms and stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry but-”

“Dr. Ken.” Harry’s voice cut in from around the corner. He was sweaty from rehearsal, his shirt slung over his shoulder. Harry shook Dr. Kens hand and invited him into the room. You stood in the doorway not moving or talking and he came over with an exhausted look on his face. “Babe...”

“Harry what the hell.”

“You're not okay! You need to talk to someone, you are actually scaring me. I worry that one day you're going to drop over dead from not eating or not getting any sleep. Its not okay...I don't want to lose you...I don't want you to go home..but you cant continue on like this. I cant watch you kill yourself. I cant lose you.” You bit your lip, tears forming in your eyes. You had no idea Harry was so worried. You hadn't even realized that he had realized you weren't doing well. Harry hugged you and gripped your hand tightly while pulling you over to the couch. “Let him help...” Harry whispered. 

You looked into his green eyes and nodded. You never wanted to hurt or stress Harry out. Dr. Ken sat next to you taking your vitals. He seemed a little concerned but didn't say anything. Harry stood behind the couch pacing anxiously. “(y/n) your body is extremely dehydrated...when was the last time you had some water today?”

You thought about it, and weren't exactly sure. Normally you drank more water than your body every needed but you had no idea the last time you had taken a drink. “I’m not sure..”

“Harry, why don't you grab her a water. She needs to get fluids into her body..” Harry nodded and grabbed two bottles of water. He handed one to you, and dropped the other next to your side. You took a sip, appeasing Harry for a moment. 

“So why don't you tell me a little bit about how you've felt the past few weeks.” Dr. ken asked. You looked back at Harry anxiously. You were afraid at how he was going to react.. you knew he loved you but what if he thought you couldn't handle the spotlight...what if that was the end of the line and he ended things with you because of it. Dr. Ken sensed your apprehension and nodded to Harry. Harry didn't want to leave, he was very reluctant but after an encouraging nod from Dr. Ken he sighed deeply. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I have to get ready for the show. If you need anything, don't feel bad about interrupting okay?”

You nodded and he kissed you softly. You smiled and watched him leave. Dr. Ken looked at you again with a gentle smile. “Lets try again, what have you been feeling lately?” You sighed and let it out. You told him about the stress with fans, your body image, being perfect, being someone Harry should date. You told him about not being comfortable on tour, not spending time with Harry, your anxiety about being overcrowded when out and about. Everything building up in your body was spilling out. You felt a weight roll off your shoulder. Dr. Ken said nothing, he wasn't taking notes, wasn't judging you. He was just listening. He listened to you talk for almost an hour. You shared how you were afraid to talk to Harry about everything because you thought he would leave you. You mentioned how you felt that you couldn't live up to fans expectations. You cried about missing simpler times with Harry. He handed you a tissue and smiled. “(y/n) has Harry ever seemed unhappy with you?”

“No, but-”

“Has he ever said anything about fans not liking you?”

“No.”

“Have you talked to him at all about these fears?”

You sighed. “No.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don't want to stress him out. I don't want to throw off his game while on tour. I don't want him to hate me...”

“Has he ever said anything about hating you?”

“No...”

“(y/n) I think something that might make both you and Harry feel better is talking to him about everything.” You nodded and looked down at your feet. “I also think that you may benefit from going home and not continuing on with the tour..” You didnt say anything. You knew he was right about both things. You needed to talk to Harry. You also needed to go home. You couldnt continue on like this anymore. 

“I know..” you sighed. He smiled and patted your hand.

“Your health is more important than up keeping his expectations of you. If he's that upset about you leaving...he's not the one anyway.” You smiled sadly at him and nodded. 

“You're right... Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I’m going to leave you my number. Call anytime okay? I mean it..even if it's just to complain about Harry. I don't want you holding things in like this anymore. Understood?”

“Understood.” you smiled as he stood up and collected his things. “Thank you Dr. Ken.”

“Anytime.” He walked out, leaving you alone in the room. You waited for Harry patiently, trying to think of what to say. You were so involved in your thoughts you almost didn't hear him walk in. He sat next to you and ran his fingers through his hair. “How was the show?”

“Not my best...I had other things on my mind.” He smiled sadly and you nodded. 

“Harry I need to talk to you about some things...” Harry looked sick, but he nodded. You grabbed his hands and looked at him. His green eyes were searching yours for clues. You took a deep breath. “I think...I think I need to go home.”

“Go home? Like as in leave the tour?”

“Yeah...” you bit your lip and Harry looked confused. 

“But-”

“No...Haz I really need to get everything off my chest. The last month has been so hard-like harder than I ever thought. I don't feel like we have spent any time together...you don't even sleep with me...On top of that, I don't feel like I can live up to your image. I cant make fans happy. I’m not pretty enough for you...”

“Babe thats insane.” Harry cut in. “You are beautiful. I love every part of you. And you make fans happy, they all love seeing you-”

“Harry. People send me death threats daily. They say I’m ugly and fat, and they say I bring down your image and well maybe they are right maybe I-”

“You make me the best person I can be...You are the most beautiful thing about me (y/n)...I’m sorry..I didn't realize this was happening but I want you to understand that none of that is true.” you smiled and nodded.

“I know but it's been hard. I feel like I want to be better for you, and I know you love me. I know you think I’m beautiful. But in this environment I just feel like I need to be more. I cant get away from people. I cant even go out to lunch without people taking my picture and posting it somewhere online. I know thats a part of you. I know you're used to it but I’m not.” You took another breath. “I don't want to leave...I really don't. But Harry I cant go on like this. My body feels like its giving up and I-”

You were crying. You wanted Harry to understand. He pulled you into his arms and cuddled you closely. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“(y/n) I want you to be okay...I want us to work and if you need a break from this...well I am going to support that...”

“Youre not mad? You don't hate me?”

“I could never hate you. I don't want you to be stressed out all of the time. I want my happy, smiley, goofy, girl back. I want to see you stuffing your face with cookies and fighting me for the last piece of pizza.” You laughed and nodded. “If going home helps bring that back, I’m all for it. And I’m sorry I’ve been absent...I should have spent more time with you.”

“It’s okay...I know you're busy.”

“Thats not an excuse though...”

You kissed him softly and smiled. “I think-I think I want to go home tonight.”

He nodded and nuzzled your cheek with his nose. “Then we will get on a plane tonight.”

“We?”

“I cancelled the last few shows of the tour...you're more important. I want to be home with you...I want to make sure youre okay. I want us to get back to where we were. If I have to take some time off, then thats worth it to me.”

You smiled but shook your head. “But the fans?”

“They will understand...”

“Harry.”

“(y/n) Its not negotiable.... We are going home.”

You nodded. “Let’s go home then.”

---

This was a request. Idk how I feel about it yet lol

xoxo

[clockworkgraystairs]

Everything I didn’t ask for #3

JURDAN FIGHT CLUB AU

Rating M

Warnings: slight violence (?) Mentions of blood.

After discovering Jude is one of the main fighters, Cardan tries to process what on earth is going on.

In the meantime, worrying about gettin out of that job alive.

Chapters: 1   2   3   4   5 [coming soon]

EIDAF Masterlist            General Masterlist             AO3

Tags: @dontfwithlibrarians @flowersinvegas @jurdanhell @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover @sensitivehighlord @judexcardanxgreenbriar @thesirenwashere @absolute-dissapointment​ 

[if i forgot to tag someone i’m sorry! and please let me know]

AFTER

Cardan remained kneeled next to the unconscious girl. His eyes wide and still locked to Jude’s. Around them the crowd still roared, but for him it was just blurred background noise.

He felt words trapped in his throat. The urge to tell her something. Anything. 

Jude. What the fuck is going on? What are you doing here? Are you ok? You need a doctor.

Nothing came out.

She didn’t say anything either. She kept looking down at him with that odd expression. It was as if the mischievous and teasing girl from before had vanished. In front of him was a fighter, with a look that promised pain for whoever stood in her way.

A hand on his back snapped his attention back. 

“Move, Cardan.” Locke reaching for the girl on the floor. “We need to get her out of here.”

He quickly helped his friend lifting the girl’s feet. Before leaving, he gazed back to Jude one more time, but she had already turned away as a tall man raised her hand above her head and paraded her in front of the audience. 

They kept screaming for The Queen as Cardan crossed the door to the room where he and Locke had left the other unfortunates.

After leaving the girl, Cardan leaned his back against a wall and once more tried to make sense of what he’d just saw.

“It seems like you go for the tough ones, don’t you?” Locke teased, a little hint of nervousness in his words.

“I didn’t know… I mean,” he said. “I thought she was only a guest here or something.”

His friend shrugged. “Maybe she is. People sometimes gets into this things for money or for sport.”

Suddenly, he remembered the exact point of what he’d wanted to say to Locke for the past hours. He straightened and pushed his friend’s shoulder. “What the fuck are we doing here anyway?? You said this was a good job dumbass!”

“Well it is!” He answered, crossing his arms. “If it was a safe or legal event, I didn’t ask. Bartenders who make a lot of questions are not usually hired. And here, my friend, we are making some good money.”

Cardan stared at him.  He was right, he knew that. But still, underground fighting events were deeply illegal. They were since pretty much always but about a decade ago, a similar event had ended up in chaos because rival gang members started a riot. Many people, involved or not, had died. The place was burned down in the process. And it had uncovered several cases of well positioned people involved in drug dealing, women trafficking, among other things. 

Since that day, police had fiercely hunted illegal fighting pits. There were some, of course. But it was rare for anyone to hear about them.

Then again, Cardan knew what it was to have family involved in illegal stuff. And thankfully he’d been able to leave Balekin before he’d messed up more. Or at least he tried. 

Even if he didn’t work with his brother anymore, he was forced to give a fee every month to repay him after one night when Cardan, highly intoxicated, left a warehouse unguarded and several merchandise was stolen. Expensive merchandise. He was going to spend his entire life repaying that mistake. But at least he was on his own, not having to answer any other of Balekin’s calls.

He took a deep breath. He needed to get his shit together. After all the events of the night his thoughts were running full speed, not to mention the headaches the sight of blood and beatings caused him. There was still a faint ringing noise at the back of his mind. 

The door opened and Madoc entered, eyeing all the unconscious bodies laying on the beds. “Good. Leave them there and go back to the bar. Someone will take care of this.”

As they walked back, Cardan eyed the remaining guests. Almost half of them had started to leave after the last encounter, but several other remain. Going back to the gambling tables and talking to each other. He wondered if Jude would still be there, maybe if he-

A hard bump on his shoulder stopped his trail of thoughts, followed by a growl and a hand grabbing his shirt roughly. “Watch it, idiot.” 

He frowned and look up, finding a pair of cruel defying eyes staring back. The same ones he saw when the guy was beating the other one near death. Valerian.

His face and hair were cleaner now, he’d probably washed away the blood after the fight. Still, his expression remained the same. 

Cardan said nothing, if the guy was waiting for an apology he wasn’t going to get it. He might not be a fighter but he was certainly sick of bullies like him. The grip on his shirt didn’t loosen. Grabbing Valerian’s hands he jerked himself off. “I could say the same thing.” Cardan snarled, walking away with Locke.

He only managed a couple of steps before he was pushed to the ground.

The roughness of the floor scratched his forearm. He turned just in time to see Valerian’s fist merely inches from his face.

The next thing Cardan knew, a sharp pain erupted on his jaw throwing him down completely. He could hear Locke yelling something, but before he could turn to face his friend, a heavy body settled on top of him.

People started gathering around them.

Valerian grabbed his shirt again and another blow connected near his eye, blinding him for a moment. Something warm slid down his face. He snarled and grabbed the man’s arm, pushing him away. His fist raised again and Cardan braised himself for the next blow.  

One that never came. 

From one moment to another, the weight over him disappeared with a grunt. He quickly got up, looking at his attacker, who now had a slender arm pulling against his neck. Hard. 

Valerian arched and coughed, rage dancing on his eyes. Behind him, Jude kept janking the man back until they were at safer distance. Then, she let him go and move to stand between him and Cardan. She’d cleaned up too, Cardan noticed. Though she was still wearing the clothes from the match, her hair was loose and the dirt and blood were gone. 

After spitting on the floor, Valerian turned to Jude with gritted teeth, raising up with closed fists as if he were to throw himself against her. Jude just glared at him, fists clenched too. A slight smirk tugging up the corner of her lip.

“Is there any problem here?” Madoc’s strong but calm voice startled him, pulling him out of the scene in front of them. 

The two fighters dropped their defensive pose, eyes still locked at each other’s. 

“There isn’t, General, my apologies.” Valerian muttered. “The barman and I had a little disagreement.” 

“You being a jerk is common knowledge, not a disagreement.” Jude snorted.

The venomous glare he gave her send a shiver through Cardan’s skin. 

“Enough. Everybody back to work now. And you two,” Madoc hissed, pointing at Jude and Valerian. “Drop it. I don’t have time for another of your quarrels today.”

That said, he left, dragging some of the curious spectators back to the gambling tables.

Cardan stood there, not sure if he should approach Jude. Yet.

“You heard your General,” She purred. “Walk.”

Valerian gave a step towards her, baring his teeth. “You won’t be the boss’ favorite forever, bitch.”

Then he was gone. 

Cardan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Hey man, are you ok?” Locke asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, you know I suck at fights, I should’ve-”

“Yeah, it’s ok.” He touched his brow, were Valerian’s blow had opened his skin. His fingers came back bloodied. 

“You should get that checked.” Jude’s voice softer now, the fierce eyes she’d worn at the end of the fight had disappeared too. “I’ll send over a healer.”

She turned to leave, but Cardan reached for her arm, stopping her. “Hey.”

Pulling back her arm, she fixed him an alarmed look. Right, they weren’t supposed to be seen together. He hesitated. The bruise on her cheek looked less swollen now, but it had started to gain a slight purple stain on the center. “Are you alright?” He mumbled, as casually as he could. 

Jude tilted her head and smirked. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

She noticed his clenched teeth and rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, go.”

Cardan nodded and turned to Locke, walking back to their assigned spot. There, Roach ran back and forth, mixing drinks for the clients gathering there. He’d look funny if it wasn’t for his panicked eyes, searching for his partners among the crowd.  

“About damn time!” He growled. “I’ve been attending all of our side for ages! Come here and- shit, Cardan what happened? Did you-”

“We’ll tell you later, let’s get this place free first.” Locke interrupted him, taking his gaze back to his friend’s wound. “You should get that cleaned, I don’t think people will appreciate blood-flavored drinks.”

They both chuckled as Cardan pressed a wet cloth to his brow. 

With Locke’s help, the bar was empty again in a couple of minutes. All the remaining guests were now minding their own business elsewhere.  

Roach sighed, resting his elbows on the table. “This is why I prefer to collect the money, rather than preparing the drinks. All those people are impossible!”

“Well that’s the fun part too.” Cardan sat on the floor, the cloth now extended all over his whole forehead. The places where he’d been hit throbbed harder now than a couple of minutes ago. 

“Yeah, as fun as being beaten just for walking.” Roach laughed. “Man you really have some bad luck.”   

“Not as bad as you’d think! Otherwise he wouldn’t have left with that gir-”

“Shht!” Cardan silenced him, feeling his cheeks slightly warm. “Let’s not talk about that here, her request.”

Locke barked a laugh, throwing another cloth at him. “You’re scared of Madoc, aren’t you? Fuck, I don’t blame you. He seems just ready to shot anyone anytime. But is he scarier than your girl? I wouldn’t dare getting on her way either.” 

They were going to mock him till the end of times, Cardan was sure of that. 

“You must be Cardan.” An unknown voice said, startling the three of them.

He looked up, taking the cloth away. 

A short, slim woman stood behind the bar. Her short hair, frizzled and oddly white, framed her fine features. She wore a blue scrub, and carried a small first aid kit in her right hand.

The healer, he assumed. 

“That’s me.” 

She nodded and started taking things out of the briefcase, alcohol, cotton wool, antiseptic and god knows what else. “Sit here please.” She motioned at the stool in front of her.

Once he did, she started attending his wound. Fast, quiet, efficiently.

“Did Jude send you?” He whispered. 

The healer hummed and nodded in response. Not much of a talker it would seem.

“Is she coming too?” He tried again, feeling dumb. But he needed some answers. 

“Miss Jude has already left the building.” 

Oh. Something sinked inside him. He let her work in silence, wincing just a bit when she pressed some first aid tape over his eyebrow. Had Jude treated her injuries already? He should probably stop thinking about her. She’d left already. 

“I’m done.” The woman’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. All of her items already packed except for a little pill box. “It will probably sting a little, but it won’t leave any scar. If you experiment any headaches, take one of this pills.” 

Cardan nodded. “Thanks, I will. If you see Jude, tell her I say thank you... Please.”

The girl stared at him. Pondering. Her gaze felt like it could pierce his skull. At last, she sighed. “I will.”

She extended her hand to him, he frowned. An awkward hand-shake, considering she hadn’t gave him one when she arrived. Still, he answered back. 

Then he felt it. 

Something folded between her fingers. 

Trying to keep a steady face, he took it, immediately putting it away from curious eyes. She grabbed her bag, ready to leave when Roach appeared next to them. 

“Uh- excuse me miss, I don’t mean to bother but I cut my finger with a glass a moment ago. And I was wondering if you could- you know.” He babbled and raised his hand, a small gash running along his index.

The healer considered him for a moment, then pulled something from her bag and left it next to Cardan’s pills. “Sorry, I cannot stay.” 

She walked away stiffly, soon disappearing behind some doors. Cardan watched her go.

A muffled laugh sounded behind him. He turned to find Locke covering his mouth in order to avoid the cackle that threatened to come out of it. Roach’s face was the embodiment of embarrassment and failure. 

On the table was a little pink band-aid.

“Nailed it man, NAILED IT!” Locke mocked him. “Please tell me you didn’t actually cut your finger on purpose just to talk to her.” 

“Of course I didn’t you ass! But I might have cut myself because… I was looking at her and didn’t pay attention to the damn broken glass.”

Locke and Cardan looked at each other before both erupted with laughter. Roach’s red ears didn’t help much.

Their jokes continued for a couple of minutes before vanishing completely at the sight of Madoc walking towards them. 

“Well gentleman,” He greeted them. “Your work for today has come to an end. Clean everything and meet me in the kitchens.”

It didn’t take much since they were used to clean as they worked. But still paid a little extra attention into leaving everything impeccable. The last thing they wanted was to owe anything to those people. 

Back in the kitchens, Madoc stood at the center. Waiting. Both of his hands behind him.

“I trust,” He started, glaring deeply at them. “That no word about what happened here today will leave your mouths. Am I correct?”

Cardan didn’t need to be a psychic to know that one of the hands Madoc kept unseen held his gun. 

“You needn’t ask.” Locke answered. “When we accepted the job we knew our lips would be sealed about it, and they’ll remain like that.” 

Well that first part wasn’t entirely true. But his friend had a clever mouth, specially when he needed to save his ass.   

Roach and Cardan swore too they wouldn’t say anything. 

“And if I find out that any of you slipped even the tiniest detail about this, you agree that I’ll have to kill all three of you.” Madoc smiled. “Well not that I’m really asking, but you’re aware of it now.” 

The group remained silent, breaths caught in their throats. 

Once that was cleared, he put away his gun and gave each one a small yellow envelope. “As promised. With a little extra since I had no complains for your work, a difficult thing to accomplish here.” He turned to Cardan. “About the incident with Valerian, I know it wasn’t your fault so, don’t worry about it.” 

Inside the envelope was pure cash. Enough to make Roach whistle. They thanked him and put away their envelopes. 

“There are three steady spots available for our bar zone. The last group, well, liked to gossip a bit too much.” Madoc sneered, clearly enjoying their reactions. Cardan was certain he could notice his pulse under his neck. “Same rules apply. One night every one or two weeks. Same payment, in case you’re interested of course.”

“We are.” Roach and Locke turned to him, wide eyed. The steadiness of his voice surprised even himself. “Consider it done.”

“Good. Keep the uniform then. There is a cab for you outside. I’ll let you know when you’re needed.” 

Outside, they found out most of the cars were already gone. Small groups of people gathered around some of the remaining vehicles to smoke and talk. On the opposite corner, a lonely cab waited for them. 

As soon as they crossed the door, his friend bursted into questions. 

““We are”?? Cardan what the hell were you thinking?!!” Roach nearly shouted. “I won’t deny this is well paid but agreeing to this… I don’t know man-”

Locke didn’t say anything, but his frowned brow was enough.

Cardan stopped in front of them. “Do you really think he was asking? After what he said? We were in this since we arrived, and saying ‘no’ Madoc would’ve only gave him another reason to get rid of us. You can’t- just refuse here, not with this kind of people.”  

A kind that, to his misfortune, he knew quite well. He sighed and passed a hand through his hair.

“I get it, I guess I just need to get used to the idea.” Locke mumbled, looking back to the building.

Roach panicked gaze was still on Cardan. “So this means there’s no way out? Not even a-”

“Fuuuck!” Locke suddenly whispered. “Guys isn’t that Garrett? There, next to the white Audi”

They turned to said car, where a small group of young men shared a bottle of whiskey. Cardan narrowed his eyes a bit but indeed, there he was.

Garrett had worked with them at the bar a couple of years ago, and even though he was a little introverted, Cardan had been good friends with him. Still, he’d left to enter the police academy. At least that’s what Cardan last heard. His normally sandy-coloured hair was dyed black, but that irreverent smirk of his was recognizable anywhere.

“What is he doing here?” He asked, mostly to himself.

The cab driver honked, hurrying them.

Just before closing the door, Cardan glanced back to the group. Garrett stared directly at them, taking a long puff from his cigarette. Then the car started. 

Halfway back to the city, he remembered the paper the healer gave him. With a quick movement, he took it out of his pocket and unfolded it. I was a napkin. With a note. 

I wouldn’t normally offer two for one, but since I didn’t get to say goodbye the way I intended, hopefully this allows me to make up for it some other day.                                                       J.

Under it, a cell phone number. Her cell phone number. 

He grinned and without really thinking about it, he took out his phone and send her a short message. Fuck, would that make him seem desperate? Hopefully not. 

Roach and Locke were talking but he didn’t really paid attention. 

It was until he was folding back Jude’s note that he realized there was something printed on the opposite side of it. Something that made his stomach turned to a knot.

He’d memorice that form since he was a little kid. But the Greenbriar’s shield he’d grown to, had a small “B” at the center in honor to his brother Balekin. 

This one though, had a “D” at that same spot. 

Dain’s.

*************************

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! 

It took me like forever to reorganize my ideas for this au but IT’S BACK BABY!

xx

[bibliothesoph]

How about a first prince flower shop AU? Alex and Henry own flower shops on the same street and have a competition on whose shop is the best.

the war of the roses

Alex knows that he’s hot––he uses it to his advantage. If there’s a hot guy or girl that walks in, all he has to do is bat his eyes and, like magic, they buy something. Sometimes, if they’re especially beautiful, he gives them a free flower––usually a white camellia if he’s got them in stock. It does wonders for the business, really, so June never says anything about the free flowers. They’ve got a good system going, the two of them. He’s the face of the shop. He greets customers, answers any questions they might have, and checks them out (both literally and metaphorically). June’s the one who usually does the arrangements because she’s better with the whole color thing, but Alex is the one who knows the meaning of each flower like the back of his hand. When they do specials for what they like to call “The Power of the Flower,” he picks out the flowers with the important meanings and June decides which ones actually look good together.

Since it’s the first few weeks of summer, one of their “The Power of the Flower” specials is happening right now as a way to welcome in the new season and the warmth and happiness that comes with it. Usually, in the summertime, most of the arrangements they get are for happier feelings like love or excitement or, on occasion, a proposal. They get a few requests for some really great “fuck you” arrangements that Alex always enjoys because of the irony––why send flowers, even mean ones, to someone you supposedly hate? The idea is ridiculous and he loves it.

Historically, they’ve been the only flower shop in this area. It’s a hipster sort of place and, since all of their flowers are pretty local and sustainably farmed or whatever, people flock here to get succulents and arrangements. They’ve made bank here for the past three years until The Incident, that is.

Alex refuses to actually say the name of it out loud because it makes his blood boil. That fucking blond-haired dude and his friend (well, the friend seems okay) and their fucking flower shop. Like, when someone opens up a business, Alex thinks they should probably scope out the area first to make sure there aren’t any competitors in the area or something. That seems like the smart thing to do. But this bastard with blue eyes and a perfect fucking smile came in and set up shop directly across the street from his own flower shop. And he knows that the Green House has loyal customers like Ted and Ginger and Simon. And he knows that they’ve been here longer and therefore are generally the first place to pop into people’s minds when they want flowers, but since the other store is directly across the street, it steals customers away sometimes.

Like today, for example.

And the worst part is that Alex can see that smug bastard’s pretty face while he’s stabbing Alex in the fucking back. Whenever Alex looks out the window to see how things are going across the street, the blond guy is always there with an evil, smug smile and a sarcastic wave. Like this is all some fucking joke to him.

Well, Alex isn’t having it anymore. Not during The Power of the Flower time.

“June,” he groans from the front desk. The place is empty, save for the two of them.

She pops her head out from the back area where she makes the arrangements. “Please don’t tell me you’re staring at Henry again.”

His face contorts. “Who the fuck is Henry?”

She rolls her eyes and comes over to him, wrapping her arms around him to calm him. “The guy from the V&A. The one you keep staring at.”

Alex huffs. “He started it. Anyway, we need a plan of attack. He’s stealing our customers!”

“He’s not––”

“He’s stealing them, June. Along with my fucking sanity.”

June sighs and looks out the window, waving at Henry. “He seems perfectly nice. I know his partner, Pez, is a nice guy. I walked in a––”

Alex gasps in horror. “You went in? Judas!”

“I just went in to see how they were running things,” June explains. “And they serve tea, you know. They make it themselves.”

Alex growls and slams his fist against the counter. “Unbelievable. Well, that fucking settles it.”

He stomps off and into the backroom to collect his thoughts with June close at his heels.

“What are you doing?”

“Figuring out a plan of attack,” he explains, pulling out a pen and paper. “We need to up our game, Bug. We can’t let them win.”

“It’s not a competition!”

“It is now.”

He decides to bravely and calmly storm across the street to check out the competition, just to see what they have going on. As soon as he opens the door, a bell rings to announce his entrance. When he steps into the place with steam practically coming out of his ears, a guy that is not the blond one––so Pez, probably––greets him with a smile. He’s wearing flowy pants and, more importantly, a fucking V&A shirt that looks hand-stitched. He’s even got little flowers painted on his cheeks and a flower crown on his head.

“Hi,” he beams at Alex. He’s British, it seems. “Welcome to the V&A! My name’s Pez, so just give me a shout if you need anything, okay, darling?”

Alex fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not a customer, actually,” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Oh? Are you here for me then?” Pez asks, batting his eyes and smiling.

“I’m here to speak to the owner. Blond? Bland?”

Pez raises an eyebrow at him. “Henry?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Can I talk to him please?”

“If the issue is that he never called you back, I––”

“He’s not a suitor, Pez,” another voice says from behind Alex. Alex turns and sees, in all his fucking glory, Henry. He’s wearing the same shirt Pez is wearing but neatly tucked into a pair of snug jeans. His hair looks fucking perfect somehow, and he’s carrying a tray of what looks like baked goods. “In fact, I think he might think us enemies.”

“No shit,” Alex huffs. “You’re stealing my customers!”

Henry rolls his eyes but he’s smiling like this is all hilarious. “Oh, am I?”

Alex is fucking fuming. “Yeah! You knew we were right across the street. Literally. I can actually fucking see your smug face when I’m working and I hate it.”

Henry sighs and moves past him.

Their shoulders knock together.

Alex follows Henry and watches as he sets the tray down on the old, wooden counter. He starts taking the treats off the tray and carefully moves them to some sort of ornate platter.

“You serve food now, too?” Alex asks.

“Not always,” Henry explains, “only when I bake. I feel that it adds a special something to the experience, you know?”

Alex is practically seething. “Okay, well, I just wanted to come over here to say fuck you, fuck your stupid store, and fuck your fucking pastries.”

Henry raises his fucking perfectly manicured eyebrows in surprise. “I hardly think that seems appropriate. We’re not enemies, Alex. We just both happen to own stores on the same street.”

Alex shakes his head so violently that it hurts a little bit. “No, no, no. You opened this store up directly across the street from mine. And you made it the exact same kind of store. What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, man? It’s not cool. Okay, also, how the fuck did you know my name?”

Henry has the fucking audacity to touch Alex’s chest. Alex opens his mouth to say something but Henry beats him to it.

“Nametag,” he says with a smug smile. Alex looks down and sees that, sure enough, Henry is poking the name tag on his apron.

Alex slaps Henry’s hand away. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Coming here, doing your fucking––whatever the fuck you’re doing––and messing with my business? I’ll make you regret you ever touched a flower, okay?”

Before Henry has the chance to respond, Alex stomps out of the shop. In his rage, he fumbles to get the door open. Pez helps him out and opens it for him so he can continue to rage-stomp out of the stupid fucking shop and away from Henry’s stupid fucking face.

So Alex does what he does best: he makes a list.

Things the V&A does that we don’t do:

1. Tea (fucking homemade tea. Those fuckers)

2. Flowers based on your personality

3. Free baked goods for some fucking reason

4. Terrariums

He wonders, vacantly, if they’re even a real fucking flower shop. With the amount of random drinks and foods that seem to float through their shop, Alex thinks they might be more of a fucking general store or café. But, since he’s determined to beat them, he’ll play along. He can’t bake for shit, but he gets the fixings for coffee––including fucking organic flavor syrup. June helps him set up some little spiritual packages––little kits including crystals and special plants for different purposes. He’ll be damned if he lets the people from across the street steal their customers.

A day after they implement the little spiritual kits, he finds a package outside the door as he’s coming in for the day. Curious, he picks it up and takes it inside. They never get packages here––only deliveries from farmers who come in and make the drop off in person. He takes it inside and places it on the desk, staring at it for a moment before he decides that, even though the only thing written on it is his name, he’s going to open it.

Inside is a collection of assorted items. There are some pink scones, some packages of loose leaf tea, and a bundle of chamomiles. The chamomiles are really what set Alex off and make him know exactly who fucking gave this to him.

Chamomiles. Patience in adversity.

Alex is going to kill him.

He stomps into the V&A for the second time and marches right up to Henry who’s behind the desk, seemingly setting the register up for the day.

Henry looks surprised to see him which only makes Alex even more pissed off. “We’re not open yet,” Henry tells him, sounding bored. “But we’ll be open in thirty minutes if you’d like to come back then.”

Alex slams his fist onto the counter. In his hand is a bouquet of assorted flowers––crab blossoms, petunias, red dahlias, and rhododendrons. The bouquet is, most simply, an “I hate you” and “go fuck yourself” arrangement. The colors might not work well together, but Alex is so beyond caring at this point.

Henry eyes the flowers for a moment, probably trying to recognize and place them each in his mind. For some reason, the angry flowers make him smile. “Are these for me?”

“Obviously,” Alex huffs, releasing his hold of them and taking a step back.

Henry picks them up and looks at them for a moment. “And you made this?”

Alex nods, not really sure what’s going on here.

Henry sighs. “Well, if you’d ever like lessons on how to make a proper arrangement, please let me know.”

Alex glares at him. His heart feels like it’s thumping in his fucking ears. “What.”

“We offer workshops, you know. We get some nice wine and teach people how to put flowers together properly. Given what I see here, you lack the proper eye for this sort of thing. While I understand the intent, I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed with the execution of it. Since you own your own shop, I would have expected something…better, I suppose. It’s no wonder you think we’re stealing your customers––they must just be appalled by your work.”

Alex grits his teeth and gets close to Henry, staring him down. “Go fuck yourself,” he seethes.

He rushes out again, furious. He needs a better plan––something that will make this all go away. He needs a plan that will make Henry run for the fucking hills.

June helps him make it, though she seems hesitant. It takes about a day of looking through flower meanings and consulting with June to get it done, but when it’s done, it’s fucking perfect. It’s a large, obnoxious arrangement filled with hate flowers and plants that he hopes will make Henry really get the message. It’s beautiful but vile and Alex has never been more satisfied with his work. He leaves the arrangement outside the doors of the V&A before he goes home for the day, excited to see what Henry’s reaction will be the next morning.

When he’s on his way to work the next morning––running a bit late––he gets a call from June. He picks up, hoping it’s not something bad. He might slap himself if he forgot to lock up again.

“You took it too far,” she tells him.

He stops walking. “What?”

It sounds almost like she’s crying. Or, at least, someone’s crying. “The thing with Henry,” she explains. “I get the arrangement, okay? It’s all in good fun. But doing that to his store…”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alex says truthfully.

He rounds the corner onto the street where his shop is and sees it almost immediately. Out front is his arrangement, right where he left it, but it’s surrounded by broken glass. The sign for Henry’s shop has been painted over in slurs. What looks like a rock or a brick has been thrown through the window. He can’t stop staring at it––staring at the terrible words that someone’s written about Henry on the sign. He hangs up on June and rushes inside the Green House, finding Henry and Pez there, too. It looks like June has given them both blankets and some of that tea they sent over a few days ago. And they do not look happy to see Alex.

“Alex,” June says, pulling him aside as soon as he enters, “why would you do that?”

“Bug, I swear,” he says, “it wasn’t me, okay? I––I would never write that kind of stuff, you know that. I didn’t even know he was gay.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes. “Look, they think you’re the one that did it. You shouldn’t be here, okay? Even if it’s not your fault, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Just…go home, okay?”

The look she shoots him seems final so Alex leaves. He doesn’t want to make this any worse for Henry but…he feels terrible. Even though he’s not the one that did it, he still feels like shit about it. So he doesn’t sleep that night, instead, he's trying to figure out what he can do to help.

He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about Henry. It makes no sense for him to be this upset about Henry because, as he’s told Henry to his face, he hates him. He hates Henry’s stupid face and his hair and his fucking cute shop. Maybe what he hates most, though, is that he can’t stop fucking thinking about him. It’s ridiculous how much Henry has filled his mind lately. Henry, even as an enemy, is all he’s been able to think about since this whole thing started. And it’s driving him insane and he feels like he’s drowning because Henry’s upset and there’s not a single fucking thing he can do about it.

But he can try.

When he comes in the next morning, Henry is still there. He’s sitting in the backroom and looking blankly at the wall like there’s something really interesting there. Alex sighs and sits down next to him. Henry visibly stiffens.

“Hey,” Alex says.

Henry scoffs. “‘Hey?’ Is that all you have to say to me?”

Nervous, Alex fiddles with his fingers. “No. I mean…I don’t even know what to say."

“I think you’ve said enough,” Henry says. “I wasn’t trying to steal your customers and, even if I was and even if you hated me for it, that’s no reason for you to…you wrote awful things. Vile things, Alex. Things that no one should ever have to hear.”

“I didn’t do that to your shop,” Alex explains. “I swear. But I’m still sorry. And I…for what it’s worth, I don’t hate you at all.”

This makes Henry look over at him, obviously confused. “I thought––”

“Yeah,” Alex chuckles. “Me too, honestly. But I––you can hate me forever if you want. And I’m really fucking sorry that happened to your store because you don’t deserve it, but I want to help.”

He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. Henry takes it with shaking hands and opens it to reveal, first, a white tulip, then a wad of cash. “Alex…”

“The white tulip means new beginnings,” Alex explains, just in case Henry doesn’t already know. “And the money is for whatever you want. Awning, a window, whatever.”

“Love,” Henry whispers.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Henry looks over at him with big red eyes. “The white tulip,” he says, swallowing a lump in his throat, “also means love. It’s…it’s romantic.”

Alex feels his face turn bright red. He rubs the back of his neck. “Like I said,” he whispers, staring into Henry’s eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Henry’s lips tug up in the corners for a moment before he moves forward, closing the distance between them. Henry’s lips are soft on his own and Alex can’t help but melt into it. His hands instantly find their way to Henry’s hair which is softer than he imagined it to be. Henry’s free hand wraps around Alex’s waist, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. The whole thing is making Alex feel like he’s being set on fire in the best way possible.

They pull back for a moment, staring at each other. Alex takes Henry’s face in his hands, rubbing his jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry about your store.”

“It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know but…we’ll fix it, okay? Together.”

Henry stares at him for a moment, those blue eyes making Alex’s body tingle. “You mean that?”

Alex nods and kisses him quickly again. “‘Course I do. I know we made good enemies but I’ve got a feeling that we’ll make even better partners.”

A week later, Henry’s store is fixed and in full swing again. On his way to work, Alex stops by just to see how Henry’s doing. When he walks in, Henry puts down the arrangement he’s working on and rushes over, wrapping his arms around Alex and kissing him.

“Good morning, love,” Henry beams in the small space between their lips.

Alex smiles and kisses him again. “Morning, handsome. How goes the store?”

“Fantastic, actually. We’re getting more customers than ever, thanks to you.”

Alex rolls his eyes and shoves him playfully. “It’s not all because of me,” he argues. “I think you underestimate the power of your pretty face.”

Henry smiles again and kisses him once more.

The two stores may still be across the street from each other, but you’d have no idea they were once owned by two sets of different people. Marking the space between them is a road of chalk-drawn flowers, inviting you to step inside either one. If you go into the Green House, you’ll find flowers for every occasion and a variety of healing crystals and succulents. If you go into the V&A, you’ll find sweet treats, delicious beverages, and, their newest edition, little dogs made of wire and covered in flowers available for purchase.

Even though two of the owners, the blond one and the short one with a mess of curls, work in different shops, you can see the way they look at each other through the glass––lovesick smiles on both of their faces.

Yeah, Alex thinks he might ask June if he can switch with Pez soon.

[cozycryptidcorner]

August the Infected Boyfriend

Hello, everyone! This is a piece commissioned by @severedreamerbeard, a wonderful person who was so patient and understanding about waiting that I bumped him up to the forefront when The Mad Prince began looking like it was going to take just a bit longer than expected. I hope you all enjoy this little break from the longer story! 

Tags: Male Infected, Male Reader, Citrus Rating.

You don’t have an alarm clock, not anymore, not with the rickety old generator that once collected sunlight damaged beyond what you can repair. Without it, though, you manage to rise as the day’s first light begins to peak through the treeline. You aren’t certain how exactly you manage this feat time and time again, but it must have something to do with stress. Or, perhaps, just the adaptability of human nature; you need to be up at this exact time to take care of chores, and so your body listens and complies. 

This morning is the exact same as many before. You get up, placing your feet on the rickety wood floor, and internally groan as you stand. God, you’re exhausted, despite the reasonable hour you went to sleep. After a moment, you come to the conclusion that the apocalypse just sucks the life right out of your body, suffocating it slowly if it can’t snuff it out like a candle within its first wave. Grinding your teeth as though it will take the edge off the soreness, you get dressed in the worn work clothes that you are certain won’t last the eternity you plan on staying put in your little haven. 

As you creep through the house, doing your best to stay silent as to not disturb your sister, you run through your usual list of chores that needs accomplishing in a kind of morning ritual. The dawn’s air outside is crisp, lively, but there is an underlying panic inside of you as you take a deep, cool breath, the slowness of winter gently clawing its roots into the earth in a mockery of what you and Ruby have survived thus far. You know just from watching tv shows and listening to your history teacher drone on in school that winter always has the highest mortality rate than all wars waged, with exposure doing far more damage than guns and men. The fact that you have to sludge through it without central heating or a nearby grocery store? It’s been done, but not within the last couple of decades. 

The binoculars around your neck must have been for bird watching, because there is a surplus of bird related books in the cabin, complete with a little sketch journal of animals native to the area. You don’t use them for that, though, and instead stand at the very edge of the water surrounding the little man-made island, lifting them up to your eyes. Out on the opposite side of the coast, there isn’t any concerning activity. A doe bends over the lake’s surface, drinking its fill of water, and a hawk sits up on the top of the tree, staring down at the ground in search of prey. The doe suddenly startles, dashing back into the safety of the trees, and that’s when you see one of them. 

A few months ago, your stomach would have dropped clean to the floor, but you don’t have the nerves left to actually care anymore. None of them have dared to enter the water, and there have been some instances where they’ve looked you directly in the eye, so you know they know you’re out here. The only guess as to why you and Ruby are still alive and uninfected would be that those things have some kind of aversion to water. There isn’t anything else you can think of, unless they have some sort of deep, terrifying fear of the tomatoes that surround the house. Still, you do your patrol as always, perhaps because the habit of doing so has become a comfort in the chaos the world has turned to.

You blink rapidly, your eyes stinging against the breeze as you turn around, heading straight over to where Morticia steadily chews on whatever old food you threw into the yard the night before. The miracle-goat, you wanted to call her, after finding the animal wandering around by herself, muzzle and neck buried inside a bush as she ate. Morticia, Ruby insisted her name be, has been your sister’s lifeline as whatever food you had managed to collect began to dwindle. Again, you are reminded of the harsh reality of winter, because you briefly imagine a world in which Morticia never managed to escape from her farm, and you and Ruby were left without her milk and company. Maybe death wouldn’t be the exact outcome, but you would wager that the prospects would look pretty grim. 

Morticia barely reacts to your hands getting all up in her business, which is a definite change to when you first were trying to figure out the finesse of milking goats. At one point, you were almost certain she fractured your jaw with a hard kick to the face, but there are no x-rays and doctors to look over any injuries you sustain anymore. All you could do was hold your breath and hope the swelling would go down, which it did, thankfully, though now your jaw clicks every time you open your mouth. Better than having no jaw at all, you muse, picking up the tin bucket of milk and carrying it back inside to the kitchen. 

You begin pondering what magic you can work for an acceptable breakfast. The pantry is sparse. It wasn’t always this terrifying to look over, when you and Ruby had just arrived, it was stocked with different kind of canned goods, dried pasta, and half a bottle of vodka you might have used a fair bit of when your jaw was threatening to fall off your face. Sure, it wasn’t like accidentally stumbling into an untouched superstore with the shelves still full with merchandise, but at the time it certainly felt like it. Even with your careful attempts to make it last as long as possible, it looks like this is where ‘possible’ ends. You shut the door, taking a step back, glancing over to the fresh pile of vegetables in the hopes it might soothe your worries for the oncoming winter. 

But fresh vegetables rot.

Still, whatever you have today can be considered a blessing from whatever spirit or deity has decided to grant you their luck. Ruby has taken a liking to the tomatoes, the big, red, juicy fruit growing in droves over the last bit of summer. You pick up one from the bunch left on the counter last night and set it on the cutting board. Paired with basil, at least, and some vinaigrette found in the pantry, it’s almost like a full meal. And every single calorie counts. 

A thunking noise sounds from upstairs, meaning that Ruby is awake. Your immediate instinct is to go investigate, to see if she needs any help, but you stop yourself. If there’s one thing that’s an integral part of her personality for the whole nine years she’s been alive, it’s the fact that she hates being babies. Hates it. So you continue trying to put together a decent looking breakfast, ears wide open to listen for any signs of struggling. She does, at least, call for you if she needs help, though you’re always afraid you might miss her cries if you are too engrossed in whatever you’re doing. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot her on the top of the stairs, her arm braced around a cane. 

“Are you feeling better today?” You ask, going up the stairs to meet her. 

“A lot,” she responds, letting you wrap your arms around her waist, taking most of the weight off her feet. “So I’m going to be gardening today.” 

After a moment of pondering over the morning patrol, you offer a quick nod. “It’s a beautiful morning, the fresh air will do you good.”

You help her down the stairs, watching your step just as carefully as you watch hers. As soon as both of you reach the ground floor, you slowly allow your grip to cease, making sure her legs don’t show any signs of weakness against her weight. Nothing today, you observe, which is another small miracle. True to her word, Ruby seems to be able to walk just fine with the cane today, settling herself in the chair with only the slightest bit of difficulty. Her eyes light up when she sees the tomato mess, as though it's a whole chocolate cake for her to eat, and she digs in with an appetite that you haven't seen her use in awhile.

“How’s you sleep, Rhubarb?” You ask, using the nickname you know she hates for just to watch her eyes roll to the back of her head in exasperation.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine,” she says, dragging the syllable out for all its worth, quickly shoveling another spoonful of breakfast into her mouth.

You hold your hands up in mock surrender, picking up another tomato from the pile and taking a good bite of it. While you try to hold up the facade of magical nature of food for Ruby, putting together her meals to resemble the decent cuisine from before, you don’t do yourself the same favor. Food is fuel, and you treat it no differently than adding a log to a fire. 

Ruby stares you down as you finish the tomato, and you know she’s daring you to eat just a little bit more, so you pick up a cucumber, breaking it in half and taking a bite out of the smaller piece just to satisfy her. 

“Protein,” she says, tilting the bowl to get the last bit of food without diggin her fingers into the mess, “We’re both starving for protein.” 

You run your fingers through your scalp, mouth pursed in thought. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, but it’s certainly not something you can fix in the short term. Instead of saying anything in response, you just offer up a nod to show that you’ve heard her but don’t give her a solid answer. The jar of peanut butter that had served as your protein has been scraped clean, though you keep it in the pantry still, as though it might miraculously fill up and save the both of you. 

“I’ve been doing some reading,” Ruby adds, picking up her mug and taking a swig of milk, “there has to be some kind of gardening store on the mainland, something we can grow for the protein itself”

You almost snap, but catch yourself, adding some flavor of logic into the situation to try stifling her hopefulness. “And where would this store be?”

“I don’t know, somewhere,” Ruby frowns, lacing her fingers together, “but winter is coming, and we’d be able to hold off the frost by making a greenhouse. That would at least keep the food coming in a little while longer, you know, people in Alaska do it all the time.” 

Again frustration fills you up to the brim. “And what materials do we have to make one?”

“We would need some kind of clear plastic or glass- oh! And a wooden frame, we have some boards out in the shed, though we’d need more, and tools… I could use some new fertilizer, and I bet-”

You let her talk, turning around to place her empty bowl in the sink, barely paying any attention to the various things Ruby checks off on her imaginary list. Letting the water run, you try to think of a scenario in which you humor Ruby’s whim. Swim the exhausting length of water that you had only managed prior because of the copious amounts of adrenaline in your system. Maybe you’d somehow manage to hide from the creatures, you think they sleep, so you probably can go in the middle of the night. What then? You don’t know the area. It’s not like you can pull out your phone and search up garden department stores, and there are no maps in the entire house to speak of. 

“... and you aren’t even listening to me, are you?”

“I am,” you lie, “I was just thinking about how impossible this plan is.”

“I was figuring it out!” Ruby whines, “You weren’t listening!” 

You shake your head. “Any big store that could have those things is probably at least five miles away, Ruby.” God, five miles just a couple of months ago was barely a significant distance. Maybe a twenty minute bus ride, at worst, but now? Most of the cars are gone, and even if you manage to find one with enough gas to make it… that’s basically like lighting a signal flare to any of those things within a ridiculously large radius. A big, shiny object that makes noise? It probably looks like a tantalizing package of candy.

“Bikes exist,” she says, which is actually a decent point, but you don’t want to give it to her.

“How am I supposed to haul everything back?”

“Bike trailers also exist.”

“It’s too risky,” you say, as you always do when you’ve decided that the conversation is over. “It’s not worth it.”

“Oh,” Ruby flips her hair over her shoulder, “and dying of starvation during the winter isn’t at all risky. I understand now.”

“Let’s focus on gardening,” you say, trying to deflect her anger, though you know it’s futile. She’s fuming, you can tell even without turning around, and part of you is afraid that she’s going to try something drastic when you least expect it. If there’s someone you know with enough grit and courage to do something stupid like this, it’s certainly your baby sister. So you make an attempt to clear the tension by saying, “I’ll think it over, Rhubarb, I promise.”

She mutters something under her breath, probably about you being a coward or something similar, and you internally wince. Without asking for help, and in such a way you’re certain that offering would earn you a wack from her cane, she stands, making her way over to the front door. With a frustrated sigh, you follow, keeping a good, cane-length distance from her. After making sure she manages to retrieve her gardening tools with little issue, you go back inside in search of something productive to do.

This day goes by like most, with Ruby and you buried under your respective work. She stays outside for most of the day, while you go over the canning process briefly listed in your only resource  of a pocket survivalist book you got off a body in the middle of the street. It only touches on canning briefly, saying that, oh yeah, you definitely need to read a more in-depth book on this, but there are no carefully written recipes about putting sterile food into mason jars laying around the house, and you would know. You’ve already pulled out all the bookshelves away from the walls, open and dug through every single cabinet, moved mattresses, and anything else you  could think of doing in the empty months of nothing.

Outside, Ruby chatters about something to herself, though you can’t hear the exact words she says.

After dinner, you manage to scrape together something that Ruby wouldn’t find appalling, though you know she will eat most things either way. She sits at the table, just a little more primly than usual, with an aura of smugness that makes you nervous. With little ceremony, you cut straight to the point. “What are you planning?”

“Who, me?” She looks like the very picture of innocence, her large, doe-like eyes staring up at you like an angel.

“You barely made the swim when we first came out here,” you pinch the bridge of your nose with frustration, “thanks only to regular swim lessons at the Y. But you haven’t been practicing, so you won’t be able to make it again.”

Her legs stop kicking back and forth underneath the table, her gaze darkening ever so slightly. The effect only lasts for a moment, though, because she’s suddenly back to her normal, cheery self. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, daring you to accuse her of lying, “my friend in the water is.”

That’s… not good, you decide, knowing that Ruby rarely brings up her imaginary friends to anyone but herself. A part of you wants to try to snap her out of it, but Ruby has never reacted kindly to people when they shout. You’re afraid she might pull herself further into whatever bubble she’s making, so you decide to try a far more gentle approach to suit her needs. “And… is your friend in the water going to be looking for some chips, maybe? I could use some junk food right now.”

It looks like your method has worked, at least in the short term, because she looks more perplexed than anything else. Maybe she hadn’t expected you to play along. “No, he’s getting just the important stuff.”

“Oh,” you shrug, turning around to do the dishes, “I see. And what does this friend in the water look like? Are they very nice?”

After a moment of silence, Ruby says, “he is very tall, and his eyes don’t have any color. His teeth are sharp, too, but he says they are for eating food. Oh, I guess he didn’t actually say that, he just mimed eating something when I asked. He can’t talk.”

“Oh,” you say, pretending not to be horrified. This has to be one of her attention-seeking shock tactic tricks, you think, running your tongue over your teeth. You guess that you haven’t been paying her very much attention over the last couple of weeks, it must all be bubbling up into one big mess in her head. “Well, maybe you should invite this friend over for dinner.”

Ruby cocks her head as though she is legitimately considering it, and not as though you just tried calling her bluff. “Maybe once he brings all the stuff for the greenhouse.”

You don’t like the certainty she speaks with, as though this isn’t really an imaginary friend, and someone with razor sharp teeth has been conversing with your little sister while you worked somewhere else, out of sight. “Ruby,” you say carefully, “there hasn’t been any infected activity in the water, right? They’ve all stayed out on the coast?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Ruby,” you say, your hands begin to shake from stress, “the infected haven’t tried coming out into the lake while I was inside, right?”

“No,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with the sassy dismissal only a girl of prebuscense can truly emit. 

It doesn’t even occur to you that she could be lying, though it should have. Perhaps even more damning to your fears is that the very next day, there’s an unfamiliar pile of two-by-fours thrown out onto the sandy beach of the island. You run from one end of the coast to the other, rifle in hand, eyes wildly looking around for whoever or whatever it was that crawled up onto the land and left building materials in an easily accessible pile. This doesn’t make any sense, none of this makes any kind of sense, but Ruby’s voice nags in the back of your head while you finish up the search. My friend in the water, she said, and a splash coming from your blind spot almost makes you empty every bullet you have into the water. 

When you turn around, though, all you see is the faintest flicker of movement beneath the glassy surface. A fish, you try to say to yourself, wandering away from the shore on your wobbly legs. A fish and nothing more. Mouth pressed together in a firm line, you go back inside the house. Every door needs to be locked, you decide, turning the deadbolt, then checking the windows for good measure. Once all is done, you storm up to Ruby’s room, knocking on the door loud enough to wake her up as you enter.

“Hmfff- what-”

“Ruby, what did you do?” You ask, voice strained with panic.

She sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes, shaking her head in confusion. “What?”

“The wood, Ruby, what did you do?”

It takes her a moment to process what you say, then look out the window to see the pile outside. Her eyes light up, which is the opposite thing you wanted to happen, because now you think you’re going insane. Or maybe she’s going insane. Or, the worst option, the both of you are going insane. With a shaking, deep breath,  you ask, “Ruby. Ruby, baby, my sweet little sister, who is the boy in the water?”

“Him.”

You look down to where she’s pointing and feel your stomach drop. There is definitely… something down there, in the shape of a boy, no doubt, but even from the second floor you can see that something is very, very wrong. You clutch the rifle tighter, wishing that there is a limitless supply of bullets instead of the handful you have to last you until the end of time. With your hands trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you open the window, trying to take aim with the fear that makes your vision fuzzy.

“Wait- what are you doing?” Ruby tires grabbing the barrel.

The image of accidently blasting her fingers off nearly makes you vomit, and you manage to detangle her hand from the trigger. “Ru-knock it off, I need to take care of it-”

“You can’t shoot him!” She wails, trying to grab the rifle again, but you manage to push her away with your knee. Her breath sucks in, though she looks more enraged than hurt. “Friends don’t shoot friends!”

“That’s not our friend, Ruby!” You grit your teeth, eyeing the creature with a panicked, weary gaze, think that any second now, its going to make a run for the door. Then you’ll both be toast. “It’s one of them.”

Ruby glares even harder. “No, he’s my friend, and he brought stuff to help because you’re too much of a coward to do anything!”

You don’t want to admit that her words manage to deal a bit of damage, and you especially don’t want to admit that it hurts that Ruby when looking for help elsewhere, and found it. Now you glare right back at her, then at the creature hanging out on the lawn. It's just… staring, vacantly, up in your general direction, not making even a breath of movement. You wonder what it’s thinking, it it thinks anything. Maybe it’s worried about its safety? The lack of emotions, though, doesn’t give you much to work with, and that might be the most unsettling part of it all.

But Ruby. Oh, Ruby. She doesn’t understand that those things  kill and tear and eat people, especially little girls who can’t even keep up with the rest of the kids in her grade. You’ve tried protecting her from seeing the carnage, always sent her back inside when you saw a stray animal limping along the sand, making sure time and time again that she would never lay witness to the bloodbath only perfect predators can make. It seems, though, you’ve done too good a job, and now she doesn’t realize what they are, that they’re dangerous, terrifying, and always hungry, and she’s the one on the menu.

She’s not going to give up, though, you can see it in her eyes. A determination that you’re well familiar with is there, her mouth in a single line, her brow furrowed with frustration. If you don’t try to get control of the situation, she’s going to take it in her own hands and run with it, and god knows what will happen then. So you relent. 

“Alright, fine,” you take a deep breath, shaking breath, trying to figure out just how you’re going to do damage control. “We’ll go down there, but I’m keeping the gun loaded and ready.”

“Bu-”

“No buts,” you close your eyes, trying to sort out your frazzled thoughts, “that’s non negotiable, Ruby, do you understand?”

Her lower lip wobbles for the barest second, before she nods.

“Alright,” another deep breath, “alright, let’s go meet your friend.”

You know that Ruby is beyond pissed off at you, especially since she refuses any help going down the stairs.  Her cane makes a firm thunk, thunk, thunk against the wood, her eyes on the ground to look over the terrain and purposely ignore you. Without another word once she’s down the stairs with no incident, she heads straight to the front door, opening it wide open as though inviting that thing in to eat you.

Oh, it’s still there. Just chillin’. Standing over the shore with its hand around one of the wooden two-by-fours. You don’t even know what to think, so the parts of your brain that aren’t actively controlling your body movement shut down, your fingers almost spasming around the rifle. There’s no mistaking it, no accidently thinking it could be anything other than a twisted mutation, its wide smile revealing rows and rows of sharpened teeth. Black eyes stare emptily at you, then Ruby, the harsh facial expression softening slightly in the presence of your sister. Not to you, though, you can see its spine stiffen when it notices the very apparent gun in your hands. An immediate dislike, by the look of its expression as it gives you a once-over, though to be fair, you are aiming a weapon of mass destruction at the center of its torso.

Then Ruby walks over and hugs the damn thing, because of course she would do such a thing. The anxiety from merely that thing within biting distance of your sister feels like a hammer wacking at your chest and throat. It lets her go just before you get trigger happy, taking a generous step back as if obnoxiously signalling that it has no intention of harming her. You still don’t think the reassurance is good enough, and you also wish your damn hands would stop shaking.

 “So,” god, you hope your voice isn’t wobbling, but you can’t be sure when your heartbeat is roaring in your ears, “how long have you two known each other?”

Ruby smiles a little too smugly for your liking. “A few days.”

“A few days,” you begrudgingly echo.

“Yeah,” she picks up one of the wooden beams, her legs slightly wibbling in a way that makes you worry, “I told him all about what winter is going to be like, I think he understands.”

“You think.” To be fair, the thing did show up with building materials that Ruby has been nagging for, so the fact the creature listened isn’t all that farfetched. 

“We could use that plastic food wrap as a temporary fix.” Ruby is already strategizing, looking over what she has to work with. She is, unfortunately, the one who holds all the brain cells in the family, so she has the mental capacity to back up her ideas and plans. Her body trembles with the weight as she tries to lift the wood, but before you can rush to her side, the creature is there first. It takes the two-by-four from her hands in a smooth, fluid motion that doesn’t seem to startle her in the slightest.

“Thanks.” Ruby doesn’t huff or puff at the thing’s help, which would be a point in that thing’s favor if you trusted her judgement. Which, right now at least, seems mildly questionable.

“Ruby,” you let out an exasperated sigh, “you still haven’t had breakfast. Maybe you should eat something before we-” you wince at having to include the creature in your speech, “begin building.”

Ruby purses her lips, which means you’ve already taken the first step at convincing her to send that thing away just for another hour while you try to figure out how to handle this.

“After all, you know how you can get dizzy first thing in the morning when you haven’t had any food.”

She puts down one of the smaller boards she had been trying to pick up. “Alright,” she relents, and you try not to show how excited you are, “I’ll go inside and make breakfast while you two start on the greenhouse.”

Oh, ho ho ho, very clever, Ruby. She just checkmated you into a corner, and now you can’t offer to take her inside without taking eyes off the creature outside, neither of which you really want to do. 

“Or,” she offers in an alternative, “my friend can come inside for breakfast.”

If she thinks that you’re just going to allow her to invite the creature into the house you have meticulously cared for just because she’s being difficult… she would be absolutely correct, unfortunately. And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the opposite side of a rectangular table from it. From this distance, you’re almost certain that the creature has baby blue scales brushed alongside a pair of gills that drill deep into his neck, much like a fish. This understandably distresses you, deeply, but you really can’t do anything to voice your worries with Ruby sitting right by your side, munching on some of the berries that grow along the house, chattering nonstop about her plans to turn this place into some high-tech paradise.

To the creature’s credit, it is a good listener. Actually, though, like Ruby had said before, you don’t think it can speak at all. The gash-like strikes in its neck are deep, it must affect its speaking somehow. Still, its nodding along to Ruby’s infinite list of demands, as though it somehow has access to a full hardware store stocked with things like solar panels and gas generators. You highly doubt that any of the stores have much left thanks to any looting that came with the announcement, but you don’t open your mouth to burst Ruby’s bubble. This has to be the most fun and interesting thing that has happened to her for the better part of a year, and you’d be loathed to end it.

You take a deep, calming breath, and drink some water. If only the thing had irises… or pupils, really, anything to tell you what it’s looking at, this might be less nerve-wracking. Every slight movement brings your hand back down to the rifle, so that thing has taken to move so very slowly, almost as if to mock your stress. You grit your teeth, though, and deal with it, because you don’t think its going to try gutting you or Ruby here at the dining table. At least, you certainly hope not. Actually, now that you think about it, do these things even eat humans? Sure, you’ve seen a few twisted infected take down whatever meat they can find, but you’ve never actually seen one of them… hurt a person.

It refuses the food that Ruby offers. Just holds its hand up and gives the lightest shake of the head in refusal, its palish blond hair still wet enough to stick to its head. She doesn’t take any offense, instead shoveling whatever is left into her mouth, and you have to resist reminding her not to talk while she’s chewing. After all, she isn’t a baby anymore, even though it’s difficult to remember that at times, so instead of voicing your opinions, you take a large bite out of tomato. 

Ruby kicks you from under the table, and you snap out of your thoughts. She must have asked you something, but you can’t for the life of you remember what.

“Any suggestions?” Ruby says in deliberate slowness, you see that she’s resisting the eye-roll.

“I-” you’re trying to take this seriously, you really are, “not that I can think of at the moment.”

Ruby purses her lips, and gives an exasperated look over to her friend. “I’m sorry, he must be a little tired. My brother can be difficult at times.”

You’re the difficult one, Ruby, you want to clap back, but don’t for the sake of maturity. 

But the creature laughs, which almost sends your soul crawling out of your skin. The laughter isn’t like… how someone might giggle if they were told a particularly funny joke, the sound is more like a gentle huff of air being forced out of its lungs. Maybe it isn’t actually laughing, and the lack of human contact  outside of your little sister is beginning to drive you absolutely mad. The thing is smiling, though, that’s the kicker. It’s looking at your sister and smiling, and while you aren’t one hundred percent sure how you feel about that, shockingly, there isn’t a lot of suspicion on your part.

Once Ruby finishes eating, everyone just has to go back outside. You suppose that now, with the materials to build such a life-saving building, it must be constructed with all due haste. And you feel the urgency, too, so it’s not just Ruby who is driving everything by herself. Like an ancient, integral part of human instinct that knows winter is coming, even without an accurate calendar on hand, you have it blooming in your chest. Even though you don’t have any building experience, so long as Ruby watches over the project with her unusual gift in architecture, you have a bit of confidence that everything is going to be alright. 

You work tirelessly, with Ruby micromanaging every single thing you do. Though, for whatever reason, it doesn’t bother you as much as it might have just a week ago. She is also doing a share of the work she can management hammering together little squares that will separate out the plants, her eyes glazed over with a feverish concentration whenever she isn’t judging your craftsmanship. She’s enjoying this, you think, letting a tense layer of anxiety slip away, she’s only ever had her garden. Human beings, after all, need change and projects to keep happy, and there hasn’t been much variety in the way of daily routines.

Letting your guard down is probably extraordinarily foolish, but you do so anyway. The thing isn’t so bad, you decide, watching the creature while it shows Ruby how to make sure the square is even and balanced, as though it somehow retained the information from whoever it was before the plague. Building the frame is grueling work, and while you begin to breathe a little heavier from the exhaustion biting through your muscles, that thing seems unbothered by it all. That makes sense, you supposed, since what little was known about the creatures before the blackout was that they are awfully strong. And fast. And relentless.

By the time the sun begins to sink beyond the treeline, not too much has been accomplished. It might be because no one but Ruby is giving out instructions, as she is the only one between you that has any prior building experience on account of that tree house she made over a year ago. Still, the haste that has poured into your veins is still there, thrumming beneath your skin, like your body has suddenly awoken from a deep slumber. Now you’re only ready to go, go, go, until everything is finished. Ruby, however, needs to sleep, and as long as you’re up, she’ll be up. So you watch her say goodbye to the creature by giving it a tight hug, before limping back into the house.

Even though you had let your guard down while you were building, you have it back up in full. The rifle is heavy in your hands as you watch it retreat back into the water, your mouth in a firm, thin line. It simply just… walks into the lake, not even bothering to try to keep its pale head above the surface like a fucking salamander or something. While you are thoroughly horrified by that, Ruby thinks it’s fascinating, and that’s her exact word to describe it as you try to put her to bed.

“The infection must mutate them to adjust to their surroundings!” She’s excitedly drinking her warm milk, courtesy of a late call to Morticia that almost got you a black eye. “Or maybe it tries to regress our DNA back to some kind of primeval source, like that Star Trek episode. Or, like- it could, like, bond your body to the nearest animals, though I don’t know how that would happen, just that it could make sense. Maybe-”

“Drink the rest of your milk, Ruby,” you say, feeling a tad bit sick to your stomach just listening to her talk. Not that listening to your sister speak exactly annoys you, no, it’s what she’s talking about that bothers you. Because if the one infected could somehow breath in both the water and land, how many others are like that? 

How much danger have you put Ruby in without even knowing it? 

You lock the doors, both of them. Place a wall of furniture in front of the ground floor windows. Ruby looks on with a look of half bemusement, half pity, her lips pursed as she takes another drink from her mug. You ignore her, checking once more to make sure that the rifle has enough bullets to… maybe pop off one or two heads with your god awful aim. It’s nothing near what you would hope for, but then again, nothing has been ideal since the city went dark.

Inevitably, you fall asleep on the living room couch, albei lightly. Every slight creak of the house sends you rocketing up, trying to decide in a split second if that dark, shapeless lump is one of the infected, or a pile of Ruby’s laundry that she has yet to put away. Somehow, through grit, determination, and adrenaline, you manage to make it through the night without accidentally blowing anything out of existence. That’s a plus. A downside is that you are absolutely exhausted, and want nothing more than to take the longest nap known to what’s left of humankind. 

“You can totally do that,” Ruby says when you mention it at breakfast, “I’ll work on the greenhouse with my friend while you rest.” 

“Not happening.” You don’t even hesitate. “And- look, Ruby, I don’t mean to be an absolute prick or anything-” she snickers at your profanity, and you continue without pausing, “but you can’t go hanging out with it-”

“Him.”

You let out a frustrated breath, but accept the correction just to get the conversation over with. “You can’t go hanging out with him without me.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, it- he is dangerous.” You knew she wouldn’t let it go without a fight, but god, you wish she would, just this once. “Ruby, baby-”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Almost teenager.” You resist rolling your eyes, you need to set a good example. “Ruby, the almost teenager, that… that creature isn’t a person anymore. Yeah, he looks kind of human, but you saw him slither down into the water like a snake.” 

She just stares at you, unmoving in her stance.

You sigh, the motion filled with frustration. “I just need you to promise me that you aren’t going to visit him without me, alright? That’s all I want. If you see him hanging around outside, get me. If you want to try calling for him or whatever, get me. I promise I’ll say yes every single time, just please, please promise me that you’re going to always remember to tell me that he’s here, alright?” 

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think she’s going to put up more of a fuss than she already has, but then she offers up a nod in agreement. 

Your body relaxes slightly. “Alright, eat your breakfast, then we can keep working on the greenhouse.” 

Ruby’s friend waits out on the porch, almost giving you a panic attack when you notice its slim form sitting on the cement. You don’t say anything, though, hoping that Ruby hadn’t just seen you jump into the ceiling like a startled rabbit, and continue about your morning like everything is one hundred percent normal. After all, it doesn’t look like you can regain control of the situation without allowing the creature too much power. You hope, though, as you cut up tiny pieces of tomatoes, that a creature with some kind of cognitive ability to remember how to properly level a building’s base might also hold the self-restraint required not to eat a family of two. Or, alternatively, it’s just not hungry enough. 

Once Ruby finishes eating, she manages to stand with a wobble, wincing as her weight gets set on her legs even with the aid of her cane. That’s not a good sign, not at all, and your worry grows tenfold as you see her eye twitch in a silent admittance of pain. 

“Is it bad today?” You ask, glancing down at her twig-like legs as though they could tell you that something is wrong.

“I’m going outside,” Ruby says, her voice hard as iron.

“That isn’t what I asked,” you respond, wishing that she wouldn’t act so stubborn when it came to her health. “Is the pain bad today?”

She shrugs non committedly. “It’s not as bad as it could be.”

Also not an answer, but, you suppose, it’s enough to figure out that her pain is just enough of a bother for her to dodge the question, yet not enough to put her in bed for the rest of the day. “You can come outside to be with your friend while we continue on the greenhouse,” you say, feeling just a tad generous, “but you have to sit the entire time and do nothing strenuous.” 

“Fine,” she agrees, maybe a little too quickly, but it’s enough for you. Instead of simply opening the door for her, you pick her up, like a small baby, and carry her out into the yard to avoid straining her weak muscles further. Since she doesn’t offer up any word of protest, the pain must really be bothering her, which is awful. All you have are a few pills of a generic painkiller, but you’re trying to save them for the inevitability that one of you will be getting sick during the winter, so you have to seriously consider giving her a single pill.

Ruby’s little friend shows concern when you pass by him, still carrying her slim frame in your arms. With a tired, defeated voice, Ruby lets out a word in greeting, but doesn’t try explaining why exactly she’s not walking today. When you set her down on the little, cushioned bench overlooking the greenhouse project, she lets out a slight sigh of frustration. 

“Rhubarb,” you say, and you hear her groan in exaggerated anger, “you know, when you were doing swim lessons at the Y twice a week, everything seemed better.” 

She perks up slightly.

“Maybe,” god, you hate that you’re even suggesting this, especially after meeting with that thing only once before, “maybe your friend can take you out into the shallows for a little bit. The weather is still warm enough for a swim, maybe you’ll improve after a week or two.” 

She seems a little too pleased with your idea, and you immediately regret it. 

“Not now,” you amend, “only when your friend has earned my trust. That hasn’t happened yet.” Saying all of this while said friend is standing right beside you is a little awkward, but something you still manage to do with a straight face nonetheless.

Then you start working. Today seems a little more grueling than usual, the sun unabashed by clouds, the heavier frames of the greenhouse’s walls just a tad bit more than what you’re used to. Sure, you’re carrying Ruby around whenever her body gives out, but she’s as light as a feather, and the still-damp wood weighs as much as you’d expect hunks of building material would. You carry on, though, working through the fatigue that takes hold of your muscles, letting the creature help out without too much tension on your part. The day’s progress is far more visible than yesterday’s, with two of the walls ready to be placed onto the base. 

Ruby had stated sometime before that plastic food wrap stuff might be acceptable in the short term, but you know that glass might be the only thing between you and death in the coming months. The plastic might break with the heavy snowfall, then an entire batch of food would be gone like a snap. Again, you think of canning, but you aren’t sure the progress you made in your first attempt is anywhere near acceptable. Or even food, anymore. So, even though it pains you to do so, you turn to Ruby’s buddy.

“You wouldn’t know how to get books over here without getting them too wet, do you?” You ask, trying to keep your voice from wavering too much, trying to look at him in those cold, empty eyes. 

He turns to Ruby, who seems completely overwhelmed by the prospect of more books. “Oh! Oh, do you know Harry Potter? Artemis Fowl? What about Star Wars, the New-”

“Maybe we should focus on getting things like canning books first, Ruby,” you say, interrupting her excited list of all the books she never got to read. “Or construction books, and maybe some gardening books and maybe some more medicine.” 

“Oh,” she deflates somewhat, but there’s still that spark in her eye that means this is not the end of the conversation, “I guess that’s a better idea, yeah. Can you get some gardening and canning books, August?”

It takes you a second to realize that she’s talking to the creature. “August?” 

“It’s the month of August,” she says as though her reasoning is super obvious, “and he doesn’t remember his name.”

You purse your lips, but don’t argue. The creature doesn’t seem to mind, anyway, not even batting an eye at Ruby’s audaciousness in the slightest. Does he even care? “Alright,” you amend, slowly, “August, would you mind terribly making a brief run to a drugstore?” 

He shrugs, the gesture so human that it takes you for a loop. 

“That means yes,” Ruby translates. 

You take a deep breath. “Alright, then, I suppose we have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, then.” 

A list begins to form in your head, a long one, of all the things you might be able to do now that you have the means. Canning, more extravagant gardening, maybe you can brew some alcohol for disinfecting and cleaning purposes. You don’t even have to worry about the validity of the creature’s supposed promises, because the next morning, he has a backpack full of books that had been sealed away by plastic bags. Which… that means that he’s clever, and that’s literally the exact opposite of what those news announcers had reported before the city went dark. That the infected are predators, sick mutations that have been reduced to the barest  form of life, fueled by nothing but bloodlust. Maybe, just maybe, not all of the infected are like that. Maybe August isn’t completely infected, either, maybe the disease only partially spread through his body, twisting his physical form into something else but keeping his mental fortitude as strong as ever. Whatever the case is, you don’t think you can hate him anymore, especially since you might have to attribute you and Ruby’s survival to his help. 

The canning books are going to save Ruby’s life, very literally, you think, because there’s a section on how to make sweetened condensed milk, and you are one thousand percent ready to try stocking up Morticia’s milk before she begins to decline in health. August has taken it upon himself to help you with the canning when it’s too dark to continue working on the greenhouse, and Ruby very politely informs you that you don’t get a choice in accepting his aid. So the two of you chug along, using the coal grill outside as a stovetop, boiling what little vegetables you have in order to sterilize them for long-term storage. 

The schedule is a strange one over the next couple of days. You build the greenhouse during the day, and when you are either too exhausted to pull any more hours or the light is too dark to see, you begin the canning. August and Ruby both help with the daily tasks, and soon enough you find yourself getting used to the creature’s presence, enough so that you occasionally forget bringing out the rifle when you work. Not that it bothers you when you realize you’ve forgotten it, because August doesn’t at all seem to hold any of the same aggressions as his kindred. Also, with every visit, he brings something else with him that can be used to boost your lifespan. More books, like Ruby asked for, a box of dried pasta that only got marginally wet from the swim, and a fish that you think is probably edible that still wriggles in August’s hands as he holds it out in and offering. 

Ruby usually falls asleep during the tailends of the canning sessions, and you honestly don’t blame her. The work as of recently has been rather grueling, and even though you know that exercise is good for her condition, everything has been a little over the moderate suggestion the doctor made  at her last appointment, almost a year ago. But it is kind of awkward to have to deal with August on your own, without Ruby’s unending chatter to break his strange silence. You don’t mind, though, you guess that company is rather nice after not having it for as long as you have, even if he is rather stoic in conversation and barely offers up a shrug or nod in response to any questions you might have.

Once you pick your sister up and carry her to her room, August goes ahead and silently excuses himself by walking into the lake. You wonder if he has some kind of home or nest down there, or if he sleeps on the slimy rocks the same way you and Ruby slept on the cold forest floor when the evacuation had first begun. It makes you feel a bit bad for him, even though August seems wholly unbothered by it. Still, after all his help, you decide that you’re going to at least play the part of grateful host and give him another option just as a suggestion. 

“So,” you say, once Ruby is tucked away in her bed upstairs, “I know that you, um, live in the water. Or maybe you don’t, and I just making some baseless assumptions here.”

August blinks at you, two clear eyelids sliding sideways.

“Anyways, um, Ruby really likes you a lot.” You feel your face heating up just a bit. “And I’ve come to appreciate your help as well. I’m sorry about waving a gun around in your face.”

He shrugs his shoulders, as if brushing off the apology with understanding. You suppose that’s a sign of forgiveness, or at least, you hope so, and continue on. 

“Anyways, I don’t know where exactly you go at night, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to. Go, that is.” You try to wrack your brain for some better wording you can use, because right now everything seems light and fuzzy. “There’s another bedroom you can have, it’s right upstairs next to mine. Or, if you’re an outside person, you can take some blankets and chill out in the yard. Whatever you feel like doing.” 

You realize then that August is smiling, his shark-like teeth shining in the moonlight.

“And you don’t have to say yes now, you can decide later if you would rather not go back if we are especially late with the work, so the invitation is open.” You don’t want to maintain eye contact, but you decide to offer up one last reason for him to stay. “And I’d like it if you spend the night, so.”

August places a single hand on your shoulder. Still smiling, he offers up a nod.

“Oh,” you feel a bit of relief bubble up through your body, as well as a different kind of anxiety filling up your veins, “Good. Great. I’ll get your room ready, then.”

He arches his eyebrows.

“Or,” you say, “I guess the alternative is that you share my room. That guest room is kind of drafty, after all, I wouldn’t want to put any guests at risk of… um, a cold-”

August kisses you, and you think your world is about to go black. Or explode. Or something, because this is the best thing that has ever happened to you ever, and the apocalypse can go fuck itself because everything is fine. 

“My bedroom it is, then.”

[purplesurveys]

833

Given the chance, would you ever go into space? I’ve answered this exact question on a recent survey...but yeah absolutely, as long as it was a free opportunity. Outer space has always interested me so it would be awesome to actually get there. What is your all-time favorite thing to snack on? A local brand of chips called Nova, corndogs, powdered fries, and pizza. I couldn’t choose just one :( Have you ever been jealous of anyone's socks? Not in a toxic way but I have seen socks that made me go “damn, I wish I had that” and it’s usually socks based off of famous paintings like Starry Night, The Scream, etc. Do you match your clothing, or are you careless about fashion? The most I’ll match is colors; I’ll make sure the colors I wear complement each other. But I’m not likely to buy outfits that come in parts, like a matching top and skirt that have their own price tags. It’s an annoying scam that makes you have to pay more money for one outfit lol. Know anyone that has amazing fashion taste? There’s a professor in the communication research department of our college that dresses SOOOO well. She’s never recycled an item of clothing either. She dresses literally exactly like Audrey Hepburn, except with more printed clothes.

Do you know or wish you could knit? I don’t know how to knit and have no desire to learn.

Like earmuffs? They’re alright, I guess? I never have to wear them, so I don’t have much of an opinion. Have you ever had the roof of your mouth sore? Yeah, that one time I ate takoyaki while it was still burning hot and I burned off the skin on the roof my mouth. Do you like orange juice? I’ll drink it if it’s served or if it’s free, but I never crave for it. How many times a day do you brush your teeth, honestly? Once or twice. Do you think anyone really looks good in a jumpsuit? Yeah. Well it’s since become a trend so that’s really all there is to know about people’s preferences nowadays. I have several jumpsuits that I feel really good in. Have a collection of anything? Not anymore. Ever ran out of something that made you very upset? Sometimes my family will bring home leftovers from a really good restaurant. When we finish them all up it bums me out. Biggest lie you ever told? Saying ‘yes’ with a big ol’ smile on my face to my high school guidance counselors whenever they ask if my situation at home is good. Is there a song that makes you want to rock out? For sure. I have my fair share of favorite punk/rock bands. Do you have a religion? No. Believe that there is a point to churches? Not a single one. How do eat Oreos? I just bite into them. Never really got into the whole twist-lick-dunk thing because 1) I don’t want to bite into something I had already licked (even if it’s my own saliva lol), and 2) I can’t consume a lot of milk, anyway. -This or That- Sunsets or sunrises? Sunsets. I’ve seen more sunsets than sunrises with Gabie, so I have good memories of them. I don’t like the idea of getting up early just for a sunrise either. Pennies or dimes? Can’t relate because we don’t use these concepts. Coffee or tea? Coffeeeeeeee. Never been a tea person, actually. Windows or Mac? Mac. I did use Windows for a while, but when it comes down to it I would rather get a Mac. Headphones or speakers? Headphones. You get more of the sound when you listen to music, so the listening experience is a lot better. Loud or soft & quiet? Depends on the context...I like my concerts loud, but I obviously prefer soft and quiet when I’m doing something like going to bed. Odd or even numbers? I don’t really have a preference lol. The cookie dough or the actual cookies? Cookie dough, heh. Speaking of, I recently found a recipe for edible cookie dough but I keep putting it off... Mp3 players or iPod? iPod, mostly because MP3s went out of style like, a decade ago. Calm or rock music? Again, depends on my mood. I’d listen to rock music if I’m pissed off or going through a similar emotion, and I’d prefer hearing calm music when I wanna focus on something, like if I’m doing surveys. Love or lust? Love. I don’t feel lust for the most part. Converse or Vans? Converse. They’re AJ’s favorite and I find them more comfy. The few times I borrowed my sister’s Vans I always got blisters at the end of the day. Lipsyncing or actual singing? I would prefer to lipsync than to let people hear my actual singing voice; but if I’m watching a performance obviously I’d want the performers to be using their real voice. Walking or running? Walking. I find strolls to be relaxing. Dancing or watching others dance? Watching others. Dancers are crazy talented. With friends or by yourself? When it comes down to it, I wanna be with friends. Local concert or a popular band? Popular band. It’s rarer, so I find it more precious. I still support local though! Blond or brown hair? Brown. Idk, I just don’t know a lot of people who are blonde. Red or black? I like both, but I like black slightly more. Blue or green eyes? Green. Having fun or being asleep? Having fuuuun. Carnival or park? Park. I can’t go on rides anyway, so a nice stroll and picnic at the park sounds lovely to me. -Favorites- Favorite thing to buy? Uh food, I guess? I’m super easy to please lol. What do your favorite pair of socks look like? My bacon and eggs one. Kind of tea/coffee? Iced tea/iced caramel macchiato. Way of communication? Face-to-face with Gab, instant messenger/text for everyone else. Time to sleep in to? Midnight is most convenient for me. Band to dance to? PARAMORE. Also helps that their music has turned dance-y too. Favorite gum? Don’t really have one. I’ll chew on any kind/flavor of gum. Type of cereal? Cookie Crisps. Color of hoodie? I don’t mind color, as long as the hoodie is comfortable and keeps me warm. Spice? Cumin smells lovely. Favorite thing to touch/feel? Dogs. Website? Probably Twitter. I’ve been on it the longest and still have no reason to be tired of it. Person in your life? My girlfriend...but also my dogs, if they can count. -Would you Rather- Hire one of your friends, or fire an enemy? Hire one of my friends, as long as they work well without me. Firing an enemy seems a little bit more unprofessional, especially if they objectively perform well. Be a contestant on American Idol or America's Got Talent? I’d go with AGT I guess? I’ve watched some snippets of the show and their judges seem more nice, whereas on American Idol the judges tend to laugh or embarrass you if you do badly. Live in Britain or Australia? Australia. I feel like it’s a more Filipino-friendly country, not that Britain isn’t but yeah. Travel by plane or helicopter? Plane. Aren’t helicopters loud? I think I’d be more relaxed in an airplane. Trade places with a male or a female for a day? I’d rather remain a woman, thanks. Shop at Wal-Mart or Target? I don’t know. I’m honestly curious though – for the Americans survey-takers, what’s the difference between them and what do y’all prefer? Hahaha Read Shakespeare or Artistotle's work? I internally winced at both lol but when it comes down to it, Shakespeare. I do like his work, as long as I’m reading a modern English version. I hate philosophy straight up, so that’s a definite no on Aristotle. Have a regular donut or donut holes? Regular donut. Spell better or smell better? Smell. I can already spell well. Rather be in a tornado or a large earthquake? This is horrible, no one ever *wants* to be stuck in a natural calamity. 80's or 90's music? I like the 80s sound better. Eat a plain peanut butter sandwich or PB & J? Peanut butter sandwich. I tried PB&J before to see what the hype was about, and it just didn’t work for my Asian tastebuds. Wear a uniform every day or go half-naked? Wear a uniform. I wore one in Catholic school for 14 years and survived, so it’d just be the same thing. Would you rather Santa or the Easter Bunny actually exist? Santa. I’m more familiar with him. The Easter Bunny’s not really a part of our culture so I don’t actually know what it’s supposed to do. Apple pie or Pizza pie? Pizzaaaaa. Y’all should know me by now haha. Spend an afternoon cleaning or clean things later? I’d rather work early so I can be satisfied earlier. Flying or X-Ray vision? Flying. Dentist or Doctor? I guess dentist? There’s fewer reasons to be scared when you go to the dentist because the health problems are just limited to your mouth, I guess. Would you rather spread gossip or start a fight? Both sound awful. I’m never one to start a fight and I never initiate gossip myself, though I do take part in it sometimes. Get rid of your favorite shoes or your favorite pants? Pants. I love my shoes. Visit Florida or New York? New York. Myspace or Facebook (or do they both suck)? Facebook. It sucks, but at least the memes there are hilarious as fuck.

[horansqueen]

AM Conversations : chapter 14

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -4k. -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- IF YOU WANT TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN THIS IS UPDATED, I THOUGHT I COULD START A TAG LIST SO LET ME KNOW. IF YOU’D RATHER BE NOTICED IN PRIVATE, MESSAGE ME TOO PLEASE!

- there will be smut added soon, just thought i’d give a fair warning!

- i’m having a hard time finding 2015 Niall gifs so i may add 2016 gifs instead. if you want to propose me any PLEASE message me. youll make my day!

- thank you so much for all the asks i get. you guys make me so happy. i cant even explain. thank you forever. i love you!!!

-tbh idk what i think of this chapter meh im not super proud i admit :X

-please, message me, give me feedbacks, it would mean sooo much to me!

Chapter 14 : His chapter

NIALL

It was the last thing I expected. I saw my best friend rush out of the bathroom and walk up to us quickly. She looked so determined and It made me realized I had never seen her like that or at least, not that I could remember. She looked taller, like her courage made her grow a few inches, but she also seemed stronger and it made my heart jump in my chest. Seeing her confident like this was a good change and I loved it.

That is until I saw her grab Harry's shirt and kiss him. I stood there, motionless as their first kiss happened right in front of me. It felt like all the noises around me faded. All I could hear was a sharp and piercing sound invading my head until all that was left was an intense and excessive thumping that echoed all over my body. I didn't think it would hit me that hard but here i was, my heart throbbing so hard in my chest I thought it was about to completely stop. Or explode. Or both.

My eyes followed his hands who reached for her waist and that's when I realized she was wearing my sweater and it almost made me sick. The image was ironic but also extremely painful and when their kiss grew, I had to leave. Without thinking, I turned around and walked quickly to the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for something stronger than beer. I opened the freezer only to find spicy rum and grabbed it quickly, not even bothering to get a glass. I opened it and swallowed a long sip without even thinking. The alcohol was strong and although there were still traces of ice on the bottle, it burned my throat as it went down.

I made a grimace when I was done and placed the bottle a bit roughly on the counter as I closed my eyes tight. What was wrong with me, suddenly? I was not going to lose my best friend anyway, right? She wouldn't replace me with Harry, would she? I groaned again and rubbed my face with both hands, trying to get rid of that annoying feeling inside me. I had to get over it, it's not like I didn't expect it anyway.

"Oh, here you are, I was looking for you."

I held my breath and blinked a few times to see clearly. Maya was standing a few feet away and when our eyes met, she smiled at me. I felt disappointed that it wasn't Liv but when she took a few steps closer, my gaze followed her.

"I don't know if you saw, but Olivia and Harry finally kissed." she pointed out, sending me a small smile. "I mean, it was about time, don't you think? They're so cute together..."

My eyes moved on her perfect face as I tried not to hear her words but I couldn't help it. I wanted her to stop talking about my best friend and my bandmate kissing. I wanted her to stop saying how much she thought they were meant to be, how good they looked together and how intense their kiss was. I held my breath and swallowed hard, doing the only thing I knew would shut her up.

Quickly and without a second thought, I bent down and pressed my lips against hers. It only took her half a second to relax and answer my kiss and I made it grow quickly, pushing her against the counter and pressing my body against hers. I couldn't think straight. All I tasted was the spicy flavor of the rum I had swallowed as the beatings of my heart were still going strong, images of Liv and Harry kissing filling my mind. I frowned and pushed the thought away as Maya's hands reached for my chest. I put mine on each side of her, maintaining myself against the counter, and tried to focus on the way she was moaning in my mouth. I felt anger and whatever else feelings inside me extenuate quickly and finally stopped kissing her, keeping my lips very close to hers as I panted low.

I was not going to lose Olivia, I knew it, it was impossible.

"It's impossible." I breathed out so low I barely heard myself.

"No, it's possible, Niall." she replied to me very low, taking me out of my thoughts. "I'm sure we can make this work."

My eyes opened suddenly and I backed away, realizing she had thought my words were about her or at least, directed at her. I kept my lips parted, feeling a bit guilty for bringing her into this, and finally licked them, sending her an embarrassed smile. How was I going to get out of this?

"Uhm, yea, I don't know, I need to think about it." I expressed awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

Without a glance back, I walked away and got back to the living room. I noticed Liv and Harry, sitting on the couch. He had his arm around her and her head was laying on his shoulder and I couldn't help but think she would be cuddling with me if they hadn't kissed. I tried to pretend I was fine for a while but after about an hour of torture where I plastered a fake smile on my face, I had enough. I got up, stretched and told everyone I was going to bed, making sure my eyes didn't meet Maya's. I had succeeded to ignore her since I rushed out of the kitchen but I knew I couldn't do this forever and I had a lot of thinking to do.

I walked to the room I shared with Liv, not really expecting to see her at all, now that she and Harry were most likely dating, but I tried to tell myself it was awesome that I'd get the whole bed just for me. I went to the bathroom for a quick shower but when I walked back in the room, I held my breath. The light was off and all I could see was someone laying over the covers on the bed. I secretly prayed it was not Maya and when I took a step closer, the lights coming from outside and shining through the window illuminated my best friend's face. My heart dropped in my chest immediately but I couldn't explain how happy it made me even If I tried not to show it too much.

"Look who's here." I just expressed with a chuckle, rubbing my towel on my wet hair before placing it in the laundry basket near the bathroom's door. "I thought you'd sleep in Harry's bed tonight."

"You left quickly, why?" she asked, ignoring my comment and sitting up in bed as I shrugged, sitting next to her and leaning against the headboard.

"I was not feeling social anymore." I lied, looking up at the ceiling.

I couldn't tell her I had left because I couldn't handle seeing her all cuddled with Harry. I couldn't admit to her that I decided to come this weekend just to spend time with her and rekindle our friendship. I couldn't tell her I was scared she was replacing me with someone else. I was so fucking scared to lose her. But I couldn't tell her.

"Did you drink?" she asked low but I knew she was frowning. "You smell like... rum?"

I chuckled, wondering how the hell she smelled that after I took a shower but I guess I hadn't brushed my teeth just yet when I really should have.

"Why? Are you jealous?" I asked with a smirk, turning my head to look at her.

"Not a big fan of rum, you know it, so no."

Our gazes met and my smirk turned into a fond smile. My eyes roamed on her face, trying to find out if something had changed but she looked like she always had, but slightly better, and I couldn't understand why. Was it because of Harry?

A good friend would ask her about the kiss she shared with Harry, I knew it, but the words were stuck in my throat and I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. I couldn't ask her about it. I couldn't let the horrible feeling that invaded me earlier get the best of me again.

"I guess I need to brush my teeth then, don't I?"

Her lips curled and she nodded quickly but I remained motionless and staring at her for a few more seconds before sighing and getting up. She followed me and I noticed she had grabbed her toothbrush too. We shared the toothpaste and looked at each other in the bathroom mirror as we brushed out teeth. The more we stared, the more we smiled, and when my mouth was full, I spit in the sink, noticing she did the same at the exact same time. We fought a bit for the glass but ended up sharing and going back to bed.

I wanted to ask her how it felt to clean her mouth off of Harry's taste but I didn't dare. The last thing I wanted was to fight with her and I didn't know what could come out of my mouth if we started talking about it.

"Those games were fucked up, weren't they?" I just asked with a chuckle after a few minutes of silence. "Watching Gemma kissing Max was surreal."

Olivia laughed and I turned my head to her again, noticing her whole body was turned my way. My lips curled more.

"So you've seen all your bandmates naked, haven't you?" she pointed out. "And you're still trying to make me believe that you guys didn't have masturbation sessions?"

At her words, I rolled my eyes and my lips parted. I knew she was joking but I was also aware that the thought that there was a tiny chance it happened excited her. I turned her way so my body was facing her and brought my hand to her, pressing my palm on her face and pushing on it gently.

"Shut up with that fantasy already!" I almost begged, making her laugh.

When I pulled my hand away, she blinked, a large smile still plastering her face.

"I can't help it, the thought is very hot." she laughed again. "Boys masturbating is... a.. an amazing sight."

"You saw me masturbate, isn't that enough for you?"

As soon as the words left my lips, I thought about that time where she caught me. I had stopped being embarrassed by it a long time ago but at this exact moment, after all that happened recently, the thought made my heart jump and I was glad the lights were off because I was pretty sure I was blushing. The thought that she saw all of me, even at a young age, was troubling for a reason I ignored. It has never been before, why now?

"No, I caught you, it's totally different."

Her eyes moved away from me and she got lost in her thought. I watched as she took her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it gently. I thought about how she would probably see Harry masturbate soon enough and I held my breath. I really had to stop linking everything to Harry and their extremely possible relationship or I was gonna go insane.

"You know when I told everyone you didn't keep any secret from me?" I asked in a gentle tone, making her focus back on me. "I didn't mean anything by it. You don't have to tell me everything."

Her lips curled into a tender smile and her fingers gripped the bed slightly. I waited a few seconds and she finally let go of the sheets to bring her hand on my cheek. Her fingertips brushed on my skin and I frowned for half a second but she took it back right before it touched my lips. She didn't answer what I said but I was glad I had told her.

It was the second time in a week that someone mentioned to me that Liv was not my girlfriend and although it pissed me off, it also made me think a lot. Were we too close to each other? I didn't feel like it, but I couldn't ignore the fact that people thought I was overprotecting her. I wanted to think they simply had no idea about how much we loved and cared for each other but she was here, in bed with me, after kissing Harry, and I still was not sure why.

"When you were asked to talk about your most awkward kiss, I thought you were going to mention that moment we kissed when we were 15."

My eyebrows raised in surprise and my eyes met hers again as the memory appeared in my mind. I was a scrawny kid back then and I remember my friends had been teasing me about Olivia for months now. What was exactly between us? Why were we always together? Why was this friendship so intense? Kids are stupid and I was no exception. When the bottle had pointed at her, I could hear the teasing from my friends expend from me to her, and I knew she'd get the aftereffect. I remembered the way she had looked at me, I remembered the way my heart had tried to flee from my chest. I remembered how told her I was sorry before kissing her but never explained her why. I was pretty sure people had teased her too after our kiss but she never complained or even mentioned it. I couldn't forget that that specific kiss was the most powerful kiss I had shared with anyone, if only for the fact that I knew her so well I could anticipate almost all of her movements, from the way her head tilted to the taste she'd have. I shook my head to get rid of the thought.

"That was not an awkward kiss." I just answered, frowning with a chuckle. "Did you think it was awkward?"

Slowly, she shook her head from left to right and I smiled more.

"Why did you apologize, then?"

Her voice was low, like the question was upsetting her and somehow, I could understand why. Who says they're sorry before kissing you?

"I just.. I knew people would tease us after that." I explained with a sigh. "My friends were already teasing me about you I mean, you know how teenage boys can get? I said I was sorry that you'd probably be teased too."

The surprised expression on her face made me chuckle and she licked her lips before swallowing.

"Oh."

"I don't know why I thought it was obvious." I shrugged. "I'm sorry I said that, it was stupid."

As an answer, she smiled more at me an squirmed to get a bit closer. I could feel the warmth of her body and I pushed my head harder on the pillow to find a better position.

"Now, tell me. What was written on the card you picked?"

My lips curled into a mischievous smile and she raised her nose in a grimace, a groan escaping her lips. She knew I would never let go before I see the card and she rolled on her back, looking for something on the floor and brought her jeans up, searching in one of the back pockets before letting her pants fall back down and roll on the bed to face me again.

My eyes moved from her face to her hand then back to her and I grabbed the card she was handing me quickly, trying to read the words in the dark. It was not easy and I moved slightly to get some light from the window and my smile fell immediately.

"I thought about kissing you." she blatantly explained without expression, making me look up at her again. "But then I thought about that kiss and I didn't want you to apologize again. Plus, kissing you because of a game a second time seemed ridiculous."

I knew an other of the reasons was probably that she didn't want to hurt Harry and I could understand that. I played nervously with the card and waited a few seconds. I felt like there were many things I should say but for a reason I ignored, nothing wanted to come out. I had no idea how I would have reacted if she had kissed me instead of Harry when she came out of the bathroom and the thought made my heart skip a beat.

"Does that mean you love me more than Harry?"

I waited a few seconds and my lips curled. She raised her nose up and groaned, pushing lightly on my chest, making me laugh this time.

"Do you?"

"Why do you ask me that when you know the answer?"

"I just love hearing you say it." I admitted, laughing more. "Come on, say it."

She rolled her eyes as I waited and finally looked up at me, her smile turning into a loving one as mine fainted slightly. I pretended I was joking but the truth was, I needed to hear it, as juvenile and pathetic as it sounded. She was here instead to be with him, and she had thought about kissing me instead of him, and those were pretty good clues, but I wanted to hear her say it. I had never wanted to know that she loved me the most as much as I did at this exact moment.

"Niall James Horan, you are the person I love the most in the entire universe."

Her words warmed my heart but also my whole body. It was a real relief and I was not even sure why but I decided I didn't want to question it. I just let it invade me as I stared at her.

"You're the person I love the most, too."

I could swear her eyes fluttered but she just licked her lips nervously and I was not really sure what was happening between us in that moment. The room was still dark but my eyes were now used to it and I felt extremely comfortable, even more than usual. The fear I had felt earlier, after I saw her and Harry kiss, was not gone and it felt good, kind of like when a migraine leaves after you've been suffering for hours. I didn't know what to do, I had no idea how I was supposed to feel and I just passed my hand in my hair and turned on my back.

"it's time to sleep, are you tired?"

It took her a few seconds to answer and she turned around in bed too, squirming to get under the covers. I did the same and slipped one of my arms under my pillow.

"Yea."

I looked at her until she was laying comfortably and raised my eyebrows.

"Are we still allowed to cuddle or?"

I didn't want to finish my question and she just chuckled and turned around, her back now facing me. I frowned for half a second uuntil she backed up to let her back press against my chest. Instinctively, I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her closer with a smile.

"Goodnight, Niall." she whispered as I held my breath.

"Liv?"

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you're here with me."

                                                          ----

I woke up quite early but decided to let Liv sleep. She looked peaceful and for some odd reason I didn't understand, I didn't feel like bothering her the way I normally do in the morning. I made sure I remained quiet while dressing up and closed the door gently behind myself before rushing downstairs. I was surprised I didn't have a headache but I was hungrier than I thought i'd be. I ended up in the kitchen, making eggs and toasts, until I saw Harry from the corner of my eyes. He remained near the door, leaning against the frame, and stared at me. I frowned, putting my food in my plate, and brought it to the table.

"Morning, you want some eggs?"

He didn't answer and after a few seconds, I looked back up to raise my eyebrows at him, expecting an answer. He had crossed his arms on his chest but was still intensely staring at me and it was starting to get uncomfortable.

"Okay?" I let out, turning around to pour myself a cup of coffee. "I made coffee, if you're interested."

"You know what you could do for me?"

I hated how he had just ignored everything I said and I frowned, watching him push himself back on his two feet and walk up to me. I didn't want to help him in any way, especially if it had anything to do with Liv, but I just shrugged at him and breathed in.

"You can always ask."

I looked up at him and noticed his eyes roaming on me. He seemed to hesitate and for half a second, I wondered if he knew I wasn't pleased with this situation. He was my friend, though, and I didn't want to hurt him or ruin things for him, so I tried to calm the hard thumping of my heart in my chest and put a smile on my face.

"I'd love to spend the day with Olivia. I mean, only me and her, no one else." he explained as I tried to restrain a grimace. "Could you, I don't know, bring everyone somewhere? Like, at the beach, maybe?"

I blinked a few times and swallowed the bitter remark I wanted to let out. This would also mean spending the day away from Liv and close to Maya. After what had happened the night before, I didn't really want to be near her because I didn't know what to tell her anymore. That kiss was a mistake but at the same time, If this time my best friend had with Harry was meant to last, I would need a new distraction. The word made me think about Heidi and I realized that although I was not dating her, we still had something going on. Yes, it was only sexual, but now that I had kissed Maya, I was feeling guilty. I just wasn't sure why and towards who. I had to talk to Maya, I knew it, I just wanted to postpone it for as long as I could. Why was I still having sex with Heidi anyway? I really needed to end whatever we had as soon as possible.

I tried to focus back on Harry's request and shook my eyes, closing my eyes tight.

"Uhm, yea, I guess."

The answer I wanted to give him as a plain and rude 'no' but I bit my tongue hard enough to silence myself and sent him a fake smile. I hated this and I couldn't tell anyone.

"Thanks Niall!" he let out happily, his lips curling more. "I owe you!"

He put his hand on my shoulder, bringing it to my hair before rubbing my head roughly a few times. I pushed him away and he laughed, running out of the kitchen as I stood there, motionless. My eyes found my plate and I rolled my eyes at my now cold eggs, grabbing a toast and taking a bite. I knew i'd have to get used to it but I didn't want to. I didn't want to witness their relationship, I didn't want this whole thing to become serious, and I didn't want them to spend the day together. Still, it was clearly better than seeing them act like a couple right in front of me and I tried to convince myself it was better this way as I walked back up the stairs to wake everyone up and tell them to get ready.

[uncloseted]

Hey Christina!!!!!!!!!! Sorry I’m hyped. I was wondering if you could do a “50 things about yourself” idk if you’ve done it before but I’d like to know about you cause you’re so cool! 😎 and we love you

Hi!  I haven’t done one before but I’m happy to.  And of course, if there’s anything you guys want to know about me I’m an open book.  This particular “50 Things” tag is old school Tumblr, so it’s sort of random, but hopefully something in there is interesting for you guys.

1. What takes up too much of your time?

Reddit.  I’m an information junkie and most of the stuff on there has very little use in my life, but once in a while I come across a gem and it’s what keeps me scrolling.

2.       What makes your day better?

Iced coffee.  There’s a coffee shop near my house that I really like, and I also bought a bunch of the fancy flavored syrups so I can make it at home.

3.       What’s the best thing that happened to you today?

I’ve been having a pretty chill day so far, but spending the day with my boyfriend has been really nice.

4.       What fictional place would you like to go?

The Night Circus!  It’s one of my secret ambitions in life to actually build it.

5.       Are you good at giving advice?

I sure hope so, otherwise I’m running some of your lives 😂. But seriously, I do my best.1.

6.       Do you have any mental illness?

Let’s say I know my way around a therapist’s office and leave it at that.

7.       Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis?

Yes!  I used to get a combination of sleep paralysis and exploding head syndrome semi-regularly, but that hasn’t happened in years.

8.       What musician inspired you the most?

I don’t know about “inspired” but I think The Velvet Underground had a big hand in shaping who I am.  Also Patti Smith, she’s great.  I highly recommend her book “Just Kids” to all of you.  There’s something about it that feels Skinsy even though on paper they’re nothing alike.

9.       Have you ever fallen in love?

Absolutely.  I’ve been with my boyfriend for four years now and I couldn’t be happier. 

10.   What’s your dream date?

I love driving to a new city and checking out what there is to do there.  I think having a place that you share just with that one person is really romantic. 

11.   What do other people notice about you?

My hair, my clothes, or my “intimidating” face are the ones I hear the most often.

12.  What is the annoying habit you have?

My boyfriend really hates it when I do “active listening” (where you nod or make noises to let people know you’re still paying attention to them).

13.  Do you still talk to your first love?

No, but I hope they’re doing well.

14.  How many ex’s do you have?

6ish would be my guess?  I’d be interested to know if all of those people would say that I’m their ex, though.

15.  How many songs are on your playlist?

I don’t really make playlists, so I guess none.  I’m sorry that’s a super boring answer. 

16.  What instruments can you play?

Piano and bass guitar pretty well and tuba badly (and I can’t actually carry the instrument anymore).  I could play the flute when I was younger but I imagine I can’t anymore.

17.  Who do you have the most pictures of?

My boyfriend, I think.  I have a Polaroid camera and I like taking pictures of him when he’s not paying attention. 

18.  Where would you like to go before you die?

Argentina, Scandinavia, Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong, Russia, Vietnam, South Africa, Morocco, Australia, Antarctica, and the moon.

19.  What is your zodiac?

Libra!  My birthday is coming up on the 17th. 

20.  Do you relate to it?

I do!  And I feel sort of badly about that because I know that zodiac is just the Barnum Effect in action, but the Libra desire for balance, idealism, and love of aesthetics is me. 

21.  What is happiness to you?

Being free of expectations from myself and other people.

22.  Are you going through anything right now?

In my experience, adulthood is just going through different things for the rest of your life, so yes. Pretty much always.  But right now I’m looking for a new job and that’s been a lot.

23.  What is the worst decision you’ve ever made?

How much time do you have?  I did a lot of things in my teenage years that I’m not particularly proud of.

24.  What is your favourite store?

I love really giant department stores like Harrod’s, or covered markets with tons of different random stalls.  I like the idea that you don’t know what you’re going to find.  I also love antique stores for the same reason.

25.  What is your opinion on abortion?

It should be available and accessible to anyone who wants or needs it.  But so should birth control.  And I think it’s important that people understand all of their options before making a decision and are given mental health support if they need it as well. 

26.  Do you have a bucket list?

Not really.  I had basically one thing that I’d always wanted to accomplish and that happened way earlier than I expected, so now I’m trying to figure out what my next thing will be.

27.  Do you have a favourite album at the moment?

Blue Scholar’s Cinematropolis or Belle & Sebastian’s Dear Catastrophe Waitress.  And Velvet Underground’s Loaded, always. 

28.  What do you want for your birthday?

I’m hoping my boyfriend and I will go away for the weekend.  Fingers crossed that our schedules work out!

29.  What are most people’s first impression of you?

I think people find me to be intimidating (when they’re being generous) or mean (when they’re not).  Like I said before, I have a bit of a bitchy face and so I have to make a conscious effort to smile at people.

30.  What age do you seem according to most people?

I’m not sure.  I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just sort of “in my 20s” and people don’t care what the exact number is.  But in general, I think people assume I am however old they are, so anywhere from like 18-30.

31.  Where do you keep your phone while you’re sleeping?

Right next to my bed, which you shouldn’t do.  But I read on my phone before I go to sleep and I use it as an alarm clock, so it ends up on my bedside table.

32.  What word do you say the most?

It’s probably “but”.  I spend a lot of time considering all the possibilities in a given situation so I spend a lot of time being like, “but what about this? But what if that? Things could be this way, but on the other hand they’re like that”.  I don’t think I really have a catchphrase, though.

33.  What’s the oldest age you would date?

Thirty, probably?  I feel like anyone older than that is probably in a different stage of their life than I am.

34.  What’s the youngest age you would date?

Twenty three or so?  They would have to be out of college.

35.  What job/career do most people say would suit you?

Other than the job I do now, I get a lot of people saying that I should be an art curator or a museum curator.  And I get people telling me I should be a therapist, obviously.

36.  What’s your favourite music genre?

Like most people I like your general pop/rock situation.  I really like baroque pop, which is pop music but that includes orchestral instruments.  And then I also love electroswing, I think it’s such a fun blend of genres.

37.  If you could live in any country in the world, where would it be?

Either the Netherlands or Denmark.  But I would also like to spend some time in France and more time in Italy, where I did study abroad.  I also really love the UK, but given the current political situation I’m not sure I’ll be moving there any time soon, especially since I’d need a visa.

38.  What is your current favourite song?

I don’t know if I really have one.  I do enjoy when I hear Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy” on the radio, though, does that count?

39.  How long have you had this blog for?

Since October, 2013!  I’m coming up on my six year anniversary.  I think I have something like 30,000 posts.

40.  What are you excited for?

The future! I think no matter how the present seems, the future is always an exciting prospect. 

41.  Are you a better talker or listener?

I think this might surprise some people, but I think I’m a better talker than listener.

42.  What is the last productive thing you did?

The last really productive thing I did was to film a pitch video for a project I’m working on, but the most recent is doing some work for this blog.

43.  What do you want for Christmas?

The impeachment of Donald Trump? Can Santa do that?  I would also take “people taking climate crisis seriously”.

44.  What class do you get the best grades in?

In high school, philosophy/religion and psychology. At university I did very well in “Iconic Figures of Popular Music: Simon and Garfunkel”.

45.  On a scale of 1-10, how are you feeling?

Around a 7.  I need to get dressed and leave the house, but I don’t have anywhere in particular I need to be so I’ve been putting it off.

46.  What can you see yourself doing in 10 years?

I’d like to be living in a different country than the one I do now with my boyfriend.  I’d like to be self employed or remotely employed, so that I have flexibility in when and where I do work.  I want to be doing something where I’m bettering other people’s lives or the world at large. But mostly what I’d like to be doing is traveling and learning.  But really my priority is that by that time, I want to be content with myself.  I think what you’re doing and where you’re doing it is so much less important than how you feel while doing it, and in 10 years I hope I can say that I’m living a happy and worthwhile life, whatever that ends up being.

47.  When did you get your first heart broken?

I think I was 14.  What I’ll say about it is this- in the moment it mattered so, so much to me.  My parents were the first person that each other dated and I assumed that was how all relationships worked, so when that wasn’t how this one worked out, I was devastated.  But now I barely remember that person, and  I live with someone else who’s completely different and totally awesome and I couldn’t be happier.  I know it sounds like a lie but with time and perspective all wounds can heal.

48.  At what age do you want to get married?

I didn’t think I wanted to get married at all.  I don’t like the idea of having a big wedding where you’re the center of attention and everyone is starting at you.  But in the long run being legally married is practical, so my boyfriend and I will probably do it at some point when we feel like it makes logistic sense.

49.  What career did you want to have as a child?

I wanted to be an Imagineer at Disney.  They’re the people who design the theme parks.  I also wanted to be the president of the moon.

50.  What do you crave right now?

Excitement!  Nothing is going on in my day right now and I’m starting to get bored.  I have a very low tolerance for boredom so days like this really get to me.

[aro-aizawa]

alright so i finished up playing all of pokemon shield including the post-game mini plot, so here’s a quick fire list of all the things i liked about it and disliked about it before i go on to explain it in more depth (also spoiler warning). here we go.

what i liked:

the graphics, a little weaker in handheld form but largely unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. GREAT graphics when playing on tv mode.

the new pokemon. they were all really cute, and i especially loved the alternate forms and new evolutions of older gen pokemon.

opal, she’s hands down one of my favourite gym leaders so far only shortly followed by bede.

bede is a nonbinary icon as proven by the fact that they didn’t use any pronouns to refer to them until after the fourth gym, and the fact that when they’re in their gym uniform its trans flag colour. it may not be canon, but its canon in my heart.

gym battles are treated as they should be -- huge spectacles that gets people amped the hell up.

dynamaxing. its so goddamn satisfying to finish off a gym battle with your best pokemon as a fucking giant behind you, no matter their actual size. tiny pyukumuku behind you? badass. huge ass wailord? bad. ass. an actual baby pokemon? bad. ASS.

the wild area. introducing camping was a good system, it definitely helped a lot when you couldn’t exactly jump back to a pokemon center so you cook your pokemon some curry to revive and heal them. i imagine they took some inspiration from breath of the wild, tho i haven’t played it to really confirm.

what i didn’t like:

they cut so many corners in the game, you can definitely tell it was made in a hurry.

a minor note here, but for me i have this annoying bug that makes it so some pokemon have the exact same cry. its a sort of whooshing noise that you’d expect for a flying type pokemon, but it frequently appeared instead of well known and familiar cries. i can’t pin down exactly what the cause of this is, or if i’m hearing things wrong, but it was infuriating.

the towns are empty and barely even give you flavor text anymore. you might as well not speak to any npcs except shop keepers and named characters.

there is exactly three cute outfits and three cute hairstyles and that’s about it. i know a lot of this point is mostly about personal taste but please nintendo, we had such a good range in the previous game. 

don’t explore. there is literally no point in looking in all the nooks and crannies of this game, because i guarantee that if the game doesn’t tell you to go there, then there’s nothing there.

it’s too easy. it’s....actually crazy that i’m even putting this as a point, because i’m a strict believer in making games playable for everyone. but it’s just....too much.

the cut down pokedex will forever inject salt right into my veins. especially when they had the audacity to include one of the first starter pokemon, but not the other two. charizard is an okay pokemon but its overrated, nintendo please accept that.

the plot didn’t exist until suddenly it did and then it made no sense. 

i hate the fact that the team in this game were just delegated to fans. i understand the whole “fake out” thing they might have been going for by getting the player to think that they’d turn out to be bad, but no. it just sucks. 

fucking. swordward and shieldbert. i???? literally. have no. words. (i do but they’re super long so hmmm down below)

a game worth about £20 ($25) less than i paid for it. its a decent quality game, but not nearly nintendo quality. 

wow this post is longer than i expected it to be already. but anyways, the rest is super long and under the cut further going into depth about the points i raised. 

to start with, i’ll talk about the good points because honestly?? i really wanted to love this game. i really really did. maybe it was just the fact that at first i didn’t like sun and moon because they changed the formula so much, but it turned out to become my favourite game in the series. or maybe it was just that i don’t like being hypercritical of things i spent fifty fucking pounds on. either way, i wanted to like the game, and overall i sort of did but i sort of didn’t. lots of mixed feelings. anyways. onto explaining the good stuff. (or you can skip to “now on w the bad junk” for the bad stuff)

1. the graphics, a little weaker in handheld form but largely unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. GREAT graphics when playing on tv mode.

one of my favourite things about the pokemon series in recent times is seeing the process from 2d undetailed sprites to 3d incredibly detailed models. the most ambitious thing about gen 5 was the way the camera moved with your movements as you crossed the bridge, and now i just sometimes sit back and thing “wow 13 year old me would FLIP if she could see how good they got”. bc i kept just....admiring all the graphics and the quality of them. 

2. the new pokemon. they were all really cute, and i especially loved the alternate forms and new evolutions of older gen pokemon.

definitely one of my favourite things about the game was seeing the new forms of pokemon we already knew and the alternate forms they’d take when dynamaxed. i love seeing pokemon with new types that completely flip the script, like darumaka becoming an ice type instead of a fire type. or the fact that they gave mr mime a galaran form and it actually doesn’t look bad. 

i really loved that some of the galaran forms had unique evolutions, such as linoone evolving into obstagoon. or meowth into perrserker. it makes sense and i’m always super happy to see new evolutions for old pokemon, it keeps things interesting when pokemon other than eevee get new evolutions.

(tho that being said, still disappointed there’s still not another eeveelution. still holding out hope for that ghost type.)

3. opal, she’s hands down one of my favourite gym leaders so far only shortly followed by bede.

i’m not super well versed in the pokemon universe besides from gen 1 and gen 5 onwards (if you couldn’t tell), but its really refreshing to have an old gym leader that’s visibly elderly rather that just grey haired maybe retiree man. her personality was also really fun, it sort of felt like she literally had the most personality of all the gym leaders, which kind of sucked but it made me really love her character. 

and bede i didn’t wholly expect to really like as much as i did? i mayhaps might have spoiled myself a little on their gym leader status by dipping into the swsh tag here on tumblr before i fully completed the game. but still, they seemed just generally really annoyingly stuck up? but something endeared me to the darl and i just think it mostly had to do w the fact that opal took one look at them and declared they was her grandchild now. 

4. bede is a nonbinary icon as proven by the fact that they didn’t use any pronouns to refer to them until after the fourth gym, and the fact that when they’re in their gym uniform its trans flag colour. it may not be canon, but its canon in my heart.

argue with me on this point all you like, but you can’t deny the fact that in CANON they literally did not use any pronouns to refer to bede until after the fourth gym. the only mention of pronouns before that was their trainer card, which i did not check because good character development should be shown not told through an impersonal medium such as character cards. 

5. gym battles are treated as they should be -- huge spectacles that gets people amped the hell up.

i’ve always loved the way the league is set up, because it makes sense. the pokemon formula works and its interesting, but in previous games most people only vaguely acknowledge it as something every kid tries but doesn’t really complete. it’s already set up people love pokemon battles, there just wasn’t a spectator sport about it unless in the anime or movies. they’re just a thing that happens that none of the npcs care about. 

finally its treated like the spectator sport that it should be. like,,, hell yeah,,, 

(also do you think that in the pokemon universe there’s various stories/tv shows about made up kids completing the league and becoming champions? because i definitely do.)

6. dynamaxing. its so goddamn satisfying to finish off a gym battle with your best pokemon as a fucking giant behind you, no matter their actual size. tiny pyukumuku behind you? badass. huge ass wailord? bad. ass. an actual baby pokemon? bad. ASS.

i p much summed up most of my thoughts in this point well. but i love when pokemon are so visibly powerful. like these creatures have powers that we’d equate to actual gods like summoning whole storms, creating giant waves, create earthquakes and so much more. pokemon are so powerful and to see them become giant and have so much weight and power? its so satisfying controlling that and bringing down other giant pokemon. 

7. the wild area. introducing camping was a good system, it definitely helped a lot when you couldn’t exactly jump back to a pokemon center so you cook your pokemon some curry to revive and heal them. i imagine they took some inspiration from breath of the wild, tho i haven’t played it to really confirm.

i really appreciated the change that started in pokemon let’s go with some pokemon being visible and easy to encounter wandering through the grass. it makes it so much easier to search for the one pokemon that you don’t have in your pokedex yet, or if you’re looking for a specific pokemon to join your team.

i love how large and expansive the wild area is, and with the camping system you can just explore and fill out your pokedex without ever leaving if you’re fully stocked up on supplies. it makes you really believe the whole “yep this kid isn’t just blasting through the whole thing in one day”. kids sleep in tents on their journey with their pokemon and cook curry for them all. adds a nice level of immersion and convenience. 

.

jesus fuck this is so long and i haven’t even gotten to my criticisms yet, is anybody actually reading this chunk of text??? well rip to you my friend and thank you. but now on w the bad junk.

1. they cut so many corners in the game, you can definitely tell it was made in a hurry.

they did a decent job considering it was in development for only two years w one only for the concept and the second actually making it. but they cut so many corners it doesn’t quite feel like a true installment into the pokemon universe. it feels like it was made by another dev studio rather than gamefreak. like how fallout new vegas and fallout 3 barely feel like the two installments in the same franchise. 

this point sort of leads into many different points that i raised, so i’ll explain those a little bit more in depth there. but to sum it up, the easiest way to see it is just how...flat things are. if you only pay attention to the things the game directs you to, then you will not miss a single thing. flavor text is less about adding depth to the world and more just...pointless. it adds. nothing.

and in the post game when sonia gets a new assistant, even though she plays a fairly important part in the post-game plot, she doesn’t get a name nor a unique character model. she get’s a generic doctor model yet it’s treated like we should feel betrayed that nameless npc 234 went behind sonia’s back and stole from her. 

OH! and i almost forgot!!!! but that one part where rose is trying to talk leon into something “mysterious”??? they straight up just used images!!!! like,,,, what???? you didn’t have time to program the minimal animations for that?? who’s fault is that for pushing the release!!! give your employees time to work at a decent pace and not crunch them to reach an impossible goal. game freak, you don’t have to release a game every november.

2. a minor note here, but for me i have this annoying bug that makes it so some pokemon have the exact same cry. its a sort of whooshing noise that you’d expect for a flying type pokemon, but it frequently appeared instead of well known and familiar cries. i can’t pin down exactly what the cause of this is, or if i’m hearing things wrong, but it was infuriating.

also p much just explain this in the point. BUT it happened all. the. time. the only pokemon i know for sure was effected by the bug was gyarados, because instead of the roaring cry i heard the whooshing sound that was probably meant to be another pokemon’s cry. it sounds wack when im saying it rn bc im not 100% convinced i wasn’t making this up, but it was the sole reason i turned the pokemon cries to get drowned out by the music and sound effects.

3. the towns are empty and barely even give you flavor text anymore. you might as well not speak to any npcs except shop keepers and named characters.

i touched on this previously in 1 but basically walking around a town and talking to npcs will not get you any interesting dialog. going into the houses/rooms, and you’ll only get one npc who’s all like “i’m brushing my hair!” and that’s about it. there aren’t any items tucked away in houses or corners of buildings for you to explore or battle people. when you acknowledge that there’s no flavor text from npcs all the towns feel practically empty whereas in the previous games it actually alive.

not to mention how little the diaglog changes? like it may just be my faulty memory at play but im pretty sure that the npcs in the previous games had more dynamic dialog in which they’d change what they said depending on your action in the town or for the plot. after a major event just happened, if you walked around and talked to everyone in that area they’d talk about it. but that happened like....once.

4. there is exactly three cute outfits and three cute hairstyles and that’s about it. i know a lot of this point is mostly about personal taste but please nintendo, we had such a good range in the previous game. 

one thing i loved about the series was the increasing freedom in customisation of trainers. fashion kept getting wider and with more variety, clothes that were still cute and i’d frequently have about 2k because i just kept buying them. by the end of my playthrough of swsh i had almost a million saved up because i didn’t like most of the clothing options. i found one outfit and hairstyle i liked a quarter of the way through the game and stuck with it until the end. they drastically cut down on the options, and that sucked. 

5. don’t explore. there is literally no point in looking in all the nooks and crannies of this game, because i guarantee that if the game doesn’t tell you to go there, then there’s nothing there.

again, already touched on this point but one example i know is this. when you go to the energy plant to battle rose, or go to the roof to battle eternus, i expected to go back to it when the event was over to see if something was left behind or because i’d been locked in a cutscene and unable to explore before, that meant there would be something now. but nope. don’t bother. even when you think you might be able to do something fun, don’t try until the game points you in that direction itself. if something interesting is going to happen in the game, i assure you they will point it out for you. 

6.  it’s too easy. it’s....actually crazy that i’m even putting this as a point, because i’m a strict believer in making games playable for everyone. but it’s just....too much.

hard games disinterest me. if a game is renowned for it’s difficulty, then i will avoid it. i don’t care if defeating dark souls is a badge of honor for your stubbornness or skill. i simply don’t enjoy playing a game that makes me want to quit in frustration because i am not good at video games. i appreciated how easy the games have been in recent years because it makes it a lot easier for me to actually complete them and enjoy them, it’s why i have trouble getting into the earlier gens of pokemon. 

but when it got to the point where after only about an hour or two of dynamax farming, by the time that i got round to the championships i was literally one shotting every single pokemon. even when i didn’t have super effective moves. i was almost 20 levels ahead of the competition, and blasted through the whole thing in a total of 10 minutes battle time and 30 minutes dialog and cutscene time, with a 20 minute pause for a phone call. 

i defeated leon with only very minimal struggle. i couldn’t one shot all his pokemon, i will admit. i two shotted them. i went into the championship fully stocked up on potions and revival items and left with all of them. none of my pokemon fainted or even sustained major damage. 

while satisfying feeling that you’re op enough to utterly annihilate your opponents, there comes a point where it’s just “why bother i know i’ll win” which kind of sucks. 

7. the cut down pokedex will forever inject salt right into my veins. especially when they had the audacity to include one of the first starter pokemon, but not the other two. charizard is an okay pokemon but its overrated, nintendo please accept that.

sorry to charizard fans, but please acknowledge that it’s overrated. its design is basic, and already has multiple different forms. the fact that they passed over the opportunity for the creativity that dynamax venusaur or blastoise could give, for another basic dragon design is so annoying. 

not to even mention the fact that they didn’t even bother to keep the rest of the starter pokemon either. i vaguely remember one time some nintendo employee or big shot saying that the best thing about it is that every pokemon is at least one person’s favourite. the underused or underloved pokemon will always be ONE person’s favourite, and that’s why you can get the whole pokedex. but y’know fuck that philosophy in the name of getting the game out on time. when they could have very easily pushed the release date back. i’m lucky that most of my faves got included but i know that a fair amount did not. and i’m pissed. 

8. the plot didn’t exist until suddenly it did and then it made no sense. 

9. i hate the fact that the team in this game were just delegated to fans. i understand the whole “fake out” thing they might have been going for by getting the player to think that they’d turn out to be bad, but no. it just sucks. 

these two go so hand in hand, that i’m taking the time to address them together considering in every single previous game so far the team has had some HEAVY influence on the plot in one way or another. they’re always linked to the legendary pokemon of the game and they’re always included in the overarching plot, either by driving the player to act or subtly there. 

i kept seeing team yell show up and trying to work out how they were going to join the plot. were they a cult doing Science Shit in the background trying to revive the legendaries? was marnie the leader of this cult and going through the league to distract people from her totally devious going-ons? or would it turn out that marnie though the team harmless but really it was a front for her relative’s secret cult? 

nope!!! they were annoying roadblocks who added literally nothing to the plot. 

and when i realised that, it was the seventh gym battle and so far the only plot i’d glimpsed at was the mysterious explosions in hammerlocke city and the overarching tale of the sword and shield that had been obvious since literally the first time sonia started to talk about it. there had been no plot. there was literally no plot other than the gym battles which sonia and leon specifically called out to “leave this to the grownups, you two just focus on the gym challenge”. 

and when i got my eighth badge and was completing the equivalent of the elite four, i was still confused as FUCK because where the hell was the plot???? and then the whole weird ass “we have to save leon” from a meeting with.....a chairman? how about you wait just an hour jfc it’s not that bad? he’s not being held against his will? the chairman wasn’t doing anything obviously evil or even hinted at? 

the whole thing was vague and rose’s motivation was just ??????? i don’t know???? i still don’t exactly know what the whole deal was. it came out of nowhere and made. no. sense. it had completely lost me. along with the fact that they were suddenly introducing dynamax raids like we hadn’t already been doing that so many times in the wild area????

which leads me to my next point.....sigh. 

10. fucking. swordward and shieldbert. i???? literally. have no. words. (i do but they’re super long so hmmm down below)

first things first, is that i hate everything about these characters. from their names, to their designs, to their motivations, to how they’re handled in canon. it was shitty and while i had fun playing with the whole “this is what a champion does after they beat the previous one” thing, it was just in general really bad. 

like, i cannot get over how shitty their designs were. their hair was literally a sword and a shield. i kept thinking “wow swordward has a penis head that wiggles when he moves” and couldn’t take a single thing he said seriously. i literally wanted to weep at the horrible character design. 

not to mention the suddenness of their whole schtick. “yeah we’re royalty and we’re “”””CELEBRITIES”””” even if none of you have heard of us”. like what????? the fuck????

it just sort of pisses me off to an astronomical degree that this low quality shit was jammed into a pokemon game when they were getting so good at storytelling. it felt like game freak were hammering me with a club while singing “YOU PAID 50 WHOLE POUNDS FOR THIS IN PARTICULAR!!!” like,,,, thanks. thank you. thank you for waiting until after i’d finished the game to really hammer home that point. 

which somewhat leads me to my last point that really just sums up the majority of my thoughts on the whole game:

11. a game worth about £20 ($25) less than i paid for it. its a decent quality game, but not nearly nintendo quality. 

if i knew what i knew about the game know, i wouldn’t pay fifty fucking pounds for it. it physically pains me to spend more than £30 in one sitting, that i actually winced while i was buying it even though i was being 100% optimistic that i was going to love it. at most i’d pay £30 for it, but only then. it’s a good game to really distract you and power through but other than that, i don’t see it as a game i’m going to come back to so i can complete the pokedex and i certainly am not going to buy the other game so i can play it again unlike how i’ve done in the past with my favourite installments. 

maybe i’m just picky, or i don’t buy games often enough, but i really would not classify this as a quality installment in the pokemon franchise. if you get a free copy, or just the opportunity to play it for a few hours then fine it’s a great game. but not quite something you should want to spend your money on. but don’t pirate it. that’s a fast way to get bugs.

to sum this whole mess of a post up: immediately after finishing the game i said to myself “now time to go play a REAL pokemon game” before booting up pokemon moon.

[nedcanquen]

Le Loupgarou - Chapter 4 - Home/Journey

I’m still insisting on finishing this one!

Tags: Werewolf AU, supernatural, Historical AU.

Pairings: NedCan

Image from Pexels

Names: Christian - Luxembourg Odd - Norway

It’s no longer home.

After Daan had walked out into the storm into certain death, Matthieu had raged. First came the denial - it hadn’t happened, or clearly, the other man must have lied to get Matthieu to stop him from trying to save him. After a while, Matthieu had to face the truth: the confession had simply felt too real. Desperate but real.

Then the fury came - roaring against the man who had taken his food and space, and squirmed into his heart, but more than that, it roared against Matthieu himself. Matthieu had saved the man’s life, had decided to share a part of himself on his own. Why was Matthieu always so stupid?

When the fury finally abated, all that remained was a hollow emptiness, and shame. Matthieu had chosen to save a man because it was the right thing to do. Whatever “right” meant anymore in this world. Maybe he truly was stupid, maybe doing the “right” thing was the path to death and pain and nothing else now. Still, Matthieu had long ago decided that he would rather hide from the world than be forced to do things he did not wish to, in order to survive. Here, he learned that doing right or wrong barely mattered - he helped someone, and this was what he had earned.

Matthieu didn’t know how much time had passed that night before he eventually tried to follow after the creature - not for concern but out of anger. He wanted to do the exact thing that it seemed desperate for him not to do. Even though the loupgarou had made a futile attempt to block his door, it wasn’t difficult for Matthieu to open it. But it wasn’t the door or the feeble attempt at stopping Matthieu that actually stopped him. It was nature itself.

White upon white, the wind howled with the same rage that howled through Matthieu’s own heart. He wanted to scream into it but he couldn’t. Spit would freeze before hitting the ground at these temperatures - no sky, no ground. Could he die if we ventured out on some mad quest for vengeance? Absolutely. A great part of him was tempted - cold numbs everything. Before the end Matthieu would finally be numb to all pain, he would no longer feel his flesh protesting his folly, he would no longer feel the tear deep within his heart, the heavy weariness in his eyes, or the pounding in his head.

Ultimately it’s the same fury that saves him. If he’s going to die, it’s not going to be for that thing. Matthieu has done his part. If it dies, it dies. If it...he…no...Leve...oh God.

Matthieu throws his door shut in rage and helplessness and screams. He screams and keeps screaming until there’s no voice left. He can’t take it anymore. He can’t keep feeling, he doesn’t want to be this raw, he has to...he…

There. Matthieu crawls over to his chosen supply chest and pulls out the old bottle of rum - a curiosity purchase he had traded a pelt for a few years back. Usually he only drinks it to help numb the pain after stitching up a particularly painful wound, but tonight is different. Matthieu tosses the bottle back and gulps it down like water after a scorching day. He lets the fire burn through him - through the back of his throat, settling in his belly, but most importantly, it burns through his mind, banishing feelings he wishes were never there to begin with.

Matthieu does eventually try to look for him. After the hangover, after doing all the practical things he can think of doing, by the third day he can stand it no more. Even though it’s going to be useless, Matthieu sets out to find...something, anything. Some hint of a body, or fight or…

“There are many things that can survive a storm like this.”

Matthieu shakes off the chilling hope at the memory of those words and walks.

He loses count of the days that he searches to no avail. He’s also lucky that he’s stored extra with the expectation of needing to feed and house an extra person, but eventually that also runs out. He had even brought along the creature’s hand-drawn map from the many papers he had left behind - Matthieu hates it, but the Loupgarou had mapped the surrounding terrain with incredible detail and it would have been foolish to leave such a useful tool behind.

Purposefully or not, as the weather warms, Matthieu travels farther and farther from his little cabin, setting up traps, gathering food and other needed materials, hunting when he needs to, and sleeping under the temporary shelters he builds from the branches he finds. When he has time, he expands the map as best he can. It’s not as accurate as the Loupgarou’s but it fulfills its purpose.

When the snows have completely melted, he backtracks, circling the cabin from afar and closes in. There’s no body to be found but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Months have passed, the werewolf could have been dragged away or eaten by other hungry animals or humans even, scavenging in the winter. He could have…

Matthieu sighs and looks down at his feet in front of the door. The snows have melted, green has started to show itself in the fresh beginnings of spring, but Matthieu still feels the emptiness of winter howling within him. He looks at the cabin, once the only home he chose, but now it’s just dried wood and something he can’t recognize. Matthieu looks around him and it’s already painful. He feels the absence of Leverett where the wood stacks are piled, all around this now neglected little haven he once had. Now he knows that if he walks inside the ache will be worse, that he’s been avoiding coming back because that means he will have to face reality, no matter how irrational -

It’s no longer a home.

And he knows, he knows that that man (he can’t say his name anymore) that man deserves his curse, deserves his fate. Matthieu thought he had taken in a man in need of help, he was wrong. He had taken in a wendigo into his home, into his-

Not anymore.

Matthieu stands, he doesn’t even open the door, he can’t. He turns, and goes where the wind takes him.

---

Six years later

The full-time wandering lifestyle suits Matthieu. Before (before), as a part-time coureur des bois , he did caught enough to get what he needed to hide and retreat to his cabin for periods of time. Now he has developed a comfort of sleeping anywhere - in the woods, on his canoe, a floor, an inn, it did not matter - Matthieu finds rest in his wandering. It is harder to be an independent coureur these days, regulations were turning most into owned employees of fur trading companies - voyageours . Matthieu did not feel like being owned. He could handle independent contracts between two people, or even small groups, but if he were going to sign himself away, he would have stayed with the Jesuits.

New France was changing once again. Once he would have cared, once that change would have terrified him. Now Matthieu has grown numb. Life is change, New France is simply some idea that the Europeans had come up with, the land had already been here before it was renamed. Tomorrow who knows? They may change the name again.

People changed. The idea of a new name is no longer so significant to Matthieu, people live short lives and they are meant to change. He now knows many people who have had more than one name in their lifetime. Ironically, his own name never changed, but he had.

Matthieu inhales deeply from the pipe again, letting the sweet flavor rush into him before breathing it out. “This is the best tobacco I have smoked in a long time!”

The man sitting across from him smiles just like he does - like his mother did, and her older sister did. Maybe Matthieu is imagining it, but he’s hoping he isn’t. Some things, time cannot change. The Haudenossaunee may have taken his cousin and given him a new name, as was the post-war custom (at least, Matthieu is pretty sure that this Mohawk warrior/trader called Odeserundiye is his cousin), this is the same boy who took it upon himself to always make sure that odd little Matthiue had been included. The same boy who had always been the most adaptable of them all.

Matthieu wonders if he’s right, if he’s imagining it, if Odeserundiye recognizes him, or is playing along for the sake of a good business relationship, or if there’s some kind of funny charade that they’re both going along with here.

“Best batch of the year!” Odeserundiye boasts. “Worth some of your best pelts.” As the bargaining began in earnest, there were forms to be observed - of course both of them were terribly inconvenienced, no the tobacco wasn’t that good, the pelts not that important. Bargaining is a pretty terrible charade at the end of the day, but a necessary part of the process. Shame, because Matthieu is terrible at it, and only gets through it by pretending to be someone else. It makes him grit his teeth painfully, but it kind of works.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to be toothless before you hit old age.” Odeserundiye laughs. “And there’s no reason for you not to grow ripe and old. I used to think you were an angry wanderer but now I think I’ve figured it out - I only see you when we have business to do and you just hate bargaining so you make that face. Well if that’s the case, don’t bother, just be yourself.”

Matthieu has to laugh back, all relaxed now. “Yes, you would prefer that wouldn’t you? Then I’ll be limping back to Montreal naked and unarmed because I’ve given you everything for a handful of tobacco.”

Odeserundiye smiles fondly, and that familiar face pulls at Matthieu’s chest. “Relax, relax. Just enjoy the moment.” Matthieu inhales another long drag from the pipe and slowly breathes it out. After a long pause of taking Odeserundiye’s advice, Matthieu focuses on enjoying the sound of the river next to them, as they comfortably sit along its banks.

Eventually the other man breaks the silence. “If you’re willing to take advice, I already like doing business with you. I wouldn’t let you limp back anywhere unarmed and vulnerable - it means losing a good trading partner.”

Matthieu snorts. “I can handle myself.”

“I am sure that you can...you’re alive after all. You’re one of the very few independents still around, still thriving. You can probably continue doing this, but the companies are taking over. It’ll be difficult to survive as an independent for long.”

The contented mood is broken, and Matthieu exhales his smoke this time in frustration. “Why do we always have to accommodate them? They come here, with their new things, and they destroy everything. I was perfectly happy living here before they brought their guns, I was perfectly happy living on my own before I had to sell them fur again, and I have been content as an independent agent. What else will they ruin?”

“No you were not.”

Matthieu turns sharply and peers at his smoking partner, who slowly inhales from his pipe and lets the smoke out from his nose. “No one is perfectly happy all the time. I am guessing your father is one of them, you favor him. You still speak with the accent of the People of the Bear, so you must have been raised as a child with your mother’s people. While there are many children among our nations with European fathers, it is rare to favor them as much as you do; blonde-haired and pale-skinned. Perhaps your mother herself had some voyageur blood as well. It cannot have been easy, looking so different from everyone else-”

“I had a family!” Matthieu hasn’t felt this pain in a long time, he’s used to clamping it down. “They took care of me. They would have continued taking care of me, people would have gotten used to me eventually.”

Odeserundiye simply looks at him, assessing and sad. “I have lost three mothers. My first died of the pox, so my first mother’s sister adopted me. She was killed in the war, and I was given to a new mother in place of the son that she had lost. My third mother was killed in a retaliatory raid. Clearly they succeeded, but it never brought any of my mothers back. Matthieu, there has been war for as long as I can remember. If business is the price of whatever form of peace we have now, I will take it.”

Matthieu does not know where his temper had come from, he usually controls it well. Maybe Odeserundiye is right, war would have come sooner or later. Even before the Europeans had appeared his nation had struggled to keep the peace with the Haudenosaunee. He’s not going to imagine everything would have been perfect, but he likes to imagine that the conflict would have been less imbalanced - a series of small conflicts and skirmishes, but with his people and nation still existing. Not the aftermath of a genocide that he lives with now. “So, you want to keep me around as a business partner, and somehow this means I must join a company?”

Odeserundiye shrugs. “They would hire you. I could be your business partner. They wouldn’t hire me.” He says matter-of-factly. Matthieu knows he’s right - other than a European appearance, another thing that he inherited from his unknown French father was papers. Either that, or the Jesuits invented them for him. These ridiculously fragile papers gave Matthieu rights he never would have dreamed of being denied in his own birthplace - they mark him as a recognized citizen of New France. In these papers, his name is written as Matthieu Gellone. His father’s name is Francis and his mother’s name is written as Marguerite. He knows that’s not the name she used when he was a child. He sometimes wondered if she was actually baptized out of a real sense of faith or out of convenience to have her child with this ‘Francis’ recognized. Either way, he has saved these papers for no other reason than to have this tiny shred of evidence of her existence. The papers have been more useful than he had ever imagined they could be. The entire time he lived in the cabin he mostly forgot about them unless he was especially homesick for the past. Since he’s left the cabin and New France has grown, they have become more important.

Matthieu lets out a sigh. “Is this advice or is this a proposition to form a business partnership?”

“You could start your own company, don’t look away Matthieu I am serious! We could pool our resources, and start a company, have the protections afforded to a company! Under you, we would be protected from European advancement.”

What madness is this? “Protection? The companies go to war as much as our nations used to! I’ve seen so many dead tradesmen I leave them well alone. Staring up a fledgeling company is to put a target on our backs, on the backs of your family!”

“And what happens without risking this? We become enslaved to the companies that remain after the dust settles?”

Matthieu shakes his head. “You have the wrong business partner. I don’t have the brain for it. I don’t like it.” He knows who would have...once upon a time. Matthieu forces the memory of a tall man, straight-backed and lost in his world of calculations, out of his thoughts.

Odeserundiye places a comforting hand on Matthieu’s shoulder. “I would prefer you, but I will ask more. Think about it at least. Here, this is your tobacco. As agreed.”

Matthieu hands over the pelts and gathers up the tobacco. Before they part ways they embrace briefly.

“I am serious Matthieu, think about it.”

Matthieu doesn’t want to, but nods anyway.

---

On the way to Montreal, Matthieu thinks about the man who either looked and acted a lot like his former cousin, or was his cousin. If he is his cousin, this company formation is another act of his older cousin looking out for him. Matthieu cannot deny Odeserundiye’s read on their situation. And really, Matthieu is long past the point of pretending that he only needs his own company to survive. Ever since setting out again on his own again, Matthieu had to put aside enough of his aversion to other people to build a solid network for himself - reliable trade partners, customers, and bases of operation. Still, he likes being on his own. As much as he likes some of the people in his network, it’s easier to bargain with himself - put up with the social niceties and haggling, and reward himself with months of solitary travel.

“Still holding yourself back.” A familiar voice sounds in his head, it’s not accusing, it’s sad. Matthieu narrows his eyes and pushes on, focusing on the path.

Matthieu’s pelts and tobacco earn him good money at Montreal, he’s become familiar enough with the town that it is a comfortable base for now. It’s big enough that no one wants to know too much, it’s close enough that he’s treated to meals when he arrives. Odeserundiye’s words echo in his mind and he thinks deeper than his own instinctive aversion to the idea - objectively, Matthieu does well for himself, he has a small network spread across New France and among the Confederacy. Starting a small company is not inconceivable, and wouldn’t it serve to use his European face and name to afford some protection over this network? There’s a part of him, still a child, that is somewhat averse. Odeserundiye belongs to the nation that killed his family. But he has more in common with them now than to the Europeans.  

Speaking of the Europeans, Matthieu has become adept at imitating them too. Right now he’s sitting comfortably in his favorite inn - not too fancy, not too bad. It’s owners are honest immigrants who try a little too hard to marry him off to their daughter, but he knows how to avoid that for the most part. Instead, he observes.

There were newcomers to Montreal all the time, it was the center for fur trading, and it attracted more and more people. Then … there! Out of the corner of his eye.

Matthieu freezes, then he cannot help but look. Nothing. He looks again to make sure then laughs at himself in relief.

It doesn’t often happen now. In the early years just after he walked away from his cabin, Matthieu always imagined the Loupgarou just out of sight - in that corner, in the turn of that man’s face, in the shadow before a man moved. But it was never him. He thought he felt the other man’s familiar company on lonely walks for months on end in the woods, before realizing that he was only imagining a travel companion in the silence to keep loneliness at bay. It shamed him that of all the companions he could have imagined, it was still him.

He waits for his heart to calm itself then continues drinking. Still, he can’t help but turn around to get another glimpse over his shoulder, just in case.

It happens again. Matthieu thinks he sees a familiar head walk into a hidden corner.

‘I will put this idiocy to rest once and for all.’ He tells himself and stands to confront his imagination, where he is sure he will find nothing.

He turns the corner and finds a knife threatening his gut, held by an unknown man who is sitting across from a very very familiar face.

“Turn around now. Find another boy.” A deep voice advises with a bored tone - accented, Scandinavian? Those Northern settlers were usually more competent than the others, taking to the woods and surviving in them like second skin, almost as well as Matthieu himself.

“What?”

“I said-”

“I heard what you said! I’m not here for…” Matthieu looks at the boy with the very familiar face again and is horrified at the resemblance. But it’s not him. The boy, no young man, is shorter, his hair wavier and loose. His face however, is recovering from shock and settling into a familiar look of concentration.

“Odd please!” The young man suddenly smiles, all amiable as if he owns the Inn and is trying to attract a guest. “Let our new friend sit. I know what men look like when they want me, this one...isn’t looking at me like that. But, that’s not important. Sir...you look like you’ve seen me before.”

Matthieu looks between the young man with the Loupgarou’s face, which is trouble enough for him and his memories, and the other man...Odd? Who is putting away a very large knife. The latter has sharp, almost feminine facial features, very light blonde hair, a long walking staff strapped to his back, and there was just something about him that put Matthieu on edge. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but there was something...more about that man. Too much trouble. Nope.

He tries to turn around and finds that he can’t. Now instead of holding a knife to him, the man... Odd , is holding his arm. Matthieu has to fight an odd compulsion to stay and easily twists his arm out of the grip. Odd looks somewhat surprised at that.

“Look you two,” Matthieu says, “I can’t imagine what kind of unsavory characters have come after you since you’ve arrived here but if you -” He looks at the younger man with the too familiar face, “insist on looking like a bag of gold with legs, I would do something about not looking like that. Meanwhile you -” He looks at Odd and pauses, what did he want to say? “You ah, clearly have skills as a woodsman and you can teach him how to look less…” polished? Rich? “Obvious, but if you insist on pulling a knife on everyone who looks at him the wrong way, it’s not going to help you both stay hidden. None of these things gives either of you the leave to manipulate me or manhandle me. That’s all the help I can offer, I’m going now.”

“Wait!” The younger man runs in front of him with an earnest look he has never seen before but he can’t quite ignore either. “Sorry about that, we started off wrong. Let’s try again please? My name is Christian, and I’m looking for my brother!”

The world condenses right then and Matthieu has to take a deep breath and let it out.

And do it again, and again. Matthieu has to keep doing it….this boy is looking for his brother. Of all the brothers, could it be? Memories comes back, a too familiar voice sounds in his head - ‘somewhere my sister and brother are laughing and they don’t know why…’ the warmth in those eyes whenever he spoke about his siblings, then ‘I bought...my mother her retirement and my siblings a future out of a whorehouse…’

Matthieu looks away.

“You know him.” Christian declares. It’s not a question. “He’s alive then, I knew it. I wasn’t wrong, I couldn’t be. Please tell me where to find him. I can find him myself eventually but it will be so much faster if you-”

“I can’t help you!” He didn’t mean to be so threatening, but Christian shrinks away from him and Odd is standing in front of Christian protectively, looking ready for a fight again. Matthieu takes a deep breath. “I am sorry. I know you must have come a long way, but people arrive here all the time and disappear. Our land is much bigger than yours.”

Slender fingers take his hand, there’s a strange...tingle to them. “Is he dead?” Odd asks softly, almost a whisper. Matthieu did not expect that strong pull to answer...

“I…” Why can’t he answer? “I…” He looks Christian, at those familiar green eyes and that eager face. He doesn’t want to break it, he doesn’t...he knows what it’s like to lose someone he loves, and to search, and search...and search. It would be cruel to let that search continue, this young man should live his life properly - too many had died just for this boy to live a happier life. “I once met someone who looked like you. He’s dead. A winter storm took him.”

And for a moment it happens - Christian’s face goes slack with shock, before twisting into a look of such pain it’s too achingly familiar. Matthieu tries to steel himself from it, to remind himself of what the Loupgarou had done for the sake of this younger brother. He looks at his young man who is falling apart - is he worth everyone and everything that Matthieu’s ever loved?

As Christian folds into himself in grief, and Odd goes to comfort him, for the first time Matthieu allows his thoughts to fly where he’s never allowed them to go - at the volatile age of fourteen when he almost ended his life on this world...if someone had brought his mother back to him, but with a knife held to her throat...promised her freedom if only Matthieu agreed to something that could kill everyone on some nameless nation he didn’t know, across the sea, would he have at least tried?

‘It’s not the same’ Matthieu tells himself. ‘It can’t be compared.’ It didn’t happen that way. “I am sorry for your loss.” Matthieu says, surprised to realize that he actually means it.

Christian shakes his head, but his voice is breaking. “No. No it can’t...he’s a fucking cockroach! Nothing can...he can’t....” Odd’s face is soft and sympathetic, he envelopes the younger man in a hug. Christian grabs onto him, sobbing into his shoulder.

Matthieu turns and sighs - three men arguing then one young man losing all composure is attracting too much attention. “We should leave. I have a room upstairs.”

---

Well...this is awkward.

Once again, Matthieu finds himself sharing his personal space, except this time with two strangers. His sympathy for a young man who has just suffered a great loss has led Matthieu to let Christian sleep on his bed. Tonight, he will make do with the floor, together with another man he barely knows, and who had greeted him with a knife.  Perfect. Why does he keep doing this?

‘You’re not even here, you’re dead…’ Matthieu speaks to that all-to-familiar memory in his head. ‘Why is it that I can STILL blame all the strange things in my life to you?’ Why could he not turn away a boy with that familiar face? Why does he feel a churning inside?

Odd sits on the bed, leaving a steadying hand on heaving shoulders until exhaustion finally takes the younger man into dreams. Once Christian is softly snoring, Matthieu finally speaks.

“You have younger siblings don’t you?” He whispers.

Odd looks over and nods, suddenly appearing far more tired than Matthieu initially thought.

Matthieu now wonders about the Loupgarou’s European life, about this strange place called Europe in general, and how terrible it must be for so many of its people to willingly leave it. “Did you know his brother?” He has to ask. There’s a part of him that tries to imagine Odd in the Loupgarou’s embrace, but it is gut churning. Matthieu chases the image away and looks down, cheeks burning - what’s wrong with him?

Odd settles down next to Matthieu on the floor and shakes his head. “No, Christian was already looking for him when we met. Or rather, when he met my brother. Those fools had originally planned to come here, just the two of them, without telling anyone. I managed to stop my brother in time and make sure he stayed but I had to come here anyway, with Christian, to make sure he didn’t get himself killed.”

Matthieu looks back at the slumbering young man. “That...must keep you very busy.”

“Yes,” Odd agrees with an exasperated sigh. “It does. Though he’s not without his skills, they’re just completely misplaced. Put that boy in the middle of a thriving city like Amsterdam and he would keep us alive. Here, he has a lot to learn.”

Matthieu could see that. “So that means...who did your brother come here to look for?”

Odd’s face takes on a wistful look, lips turned into a reluctant smile. “An idiot. A ridiculous, self-sacrificing idiot who tries too hard, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’s still alive, I’ll find him. If he’s not, I’ll gather whatever remains and bring him home for a proper burial.”

Matthieu’s stomach calms itself and he finds himself smiling with sadness and admiration. It’s a nice sentiment, but he shakes his head all the same. He can tell just by looking at him that Odd knows what he’s just sworn - a lifetime to this other mysterious idiot who managed to get lost in Matthieu’s home. For heaven’s sake. “You may never find any remains either. Is there really nothing else you’d rather be doing than wandering around my homeland for the rest of your life?”

Odd’s only answer is a scoff. He gives Matthieu and unreadable look then shrugs and lies down on the floor. He’s asleep in no time, and Matthieu wonders about why these two strangers have decided he’s not going to kill or rob them.

Softly, Matthieu knocks his head against the wall. He’s the fucking idiot. A sap. He never learns. Still, he can’t help but stand and silently make his way over to the slumbering young man and drink in his familiar features. Why is he doing this to himself?

It’s torture to see Christian lost in the world of dreams, relaxed from care, just like Leverett had been in those few precious days after learning how to sleep. Matthieu thought time would erase Leverett’s face from his mind, turn it blurry, but even if that had been true, it’s not now. Looking at Christian, Matthieu remembers everything. He remembers enough that he can see where the brothers do not resemble each other, and aches for the familiar even as he detests what he sees.

He reminds himself - Matthieu’s entire world, gone, for this little brother.

---

“Where did you last see him?” The boy asked the moment he realized Matthieu was awake.

Matthieu looks around the room. Odd is not there. With a sigh, Matthieu hauls himself up and stretches. He stands, ignoring Christian for a moment and pours himself a drink, his mouth is feeling dry. To the young man’s credit, he doesn’t push or ask again, waiting as Matthieu walks around the room, loosening the kinks in his neck. Finally, with a sigh, Matthieu realizes he is curious enough to answer some questions, just to see where it leads. He pulls over the lone stool in the room to sit next to the bed. “Christian, the man I saw...that was six years ago. Six. By now there are no remains to be had.” Besides there was one other sibling the Loupgarou had mentioned. Matthieu hoped this sister wasn’t running around here too. “You should go home.”

Christian nods, thinking, and Matthieu is filled with dread. There is no grief in the boy’s eyes, only determination. “Was he alone?”

Matthieu wonders if Christian knew about the curse. “Yes. He was. Look Christian, the man I saw may not even be your brother. For all I know, you all look the same over there.”

Finally, Christian focuses on Matthieu, his eyes searching. It’s mildly disturbing and yet Matthieu can’t really separate himself from staring back. When Christian is calculating something, like he is now, he looks even more  like the man Matthieu knew. Finally, Christian relaxes, “When you saw me, my face, you recognized it. You looked broken, then you looked like you wanted to kill me. You gave me a bed to sleep on instead.”

Well he was certainly just as straightforward as his brother had been. Why is Matthieu here? He may have loved Leverett the Loupgarou, but he knew he hated Daan. This boy sitting on the bed in front of him was part of Daan’s world and acting like who Daan had been - throwing himself into places he had no business being in, spearing through things he didn’t understand. Christian would kill to find Daan, just as his brother had been willing to do the same to give this little brother a different life.

Matthieu stands. “I know what it’s like to lose family. Go home to the rest of yours before you can’t.”

As he’s striding out from the room, Matthieu feels a small sense of satisfaction that he’s just going to pay and leave. This is all the closure he’s going to get - Leverett and Daan dead, his family now knowing about it.

Maybe a different man would seek vengeance on Christian. The thought crosses his mind for a moment and Matthieu angrily dismisses it. It wouldn’t do anything - certainly not bring his family back, just like how a retaliatory raid had not brought back any of Odeserundiye’s mothers. Punishing Christian would not change what Daan did. It would be a waste of energy, time, and peace for nothing.

---

He’s left the confines of the town and is well on his own trail by the river when he senses he’s not alone…he’s also not surprised. Matthieu slows his pace, and Odd matches step with him, as if they were both sharing this journey together all along from the beginning. Maybe they had been. “Why are you so amused?” He stops to ask Odd..

“It’s not amusement.”

“Then?”

“Just trying to complete this puzzle. His brother. You loved him, you hate him, but not enough to really leave Christian behind. You knew we’d follow.”

Matthieu frowns. Is he this easy to read? What was it about Odd that was just so...well, odd? In the distance he can see Christian finally catching up, eyes locked on him in a familiar grim determination. Matthieu looks back to Odd and he voices out his suspicion. “You’re a shaman aren’t you?”

“I promise, other than assessing your intentions when we first met to find out how dangerous you are, and to find out where his brother went, I’ve done nothing else. Your thoughts and decisions are your own.”

Mattheiu thinks he can believe that, other than those first two times, Odd hadn’t touched him. Still, he wasn’t quite sure how to act around this European shaman. He’s partly fascinated by the existence of one - they had struck him as a people so far removed from their earth that he figured they didn’t have any shamans. Not to mention, the Jesuits seemed especially adamant against such practices. Still, there’s difference enough, Odd does not look like any Shaman that Matthieu remembers.

“You walk fast.” Christian pants when he finally reaches them. “And Odd, how could you leave me?”

A slight smile plays at the edge of Odd’s lips as he answers “You were going to be fine. Besides, this is a life you’re going to have to get used to if you insist on going through with this idea of yours.”

Matthieu cannot help but smirk as well. “Dare I ask?”

Christian squares his shoulders and looks directly into Matthieu’s eyes. Matthieu somehow feels like he is about to hear a sales pitch.

“Alright Monsieur Matthieu, you’re right. This land is big. It’s so big it hasn’t even been mapped. Who knows what is out there? I am just one man, I’ll never find my brother, or figure out if he’s still alive, simply by physically looking for him.”

Stubborn boy, but smart at least. “Yet, it sounds like you won’t go home.” Matthieu replies.

Christian frowns. “If he’s alive, I know how to find him, but please Monsieur, I will need your help.”

Curious, Matthieu has to ask. “I’m not agreeing to anything, but what do you propose to do?”

Odd sits down on a nearby rock, indicating that this is going to take a while. Meanwhile, Christian smiles in relief. “It’s a last effort but if I can’t find him this way, I’ll give up the search. I know how my brother’s mind works...strategically. I used to think the world of him, he was never really an affectionate older brother but he did his best by trying to teach me important lessons. You said my brother perished in a winter storm. I know he got on a boat and crossed here in late summer. Either he survived on his own in this strange land for months before running into you and somehow making enough of an impression in that short time, that you now keep looking at me as if you can’t decide whether to cry or to kill me...OR, he stayed with you and traveled with you for months and you cared for him until winter.”

Matthieu frowns and looks at Odd. Odd’s hands are up defensively. “I told you he has different skills.”

Matthieu really wonders how obvious he is, and realizes how lucky he is that his business partners must be fond of him. If he’s this readable he truly must be a terrible businessman. “Fine, I met your brother, we know this. What does this have to do with your plan?”

“My point is, if he stayed with you for months, you know about his curse.”

Matthieu freezes. “I did not mention it because I was unsure if you knew about it.”

“Fair.” Christian shrugs. “And I thought maybe you killed him, except you seemed genuinely sad when you told me that he was lost to a winter storm. So if he survived the storm, and was doing his usual idiocy of running away from the few people he cares about so he doesn’t hurt them, there’s only one way he would have survived!”

Matthieu thinks the answer should be obvious but he honestly doesn’t know it, “How?”

“Change his name and start a trading company of course!” Christian exclaims while jumping in excitement. “I’ve been reading about all the new trading companies that have been exploding in New France in the past five years! It’s easy to hide in one of those! Also, a new territory? Easy to have papers made up for you if you have the right connections and price. My brother wouldn’t disappear into the woods or anything like that, he’s a city man, an entrepreneur. The only place he could hide would be in business! And if he’s hiding in business, I can find him!”

Matthieu shakes his head, thinking of the thousands of trading companies, some so small they only last less than a day. “How could you possibly find him through business?”

Christian grins, “I know how he thinks. Let’s start a company. You’re the local expert, Odd could help us with intelligence gathering behind the scenes, and I’ll handle business. Give me a few years to understand how things work here and I’ll figure out which companies have been around long enough to have possibly been started by my brother - there can’t be that many that have survived for what? Four or five years?. Then I’ll figure out how each of those are run, the history of growth and purchases. I don’t need his name to find him, but trust me, I’ll recognize how he runs a company! He can’t hide that from me!”

This? This is the plan? Matthieu cannot be as enthusiastic as Christian clearly is. He’s also wondering why everyone is after him to form some kind of company lately. “Christian, by some miracle, if you start up a company, and it survives, and you manage to come up with a list of potential companies, and um...all that you said...it’s been six years. Let’s imagine your brother is alive, you may still never find him because people can change a lot in six years.”

The little brother’s grin turns mercenary. “Then I find nothing and I sell you my shares in the company and go home. Then you can sell them and retire and do whatever you want, and not have me bothering you anymore.”

Matthieu groans and looks up at the sky with a frustrated expression. “I was just telling someone yesterday that I don’t want to start a company.”

“Oh great! Who? I sense a new business partner. The more locals the better, most of these places will fail because they won’t have local expertise and networks as its foundation.”

In the end, Matthieu accepted his fate. Which apparently, was to register a trading company. Himself, Odeserundiye, Odd, and Christian were equal partners, with Matthieu and Odeserundiye having the local network and exclusive area knowledge to find resources where most companies didn’t know where to look; Christian handling accounts; and Odd handling...information and intelligence gathering. The deal was, if Christian found his brother, or decided the search was over, he would keep a percentage of his earnings to live comfortably back in Europe, and divide the rest of his shares equally between Matthieu, Odeserundiye, and Odd. As for Odd, as it turned out, the man he was looking for was afflicted with the same curse that Christian’s brother had, so finding one Loupgarou  would hopefully provide a strong lead to the other.

Matthieu for his part, found himself on a new journey that he never expected. Part of his life at first was mostly unchanged. He did the same things he used to do, traveled, built networks, caught beavers; except now he also trained other people to do the same occasionally, and he did all this while...being an owner of a company and having earnings be stored in several banks - Christian took care of those details. The other part that surprised him was that Odeserundiye was right, there was protection to be had under the cover of a company, and as a person with European paperwork, Matthieu did find himself having a little more power than he ever felt before, to protect the parts of his home that he had always seen as under attack. He bought land so that native nations would not be forced to move from it, he used his position to try to warn people of harmful new policies when he learned of them. Of course, Christian would catch wind of it, tsk, shake his head and go straight to the Governor with gifts and flowery words to completely distract him from implementing such boring and unimportant new laws.

Odd’s words from that first day “In a city, he would keep us alive” were truer than ever. Montreal was slowly becoming a city, and it was Christian’s oyster.

Matthieu was no more comfortable as an owner of a well-to-do company than he had ever been before. Change still came too fast, and he wasn’t sure if it was serving his home for the better. He also learned that he would never really be fully accepted among the original nations, even though he was born one of them. It pained him, but he also could not blame them for this prejudice when he obviously gained so many advantages simply for favoring his European father’s looks. And anyway, Matthieu held onto his own prejudices so tightly, even with Christian and Odd as colleagues and eventual friends.

They were a strange group, but they were his group. There’s no time now to imagine he can hear the Loupgarou speaking to him in his head. There’s no time to sit for hours, lost in the memories of the dead, or to listen to the wind howl. He doesn’t know if this is better or worse, but it certainly is different.

The most obvious thing he realizes, is that he’s no longer alone.

[starfaring-princelotor]

Thinking Ahead

Summary: Lotor realizes that the feelings he has been harboring are not what they seem. 

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: Dirty thoughts, underage drinking.

Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends

“Here you go, two cups of black tea.”

Romelle, bright eyed and equally bright haired student of Hufflepuff, placed two dishes of tea in front of you and Lotor. Professor Trelawney’s reasoning for “switching up partners” is so people would not be too familiar with each other. That way, everyone could get a true taste of variety amongst their peers. Unfortunately for her, she was oblivious to you and Lotor’s growing friendship.

“Ugh, this tea is so bitter.”

“Yes, I will admit, this is not one of my more preferred flavors.”

Black tea was too strong on your palette, but at least the temperature of the drink was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, and you couldn’t help but grin when Lotor sent you a pointed look the second you started sipping loudly. Where are your manners? You had none, not for some tea leaves fortune telling crap.

“Have you ever had sweet berry hibiscus tea?” you asked out of the blue, peeking at him over the edge of your tiny cup.

“I have. The fruity flavor is delightful with a side coconut jelly,” somehow, this meager chitchat made the bitter liquid bearable, “I took a trip to Maui one summer. Oh, so humid, but not as hot as I would have expected. The locals were, ahem, generous and kind beyond measure. Of course, after they accept you, the ridicule for being a tourist never ends.”

You smiled at hearing that, finding some sort of cruel glee in his suffering, “Yeah? They call you old man because of your hair?”

“Oh, come now, surely that insult is as old as time itself,” he chuckled then grinned at the challenge, “No, no, they playfully poked that I am a fish when it comes to surfing. I quote, ‘Floundering and wiggly.’”

Now, the two of you laughed, and unbeknownst to either of you, Allura’s attention was not so subtly focused on the happy duo. Or at least, how happy Lotor seemed. Romelle took her seat across from her, tilted her head when she received no recognition from her close friend, then followed her line of sight. A mild annoyance began creeping up her spine then she gently slid a hand to cover Allura’s dainty ones, a show of support and a way to garner her full attention.

“Allura?”

The Princess stayed silent for a moment more before tearing her gaze away, offering Romelle a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Yes? Pardon me, ready for some tea?”

The concerned look reflecting Romelle’s eyes did not go unnoticed. Nor did the soft way her thumb was gently rubbing over the Princess’ knuckles out of instinctual comfort. They talked about this before, talked about her and Lotor’s previous relationship several times over when she felt those feelings creep back up in her heart. You were right when reading her palm: Allura had an insecure heart, even a year after her relationship with him took a turn for the worst.

But that was not why she was intently watching you two right now.

“Are you alright?” or rather, will she be alright?

“Yes, I am quite fine, thank you,” the Princess picked up her teacup and rest her mouth on the lip, “...Actually, I think I am just...concerned.”

“Concerned? You know he can not hurt you anymore, Allura.”

“Not for me, no. I mean for her.”

A spark of jealousy welled up in Romelle, but she quickly tampered it down before it could be known. You and Allura were not friends. Acquaintances, perhaps, but even so, she could understand the Princess’ bleeding heart for others. Especially in situations that didn’t include her, or need to include her at all. She only wished for the safety for everyone and the blonde girl couldn’t blame her. She cared too much for people and it did get her hurt more than once.

This was not new information to Romelle.

She sipped from her cup then glanced at Lotor, taking keen interest in him when he drank from his own cup, “Allura, do you think he’d hurt her? Maybe we should talk to Shiro about this…”

The Princess finally took a gulp of her tea, hoping it would relax her nerves, “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d rather not involve anyone else unless he - Unless I start to notice something. I really am trying to take your advice into practice.”

As in, don’t get in too deep in other people’s lives, ex’s included. It was just hard to do so when the man you once loved is giving someone else that same exact look she felt for him. Or at least, she thought she felt. A year later and it was still so very confusing for her fragile heart. Allura gently squeezed her friend’s hand in sincere apology.

“I am sorry for making you worry,” she continued, “Let’s enjoy this tea, yes?”

Romelle doubted the enthusiasm plastered over Princess Allura’s face, but she knew no words would soothe her troubled mind right now.

Lotor laid in bed with Kova perched on his shoulders, his tail loosely wrapped around the Prince’s neck. The cat would have rather been laying in his lap, but it was already preoccupied with an open book. There were words scribbling fast across the page, yet they appeared not by Lotor’s hand. No, the writing was too big, too loopy to be his.

I nearly threw the book into the fire when you wrote back. You should’ve told me at the dance! Nearly scared me to death. Thought one of the ghosts possessed it or something.

He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his quill. The nub was wearing down. Soon, he would need a new one.

You would willingly traverse into the Forbidden Forest past midnight, but a two-way journal scares you?

I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. Bravery is not in my blood.

Lotor grinned at that. Yes, curiosity and bravery were not of the same definitions.

Did your tea reading spook you of the future?

Why would I believe soggy, yucky leaves telling me I’m going to be attacked?

Maybe it is a sign. Watch out for puddles.

After that, the Prince drew a surprisingly detailed puddle, but then added a stick figure to represent you. There was a frown on your face and he could already imagine the indignant noise you’d make once seeing his creative masterpiece. To his surprise, ink started sketching as an image of, what he could only assume, was HIM appeared over the water. Was that... was that him on his broom? Lotor chuckled in mirthful amusement.

My ears are not that big.

In response, you drew his hair longer. Excessively longer. Rapunzel length longer. Then, the moon appeared. Full, just like that night, and little stars dotting the vacant sky. Lotor’s heart softened at the image you were drawing, not at all thinking about how he was connecting the dots and making constellations here and there. It wasn’t until he saw a single, long line stretch from the bottom of the page to the top and stop there did he tilt his head in confusion.

No more words? Ah. You must’ve fallen asleep on him. It was well past midnight anyways. You had a good idea. Before he decided to snuggle under the comforter in search of dreamland, he wrote three little words. Three little heartfelt words that he knows you’ll see come morning.

Good night, darling.

Lotor’s brows scrunched up in offense at watching you read. Well, he was trying to read, but his eyes caught such a despicable act to nature he had to put his own studies on halt just to make sure he was not dreaming a horrid nightmare. He cleared his throat softly, just enough to catch your attention.

“I had no idea you lick your thumb before turning pages.”

Almost comically, your tongue was still stuck out just as you were about to wet it, “I know, it’s a disgusting habit -”

“Very. Remind me to never lend you any of my books.”

You had to suppress a laugh at his squinty face, almost like he found a fly in his five-star bowl of clam chowder. This time, instead of using your thumb, you swiped the page with the tip of your wand. It seemed this pleased him more than your gross saliva tainting the books and spreading unknown germs to others. Or even to yourself! Who knows how many people have touched these books?

“And remind me never to touch any of your books, too.”

You rolled your eyes yet kept a playful grin plastered on your lips, “One of my favorite stories is World War Z. Have you read it?”

“The one about zombies? Really? That one is the best book you can think of?” Lotor arched his brow, attention focused on you now instead of his own reading, “You know zombies can never really happen.”

“Shh! It could totally happen, y’know. If science can go wrong, why can’t magic? They wouldn’t’ve made reversal spells if magic was perfect.”

“Pardon me, did you just say…” he squinted at you even more, “W...wouldn’t’ve?”

Now, he was baffled at yet another phenomenon you showed him. Unnecessary contractions. Lotor blinked like you just grew another pair of lips on your face, which nearly made you chortle a bit too loud in the quiet library. No other students would even consider staying this late in the archives for fun, yet good company was all you two needed, location be damned.

“You have been hanging around Keith too much, darling,” he reprimanded, yet you didn’t take it at all seriously, “Next thing I know, you will be a brooding jar of angst who mopes in bed all day. Oh, wait, that DID happen.”

It was your turn to scoff in mock offense. How dare he grin that catty grin after openly poking fun at your expense? You almost wanted to retaliate by flicking a paper ball at him. Almost, and you only decided against it when you saw his eyes shine in delighted mirth, half his face hidden behind a book. It was...nice. Not his weak insult, no, but rather the friendly familiarity was quite refreshing between you two.

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I don’t...I don’t…”

“Hm? Yes? You do not what? Use your words, dear.”

“Hmph, at least I don’t...Gah, I can’t think of anything!”

Lotor wasn’t flawless, but it was kind of hard to think of one, singular trait you could joke about on the spot. And he knew this. He reveled in making you fumble over your words because, although you were smart, you still needed at least a day warning to come up with a worthy insult. Meanwhile, the scrutinizing observer he was, he could pick at you till the sun comes up.

“It is alright. Take your time,” he nonchalantly turned a page, that air of victory surrounding his smug self, “You can say it tomorrow when you are ready.”

“Quietly. You do not want us to get caught, do you?”

As silently as you could, you lifted your foot and gently tapped the stone with every step you took. How Lotor could pull off being so stealthy, you had no clue. Magic, probably. He was leading you up many flights of stairs in a part of the castle you were not familiar with. Was this the Slytherin wing? No, there weren’t even any pictures on the cobblestone walls. Where exactly were you?

“Ugh, wait, let me - “ you knelt down quickly, slipping off your clunky shoes and allowing the cold stone to seep through your socks, “Okay. Okay, where are we going?”

One hand in his, the other now holding your scuffed shoes, Lotor decided against giving you a firm answer. Instead, he turned over his shoulder, sent you a quick wink along with his signature trusting smile. You stumbled gracefully, blaming the uneven stairs for fault, yet he was strong enough to still prevent you from kissing the floor.

“We are almost there...if you would stop tripping,” cue smile transforming into a playful grin, an excited grin, like a boy ready to see the fireworks start.

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have mile-long legs, I wouldn’t have to sprint to keep up,” you huffed, that is, until the two of you came across a large gap.

The chasm below, oh stars, how high up did you two travel? This was at least 50 stories high. It was a miracle the stairs were even holding up at all, as decrepit this building was. But...there, across the death hole, was a door which you could only assume was where he was planning on leading you. Before you could even ask him a question, Lotor released your hand then effortlessly leaped across the gap, landing calculated and ever so majestically.

And maybe a little smug when he met your slack-jawed face.

“That is so unfair.”

“Jump. I will help you, do not worry. The gap is not as big as you think.”

You were half nervous and half...excited? It must be because of your curiosity peaking at the sight of the ornate curved door. Surely, no one else would even consider venturing forth with the prospect of a very long drop right in front of them. But Lotor said he would help. Lotor said not to worry. Yet, you shuffled in spot, calculating how much of a running start you would need to make it across.

Meanwhile, the Prince was way too amused seeing you hesitate. He held out his arms as if offering a hug, trying to lure you in with the trust he carefully built with you.

“You drop me, I haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Duly noted, darling.”

That gap...was it just you, or was it getting bigger? Before you could let your nerves get the best of you, Lotor sent you a nod of encouragement and you exhaled a heavy breath. Shaking your arms, you backed up a bit then took a running start, leaping with all the strength in your legs. Don’t look down. Don’t look -

Oh, fuck. Too late. And now, you realized your jump wasn’t nearly as far as it should have been. One foot landed on the edge and Lotor’s instincts immediately kicked in, his strong arms winding around your midsection to pull you close for security. You weren’t sure who made the “eep” noise, no, certainly not you, but you definitely heard him chuckle when your hands clung onto him for dear life.

Your heart was beating so fast. If you were listening closely, you could hear his, too.

“See? That was not so difficult, now was it?” Lotor took a few cautious steps away from the hole, noting your legs were shaking like a newborn foal, “Come, you - ah - dear, your nails…”

You stubbornly shook your head, refusing to let go of your hug as he guided you through the door, “Forests, fine. Flying over a lake? Fine. Leap of death? No. Next time, give me a piggyback ride. I’m not doing that again.”

The door closed behind you two and it was Lotor shrugging you gently to pull your face out of the safe confines of his chest. A dead fireplace, cushions, some thick blankets, half a ceiling missing. This place was in shambles, but it did make you feel more lax, more safe, more secluded. Lotor’s arms fell to his sides to let you explore the humble room, moon missing tonight and sky shimmering with distant stars.

“Here,” the Prince picked up a folded blanket, spreading it out and over your shoulders, “It is only going to get colder and we will be here for a while.”

“Oh...it’s…” the view from up here, so close to the clear sky, you almost felt like you could pluck a gem or two from the night, “You brought me here to stargaze? They look so much clearer tonight.”

Some more shuffling and Lotor wrapped his own thick comforter around his body then sat on a chilled cushion. There was no wind tonight, thank goodness, otherwise this trip he carefully planned might have ended prematurely. Footing your own cushion closer to his side, you also plopped next to your tall friend while tucking your blanket tighter in your chest. Neither of you minded that you two were, as they say, attached at the hip.

“Not only that. Just wait. Give it a few minutes,” Lotor angled his head upwards, nebulous eyes reflecting those twinkling stars and anticipating the phenomenal show to start.

You mimicked him, orbs searching for something in the sky, anything other than those countless dots swimming in the night. Lo and behold, you saw something flicker. And another, this time longer. A shooting star? Many! Many shooting stars blinking in sight, and just like that, you perked up in amazement, in the awe Lotor witnessed that night at the moonstone lake. Lips parted, iris darting across the sky to catch each falling star, you saw 10, no, 12 pass by in the mere minutes you were sitting here.

The cold didn’t bother you anymore, “That’s...that’s like, 12 wishes!”

16 now and soon you would no doubt lose count with how frequently they appeared. You couldn’t keep up with his freckles, shooting stars even less.

“I can’t...think of more than 3 wishes,” your mouth scrunched up in a corner, “I wish tests weren’t so hard.”

“That, my dear, could easily be handled if you studied more,” he reached to his satchel and pulled out two green mugs, “If I recall correctly, the Muggle world believe wishes can be granted by magic, no?”

Your attention diverted to the cup he placed in your lap, fingers deftly picking it up and noticing it...empty. “Yeah, they believe that if you blow a dandelion in the wind, your wish comes true, too. Other things like, uh...something about ladybugs? And eyelashes? A bit silly, isn’t it?”

And yet, he has a suspicious feeling in his gut you tried every possible wishing device at your disposal. Lotor pulled out his wand then gently tapped the rim of his cup, warm dark liquid instantly filling it to tipping point. The steam wafted in the air and you noticed a few mini marshmallows floating in his drink, clumping together in the sea of sweetness. No sooner were you able to voice your question of “How did you do that?!” did he use magic to fill your cup, as well. Less marshmallows, but no complaints from you.

“Well, magic does not have to make sense,” Lotor spoke with a hint of cockiness and, after taking a sip of his drink, he hummed in thought, “Needs a bit more of a...kick, no?”

“A...kick?” you raise da brow, carefully drinking a small portion before smacking your lips together, “Peppermint cocoa? Didn’t take you as a sweets kinda guy.”

“I adore sweets. Chocolate frogs are one of my favorite delicacies,” he admitted, hiding the fact that he also...collected those cards in the package as a hobby.

Lotor pulled out a bottle. A dark bottle, label unreadable in the dim room, then he popped the top off with one strong flick of his thumb. He poured a generous amount of what looked like milky coffee in his cup before offering the tip to you. Whatever it was, there was a whiff of sugary sweetness and, oh...that was alcohol. Faint, but it was there, and you shot a bewildered look at him.

“The Prince drinks alcohol? What would the Slytherin housemaster say?” you feigned shock and, even in the dark, you could see his glowing eyes roll at your words.

“Hush, you. Alcohol is commonly referred to ‘liquid courage,’ no?” to his delight, you held your drink up and he poured a small amount for now, “After seeing your...flawless bravery over that hole, I think some liquid courage would somewhat embolden you.”

You sipped. You sputtered. You stuck out your tongue, somehow thinking it would help get that ghastly bitter burn off your palette.

“Oh, this is - this is disgusting!” and yet, you took another sip, maybe the second time around wouldn’t taste as bad, “How can you drink this stuff? Blegh…”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. Yes, this must’ve been your first drink, but in his mind, it was not strong at all. Still, seeing your blatant dislike of it, he brought his wand up and prepared to magically whisk away your drink and give you fresh hot cocoa. It was you who cradled your mug away from him, holding it like you were preserving a precious, rare golden apple.

“Oh? So, you DO like it, I see,” Lotor’s eyes cataloged the blush gracing your cheeks, either from embarrassment at playing keep-away or from the drink warming up your body.

“Now, I didn’t say that,” you leaned against him, placing all your weight on the sturdy Prince, “I should try it...a third time. And fourth. And fifth. Then I will give you my five-minute review of your peppermint hot cocoa.”

This was so dangerous, sneaking out this late, drinking alcohol, but it was giving you a sense of acceptance, of fun, hanging out with Lotor with no judgement from anyone. No student roles under a teacher’s gaze or homework to be done before noon or responsibilities other than caring for each other in the most spirited of company. Goodness, was he always this warm? You lifted his arm and tucked yourself against him, figuring double blankets would keep you two cozier longer throughout the night. .

“If you fall asleep, do not drool on me. I will wake you, dear.”

Your eyes scanned the page, mouth silently reciting the spell so you could memorize it by heart. Though, with your previous attempts that came out for naught, you knew this was going to be difficult. It was almost as if your wand was purposely refusing to work with you. While the rest of the class was practicing with success, you glared with determination at the potted plant in front of you. Unblooming. It looked nearly dead, to be honest.

“Morning dew, nightly rain

Bring this rose to bloom again.”

Three flicks of your wand, each punctuated at the end of a verse, yet all the plant did was...wilt. And with it, so did your spirit. To your right, before you could even see his smarmy grin, Lotor hummed in amusement at your failed attempts. Rude. You saw out of the corner of your eye that his potted plant, well, blooming was too nice of a word. It was flourishing. Practically a mini rose bush now, orange of all ugly colors.

“Don’t laugh,” you pouted, trying not to take his mockery at heart and knowing this was just him being a little shit again, “I’m trying.” “Maybe if you said it correctly, it would work. Here,” Lotor faced his already beautiful plant then cleared his throat, voice clear and loud, “Morning dew, nightly rain, bring this rose to bloom again.”

It grew twice its size, nearly tipping the pot. You grumbled, a low “show off” muttered from your lips.

“Now, your turn,” he faced you, watching your every move, from the flick of your wrist to the posture you held, “Your voice must be loud and clear.”

Again, you mumbled, both at his instruction and this dumb plant that wasn’t listening to you. The Prince tsk’d, your behavior and discouragement making him cross his arms. This was stern Lotor now. Not quite the same from the forest, but close enough that if you didn’t heed his advice, he would definitely leave you to fail over and over again.

“Sit up. Do not slouch,” he watched you do as he commanded, “Hold your wand at a 45 degree angle near the plant’s base. Now, LOUD and CLEAR.”

“I don’t like raising my voice,” you finally admitted...stubbornly.

Lotor narrowed his eyes slightly at the excuse. He reached over and scooted the plant closer to you then lifted your chin up with a finger. His eyes didn’t miss the way you stiffened in your seat nor how you easily surrendered to one of his slender digits. For a quick second, his mind flashed to what else he could do to you with just a single finger.

“You do not have to be loud, then. Clear. How will your wand hear you? How will the plant hear you? Now, try again.”

“Tch, now who is the pushy one, huh?”

“You could fail and lose house points. Your choice.”

“Bah! Fine, fine, just - don’t watch me.”

He wouldn’t watch you directly, but he was listening intently now, just to make sure you spoke the spell clearly. Or blow up your plant on accident. A few minutes passed and when you cheered a “Yes, finally!” under your breath, he knew you got it to work on the 6th try. By HIS guidance, no less, but still, it was the results that mattered in the end. A nudge at his side and he raised a groomed brow at you, eyes obviously waiting for a sign of gratitude.

“I don’t like yellow roses. Can I change the colors?” you flipped through ahead of the book, going to the more advanced spells, and he had to stop himself from rubbing the headache forming at his temples.

Fool. Mumbling idiot. You were going to accidentally change the color of your skin if you weren’t careful.

A strange thought crossed his mind then. Were you always this...imbecilic?

Lotor felt sick today. A cold, no doubt, or a fever? He wasn’t sure, but the tonic the nurse gave him only helped temper his body a little bit. The drapes were pulled together to keep his entire room dark and a thick layer of blankets covered his form. Oh, but he was breaking out a sweat now, his least favorite part about being ill. Aside from the migraines, of course.

The journal glowed a faint blue hue by his bedside, the light actually intensifying his headache. You were writing in it, most likely waiting for him to reply, but he was too aching to move any of his limbs. The sick Prince knew that a distraction would help him avert his mind from focusing on his soreness, yet part of him just wanted to...ugh, that brightness was getting on his blasted last nerve.

With all the strength he could summon, he grabbed the book and stuffed it inside the drawer. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Sleep and silence were his best cure for his shut-in self. Eyes drooping slowly, he buried his face into the lush pillow then willed his mind to shut up. For five minutes, just five, let the comforting arms of sleep embrace me. Wish granted.

Though, he roused at the soft rapping of knuckles on his door. He had no idea how long he was knocked out. Could be an hour, could be a day. He wanted no visitors, so who dared…?

A turn of a knob and your face, as well as the hallways blinding light, leaked into the room. His silver brows knotted in annoyance and, with a peek from one eye, he tried to dig even more into his pillow to avoid you. Sick Lotor was an unhappy Lotor. A warning from Ezor when they had reluctantly let you in their wing and led you to the grumpy Prince’s private room. Your footsteps indicated you were right besides his bed, probably just looking down at him in pity. The thermos in your hand suddenly felt a little worthless, but you stood firm in your wavering thoughts.

“Hey, Lotor?” a rumbling grunt as a response, not the friendliest, but you understood his frustration, “Figured you were, uh...y’know, under the weather.”

“I am not sad. I am sick,” came his muffled reply, followed by a cough, “...And tired. Very tired.”

Yes, you know the wretched side effects of being sick. You may be going to a wizarding school, but illnesses still affected everyone. Why couldn’t magic whisk it away? Taking a seat at the edge of his bed, being mindful of his space and the fresh scent of mint wafting in the air, you offered him a soft pat pat on his elbow. Instantly, he cringed into himself, the touch both welcome and a little uncomfortable. You had intended to come and keep him company, perhaps tell him about what you learned in class today, yet all his body language pointed to one option: he wanted to be ALONE.

“Alright, alright, loud and clear,” you weren’t offended by his brusque words, well, maybe a little bit, “Here. Don’t know if you ate anything yet, but there’s some chicken soup in this. Generosity from the kitchen staff after they booted me out for sneaking in.”

You at least expected a chuckle, a quip of “I am surprised they did not turn YOU into soup,” but nothing came. Placing the thermos on his bedside table, you headed for the door and, with one last glance back at him, you offered a soft smile.

“Get better soon.”

The illegal Love Potion was finished and a majority of the class was excited, rightfully so. Everyone was eager to know who their loved one was, their crush, and possibly even sneak a portion out to use on the object of their desires. But not him. He was here for the grade. Lotor adored the dark arts and, although not officially part of the curriculum in his other class, this was just another step into understanding why Love was the strongest curse of all.

And yet, you were shifting nervously in your seat. Hands neatly folded on the desk, knee shaking up and down insistently, and your eyes couldn’t even focus staring at ONE thing. He didn’t understand. The two of you use the same ingredients, so you must be getting the same perfect grade as him. Or perhaps...you, like the others, were curious about what the potion would reveal to you if you took a small whiff.

“Did you...y’know,” you asked vaguely, motioning to his simmering potion.

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

A moment of silence. You knew you had certain feelings for him, but pinpointing them to love or anything stronger than love was what really kept you uncertain. Friends? Best friends? Maybe...something more? Should you ask him? Part of you wanted to, yet another side of you was actually happy with where you two were at now. You trust him. You trusted him quite a bit.

“Wanna do it together?” you asked, knowing there was a few minutes to spare before class started.

Lotor’s silence made you hesitate even more. Not because it was a yes or no answer, but because he was thinking about what he was going to experience. It was no matter of the heart that he already heavily desired you since that mirror showed him what the two of you could be. His thoughts were invaded with you before, yet he couldn’t differentiate between him being a horny adolescent or an actual fool in love.

The Prince sent you a side glance, “Yes. Let us try.”

Both of you gently swept the smoke rising from the cauldron to your noses, preparing yourselves for the answers to the unknown.

Peppermint cocoa. Old library books. Fresh laden snow. Chicken pot pie. A...rose?

You brought a hand up to cover the lower half of your face, immediately knowing where all these scents were coming from. Or rather, who. You...love him? No. That couldn’t be. You didn’t even realize it! How could some liquidy goop know you better than you? But...maybe on some degree, it was true. You love him enough to be such close, vulnerable friends with each other. Enough that you wished his sickness would erase completely from his body that one night. Enough that you willingly leap into his welcoming arms, despite the fear clouding your mind.

The realization...well, it brought you two things. One, a peace of mind now that your question was answered. And two, you found that the damn beating organ in your chest wanted to ask him about these conflicting thoughts. You swallowed a thick gulp lodged in your throat, sparing a meek look at your partner sitting idly besides you. Did he smell...something foul?

Lotor’s face was twisted in utter disgust.

Yes, he knew what his nose would pick up. Chicken noodle soup, white carnations, misty lake water, oak trees, and finely-ground powdered moon stone. With every scent, a new memory flashed in his mind, from that dangerous adventure at the forest lake to the soup he gratefully consumed shortly after you closed his bedroom door. The memories...it made his heart fond, his heart yearn to hold you again, but the smell. All of it mixed together?

It made him want to puke on the spot.

Lotor covered his nose with his hand to block anymore of that potion from reaching his brain. He knew you were staring at him, waiting for an answer, anything, and he knew you were not blind. The growing friendship, the late night cuddling, the hugs, the sentimental time spent together. You must’ve suspected something between you two, some fine line between the moments of vulnerability you shared with each other.

“Lotor, did you - “

Yet, he turned away from you, avoiding looking at you in the eyes, just as the professor waltzed into the classroom. Maybe the smell was too strong for him? Yes, yes, that was a logical conclusion. The potency, when taken too much, can cause nausea. Right? You swear you read that somewhere in the book. It must be the cause of his sudden reaction.

Because if it wasn’t that, then everything else pointed to the other option, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to accept that.  

Lotor didn’t speak to you for the next few days. Sometimes, you thought you saw a glance of him turn a corner. Sometimes, he was hastily shoveling his food in his mouth to leave abruptly. Sometimes, he would spare you a quick, stoic glance before turning his attention to his books. Either way, there was no right time to talk, no perfect moment with his odd evasiveness lodging between you two.

Then again, you tried to see this as openly as possibly. Perhaps he was just busy. Tests and finals were coming up and you, too, were preoccupied with other studies.

“Hey, Lotor, wait up,” you called out to him this time, jogging to catch up before he entered his class.

“Hm? Yes, dear? What is it?”

“Did you wanna head to Madam Puddifoot’s this weekend? After tests and everything. Figure we could use a break, eat some cake, the good stuff!”

Lotor didn’t meet your gaze nor your enthusiasm. Instead, he glanced off to stare at the floor, internally debating something bouncing around that cluttered skull of his. He was a man of few words, even fewer when concerning personal emotions, yet lately he couldn’t even organize his thoughts in a coherent order. There was something bugging him, something deep in his skin, and as your friend, part of him realized it would wedge an awkwardness between you two.

“Ah...no, I apologize,” eyes still glued to the floor, Lotor missed the downtrodden dip of your smile, “Perhaps another time, hm? When things have quieted down and students have gone home for break.”

Yes. Yes, a good diversion, one he didn’t quite think all the way through.

“Oh, yeah! Sure, good idea. Less people would be overcrowding the shop. Just...y’know, the journal. You know where I am at.”

Were you always this...this easy to push around? Odd. He never really noticed it before.

A nod of his head, he turned and left you standing there alone. Not even a goodbye? He really must be stressed.

Lotor was feeling...angry. Frustrated, and not in a way he could relieve himself through some private time alone. Yes, in the confines of his dutiful patrol across the Slytherin wing, he still thought of you, of forcefully kissing you against the wall. Biting your delicate neck with little control until he had his fill of moans and screams. Even pinning your wrists at your lower back as he fucked you from behind made his groin stir in want.

All these images distracted him, but there was something...missing. He didn’t feel love. It was just lust. Just a need to climax, to dump his load into you over and over again. Knowing these thoughts only got worse over time left a bad taste in his mouth. He never wanted to use you for anything, least of all sex. His body wanted you, but his heart...his heart was unsure.

What changed? When did the line between lust and love divert? And why, when he thought of you, did he feel...nothing anymore? 

He would even go as far as to say there was a smidgen of contempt. That’s what was making him irritated. His heart was slowly beginning to dislike you, dislike your stubbornness, your pushiness, even your clumsy nature was grating on his nerves. All those times of you being a fool were true, through and through. You were oblivious to dangers. Not at all patient. Too dim-witted to see your true self, so you relied on others - relied on him - to bring it out of you.

It was annoying, yes. He was not someone to seek attention from. Yet, he couldn’t just say this to you. You’d get upset, cry about it, no doubt. Lotor just didn’t feel the want to deal with your wayward self again. He felt as if he was spending TOO much of his time catering to you and it no longer left a good, fluttery feeling in his chest. In fact, it left him feeling emotionally drained.

What he thought was friendship, or something more, was actually neither of those.

Perhaps that was why he still hasn’t taken that journal out from the drawer.

The two of you were drifting apart.

You finally managed to have at least a few minutes with him. Albeit, yes, it was by pure chance that your curious exploring led you to the same secretive balcony deep within the castle grounds. But, now that you were here, it felt a little awkward to be staring at his broad back. How do you start this? It hurt to realize you were hesitating talking to your best friend.

You were concerned for him, deeply concerned, but how do you say this without saying it?

“Did you follow me?”

The timber of his voice was a little deeper than you remembered. Taking careful steps, you walked up besides him and leaned on the stone railing with your hands hanging off the edge. Stiff, you were both stiff, or maybe it was the trick of the chilly night. The air didn’t feel as warm as it did before.

“No way, how do I know you didn’t follow me, huh?” the accusatory tone didn’t fall on deaf ears, but Lotor didn’t return the usual amusement.

“You should not be out this late. It is past curfew hours.”

It was hard to keep your mood from turning sour at his terse answers, but you had to remind yourself that this was Lotor. Your best friend. You missed him, even this moody side of him. Perhaps another joke would help? Maybe some light hearted teasing?

“Oh, c’mon, classes are over. What’s wrong with a little midnight adventure? Last one too exciting for you?”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

“I know what you are trying to do,” Lotor’s shoulders slumped and finally, he looked at you straight in the eyes, “I suggest you stop while you are ahead.”

The words spilled out of your mouth faster than you could stop them, “Lotor, I’m just trying to help.”

“Did I ask for it?”

“No, but - damn it, you helped me. Why can’t I do the same for you?”

Annoyance. That was all you could see flit across his face and it stung deep within your chest. You tried to put on your best pleading expression, something to show that you really were worried about him, about his distant self, about his walls being rebuilt brick by brick. This wasn’t like him, not at all.

“People usually help out of the goodness of their heart, not as some sort of debt to repay. ”

“That’s not what I meant. I just - you’re acting different.”

Again, wrong words to say. You knew it, you felt the sudden shift in the air. Saw the way his jaw clenched in restrained control and how his eyes hooded low in a paralyzing glare. Pushing, you were pushing too much, and Lotor was getting very uncomfortable. And, as usual, with his discomfort came the need to...protect himself. Retaliate with words to disarm you completely.

“Oh? And you are unhappy with this ‘different’ side of me? Is that why you seek to help change me back?”

“No! Of course not, Lotor. When I wasn’t myself, you showed me - look, I don’t know what’s going on with you - “

“No. You do not. Perhaps you should have been more observant,” he sneered at you, hitting hard at the fact you were an airhead most of the times.

You brushed off his comment, but it left a lingering ache in your heart, “Or you could just - WE could just talk. Just one night, get whatever it is off your chest and I’ll do the same.”

“No.”

You anticipated the answer before even offering the suggestion, especially knowing deep down that neither of you would be comfortable with speaking so openly about emotions. Foolish, you weren’t thinking ahead, thinking about what you were saying before letting it slip from your tongue. Talking to him like this was insufferably frustrating. It was wearing down your patience, HIS patience, but your stubborn persistence is what would tip the breaking point. You were never aware of this.

“Then what do you want to do, Lotor?”

“Is it not obvious?”

Again, his voice was being degrading and part of you wanted to scoff at him.

“I came here by myself for a reason.”

You could at least piece two and two together, even if the sharp edges left biting wounds on your skin.

“...You want to be alone,” you finished for him, sad you had to say those words out loud for both of you to hear.

Lotor needed time to sort out...whatever this was. And, judging by the way he averted every single one of your questions, this had nothing to do with you. Nothing you COULD do, except give him the space he needed unless you want to find yourself facing the brunt of his cold shoulder and burning words again.

You hated this feeling, this feeling of being rejected. Shunned.

“Fine. I’ll give you your space.”

“Thank you.”

Lotor sure didn’t sound truly thankful, but at this point, you didn’t much care. If isolation was his way to handle things, then you would let him do it. Even if it cost you the friendship and whatever feelings evolved between you two. Something that neither of you got the chance to further explore. That revelation made the pit in your stomach sink in sadness.

The hot, angry tears of frustration wouldn’t stop falling down your cheeks as you turned and marched away from him.

[arodrwho]

yet another 30 days of autism acceptance catch-up post:

day 15: everyone should know....

i mean there's a lot of things i could say here, bc i feel there's a Lot everyone should know, but if i have to pick just one...

everyone should know that autistics cannot be, don't need to be, and generally don't want to be cured, because being autistic is Good Actually and also Inherently and Inextricably Part Of Us

everyone should know that, even if it were hypothetically possible to somehow "cure" someone of their autism (which it isn’t, which’s why when people say “cure” they typically mean “eugenics”), they wouldn't be the same person afterward. someone in the actuallyautistic tag a little while back said it'd be like pulling a stepford wives, which i think is a fantastic comparison

but to try and use my own example....i guess let's look at me. i’ve spent some time thinking about this and i’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not so much what would be different about me as what i would lose. which is.....a lot

my passion for my interests. and i know every autistic says this, but that’s because it’s true. if you ripped my neurotype out of me, i wouldn’t feel the same way about the things i care about. i wouldn’t want to spend hours days weeks months years collecting evidence to support a specific interpretation of my favorite character. i wouldn’t want to read about autism for hours on end. i wouldn’t feel shining yellow when my favorite character did something particularly endearing. i wouldn’t work so hard and so long on my original stories. if i’d never been autistic, i would never have cared about these things so much. and if i somehow stopped being autistic tomorrow, i wouldn’t care about them so much anymore. i’d feel disconnected from things that have meant the world to me for years, and i’d feel unemotional, and i’d hate it

my unique ways of expressing affection. if i were neurotypical, it probably wouldn’t feel weird to me to casually tell my friends or family that i love them in those exact words. i probably wouldn’t use any of my i-love-you symbols, or any of my i-love-you codes. i’d never do three fingers again. i’d never type [robot voice] again. i’d never talk about harboring 1 whole affection, or dump another affectionbox on anyone’s virtual doorstep. i’d never poke anyone gently. if i stopped being autistic right this second i’d like to think i’d still do them, because they feel right and mean a lot to me and always have, but....i can’t be sure. “i love you”s might slip out more, and other gestures less. and if i’d never been autistic i wouldn’t have those things and that’s like--that’s like part of me being missing

my relationship to my emotions. i wouldn’t...they wouldn’t feel as Much to me, in a lot of ways. they might not be as strong, for one thing, and they might not feel as important, for another. they might not feel as nebulous. and i might not categorize them as colors anymore. different flavors of happiness wouldn’t feel slightly different versions of glowing yellow, and they might not make me feel like bursting--at least, not so easily

my stimming. i wouldn’t get to experience the rush of handflapping, or the contentment of a good pressure stim, or the fluid calm of rocking, or--anything else. it’d all be gone. sure, i could still stim, but it wouldn’t feel the same, and i wouldn’t need to, and might not even want to. and this might not seem like much, but it’d.........it’d just. it’s part of my daily life, a near-constant part of my daily life. cutting it out would be a bit like cutting out music, if you’re someone who listens to it often, or maybe a favorite comfort food, or maybe something small you see day-to-day that makes you smile. whichever thing, just...imagine it’s gone. completely. sure, you can still get through life--but it’s just that little bit dimmer now, yeah? it’s like that

my sense of humor. the appeal of jokes playing with literal/figurative language in unorthodox ways? gone, or at least significantly reduced. the amusement and satisfaction and invigorating back-and-forth of long, long streams of ever-more-obscure puns? gone. the delight of telling or hearing the same joke over and over and still finding it funny? gone.

my style. clothes chosen for comfort & heaviness & special interest-relatedness? no longer the priority

the way i talk and use language, the way i like to play around with words, the fun of wording oddly, the rightness of wording oddly, the way it feels good and right and fun and Yes to repeat things to say them sideways to garble the wording so that yes

the comfort and fun of repetition, of doing the same thing in the same way over and over and over and over and over and never getting tired of it (or taking a very very long time to get tired of it). no more relaxing to the same song played on repeat for three hours. no more happy taste bud times at the same meal eaten day after day. no more.....any of that

the sheer !!!!!!!!!! of touching something Very Soft

the even louder !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! of stimming while listening to music

the sweet sweet AAAAAAAAAAAAAA of infodumping

the capital-letter feel to the word friend

my talent for copyediting. the satisfaction of spotting errors and inconsistencies in patterns, of making something sound Right, look Right

the sweeping calm that comes from cleaning or organizing something (when i actually want to)

the silly ways i sit, and how fun & comfortable they are

my general lack of regard for what strangers think of me (which granted isn’t always present, but is present enough that i don’t generally much care if i rock in public, for example)

my echolalia. i wouldn’t speak so much in references, i wouldn’t repeat myself so much, i wouldn’t repeat others so much, i wouldn’t--things like that. or if i did i wouldn’t enjoy them so much. my catch phrases, my in-jokes, they wouldn’t be fun, they’d just...be

my forgetfulness. which, u know, granted, would be super useful in a lot of ways, but ALSO. i’d miss out on like. little things. candy in my backpack that i’d forgotten about. a pencil in a pocket just when i desperately need one and thought i didn’t have one. spare paper stashed away somewhere. silly things i typed without realizing, read back over later with amusement. that kind of thing. that’d all be gone without my odd autism memory

likewise my memory for the odd and esoteric bits of life. tiny little things, like the weight on the end of the balloons i got the day i was adopted, and the color of the dress i wore the day my oldest little brother was adopted, and the look on my older sister’s face one day, and what someone told me once and the exact words they told it to me in, preserved years and years later when everyone else has forgotten

my ability to memorize, the fun of spitting back out words and phrases

my relationships with other people. i’d still have them of course, but they’d be different. and i’d lose things like. my attachment to little inside jokes and scripty things and the specific ways i try to empathize and start conversations and share and listen and. everything else honestly

a dozen other things and more, both big and small, that are either good or make me me and thus would be distressing to lose because the end result would strip me of my individuality and me-ness

in conclusion if i wasn’t autistic anymore i wouldn’t be me anymore and that, quite frankly, is an absolutely terrifying concept

day 16: work/school

work is.....not too hard for me as an autistic person, mostly because i work w/little kids. last year was a bit difficult, because i didn’t know how to talk to the students i didn’t Mainly Work With, and was too scared to try, and ditto @my coworkers, but this year has been better on both fronts. this year’s also been more consistent in terms of daily schedule and location. i’m not being moved from table to table or room to room unexpectedly so often, i mostly just work with the same kids. and when i don’t work with the usual ones i’m generally free to choose whichever table is open. so that’s nice

nd i don’t rly have sensory issues, so the loudness of all the kids isn’t an issue for me, except when the slight auditory processing troubles i have kick in, but those aren’t too bad either

as for school....eh. school’s fine. i have trouble w/deadlines sometimes bc of exec dys, but i generally make them just fine, assuming i haven’t forgotten the assignment altogether (which only happens w/small ones). really the main issue is participation, because i’m...such a quiet person. but that’s honestly more social anxiety than autism, bc it’s more I’m Fear than Can’t Word, u know? (that said it has at least a few times been fear-induced Can’t Word so like [shr u  g s])

day 17: accommodations

y eah uh, i don’t got any of those. most i got is some family & friends that do some nice things for me like not make me hug them & also warn me before loud noises so my startle response doesn’t kick into Maximum Overdrive lmao

day 18: someday....

on a community level: someday i hope people listen to autistics instead of gross Autism Parents

on a personal level: someday i hope i can get an Official dx, instead of a “...yea i guess i can see that” from a therapist)

day 19: i hate it when...

i hate it when my mom refuses to listen to me about autism stuff and just. assumes she knows better bc her whole career has been working w/kids and bc she did her degree on early childhood education and bc she’s read stuff online (that’s clearly from Autism Parents)

relatedly i also hate that when she disagrees with me and/or says stuff that i Know is wrong and ableist and bad and that i Know the ways to disprove/talk through/argue against my brain just goes “you can’t respond to this. it’d be Conflict so you can’t respond. also you don’t have long-prepared words bc you weren’t expecting this. also Conflict. also you feel weird. also she’ll be mad. also your voice is like, not gone, but it’s like on pause because you can’t. you can’t argue about this. oh, you want to educate her properly? too bad. fuck you. die”

that. i hate that