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achliegh · 4 years ago

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Hi! I'd love to see the twins birthdays from the Olive and Otto prompt list. I love both characters!

Hello my Garbage Clan!

number 4. The twins birthdays (4-7 For right now)

Here it is, I hope you enjoy it!

I really enjoyed writing this one, it was fun!

TW/CW: Complete Chaos, Food, Just a mess, Mild breakdown, I feel like there is just always chaos with this family.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

July 31st 2020

Leo was excited, probably more excited than his spawns. He was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, making all of the kids favorite foods. He was making an ice cream cake made of ice cream bars, whipped cream, chocolate chips and malt mix. It was his favorite thing for him when he was a small child and he knows the twins foam at the mouth for ice cream. Putting the cake back into the freezer he can’t stop smiling. He never thought anything of having kids until he and Ink started at the positive pregnancy test for a solid twenty minutes.

Now he couldn’t imagine his life without them, the kids were napping with his boyfriends and he took so many pictures it was probably what was causing his phone to tell him he’s out of storage. It was Olive and Logan on the bed the twins were occupying while staying with them, all starfished out and Logan was drooling with Olive was making the cutest little snoring noises. Ott and Finn had fallen asleep on the couch while Finn was reading to the little knucklehead. Book resting on their laps with Otto snuggled into Finn’s chest gripping his shirt.

How did he get so lucky?

Humming to the music in his one earphone so he didn't wake the chaos just yet, he heard the front door open. He looks up from where he was checking the sausages he was cooking. Waving silently and putting a finger to his lips signaled for Ink, June, Noelle and Thomas to be quiet. They were in charge of decorating, bright colors were the kids favorites. Olive has a heart for sports, literally any sport, while Otto is a sucker for drawing right now. That included on their white sweatshirts and walls.

So a coloring section was set up and all they could come up with for sports besides just going to the rink, which was closed due to updates to the frame, was WII games. Lame but so fun. She wanted to go rollerblading but the cat that is wandering around the apartment tells Leo she would try to bring home another animal.

After everything was set up and the apartment was full of hockey players in little party hats and anxious kids. They woke the chaos, and chaos was it. Olive was so shocked with all the people in the apartment she just turned around and closed the door behind her. After a few seconds she came back out and acted surprised causing a laugh from all the adults.

Otto was awoken by Finn laughing as twenty other kids climbed on top of him to wake them up. Otto smiled and flushed at all the attention. He got up and ran to Leo. Who picked him up and kissed his cheek.

“Happy Birthday Buddy” Otto buries his face into his neck still blushing hard. Especially when Celeste comes up and kisses both his cheeks. He has had a fascination with her since they first met at family skate.

“Kuny!” Olive sees her favorite person with his mouth full of pickles wrapped in prosciutto and basically tackles him to the ground while Nado and Ink laugh. They were discussing the new tattoo that Nado and Kuny want. Same but different.

Kuny hugs her and swallows the pickles before standing up and swinging her upside down like everyone knows she loves.

When it came to opening presents there were so many that Leo didn't know where they were all going to fit, besides in the third bedroom that isn’t ever used. When it came to Leo and Ink’s presents for the twins they were the very last ones.

Ink gave Otto her old sketchbook to draw in, all her old sketches were taken out, she also gave him a bunch of markers and told him they would be taken away if they found any marks on the walls. To Olive she gave her a brand new pair of roller skates. Bright green with black accents because Olive hasn’t stopped talking about Shego from Kim Possible.

Leo gave Otto a build-a-bear that was a lion and had the team saying they loved him, so he could take it to doctors appointments and anywhere else he wanted and he would always be loved. What they didn’t expect was for Otto to start crying, he was always a quiet little thing that kept to himself unless his social batter was on full. He also was really bad at controlling his emotions, but he is a small child so what do you expect. Otto sobbed into the lion and then looked at the team like they were the most amazing people in the world. Dumo held him while Ink talked to him softly and Leo gave Olive her give. Gymnastic lessons starting next week, they were in NOLA as the twins would be going back with Ink in two days. She squealed and hugged him while jumping up and down.

The rest of the night went smoothly… Until Marc and Otto started a food fight with the ice cream cake.

July 31st 2021

5 years old. They were past the terrible twos and the terrible threes. The kids were in school and their mother and her wife had moved into a cottage outside of Gryff. Finn was out with the kids trying to distract them in a candy shop while the cottage was being filled with people and food.

Everyone was frantically trying to set up for the surprise, everything from the blow up obstacle course and the ball pit, to the video games in the basement. The music was playing from the bluetooth speakers all over the house, they were going through a country music faze much to the dismay of most of the team.

Otto also hasn’t stopped wearing Leo’s old cowboy hat for at least a month.

It was time, they heard Finn’s car rolling up the driveway and everyone froze, scrambling to their horrible hiding spots, everyone waited for the double troubles to walk in. The minutes ticked by getting more and more uncomfortable. The front door swung open and Finn fell down face first into the ground with two back pack sized bags of candy on his back. He groans, the twins rush in and scream that they are home at the top of their lungs. When no one answers they narrow their eyes. Looking at each other for a moment using their twin talk through their brains, they immediately start searching the house.

Once they find the first person, Remus who sneezed from behind the couch everyone jumps out and surprises them. They scream and cling to Remus who can’t stop laughing. When he stands up the kids are still clinging to him, he isn’t even holding them, they are just gripping him that tightly.

Finn eventually gets help standing up and looks exhausted, Leo showers him in kisses and Logan hugs him tight enough to pop his back.

As per usual Ink And Leo are the last to give gifts.

Ink hands them both piercing vouchers at her shop, ever since Logan and Sirius got their ears pierced they wanted to do the same. Otto just wanted one while Olive wanted both. They were hopping around so excited already planning to get them done tomorrow. Ink smiles and leans back into June, as the kids run around them.

Leo straight up just gave them new skates since they have outgrown their others. Olive is the most excited because she has been watching Kuny and Logan like a hawk on the ice, she is learning how to fight and skate aggressively which is slightly worrying for a five year old. But she can hold her own against stupid people who like to tell her she is a girl and can’t do boy things.

They have had to pull her away from a couple people. She started therapy a week later.

The rest of the night went smoothly and to make this a great night, Ink let the kids pick where they wanted to stay. Otto chose Sirius and Remus while Olive , of course, chose Kuny and Nado.

July 31st 2022

They were at the rink this year for their sixth birthday, and boy were they tearing up the ice. They had mini pick up games with the kids (minus Otto). They had races and even limbo. It was nice and cool inside compared to the more warm but not hot compared to NOLA outside.

This was also the birthday when Otto told Leo he wanted to try figure skating. Leo smiled so big at him and nodded.

“I think that's a great idea.”

Otto was all smiles the rest of the day talking about the cool moves he saw on tv at the last winter olympics. He said he wanted to skate to fast music instead of the slow pretty music. He wanted to dance to hard rock and controversial music because he's a rebel.

Olive was still trying to decide if she wanted to be a winger or a defense player for hockey, but she loved hockey so much. She would watch any hockey game and would beg her dad to let her come to practice with him.

Finn and Logan found it amusing until she would get frustrated and start crying.

The twins were a little sad when they found out they couldn’t invite their school friends to

Their party because no one knew who their parents were yet. It put a damper on things a bit but the kids loved the team so they didn’t mind too much. Especially when Regulus showed up.

Since Reg and Leo were such good friends he would babysit the twins every once in a while and they all got on so well, almost like siblings. Olive would talk about anything and everything with him while Otto just cuddled up to him. Reg almost replaced Kun in Olive's eyes but she would never give him up. She would remind him every time she saw Kuny.

The rink was their presents from Leo this year.

Ink gave them plane tickets to come and visit her new shop opening up in New York with her. They always felt at home in the tattoo shop. There are literally pictures of one of the twins in a sling around Ink as she would tattoo when they were much younger.

July 31st 2023

The twins didn’t want a birthday party this year, yes they still loved the team, but they just wanted dinner with their family. Very mature for small children. They picked the food and helped make it while Logan and June set the table and Finn and Ink playfully argue about which tv show they should put on. Olive was mixing something in a bowl with Otto when the arguing stopped, they had landed on a really old episode of spongebob and agreed this is what they would watch. Logan and June just watched them lovingly.

“What’s on your mind, Sugarbug?” Leo noticed her staring at Finn and Ink with her think face on. She looks up at him and leaves Otto to finish mixing the mashed potatoes. She looks up at her dad.

“Why don’t we have a normal family? I went to my friend Sam’s house and they only had one mom and one dad.” Leo was obviously stunned for a moment, seeing Otto nod in agreement with Olive he leans against the counter. He knew he would have to have this conversation someday but he didn’t expect it when they were seven.

“We aren’t a normal family. We are interesting and fun, I mean how many kids do you think have five people to take care of them.” He smiles at them but only gets a slight shrug from Olive, Otto nods a little but not very committed. “We can talk about it more at bedtime, okay?” He pushed her hair behind her ear, she looks up at him with those giant blue eyes and he wonders if she get bullied because she can’t talk about her parents. “Let’s have a good time eating with just family. If I remember correctly there is an ice cream cake in the freezer.”

That perks them up. Once everything is made and settled they start to eat. Leo keeps an eye on the kids throughout the meal and sees them relax halfway through the meal. He needs to talk to Ink about how to explain their situation properly.

All the twins wanted for gifts there year was a night with just Ink and Leo… and a new monster truck toy that you control with a remote so they could run over all their Barbie's.

#leo knut #o’knutzy #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #Olive and Otto

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365daysoftododeku · 6 years ago

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15th May 2019

Author: Mara

________________________________________________________________

Sunshine Smiles

Shouto’s father was an ass. Well, he wasn’t the worst, he had gotten better, but he still took Shouto’s phone and laptop every time he went up to his room. ‘It is a distraction’ his father would say. Shouto thought he was just being an ass and liked to annoy Shouto, mostly because he wasn’t able to properly operate his own phone.

Nonetheless, Shouto was a seventeen-year-old, stuck in his bedroom with nothing. Well, there were books, but he didn’t want books. He wanted to talk with Izuku, his best friends and his not-so-secret crush. Apparently, the crush was only a secret for Izuku, and a long time, for Shouto himself. He hadn’t realised he liked his friend romantically, he had just assumed it was perfectly normal to feel warm and safe around someone you trusted. Later on, he had realised he hadn’t the same feelings around Momo, who was also a dear friend of him. And he never had the desire to kiss her.

Shouto definitely had considered kissing Izuku sometimes. He looked really kissable, with his freckled nose and cheeks, his big, green eyes, a mop of curly hair and lips that never stopped moving. Thankfully not because Izuku was kissing someone, but because Izuku never stopped talking about whatever fascinating thing he just had read. Shouto loved listening to Izuku.

It didn’t matter that he had a crush on his best friend. After all, his best friend was dating someone else. Uraraka Ochako was a sweet girl and Shouto couldn’t hate her. She clearly adored Izuku, and Izuku clearly adored her. And even with his little knowledge concerning romance, he could see that the two of them were cute together.

Lying sprawled on his bed, Shouto was half-asleep when he noticed a bright light flickering on and off. Only his desk-light was on, and that thing was only burning lightly, casting a warm glow over the wooden desk. But nothing more.

Finally, his tired, moping brain caught up with what was happening and Shouto nearly toppled out of bed, rushing over to the window.

He could look straight at the window of the house opposite of his. The street was pretty narrow, but it was still hard to make out details. But it wasn’t hard to notice the mop of green curls, or the bright yellow pajama Izuku wore.

Shouto waved, and Izuku finally stopped flicking his light switch, leaving the light burning.

They’ve been doing this for years, even before they got attached to their phones and spent most of their time texting. Midoriya Izuku has been living opposite his house for as long as he could remember, and they have been friends for almost as long. It was hard not to befriend Izuku, with his sweet appearance and bright personality.

Izuku rolled his whiteboard over to the window. Today was whiteboard day, it seemed. Whatever was troubling Izuku, paper wasn’t enough to conceive the message.

While Izuku was scribbling something down, Shouto grabbed his own whiteboard and wheeled it over. One side was filled with junk, red yarn, pictures, newspaper articles. Shouto couldn’t even make sense of what he had tried to theorise, but he had been drunk on lack of sleep so probably it was something completely outlandish and ridiculous.

The side with the conspiracy stuff wouldn’t face the window, Shouto liked to keep that bit of dignity.

Looking at the Midoriya household, he saw Izuku doodling on the whiteboard. So he was done writing. ‘Math is killing me, h e l p’ it read.

Shouto picked up a marker, jotting down his response. ‘I finished it. What question?’

Izuku stopped his doodle, read Shouto’s message, and wiped out his own message. Izuku noted down one of the last questions, one Shouto had struggled with. He wasn’t surprised that Izuku also struggled with it, and this late at night you didn’t want to keep going on forever with one, stupid question.

Shouto started to note down the answer, after checking his own calculations. He was okay at math, but no way he could do it from the top of his head. He wasn’t a miracle worker.

Slowly, as expected, Izuku’s face started to light up with realisation. After making a few notes on an off-screen paper, Izuku erased his question and drew one big ‘thanks’ on it, surrounding it by doodles of flowers, stick figures and hearts.

He was really gay for this boy, there was no going back.

~*~

‘I’m bored,’ Shouto’s first message read, and Izuku tipped his head back in quiet laughter in response. His father had guests over, so Shouto had fled upstairs. Without his phone and laptop, of course, because he was planning on spending his entire evening searching the dark web like his father believed to think.

‘Me too tbh’ read Izuku’s paper. A second one followed. ‘U have time?’

‘Yes???’

Izuku looked like he giggled, but that could be wishful thinking.

It took Izuku some time to scribble down whatever thing he had cooked up. Usually, he used the whiteboard, but in his mid-term scramble, he had forgotten to buy new markers. No markers, no whiteboard.

‘Don’t laugh’ the first one read. The second one followed after a thumbs-up from Shouto. ‘What would be-’ and ‘-a nice date?’

Seconds passed and Shouto just blinked at the words. Izuku was asking him about ideas for a date. A date Izuku would take Uraraka on, most likely. He was asking Shouto of all people. The guy who was still single and painfully crushing on his best friend.

‘Not for me!’ a sign was added. Izuku’s face had grown red. ‘Kirishima’.

Oh, that was… better? Shouto didn’t know Kirishima all that well, aside from that it was their classmate, that he had started to dye his hair in their senior year and that he got along with basically everyone, including socially awkward Shouto and hot-tempered Bakugo.

Still, Shouto’s mind drew a blank. What was even a good idea for a date? Movies? Ice cream? Summer was getting close. But those were ideas that Izuku already knew, and if not, he probably wasn’t interested in them. Those would be the suggestions the internet would give you.

Shouto looked up to the heavens, begging whatever being that was up there to give him an idea. His eyes caught the sight of thousands of stars sprinkled across the vast darkness.

Not knowing what else to write, Shouto wrote down ‘stargazing’ and showed it to Izuku. Even from this distance, Shouto knew that Izuku’s eyes were twinkling like the stars above them.

~*~

It was pretty much an average night for Shouto. He had finished his homework, his father was insufferable so he had hidden upstairs, where the only company he had was Izuku. Thankfully, Izuku had finished his homework too and was willing to entertain Shouto by playing hanging-man with him. It was a silly game, but he loved it when Izuku came up with the most ridiculous words, creating small doodles around the vast surface of the whiteboard while Shouto guessed the letters.

After a couple of rounds, in which the score ended up being five for Izuku and one for Shouto—he sucked at this game—they moved on to just chatting.

Not in the mood of talking about school or his father, Shouto decided that their classmates were a safe subject. Uraraka had been sick for the entire week, which meant that Izuku most be worried out his mind. His girlfriend was sick. Shouto knew that he would panic if Izuku would be down with a fever—he had been there before.

So he scribbled ‘how is Uraraka doing?’ and patiently waited for Izuku’s reply, ignoring the painful stab in his heart.

Izuku looked confused, taking a long while to note down his reply. ‘She is okay???’ he noted down, erasing it and added the second part: ‘she told us, in the g-chat’.

Now it was Shouto’s turn to be confused. He knew that Uraraka had texted them that she was fine, but Izuku surely would have visited her!

‘You haven’t visited her’ he nodded down, adding ‘homework?’ as an afterthought.

‘No, Tsuyu did’ Izuku replied. ‘Why?’ followed after.

Shouto bit his lip, wondering if he should ask. Izuku had never told him that he was dating Uraraka, but it was blatantly obvious that they were a thing. He didn’t want to pry in Izuku’s private life, but he had no other explanation why he had assumed that. And he wasn’t going to lie to Izuku.

Shouto took his time by writing down his response, delaying the inevitable conclusion that yes, Izuku was dating Uraraka and Shouto didn’t have a chance.

Izuku stood frozen in shock. Not even bothering to wipe out his previous answer, he wrote down a big ‘no’ on the whiteboard.

Shouto felt relieved. He wasn’t even going to deny that. He in no way hated Uraraka, he even liked her, but he liked Izuku a lot more.

‘Why did you think that?’ Izuku asked. His handwriting was a hurried scribble, which was unlike Izuku who had eligible handwriting.

‘It looked like it’ Shouto answered in all honesty.

Izuku paused for a long time, apparently deep in thought. Eventually, he wrote a question on the whiteboard, not even bothered to confirm he had read Shouto’s answer.

‘Are you and Momo a thing?’ it read.

Oh. Oh. It looked like he was dating Momo. Maybe because they were close friends? But that was the exact same thing as Izuku and Uraraka. They were close friends, and immediately everyone, Shouto included, thought they were dating. And probably everyone thought he was dating Momo, which he definitely wasn’t. He was gay and had a ridiculous crush on Izuku.

He wrote down ‘no’ on the whiteboard. It was hard to see from across the street, but Shouto was quite sure that Izuku looked relieved. Or he was just projecting, which was quite possible because he was an absolute fool.

Wiping out the ‘no’, Shouto jotted down ‘sorry’, drawing several clumsy hearts. He wasn’t as artistic as Izuku, but he knew his best friend liked it if Shouto tried. Plus hearts were innocent, as Izuku threw them around all the time. It wasn’t like Shouto was pouring his heart out.

Izuku was glowing.

~*~

His father was out of town, so Shouto could have his stuff upstairs for once. Not that it withheld him from communicating with Izuku trough their usual means. It had a certain charm to it, and a nostalgic feeling. Something they wouldn’t be able to keep doing once they graduated high school and move on to college. In the back of his mind, Shouto had suggested multiple times if Izuku wanted to be his roommate. But this only had been a thought. He had been too big of a chicken to actually ask.

They had been playing a couple of rounds of tic-tac-toe, Izuku always winning or making them tie. Shouto hadn’t figured out the trick yet, despite Izuku’s insistence that there was indeed a trick to never lose in tic-tac-toe.

After Izuku’s twelfth victory, his neighbour wiped his board clean and started to jot down a message: ‘do you want to see the stars?’. Around the word ‘stars’ he had drawn small stars, the red marker popping against the black.

Despite being confused by Izuku’s request—they never had watched the stars before, he didn’t even know that Izuku liked watching the stars—Shouto answered with a hurried ‘yes’. Everything to get out of this warm home, even if he would be hit by the warm summer air. And, he would enjoy some time with Izuku that didn’t involve any of their friends.

He made sure he looked presentable and told his sister he was going out (to their neighbour, so no, he wasn’t going out partying). He left with only his phone, a house-key, and a lot of excitement.

Five minutes later, after greeting Izuku’s mum, declining the food and drinks she offered, he was laying down on the grass, Izuku only an arm-length away. The warm summer weather meant that it was cloudless, showing them a star-filled sky. It was breathtaking.

“I can’t believe we’re almost done with high school,” Izuku said in wonder.

Shouto grunted in agreement.

In the corner of his eyes he saw Izuku move. Curious, Shouto turned on his side. Izuku was staring at him, clearly nervous. But why?

“You still aren’t dating Momo, right?”

“I’m gay.”

Well, that was out of the bag.

Izuku stared at him with big doe-like eyes, “I thought you were bi.”

“Gay, really gay.”

“I’m bi,” Izuku confessed.

Shouto wasn’t really surprised. He had a suspicious, but never knew for sure. He tried to stop making assumptions after he was completely wrong about Izuku and Uraraka dating.

A piece of paper came out of nowhere. Shouto assumed it had been in one of Izuku’s short pockets, but he would never know for sure.

Izuku slowly unfolded the paper, hiding behind the red ink and the worn lines of paper that had been folded and unfolded many times. It took Shouto a few seconds to realise that the red ink formed words, but hard to make out what it was, with how close he was to the paper.

Moving his head back a bit, Shouto finally managed to read the words.

‘I love you’ was written with a red marker, hearts in all sizes drawn around it.

Shouto was almost sure he was dreaming. Almost, as he had dreamed of this before. Izuku confessing to him, but never like this. Never lie on the grass, bathing in the warm summer sun and trying to watch the stars.

“I’ve loved you for five years.”

Izuku grew rapidly red in the face, eyes growing wider by the second.

“Five years!”

Shouto nodded.

“You can’t just say that! Now I feel bad,” Izuku hid his face behind his hands. “I’ve been crushing on you for, maybe a year?”

He didn’t really care. No, that sounded insensitive. He did care, but his five-year-long crush was just ridiculous. One year seems much fairer than being thirteen and barely able to grasp the concept of love. What even is love, aside from the wild beating of your heart, and an overabundance of love for a specific person?

“Do you,” Izuku hesitated, before determinedly grabbing Shouto’s hand. Izuku’s hand was sweaty and slightly sticky, but Shouto hadn’t it in him to take his hand away. Izuku must be as nervous as him, if not even more. “Want to go out?”

Shouto swallowed nervously. “Like, on a date?”

Izuku nodded. “We could get ice-cream, or go to the cinema! And since we’re going to the same college, we’ll see each other a lot even away from home! Maybe my mum even wants to take you along on our holiday, she loves you to pieces!”

“She wouldn’t mind us dating?”

Izuku shook his head, his curls falling in his eyes. He didn’t seemed bothered with it, at all. “She would be overjoyed, she knew before me, probably.”

Shouto suddenly recalled his sister’s knowing gaze each time he talked about Izuku. And as he hadn’t told her about his long-lasting crush, she must have figured it out herself. She never told him that she knew, though she never had disapproved of it either, as she hadn’t ratted him out to their father.

“I think my sister knew.”

“I think everyone knew it before us.”

It was a bit embarrassing to realise that Momo knew, and that she had been hinting and pushing the whole time. Shouto only had seen it as supportiveness. Turned out she just knew more than him. But in the end, it didn’t matter all that much. Because now they were there, holding hands, smiling like fools in Izuku’s backyard. Maybe this wasn’t the most romantic moment one could dream off, but Shouto liked this plenty. At least this one was real.

________________________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

#Story #lavanderstarcatcher #TodoDeku #365DaysofTodoDeku #TodoDeku365 #365 Days of TodoDeku #tddk #Shouto Todoroki #Todoroki Shouto #Izuku Midoriya #Midoriya Izuku #Boku no Hero Academia #BNHA #My Hero Academia #MHA #Todoroki x Midoriya #Shouto x Izuku #TodoIzu

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pickalilywrites · 6 years ago

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Could I request a friendship story where Eren, Jean, Sasha, Mikasa, Historia and Marco are in detection and Eren and Jean are up to their shenanigans and the teacher in charge comes in to bust them?

tfw u write a fic about an odd assortment of 6 angsty teens only for it to turn into a hannes appreciation fic

This Isn’t the Breakfast Club

104th Trainee Squad. High School AU.

3430 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

Eren hardly waits for Mr. Dawk, the teacher who’s supposed to be looking after them in detention, before he turns around in his seat to smirk at the other unfortunate students who were sentenced to Saturday school with him. Although his peers look glum, Eren looks almost giddy about being in detention. It’s only apparent why when he opens his mouth and asks, “So, is this like the Breakfast Club or what?”

“Only an idiot like you would be excited about getting detention,” Jean mutters under his breath. Mr. Dawk had purposely sat the two hot-headed teens across the room from each other, but distance does little to prevent them from clashing. Jean lifts his head from his hands and tells Eren, “This isn’t a John Hughes film, Jaeger.”

“No, but it could be,” Eren says, not at all bothered by Jean. He rises from his seat, sitting on his desk instead. He grins mischievously at the others who are seated in the room – Mikasa, Marco, Historia, Sasha. “We have all the necessary players too. The jock, the brain, the princess, the weirdo, the handsome rebel,” Eren says, pointing at all of his friends and then back at himself. When he finally gets to Jean, he smirks, “…and the asshole.”

“I don’t remember that being a character in the Breakfast Club,” Jean growls. He begins to rise from his seat, but Marco interrupts them.

“We’re already in detention,” Marco mumbles. He looks nervously at the door as if he expects to see Mr. Dawk walk in at any moment. “It’d probably be best if we didn’t get into any more trouble.”

Sasha smiles at Marco, reaching over her desk to give him a pat on the shoulder. “Oh, Marco. You’re so new to this. It’s like you’re a baby,” she sighs. “Mr. Dawk usually doesn’t come into the classroom unless he thinks we’re up to no good, like if he hears an explosion or whatever. He likes staying holed up in his office where he can send emails to his wife telling her how much he loves her.”

Marco looks over at Jean and mouths, “Emails?”

“Yeah, so we can do whatever we like,” Eren says. He taps his fingers on the chair in front of him and looks eagerly at everyone. “What do you guys want to do? Confess secrets? Share hidden talents? Dance on tabletops? I don’t mind going out of order.”

“I actually liked Sixteen Candles better,” Mikasa says quietly.

“Then let’s do Sixteen Candles!” Eren says. He jumps from the desk and strolls between the aisles. He stops by Historia’s desk and taps on it. “Historia, do you have one of those flower crowns in your locker still?”

“Nope.” The petite blonde doesn’t look up at him. She’s busy painting her nails a light shade of pink. After she’s finished with a nail, she looks up briefly at him as she blows on the polish. “I gave all of mine away after everyone started copying me. It was like they all wanted to form some sort of flower crown cult. Creepy.”

“Ooh, we could do Ferris Bueller,” Sasha says, clasping her hands together. She’s already bouncing up and down in her chair as she thinks of what they could do. “We could skip detention entirely. Maybe we could even go to an amusement park!”

“Sasha, I love the way you think,” Eren says, grabbing her hands and holding them in his.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea…,” Marco says.

The other three must be used to this because they only roll their eyes as Eren and Sasha continue their fruitless plotting.

“Marco’s right,” Jean says, interrupting Eren and Sasha’s conversation. He finally gets up from his desk, strolling over to where the two plotting students are. “It’s not a great idea. Do you remember what happened last time?”

“Yeah,” Sasha says, nodding enthusiastically. “Eren and I got to reenact all the dances from High School Musical around the school. You know one of our videos got a ton of likes?”

Eren wraps an arm around Sasha’s shoulders and grins at Jean. “It was totally worth the two extra weeks of detention after we got caught.”

“You mean you guys have done this before?” Marco looks pale as a sheet at just the thought of being so rebellious. He seems to have forgotten that these people aren’t necessarily forcing him to join them.

“Let’s do Dirty Dancing next!” Sasha says excitedly. She looks over at Mikasa from across the room. “Mikasa, come and catch me!” She hardly even waits for Mikasa to turn around before running towards the other girl, leaping confidently towards her. To no one’s surprise, Mikasa catches her easily in her arms, lifting Sasha as easily as Patrick Swayze lifted Jennifer Grey during the final scene of the movie.

“Really?” Historia huffs under her breath. She looks up grumpily at Sasha who had nearly knocked a bottle of polish off the blonde girl��s desk when she had taken that leap.

“Eren, did you get that?” Sasha asks. She turns to Mikasa and gives her a big kiss on her forehead. “That was wonderful!”

“Yup! It was great!” Eren says, giving her a thumbs up. To Jean, he whispers, “I didn’t get any of that.”

“Okay,” Sasha says. As Mikasa lowers the brunette down, holding her friend like a bride, Sasha looks over at Eren with a goofy grin on her face and asks, “What’s next?”

“Hack into emails?” Historia suggests, looking up. It’s surprising that she’s proposing anything – she usually just tags along – but she must be bored of watching her nails dry. “Maybe Mr. Ackerman has something interesting in his inbox today.”

“Doubtful,” Mikasa says, rolling her eyes. When the literature teacher had begun teaching at the high school, many had been guessing his relation – if he had any at all – to Mikasa. She quickly informed her schoolmates that he was a distant cousin of hers and that she didn’t care for him at all. “That guy’s so boring. In his spare time, he finds a new way to rearrange his bookshelf – color, author, title, Dewey decimal. Unsurprisingly, his favorite’s the Dewey decimal.” The corner of her lip twitches upward when she sees the confusion on her friends’ faces. “I know.”

“So, breaking into emails is out,” Eren says. He’s at the whiteboard at the front of the room, testing out markers by drawing colorful swirls on the white surface. He decides on a purple marker and looks back at his friends. “What else have you guys got?”

“We could change our grades on that last history exam,” Jean mumbles. He frowns as he remembers the abysmally low score that was emblazoned in red at the top of his test. “That grading was ridiculous.”

Marco’s head in his hands. Despite not really being a part of their schemes, he looks horribly conflicted. “Why does it always have to be something illegal? Why can’t we just play cards or something?” He says it quietly under his breath, but Eren still manages to hear him.

“Ah, it’s just that it’s more fun this way. We tried playing poker once, but Jean got mad and flipped a desk over. We’re not allowed to have cards in here anymore,” Eren tells Marco. He puts a hand up just as Jean is about to argue with him. “And we’ve talked about this. Everyone else has agreed that no one cheated. You’re just a sore loser, Kirstein.”

Jean doesn’t look as if he agrees, but he doesn’t say anything. He just slams his fist on the table and then sucks in the side of his cheek to keep from whining about the pain.

“And besides,” Historia adds, “we tried the whole ‘bonding’ thing. It turns out that it’s not like the Breakfast Club at all. We’re not troubled teens. We’re all just assholes.”

“Most of us are anyway,” Sasha says, but it’s unclear whether she’s referring to herself or someone else. She scoots her seat over to Marco and pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. “It’s alright, Marco. You don’t have to be a part of our shenanigans unless you want to. Although, Dawk might just punish you if the rest of us get caught. Everyone talks about how harsh Shadis is, but Dawk has a sadistic streak somewhere inside of him.”

“Let’s switch all the teacher’s stuff. I bet Levi’ll freak when he sees Zoe’s little knick-knacks cluttering up his desk,” Mikasa says. She looks almost gleeful, and there’s a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “And if we manage to sneak one of her rodents into his desk, I bet he’d lose it.”

“Or – or!” Sasha says. She raises her voice so suddenly that Eren stops in the middle of writing down Mikasa’s proposal to turn around and look at her. She’s so excited that she’s practically jumping out of her seat, walking up to the board so she can propose her plan to Eren. “Or we can raid the cafeteria!”

Jean furrows his brow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Historia says with a similar expression on her face. “Didn’t we just do that like two detentions ago?”

“You guys have stolen from the cafeteria before?” Marco says in a horrified whisper, but they all ignore him.

“Wait a second,” Eren says, holding out a hand. “Let her finish.”

“They have chocolate pudding this week!” Sasha says, bouncing up and down.

“Jackpot!” Eren holds his hand up for a high-five with Sasha, who gladly reciprocates.

Marco looks around, waiting for one of the others to express their disapproval of the plan, but everyone else looks as if they’re on board. Mikasa is nodding, Jean is smiling, and even Historia looks a little excited.

“Alright, everyone in?” Eren walks in front of the teacher’s desk and puts his hand out. Everyone else follows suit, rising from their seats and placing their hands on his. The group is almost complete save for one person. Eren looks up expectantly at Marco. “Are you in, Bodt? No pressure.”

He should feel relieved that he doesn’t have to be a part of this, and he truly doesn’t feel any pressure to join them. He can just sit at his desk like he was ordered to, but then he’d have to undergo a brutal interrogation if Dawk happened to come back and found that the rest of the students under his care had disappeared. He might as well just do this.

“Alright,” Marco says with a sigh. He places his hand on top of all of theirs. “I’m in.”

“Awesome!” Eren grins. He’s about to turn around and lead them to their treasure – in this case, school-grade chocolate pudding (which is probably the best food that the school has to offer when it comes to school lunches) – when the door opens.

Crap, Marco thinks. Caught already. It’s a little bit of a relief for them to be caught now instead of during their thievery. Maybe they can come up with a reason they were all huddled together – playing Uno, comparing hand sizes, or some cult ritual – but Marco’s sure that Dawk would only think they were making excuses. He looks up expecting to see their teacher fuming at the doorway, but he’s surprised to see Mr. Hannes, the custodian. He’s never really had a personal encounter with the man before. He’s only seen the man scrubbing the halls after school or wiping down cafeteria tables as lunch is ending. He has no idea if Hannes is short-tempered or slow to anger, but he’s thinking it might be the latter from the ecstatic smiles that his peers are giving the custodian.

“Hannes!” Eren says. He must be familiar with the custodian because he holds his arms out wide, wrapping the blond man up in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, just checking in to see what kind of trouble you rascals are getting up to,” Hannes says. He gives Mikasa a one-armed hug and greets the others with a wave. He looks over at the board where Eren has written up the plan for this week’s detention, guffawing when he sees the cafeteria heist that is circled in red. “Raiding the cafeteria again? Didn’t you all get caught the last time you did that?”

“Yes, and it was totally worth it,” Sasha grins. She licks her lips as she recalls the scrumptious food they had stolen last time. “Coffee cake? It’s even better when it’s stolen on a Saturday morning.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say it was worth it,” Historia says amusedly. “They did ban coffee cake from our school until we graduate.”

Hannes lets out a low whistle. “That’s rough,” he says with a lopsided grin. He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Hopefully this makes it better, though.” Marco’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees all the chocolate pudding cups that Hannes pulls out of his coat pockets.

“Hannes!” Sasha’s eyes are as big as saucers as she stares at the desserts set in front of her. There are eight laid out – one for everyone and three for Sasha. “How did you manage to get these?”

“Ah, just talked to Agnes and convinced her to sell me a couple for some hungry kids in detention,” Hannes says with a shrug. He pats Sasha’s head when she gives him an excited bear hug. “I thought it would be easier than you guys stealing it.”

“You’re too thoughtful, Hannes,” Mikasa says with a smile, leaning against a desk. “What did any of us ever do to deserve you at this school?”

“If I didn’t have any of you kids to clean up after, I wouldn’t have a job, would I?” Hannes laughs. He looks over at Marco and gives the freckled boy a friendly nod. “Haven’t seen this guy around here before though.”

“He’s new to detention. Marco Bodt, probably the second biggest nerd in this school behind Armin,” Jean says, throwing an arm around Marco. He gives Marco a crooked grin. “Maybe we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other later, huh?”

Marco freezes underneath his classmate’s arm. Sure, these people are nice. He’s had a few group projects with them, and they always manage to pull their own weight, but Marco’s not sure he wants to bond with them every Saturday morning in detention. Sure, the Breakfast Club is a great movie, but he’s not sure he’d feel the same way about it if he had to relive it every week.

“Nah, leave the poor kid alone,” Hannes laughs. He sits down on the teacher’s desk, gesturing for Marco to sit beside him. “These kids, Marco,” Hannes says with a sigh as Marco reluctantly joins him. He gestures at the four students that stand in front of them. “They’re good kids, Marco. Don’t be afraid of them. But don’t waste your Saturdays here when you could be doing something else.”

“Aw, are you disappointed in us, Hannes?” Eren jokes.

“Nah, I kind of like seeing you kids in here.” Hannes ruffles Eren’s head and the boy gives him a grin. “I just think your folks would be pretty disappointed about you kids sitting here withering away when you could be outside studying or just having fun. You think your parents like having you in here?”

Marco’s surprised to see his peers hanging their heads. Even when Mr. Dawk had lectured all of them an hour ago, none of them had seemed the slightest bit ashamed. They had all either looked out the window or stared straight past Mr. Dawk. Even Marco hadn’t felt very bad, only annoyed about being stuck in a room and lumped together with the regular troublemakers. Now listening to Mr. Hannes’ words and being reminded of his own family and his mother’s disappointed expression when he had told her he would be spending time at school on Saturday morning. He hates seeing that look on her face.

“Well, my parents don’t give a shit,” Historia says with a toss of her golden hair. She looks a little smug about being guilt-free, smirking over at her friends who are clearly rethinking their life choices.

Hannes looks over at the girl and raises his eyebrow. “And Frieda?”

Historia blinks in surprise, her mouth opening slightly at the mention of her older sister. She’s about to reply, perhaps say something smart to show that she doesn’t care about her sibling’s opinion, but her bottom lip quivers. In the end, she closes her mouth and casts her eyes downward along with the rest of her friends.

“You’re all good kids,” Hannes says softly. He pushes himself off the desk and stands in front of them, arms outstretched. Mikasa and Eren are the first to go to him, allowing him to envelop them all in a group hug. The others join them as well – Jean, Historia, Sasha – and even Marco finds himself wrapped up in it as well. “You all just have to do better.”

“Well, I don’t know if we can, but we can definitely try,” Eren laughs.

“Then I’ll take that.” Hannes gives them an extra squeeze before letting go. He takes a glance at the clock on the wall and sighs. “Well, I should get going. I still have a few classrooms to vacuum and clean up. Don’t make too much trouble for Dawk, alright?”

“Yes, sir!” they tell him, sending him off with a cheeky salute and a wave. They watch as he disappears down the end of the hall into a classroom before settling down back at the front of the room.

“Is he…real?” Marco can’t help staring at the place where Hannes had once stood with them. He had always known that the custodian was a part of the school, but he had never had a personal experience with the man until now. How had this angel managed to find the time to help the lost souls that have been abandoned in high school hell?

“This school’s totally undeserving of him,” Mikasa says, saying aloud when Marco had just been thinking.

“…Maybe we should do something nice for him.” Sasha has already started on a pudding cup. It only takes her two spoonfuls to be halfway done with it. She licks a smidge of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “Get him a nice cake or something.”

“Make reservations for him and his wife at a nice restaurant,” Jean says. He points at Sasha, who nods enthusiastically, putting down her pudding to take out her phone and scroll through Yelp for a nice Italian place for Hannes and his wife.

Marco cautiously moves closer to the group, the first time he’s actively tried to join the group after Hannes had come in and talked to them. “That sounds…a lot less illegal than everything else you guys have suggested,” he begins.

“It’s not like we were planning on murdering someone,” Eren says.

“But how are we going to pay for all of this?” Marco asks.

A credit card appears in front of them, held out by Historia Reiss. The others look at her in surprise, but she only shrugs. “I told you. My parents are shitty, so they think the only way to get me to like them is to spoil me rotten. I might as well just use all the money they give me for something nice, right?”

“What a generous queen you are,” Mikasa smirks. Her smile grows when she sees Historia roll her eyes.

“This is great,” Eren sighs. He stands up, hands on his hips, and beams at his friends. “We made a new friend, bonded, and did a good deed for a good person. This is like –“

“This is not like the Breakfast Bunch,” Jean says before Eren can finish.

“You’re right,” Eren says. “Because we are better than the Breakfast Bunch. We’re like…the…”

“Lunch Bunch,” Sasha chirps before returning to her phone conversation securing a reservation for Hannes.

“The Dinner Crew?” Jean says, wrinkling his nose.

“The Six Assholes?” Mikasa says. She arches an eyebrow at Marco, who can only shrug helplessly. It seems he’s a part of this now.

“I love it,” Eren says, shooting finger guns at Mikasa. He gathers them all in a group hug and says proudly, “This is the first and last meeting of the Six Assholes in Saturday school detention!” And if Niles Dawk hadn’t opened the door right at that moment, it might have been.

#104th #marco bodt #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #historia reiss #jean kirstein #sasha braus #snk #hs au #high school au #asks #answered #requests #anon #anonymous

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softmakoharus · 6 years ago

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makoharu fanfiction - catalyst

Summary: Haru wakes up on a Saturday morning, prepared to spend the day with Makoto like he usually does. It also happens to be Valentine's Day, and Haru is reminded of an important memory of the holiday from when he and Makoto were children. This fond memory, however, disrupts his entire plan for a normal Saturday. Haru tries to regain control of his feelings as he hurries to make chocolates for Makoto before he arrives. Words: 7129 Rating: General Additional tags: Fluff, Mutual Pining, First Kiss Link: AO3

In science, the chaos theory refers to the unpredictability of the universe. According to the phenomenon known as the butterfly effect, a butterfly can, inadvertently of course, cause a natural disaster, be it typhoon or tornado, thousands of kilometers away simply by flapping its wings.

It may sound improbable, but the idea is that even the smallest change in a system can have a huge impact. In essence, the future cannot be predicted.

Or at least that’s what it says on the 365 Days of Butterflies calendar sitting next to Haru’s bed. It's an unnecessary addition to his life, but it was a going-away present from Rei, so Haru makes sure to use it. Typically, the calendar just says different things about butterfly colorings and migration patterns. Today’s page leaves Haru uneasy.

He suddenly feels as though he’s at the mercy of the universe, specifically the brimstone butterfly of Central Europe. Everything is ultimately out of his control. And for someone who knowingly manages to avoid change as much as possible, the thought of such an inescapable instability is rather disconcerting, especially first thing in the morning.

Haru scoffs at himself, blaming his witless just-woken brain for the unnerving thoughts, and uncurls from his sleeping position. His limbs always require a good stretch in the morning, so he rolls onto his back and lifts his arms over his head, palms nearly touching the low ceiling of his loft, while flexing his feet to work his calf muscles. He relaxes and lets his arms rest naturally behind his head.

And then he waits for the alarm on his cell phone to go off, like it always does ten minutes after he wakes up. A predictable start to a predictable day, butterflies be damned.

He takes this time to run through today's routine in his head. It's Saturday, or as his teammates teasingly call it, Makoto Day. It didn't take them long to discover that inviting Haru out on Saturdays was useless because he always had plans with his childhood best friend. He knows they’re reading too much into it, but really, it wouldn’t be a big deal at all to tell Makoto not to come over; it’s just easier to let the pattern repeat. That’s all it is.

Like every Saturday, he'll go for a quick jog, not straying too far from his apartment building, followed by a shower, breakfast, and laundry. This weekend he has a little bit of homework to finish up, but other than that, he'll have plenty of time to relax until Makoto shows up for a late lunch.

Haru turns his head to the wall closest to him. Another needless calendar hangs there, another going-away present, this one from Nagisa. He’s not really sure what it is about him that makes people assume he needs or wants calendars, but the one from Coach Sasabe was wildly inappropriate and ended up in the trash.

This one, though, is quite nice to look at.

The pictures for each month are all interesting architectural pools from around the world. February displays a Singaporean hotel with its outdoor pool raised on top of the building. The photo itself is beautiful, the twilight sky glowing pink and orange; what could certainly be called terrifying instead looks warm and inviting. That's probably why Makoto, whom Haru thought would be scared of the daunting two-hundred-meter height, said it might be nice to go there. Haru was pleased by that revelation, for some reason or another.

The calendar also has markings on all of their birthdays and holidays—most of them real, but he supposes that National Send Nagisa a Cake Day is probably made up. It currently being February, Nagisa drew pointed teeth along the top border of the second day’s square to signify Rin’s birthday.

And then there's today, February 14th, with clichéd hearts surrounding a badly drawn winking face with its tongue sticking out. Haru centers in on the date. It's just a normal Saturday, he assures himself, trying not to think too deeply about why he needs the assurance.

Right on schedule, his phone starts its quiet steady beeping, drawing attention to Haru's increasingly irregular heartbeat. The reliability of his alarm, though, gives him an odd comfort. While most people abhor their alarms, Haru finds it relieving, a sign that everything is going as it should be, and his heartbeat slows to its normal pace.

He turns it on to shut it off and checks his messages. Sometimes Makoto will send him some random thought after Haru has already gone to sleep. This morning, though, his only missed messages are the four from Mrs. Tachibana.

His heart beats extra loud, just once, just to nudge him as if to say, "Hey, this isn't what you were expecting, is it?" He considers ignoring the message and asking Makoto about it later, but ultimately gives in, just in case she needs something important.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Nope, not important at all. He continues reading anyway.

Last week, Ran and Ren were really missing you and Makoto, so they wanted to look through some old photo albums. We came across these pictures of Makoto from Valentine’s Day when you boys were six years old and he made you chocolate. You might not even remember, but you were both very happy that day.

Haru recalls it immediately. He can clearly picture himself opening the front door to greet Makoto, who held a small white box filled with messy little chocolate cubes that were very obviously made without much interference from either parent.

For some reason, the white box is what stands out most in his mind.

Makoto drew all over it with markers for decoration and explained to Haru what all the poorly drawn symbols meant. “The hearts are because I love you,” he said as if it was the easiest most sensible thing to say. “And these are stars because we like to look at them at night. And this is us and we’re holding hands because that’s nice. And this is the sun because it’s what you said I remind you of!” Makoto smiled widest at that, Haru still remembers, blushing at the awareness that even now, Makoto still shines very brightly.

The whole idea of giving chocolate to Haru originated from their teacher at the time. She told the class that people used Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to give the confection to "those who were closest to their heart." And Makoto looked so happy when he told Haru, repeating it word for word, that he was that person.

Haru ate the chocolate without hesitation, even if it was too sweet. And that was the last time Makoto had given him any. The next year, the two of them found out that their teacher had neglected to mention to the class that it’s the girls who give the chocolate to the boys. As a result, Haru never gave him any chocolate, either. He’s briefly overcome with remorse for never getting to make Makoto as happy as he remembers being back then.

He scrolls up before the text message to see the three photos Mrs. Tachibana sent along, too: Makoto at the kitchen counter stirring a bowl of melted chocolate; Makoto holding the finished box; Haru accepting the box from Makoto, both of them with smiles on their faces.

Sudden chaos.

A storm swirls in Haru’s heart.

He thinks about Makoto, and his chest aches and rumbles with what he can only identify, somewhat reluctantly, as longing to be with him. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s not the first time he thinks, as a result, about how spoiled he was by their time in Iwatobi.

Before they came to university, he and Makoto saw each other nearly every day. He knew all he had to do was walk down the stairs and Makoto’s house would be there; Makoto himself was just as reliable, always by his side, well within reach. But now they’re forced apart, and for the first time, Haru knows what it feels like to really miss his best friend over and over, more and more with each passing week.

Even though they message each other every day, reading words on the screen can’t come close to Makoto’s presence. Sitting beside him, seeing his smile, hearing his thoughts about everything. When he’s with Makoto, he’s lying on the heated sand back in Iwatobi, arms resting at his side, a sunny day—always a sunny day—letting the warm waves wash over his legs up to his fingertips.

But if there’s one thing Haru knows he’s good at it, it’s suppressing his feelings about Makoto. He recognizes how precious he is to him, there’s no subduing something rooted so deeply in his core, but once it begins to go beyond that into something more explicit, the moment his heart swells and starts to overflow with emotion, the quick instant when he imagines telling Makoto how much he cares about him, he gets scared of his own thoughts and manages to ebb the flow before it can spill over into something tangible.

Right now, though, he’s having trouble escaping those thoughts. His heart is in turmoil, heavy with havoc, too heavy to get up and out of bed. He rolls over to go back to sleep, knowing it will be futile, that he’s only delaying that inevitable moment where he gives up trying to silence the voice in the back of his head telling him that Makoto would appreciate some Valentine’s Day chocolate.

For the time being, he’ll lie in bed and convince himself he can sleep it off. These feelings will subside, like they always do. Makoto will come over, like he always does. It will be the same as last week and every week before that. There’s no sense doing something as entirely excessive as buying him chocolate before he comes—or worse, making it for him. It’s the girls who give boys chocolate. It doesn’t matter what happened when they were kids.

Haru’s entire day has been thrown out of order, and he’s annoyed and angry but still completely in control of the situation and his emotions.

Or so he stubbornly wanted to believe.

Five hours later, the inevitable arrives.

Haru held out as long as he could but ultimately gave up, as time dangerously approached Makoto's scheduled arrival. He rushed to the store to buy some nice Valentine’s Day chocolate in hopes it would at least temporarily silence the storm in his heart. But then he saw the silicon mold of a dozen little fish and it made him smile, which of course made him imagine Makoto’s face lighting up, and he felt compelled beyond all reason to buy it.

And now, as Haru struggles to remove the hardened chocolate pieces from their fish-shaped molds, he panics. It’s a feeling he’s all too familiar with. That quickened heartbeat sounding loudly in his ears, a shuddering unsteady hand, lungs hung heavy with cement. Past memories of Makoto appear unwillingly, instances where he can still feel the fear of losing the person who means the most to him.

But despite those recollections that continue to throb painfully in his heart, a smile sneaks past Haru’s lips. For someone who has the ability to put his mind so effortlessly at ease, Makoto sure is good at making him worry.

“Idiot,” he mumbles under his breath, not sure if he’s talking about Makoto or himself.

He finally manages to get the second of the twelve fish loose and can’t help but admire his accomplishment. The chocolate is slightly glossy, and the etchings of the scales show up very visibly. He moves on to the next one, trying to be careful in completing this self-inflicted last-minute task while also hurrying to finish before Makoto arrives.

A rational person would probably tell Haru he’s overreacting, he realizes. It’s just chocolate, and Makoto is incredibly easy to please when it comes to his favorite food. That same person would probably ask why Haru’s even going to the trouble to make his best friend chocolates for Valentine’s Day.

Haru thinks that person needs to mind their own business.

At last, the final fish pops out of the mold. “There we go,” he says to himself, exhaling with relief. As he sets it inside the green tin to join the other perfectly formed chocolates, his phone buzzes. He unlocks the screen and smiles at Makoto’s two messages.

First: I just picked up the pizza, so I’ll see you soon!

Second: a picture of Makoto smiling, holding the pizza box up to his face, as though Haru needs proof that the pizza has in fact been acquired.

Easily one of the best things that happened since coming to Tokyo is Makoto’s ongoing obsession with taking pictures of everything and sharing them with Haru. Living apart and going to different schools, there’s a greater variety in the things they see on a daily basis compared to their lives in Iwatobi.

A small smile emerges as he saves the photo to the album completely dedicated to all the ones from Makoto, photos of cute cats and lovely sunsets and that one blurry photo of Makoto’s face that he accidentally sent and demanded Haru delete immediately.

The pizza place they occasionally visit is only about a five minute walk from Haru’s apartment, so that’s how much time he has to clean up and hide all the evidence of this ridiculous task. Luckily, he’s able to quickly wash and dry the dishes. Now he just has to figure out what to do with the box of chocolates. When should he give them? What should he say? How does he stop his face from flushing every time he thinks about it?

He decides to carry the tin out to the living area. His panic from before slowly transforms into a nervous energy as he realizes he’s finally about to repay Makoto for that chocolate all those years ago. What outcome are you expecting from this? he asks himself. Is it the same as the outcome you’re hoping for?

He’s not sure, or rather, Haru chooses to ignore the introspective question and busies himself with setting the tin on the table in a way that looks like he casually tossed it there. He sits down and tries to make himself look just as casually placed, but he’s suddenly aware of his hands and specifically what to do with them. He has forgotten how to do anything remotely casual, so it’s a startling relief when Makoto knocks lightly before opening the door and puts an end to his uncommon bout of clumsiness.

Makoto walks inside and smiles when he sees Haru. “Ah, it’s such a nice day. Warmer than I expected. I probably didn’t need my jacket, but I was already wearing it so I left it on,” he explains a little too thoroughly. He removes his overnight bag from his shoulder and sets it down in front of the door. “Did you go outside at all today?”

Of course I went out, Haru thinks. He had to rush to the store to buy chocolate and a mold that was innocuous enough that it wouldn’t be misinterpreted as romantic—even if it did happen to be the correct interpretation—and an ugly chartreuse tin that he’s sure is identical to the one his grandma used for recipe cards, but it was the first thing he saw and he didn’t have time to stand around contemplating various containers. “Mm, I went for a walk a little bit ago,” he lies without technically lying.

Makoto goes to the kitchen counter to set down the pizza box. “It smells good in here,” he remarks. He smiles, his eyes sneaking around to look for any evidence of sweets while his heart starts to beat faster. Surely Haru knows it’s Valentine’s Day. “Were you baking cookies or something?”

Haru stands up and makes his way to join Makoto and the pizza in the kitchen. “Why would I do that?” he answers a little too angrily, but he is angry at Makoto’s keen dog-like sense of smell. He grabs two plates and two glasses out of the cabinet and sets them down by the sink.

Makoto’s not sure why Haru’s upset by the question, but he doesn’t want to pry, so he simply unzips his jacket and smiles. “Got it. Maybe one of your neighbors then, or something.”

Haru watches Makoto’s face fall in disappointment and can practically see his poor puppy dog ears flatten against his head. Shit, maybe he should have baked cookies. At least then he could have played it off as being an unintentional Valentine’s Day gift. Chocolate is so painfully obvious. He wonders if it’s too late to fake being sick and send Makoto home.

But before Haru can give a feigned cough, Makoto takes off his jacket, and Haru doesn’t want to ever send him home because damn it, he’s wearing that navy flannel button-up that somehow makes his green eyes glow even brighter. It’s just a bit too tight across his chest, and Haru knows the brave button that’s doing its best to stay attached is fighting a losing battle, and he hopes he’s around to see its demise.

And then there’s that same heather gray shirt that Makoto always wears underneath, and damn it he mentioned that it’s warm outside, so there are probably light sweat marks across the back because Makoto’s back is always the first place to start sweating, and Haru hates himself for knowing that and not being able to do anything with the information except blush furiously.

While Makoto hangs up his jacket by the front door, Haru desperately distracts himself with their drinks, pouring water for himself and milk for Makoto. He hears Makoto walking back toward him, so Haru opens the fridge and moves things around for no other reason than to give himself a chance to bend over, because Makoto deserves some retaliation for wearing that shirt.

And maybe Makoto doesn’t notice, or worse doesn’t care, but Haru’s wearing his black joggers that are almost too fitted in the hips with a seam up the backside cut just right to really make his ass look good, and if someone were to suggest he wore them on purpose because Makoto was coming over today, he would never confess to such an absurd accusation.

“Haru, I’ll have milk if you—oh, you already poured me some. Thank—“ Makoto almost manages to finish his sentence until he gets to the kitchen and sees Haru in the fridge and completely forgets what words even are, let alone how to speak them.

He can’t help but notice Haru’s pants. They hug his body in all the right places, especially his butt, and even though he has seen Haru’s bare legs more times than he can possibly count, there’s something that he finds particularly alluring about them being covered up, knowing what’s under there but not being able to see it. And the best part about these particular pants is that they’re just thin and tight enough that sometimes Makoto can make out the faint outline from the hem on Haru’s boxer briefs along the top of his thigh, and thinking about it makes him want to shove the entire pizza in his mouth.

He manages to remain calm and opens the pizza box just as Haru finishes whatever it was he was doing and closes the fridge.

Haru stands next to Makoto and waits for him to finish piling up his plate. “Leave some for me,” he jokes.

Makoto laughs and grabs his fourth and final piece. “I’m hungry! I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Whose fault is that?” Haru shoots back. “Don’t make me starve because of your bad decisions.” He takes two slices for himself and follows Makoto to the small table, disappointed when they sit just barely too far apart for their knees to touch.

And Makoto won’t say it, but it is kind of Haru’s fault. When he woke up this morning, he opened his phone to find a message from his mom. He laughed fondly when he saw the attached images. As the story goes, on that Valentine’s Day when he was six years old, Makoto came to his mom holding the small glass jar filled with his life savings of approximately 750 yen. He looked up at her with big worrying eyes and asked, “Mommy, how much does chocolate cost?”

She assured him that he didn’t need to buy his own chocolate and offered him a piece from his dad’s supply in the cabinet above the sink.

“No, Mommy,” he replied. “I mean the special valentine chocolate. Is it very much?”

Makoto explained that wanted to buy the special valentine chocolate for Haru-chan. His mom told him she could help him make his own, because that would be even more meaningful. Some would probably say that he and Haru were too young back then to understand the implications of the chocolate exchange, but sometimes he thinks he understood his feelings better then than he does now.

And that’s when Makoto realized the weight of his heart, nearly bursting with every thought and feeling for Haru that he shoved in there over the years—his entire life, really—refusing to let them escape. He further realized that this would be the first Valentine’s Day they spent alone together. He even thought about bringing Haru chocolate, like he did that time when they were just little kids.

But things were easier then. The older he and Haru got, the more awkward it seemed to tell him things like I love you, even though he cared about him more deeply than anyone, himself included, could ever understand. And the more difficult it became to give him any sort of physical contact aside from offering his hand, even though he wanted to embrace him in a tight hug and never let go. But the thing that hurt the most was how much it ached to be apart from him. He thought it would get easier, that he would get used to the distance, but he never did.

He considers that he’s reading too much into things, but it seems to be the same for Haru. He was the one who first suggested that their Saturday evening hangouts begin a little earlier and end a little later, until it was just expected that Makoto would spend the night. It didn’t matter if Haru had early practice Sunday morning; Makoto would sleep in and wait for him to come back. If one of them was swamped with homework, that was fine, too; it was still better to be with each other. Listening to Haru’s voice, laughing along with his teasing, being completely unabashedly himself. When he’s with Haru, he’s lying in bed wrapped in the softest blanket, warm and comfortable and safe.

So when he woke up today and recalled that childhood memory, his body was heavy with emotion and expectations. He managed to somewhat divert his attention to deep cleaning his apartment, and before he could even calm down enough to eat anything, it was time to leave to pick up lunch.

And now here he is with Haru, together on Valentine’s Day, sharing that lunch. It only takes Makoto ten seconds to notice the green tin in front of him. It reminds him of a certain container that Haru’s grandma had, but he never recognized it here before, so it must be new. “What’s this?” Makoto asks, poking the tin to gauge how heavy its contents are.

Haru’s eye twitches; he knew Makoto would notice the gift sooner or later.

Panic, panic, panic. What if Makoto says he can’t accept the chocolate? What if he correctly assesses the situation but doesn’t feel the same? What if Haru really loses Makoto this time? The storm in his chest grows suddenly violent.

He wants to run away before giving Makoto the chance to do it, but he manages to respond. “Oh, that’s for you. If you want it. After lunch.” He speaks in short sentences to try and keep his voice from cracking.

Makoto doesn’t even know what it is, but his eyes and mouth go wide with excitement. Was Haru lying about the cookies earlier to keep it a surprise? He tries not to get his hopes up with speculation, so instead he eats as quickly as possible, trying not to make it seem too obvious.

He wipes off his hands and his mouth and then reaches for the tin, but Haru grabs it first.

“Oi, I’m still eating.” He holds it behind him out of Makoto’s reach.

“Haru,” Makoto whines.

“It’s nothing worth getting that excited over.”

“Then let me open it!”

Haru moves the tin to his lap. “After lunch.” He secretly hopes Makoto will refuse to comply and attempt to take it from him anyway. Then he’ll playfully grab Makoto’s big strong arms while Makoto gently pushes him to the ground. His heart beats faster, and he can almost hear it laughing at him for even thinking such things.

Makoto sighs, exaggerated, and says he understands. He wonders if it would be silly to try and grab the box, but he doesn’t want to disrupt Haru’s meal. Still, the thought of trying to wrestle it from him makes him feel suddenly warmer. The problem is, he already took off his jacket, and he can’t take off his shirt because he can feel the slightly wet fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back, and the last thing he wants is for Haru to see something that unattractive.

He opts for rolling up the sleeves to at least let his skin breathe a little more. Flannel probably wasn’t the best choice for today, considering the temperature outside, but it just so happened to be the shirt he saw first when he opened his closet, and it's definitely not like he has purposely kept it at the front of his closet ever since that time Haru said he liked the color on him.

Haru looks up from his pizza and cannot even believe Makoto has the audacity to come into his home and expose his forearms like that, muscles tight against the rolled cuffs.

Makoto folds his arms on the table and tries to start a conversation while he waits for Haru to finish eating. “You know, the girl at the pizza place looked at me so pitifully when she handed me the food. She probably thought I was spending Valentine’s Day all alone without a date.”

It sounds to Haru like Makoto is implying that this is a date, but surely he’s misunderstanding. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“That’s true.” So it’s definitely not a date, then. It was too much to hope Haru would call it that. “But I’m not alone.”

“You should have played it up more, and maybe she would have felt bad and given you our food for free.”

Makoto brings his hand to his chin and thoughtfully considers. “Well, she did look like she wanted to give me a hug. Maybe I should have let her.” He watches Haru for a reaction and swears he can see him clench his jaw.

Haru takes another bite of his final slice of pizza but has found he lost his appetite. He stacks his plate on top of Makoto’s and hands over the box as promised. It’s best to just get it over with, lest he lose Makoto to some pizza girl who would take pity on his broken heart.

Makoto quickly pulls off the lid and identifies the chocolates as unmistakably handmade. His face drops when he realizes what they mean. “Oh, did someone give you these?” He smiles, hurt but trying to pretend like he’s not. He wonders who it was. A girl from class? A girl from the swim team? A random girl he met earlier today on his walk who has everything in common with Haru and was also carrying a tin of chocolate just in case she suddenly met the man of her dreams by happenstance?

Haru’s chest tightens at the thought of giving Makoto secondhand chocolate, and he almost calls him out for even thinking he’d be that insensitive. “No, Makoto, they’re for you. I made them for you.” He speaks as seriously as he can so there’s no more confusion about where the gift came from, and his face blushes as further proof.

He keeps his composure even though his insides are screaming and dying and also on fire somehow. Probably not literally on fire, although he thinks it’s likely his face is going to burst into flames at any moment from embarrassment.

I made you Valentine’s Day chocolate, he’s saying. It’s a coward’s confession, because he’s not really confessing. He’s just putting words out there and leaving Makoto to interpret them however he wants.

And he hopes he interprets them how he intends. Maybe that’s not fair, but it’s what he hopes. It may look like chocolate, but Haru feels like he wrapped up his heart and placed it in that tin.

Makoto thinks he’s an idiot for jumping to conclusions. Of course Haru would never give him a gift that someone else gave him. It just seemed out of the realm of possibilities that Haru would purposely make chocolate, specially for him, on today of all days.

He’s overcome with gratitude and looks up to meet Haru’s eyes, staring deeply into them just for a moment before speaking. “Haru… thank you.” He marvels at the cute little chocolate fish, trusting that they don’t contain any actual fish flavor. “They’re almost too nice to eat!” All of his feelings come together to yell at him that his best friend just gave him handmade Valentine’s Day chocolate. He takes a piece and swallows his feelings along with it, trying to keep them from jumping to more conclusions. “It’s really good! You put caramel in the center? Amazing…”

“It was easy. I’m glad you like them.” And he is glad Makoto likes them, but for all he knows, Makoto is just happy for his friendship chocolate and so happy to be Haru’s friend and happy they can be together today as friends, and Haru has never hated the word friend as vehemently as he does right at this moment.

Makoto picks up another piece and holds it up. “Do you want to try one?” He smiles as he moves it closer to Haru’s mouth. “Here!” The exhilaration of the action incites the acceleration of his heartbeat. But Haru didn’t leave him any other choice. He can’t figure out what he wants, so Makoto just needs to push him a little to see how he reacts.

Haru’s still not sure if Makoto is just being his same naïve self or if he’s ruthlessly acting on emotions that Haru wants to believe he feels because he can no longer deny that he himself feels them, too. He opens his mouth and lightly flicks his tongue over the tip of Makoto’s finger as he accepts the chocolate. It tastes salty almost, as though his hands are sweaty. It’s unusual. Even after swimming, his hands are always warm and dry. Could he be nervous?

Makoto watches Haru eat the chocolate, and he can’t stop himself from staring at his lips. He tightens his hands into fists, finally finding the fortitude to ask permission to kiss him. He hesitates just once, just to make sure he's ready, and recounts the entire day: his own feelings, the chocolate gift, the way Haru's looking at him right now, the fact that he definitely just licked Makoto's finger.

It’s not just his imagination that Haru will reciprocate his feelings. There’s no way. “Haru…” he starts.

Makoto’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears, so deafening that he almost doesn’t hear his phone chime to tell him he has a message. He and Haru both jump, startled, as the tension around them breaks into a billion tiny worthless pieces. Haru wants to pick up the phone and throw it against the wall and leave it just as worthless, but he doesn’t think Makoto will appreciate that.

Before Haru can see whom the message is from or what it says, Makoto grabs the phone. However, Haru does manage to notice the pink heart emoji. It’s a big heart with a smaller heart next to it, and he can’t even fathom what it means exactly, but it is a heart and there’s really only one reason to use that. No one says innocent things like, "Did you finish the worksheet yet?" followed by a heart emoji.

A smile spreads slowly across Makoto's face, which is usually the best sight Haru has ever seen, but right now he feels rejected before he even got to tell Makoto how much he means to him, how much he’s always meant to him, and how desperately he wants to kiss him. The message probably says something like, "I hope you enjoyed the chocolate I made for you!" because of course Makoto probably got chocolate already, better chocolate, imported from Switzerland and not shaped like stupid fish.

Makoto returns his phone to the table and glances at Haru; he looks irritated. Is it because the text interrupted the moment they were sharing? Or does he think it’s from someone he’s prepared to fight to win Makoto’s love? Makoto blushes at the thought and thinks it’s best to clarify. “That was just a mass text. Check your phone. You probably got it, too.”

Haru furrows his brow in confusion, but he does as he’s told and pulls out his phone. Sure enough, there’s a single missed message.

Thinking of you today, Valentine!!

It’s from an unknown number, which can only mean one thing. He rolls his eyes and looks at Makoto. “Ki—?”

Before even a second syllable from Kisumi’s cursed name leaves his mouth, Haru is able to stop himself. He’s aware of the terrible timing and what it would sound like he’s saying to Makoto. This wouldn’t be the first time his name caused such awkward confusion, and he bets it’s something that brings Kisumi unmitigated glee. Haru absolutely wants to kiss Makoto more than anything right now, but he won’t give Kisumi the satisfaction of being responsible for it.

And then he notices Makoto staring at his mouth. Haru realizes how dry his lips feel and absentmindedly licks them.

“Do you want me to?” Makoto asks quietly, blush appearing across his cheeks. And because he doesn't want Haru to assume he's only asking because of something as frivolous as Kisumi's name, he clarifies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I was about to ask you, before... that. So, do you want me to?"

Haru doesn’t know how to respond because he still doesn’t believe this is real. “Want you to what?” He regrets his response immediately, certain that his hesitation is going to scare Makoto away.

Luckily for Haru, all of Makoto’s doubt has dissolved into determination. He smiles, sitting up on his knees to scoot closer until they lightly touch Haru’s leg. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He smiles faintly and stares into Haru’s eyes. He can tell Haru’s not sure, that he’s probably struggling in the same way Makoto has been, and that gives him hope. He hasn’t said no yet. “Haru, please. I can’t do it unless I know it’s ok. Otherwise I would have done it already, a long time ago.”

Haru can’t remember the last time he blinked or breathed, and his heart is vibrating so fast it must be humming inside his chest. There’s a full-fledged hurricane raging inside of him, dangerous and turbulent, and he wants to scream over the noise and tell Makoto to just kiss him already, but he can’t speak the words. He manages to drop his chin, once and then twice—the best nod he can give. He starts to close his eyes just as Makoto leans forward to place their lips together.

And instantly, the storm inside of him comes to an end.

The clouds clear, making way for the sun. And it shines incredibly, giving light to every bit of love and adoration he feels for Makoto. It’s an overwhelming sensation, like he’s been holding his breath his entire life and is finally exhaling for the first time. But before he can thoroughly enjoy the kiss, Makoto pulls away.

Haru opens his eyes to see Makoto’s beautiful blushing face and can’t help but ask, “Is… is that it?” It comes out much ruder than he intends.

Makoto stutters in embarrassment, unable to form any real words, and covers his face with both of his hands before burying it in Haru’s chest. He lets out a muffled apology. Haru laughs all the tension out of his body and puts his hand in Makoto’s soft, fluffy hair.

“Don’t apologize. I just… wanted to kiss you longer, that’s all.” Haru supposes it’s fine to say embarrassing things now. He supposes they’re going to be saying a lot of embarrassing things to each other from this point on.

Makoto nuzzles against his chest and Haru swears he really is just like a big puppy, his imaginary tail starting to wag again. Makoto leans back from Haru’s chest and smiles, face still bright red, before leaning in for another kiss. Haru moves his hand down to the nape of Makoto’s neck, rubbing it gently with his thumb. Makoto finds his other hand, sliding his own fingers between Haru’s and sliding his tongue past Haru’s slightly parted lips.

They open their mouths just a little at first, then wider, their tongues meeting naturally between them, soft and slick and tasting of chocolate. Even if they hadn’t been indulging minutes before, Haru thinks Makoto would still taste just as sweet.

Haru lets Makoto take the lead, doing his best to match his movements and follow his pace. His heart beats so fast he thinks it must have stopped, like time itself has stopped around them, and he can’t contain his voice when Makoto puts his other hand on Haru’s waist and around his back, eliciting the smallest most involuntary moan from the back of Haru’s throat.

They allow their tongues to try and figure things out a little bit longer before separating their mouths, letting their foreheads rest against each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Makoto plants a light kiss on the side of Haru’s neck and leans forward into his chest again in total embarrassment.

Haru can’t contain his laughter; Makoto is so adorable and he feels ok thinking that. “Are you going to do that every time we kiss?” And then, because he wants to know how it feels to say it, “It’s adorable, you know.” He laughs softly and speaks in a whisper. “You’re adorable.”

Makoto blushes at Haru’s words and the thought that they will kiss again, of course they will. They can kiss each other any time they want to. And he thinks it’s going to be hard to stop himself from doing it all the time. He laughs along with Haru and wraps his arms around him.

Haru reaches forward to grab Makoto’s phone off the table. He holds it out in front of them and tells Makoto to turn around so they can take a picture together. Makoto is surprised, but he loves that idea so he doesn’t argue. He rests his head against Haru’s chest and keeps his arms wrapped around him while looking into the camera.

Haru snaps the photo and is in awe of how cute they look together, both of them quite obviously embarrassed but smiling, happy. Haru will have to remember to send himself that photo later. But first, he starts typing.

Makoto laughs, peeking over the screen. “What are you doing?”

He watches as Haru sends the picture to Kisumi, with a follow-up text.

He’s my Valentine, not yours.

He finds that same heart emoji Kisumi used and inserts it three times at the end of the sentence, just to mock him.

Makoto laughs even louder. “He’s going to send that to everyone, you know!”

Haru shrugs and leans back to lie on the floor, folding his hands over his stomach. “Good. It saves us the trouble of having to tell them ourselves.”

Makoto lies down on his side next to him, bending his arm to prop his head up on his hand. “That’s true. Do you think anyone will be surprised?”

“They’ll probably say things like, ‘Oh, it’s about time.’” And Haru smiles because he thinks the same. He’s a little irritated with himself for taking this long to finally confront his feelings, but there’s no point in being upset about the past. Whether they started years ago makes no difference now. He couldn’t be happier in this moment.

Makoto clears his throat. “You know what would be nice? If we could make cookies tomorrow.”

Haru sits up and turns back to glare at him. “I worked hard on that chocolate!”

“I know and I love it! But it really did smell like cookies when I walked in!” He laughs, watching Haru try to hold back a smile. “I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Haru resumes his position lying on his back next to Makoto and smiles. “Of course we can do that.”

Makoto places his hand over Haru’s, dropping his other arm so his head can fall right next to him. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“After all these years, you’re still the one who’s closest to my heart, Haru-chan.”

Haru blushes and leans over to kiss Makoto’s forehead. He’s right; they’ve been connected to each other from the beginning, as far back as either of them can remember. The bond between them is unbreakable, and Haru knows that it will keep them together for the rest of their lives.

Just hours ago, Haru thought that today would be a day like any other day. But as it turns out, even a small catalyst can spark large consequences. He thinks he has found a new appreciation for the unexpected, and maybe it's all right not to have control over everything.

Makoto shifts onto his back, and Haru slides closer to move his head against his shoulder. Their hands find each other easily between them, fingers interlacing while they stare at the ceiling, taking a much needed moment to process the day's events. Haru allows his heart to gently overflow, warming his insides, as those familiar waves float over the both of them.

#free!#makoharu #omg i forgot how long this one is #for me anyway lol #my posts #valentine's day #kelly's makoharu fics

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chibioniyuri · 6 years ago

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A Story in Two Parts

I’ve never had to work hard for anything. That’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

Friends were... kind of easy. It was always shallow stuff, things you could say at recess or lunch or during passing period. I’m eager to please and easy to talk to. But it was never anything really deep. There wasn’t much point when I wouldn’t be able to spend much time outside of school with them anyway, and it was easier to be just distant enough not to get the invitations I would have to decline anyway. And books made excellent companions anyway. And my brother was like a built-in friend who couldn’t go away. It worked.

Schoolwork was easy. Just do what the teacher tells you. Study what they point out in the study review - I was never sure if they did this to help us from being overwhelmed or to help inflate their own reports, but nearly every teacher did it without fail. Minimum effort into school projects because we were poor and couldn’t afford much. And I didn’t have the creativity some kids did, so my poster board was plain and white with outlines in marker to draw visual interest, but it was nothing compared to the pictures and glitter and fuzzy little balls that others included. But it was fine because I always met the requirements.

Getting into college was easy. Top 5% of the graduating class automatically got into whatever state college they wanted. I left the college applications too late, didn’t really net any scholarships, but I got to attend my “dream” college at A&M because they had no choice but to accept me.

Finding work was easy, too, in that for a long time, I didn’t have to. I started filing paperwork at the business my dad worked at because kids were cheap labor and we were excited to get paid cash (under the table, of course). And when I dropped out of the “dream” college when my brain broke a little, they were excited to accept me full time because they needed someone to answer calls and emails and run reports and track down whether something got delivered or not when someone inevitably forgot to enter something into the system. And besides tackling my fear of phones on a daily basis, the work itself was easy.

Choosing my new career when the idea of becoming a veterinarian fell through was also easy. I attended the local community college when my dad threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn’t get my shit together, walked into the administration office, and picked a brochure that didn’t seem too terribly out of line with what I was interested in anyway. Nursing. Human bodies. Science. Cool.

Getting into nursing school was easy, too. See: schoolwork was easy. Big GPA. I didn’t have the references or community service or anything to pad my resume, so to speak, but my GPA rocked. So.

And I lucked into my current job too. I was playing around on Monster.com and accidentally submitted my resume to a home health company that contacted me a few days later. There was some stuff in between: getting laid off, unemployment, my brain breaking just a little bit again. But that’s not the important bit.

So when I say I haven’t had to work hard for anything, I mean it. Things have come easy for me, ridiculously so. If anything in my life had required a modicum of effort, I would have abandoned it just to save myself the trouble.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I love words. I love reading them, learning them, writing them. My mother language or what I wish was my mother language. Choosing just the right word to put into just the right place because some words might mean roughly the same thing but connotations are a thing. How worlds are created or destroyed; how people are created or destroyed. The epic quest a hero undertakes to become the hero. The trials and tribulations of meeting someone, gathering the courage to put their heart on the line, and then living together in the soft and the hard moments.

Particularly, I love the bit of writing when I’m inspired. When the words rush from my brain to my fingertips onto whatever medium I’m using that day. Like I’m in a kayak getting pushed by the natural flow of the river and all I have to do is steer. It’s effortless and a true joy to watch the birth of new words.

But at some point, the inspiration dies. I hope against hope that I’ll manage to get all the words out before it does. Sometimes I do. Most of the time I don’t. And then it’s like my river carried me to a lake, and the water stills. I’m left stranded and adrift, and the only way to continue is to get out my paddles and get to work.

What comes next is not beautiful. It’s tears and sadness. It’s pushing out words just to say that they exist and then erasing them again because they’re not the right words. It’s gray days where colors and feelings and taste and sensation are all muted, when it’s easier to attack the broken brain for being broken. It’s reading over what’s already there and loving it and then reaching the end and hating it because there’s more to be written but the well of words has run dry.

I’ve never had to work hard for anything, and I’ve never regretted it quite so much as when I look at a project that once brought me such joy and wonder if it’ll ever bring joy to others as well because right now, the words have gone quiet and still.

#k writes #personal #it's a very gray day today

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everythings-coming-up-aces · 6 years ago

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A Sanders Sides AU

Feat. Dad!Remy

A little something I had to write up after being inspired by a snapshot of a dream. It woke me up at 3am, so like any sane person, I got out of bed (braving the cold winter temperature, bow before my dedication) to write it down. It’s my first time writing anything for Sanders Sides, or even in general, so sorry if this ends up being a big mess of nonsense. Remember, it was late, I was tired, and what even is proofreading?

So like I said, the whole AU idea was inspired by an image my half-asleep brain created, of Remy and his young son Virgil, chilling outside a coffee shop, Remy in his usual leather jacket and dark shades and the largest, most caffeine laden coffee in the entirety of the city. Virgil, like any kid, wanted to look as cool as his dad, so he’s wearing a spare pair of Remy’s sunglasses that keep slipping down his face.

Virgil’s also got his purple patchwork hoodie that’s a few sizes too big, but his dad made it for him, so you’d have to pry it from Virgil’s tiny hands. He’s sipping at his chocolate chip Frappuccino, because Remy may be a pretty relaxed parent, but there’s no way he’s letting his son develop a caffeine addiction at his young age. (That comes in the later years. Being Remy’s son, Virgil’s practically made of half caffeine anyway, it’s an inevitable eventuality)

A few other points in this Universe;

Remy is trans. He came out to his family in high school, who struggled to accept him. It popped into my head that Remy’s “Gurl” catchphrase came from him saying it to his dad/brothers, who would always get uncomfortable and defensive when Remy would say it to them. It was one of Remy’s petty acts of revenge, making them feel uncomfortable when they made him feel bad about himself. Eventually, he said it so often it became habit (like how I used to say lol ironically, and now I disappoint myself every 2nd text message, and the occasional spoken sentence) even when he later stopped talking to the family that wouldn’t accept him, the phrase still fit with his whole AestheticTM so he just embraced it, and it turned into an endearment towards friends.

Remy is Pan. Who cares what you’ve got, if you know how to use it, and you’re not a shitty person, Remy is up for it. Remy is the one who carried and birth Virgil, who was conceived through a one-night stand. This was probably the catalyst for the complete cutoff of his family, who couldn’t understand how Remy identified as male, but still chose to go through his pregnancy. Remy relied heavily on his high school BFF/ roommate Emile Picani’s support during this time, as he didn’t have any other support system. Emile was of course named Virgil’s godfather.

When he first left home, Remy had a bit of saved money that he used to help Emile with rent/food plus things for baby Virgil. Luckily, the landlord was a family friend of the Picanis, so Emile got a fair discount on the rent. Remy would get an odd job here and there over the years, but it was hard to keep a steady job while also looking after a baby. Remy struggles to find employment, (it doesn’t help that you seem to need 5 years of experience for an entry-level job) but thanks to his skill with a pen and his imagination, he eventually found a decent paying job as an artist in a shady all-night tattoo parlor. He has to work the night shifts, so Emile looks after Virgil overnight and Remy gets home in time to wake Virgil up and get him ready for school. The two walk the 10 minutes to the school together, Virgil holding tightly to his dad’s hand. They get a few odd looks on their way, due to Remy’s slightly eccentric style, but Mrs. O'Neal who lives down the street from the school always waves at little Virgil from her porch every day.

Once Virgil is at school, Remy practically passes out the second he gets home, in order to get some sleep before his next shift of work. Emile works nearish to Virgil’s school, so he picks Virgil up after work and drives them both to the apartment. When he gets home, Virgil sits quietly at the table and does his homework, asking Emile for help when necessary. At 5.30 on the dot, Virgil runs into his dad’s room and jumps on the bed to wake him up in time to get ready for work. (It takes a while for Remy to wake up, and there’s usually a tickle fight at some point in the wake-up process)

Most nights Emile will have dinner ready by the time Remy has woken up and showered, and the 3 will sit on their couch and talk and laugh. Virgil ‘helps’ Emile cook (perhaps washing the carrots, or half peeling vegetables or stirring a mixing bowl.) and Remy makes a big fuss on complimenting every meal Virgil makes. He and Emile have noticed Virgil is a bit of a quiet, anxious kid, so he acts like it’s the best meal he’s ever eaten, until Virgil collapsed into proud giggles. Some nights Remy and Virgil whip up a meal together, of varying states of creativity and edibility (think Misha Collins cooking with his kids, levels of creative)

Remy always tries to be one of those parents that lets their kids be kids and explore their creativity. He lets Virgil pick out his clothes and toys, never makes him only pick ‘boy’ things. Remy himself has a bit of an alternative style, dyed hair and tattoos and the like (the last tattoo he got was Virgil’s name over his heart), and Virgil is constantly wanting to emulate his dad. Almost every year, he asks Remy to give him ‘tattoos’ for Halloween and Remy draws elaborate designs (with skin safe markers of course) that Virgil loves with all his heart. He goes around showing them off (as much as someone as shy as him shows off). Maybe one day Virgil asks if he could have his hair dyed similar to Remy’s (after checking if there was a school rule against colored hair as he doesn’t want to get in trouble. Fortunately, no such rule exists). Remy obliges happily, and dyes Virgil’s hair in their living room that weekend, Black Cauldron playing on the TV in the background.

Virgil is ecstatic when he sees his purple hair for the first time, running up to Emile to show it off. Unfortunately, other people aren’t as accepting Remy and Emile, and Virgil has his first confrontation with bullies at school. Remy was ready to throw hands when he heard some little shits were making fun of his son, but Virgil convinced him not to do anything drastic.

Since Virgil is a pretty quiet keep-to-himself kind of kid, on the rare occasions Remy is called into the school, he knows it’s serious. And heaven help any teacher if they call him in for an easily resolvable issue because Remy is pure sass and no restraint when he is tired. The poor principal was near tears the time they called Remy over Virgil having punched a kid. Remy was furious when he learned the kid had been threatening to cut the purple out of Virgil’s hair, to the point of grabbing a pair of scissors, and Virgil had been defending himself. (this actually happened to me once in primary school. I have curly hair, and another kid wanted to take a piece home with them. I was not enthused)

The important Saturday morning coffee outings have been a tradition for a few years now. Remy needs the caffeine to stay awake during the day after working nights during the week. Their regular place is a 15-minute walk from their apartment (which Virgil spends getting piggybacked by his dad) and is across the road from a park, so once they’ve finished their drinks, Remy takes Virgil across to work off the sugar at the playground. They go so often, the coffee shop staff know them both well, and everyone always fusses over Virgil in all his adorable glory. They are some of the few people he is excited to show his Halloween tattoos to, and his purple hair makes them all squeal at the cuteness.

I have a few other ideas here and there, and some possible ways for the other sides to be incorporated. I don’t know if this is gonna interest anyone though, so I dunno if I’ll write any more up.

#this is probably all pure nonsense #sanders sides au #sleep sanders #remy sanders #dad!remy #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts remy #emile picani #ts emile #ts dr picani #dad!remy au

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wizardoutofoz · 7 years ago

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A five year old girl I work with at an after school program recently began watching the Harry Potter movies. She loves them and identifies very strongly with one of the characters.

Now, I’m going to pause and let you try to think which character a kindergarten girl might be interested in. For background I would say she has medium-running-to-girly interests on the unfortunately unavoidable sliding scale of girly-to-boyish stuff marketed at children.

Was the character you pictured THE BASILISK? If it wasn’t, you were WRONG.

It all started when she drew an egg at coloring time. It was a rainbow egg, and it filled the whole page, which I encourage strongly, and she got out of her chair to show me. Now, this girl’s best friend is CONSTANTLY asking me what to draw. I only give one drawing idea per day, if the kids don’t like it, I remind them they have their own brains which can come up with their own ideas. I have to remind basilisk girl’s best friend this a lot. So when I’m shown the egg, I automatically angle to try to get a new idea for a picture out of it. What does the egg hatch into? Or is it an egg-egg, which is going to live it’s whole life as an egg. She tells me it’s always going to be an egg and goes to sit down.

Then, inspiration strikes. She brings her next picture up. It’s a snake with bloody fangs. Very specifically bloody. She points out the blood. She’s proud of the detail. I embark on the dangerous task of guessing what a child’s drawing is (if you get it wrong some kids get angry and you lose all your praising their hard work points).

“A big snake?” I guess.

She tells me it’s a paslitik, but she says the word quietly, the way kids say big words when they have only heard them once or twice and aren’t positive how they work yet. I make a wild stab at what she means.

“A basilisk? From Harry Potter?”

She gets SO EXCITED that I know what it is. She starts telling me all about it. Did I know it could kill you by looking? It got Harry and he had to kill it with a sword. She imitated it’s death throes when it died. This got all the other kids interested, because they also wanted to be able to flop around wildly and fall to the floor during journal time, and not get in trouble. They all learned what a basilisk was in detail from her and thought they were pretty cool.

BTW she’s five and has only watched the movie. She couldn’t even say the name until I said it clearly for her, cause she’d probably only heard it twice and clearly never said it before. But she LOVED this monster. She asked me how to spell BASILISK so she could label her drawing. She asked me to call her Basilisk.

I have seen 6 year olds scared to watch Scooby-Doo, by the way. My cousin at 5 was scared of the opening to the little mermaid. This baby’s favorite part of Harry Potter was when the huge snake that could kill you with a glance bit Harry, nearly killing him, and got blood on its teeth.

When I wrote BASILISK on the board for her to copy, I did a little drawing of one (I do this so all the kids who ask how to spell words and can’t read can just look at the board and know which word is the one they want). She told me not to forget the blood on its teeth, and I had to find a red expo marker.

I know this was long, I just needed to vent my joy at this child (Basilisk)’s existence. Go about your day now.

tl.dr

Kindergarten girl’s favorite Harry Potter character is the basilisk and particularly loves it’s bloody fangs.

#harry potter #kids are great #she found all the representation she needs in a giant man eating snake

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tumblunni · 8 years ago

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I wish I could hug y'all!

In fact I think I will make it A LIFE GOAL I really really wanna someday be able to visit all my friends who live in different countries! Its something good to save up for, even if it'll probably take years. So.. lets randomly ramble in a journal about Plans!! IDEA THE FIRST TRIP THE FIRST FIRST THE FIRST: THE SEQUEL I think it'd probably make sense to go to america first, since i have a lot of close friends living there and I don't need to learn another language. (I am notoriously dumb...) But then afterwards I could set another goal to save up and visit another friend in another country! IT WILL NEVER ENDDDDD, THATS WHY ITS CALLED FRIENNNNDDDDD So far all I have confirmed is that two of my friends would be happy to see me if I was able to visit america, @darkeiya and @summon-daze But its not like I've exactly asked everyone else, so I dunno really how many people I might be able to visit. And it depends on time constraints too, i might only be able to spend a full day or two with the closest friends and maybe then if there's more than three of us we could all meet up together and hang out en masse? Depends on how tricky it'd be for everyone to get to the same place! SO! PLANS AND THINGS I NEED TO PREPARE! workin to figure out a precise money goal im gonna save for * Become Fab * no but srsly i wanna look my best if im meeting friends in person for the first ever time. need to acquire Cool T-Shirts * figure out what exactly you can and cannot take on an aeroplane, and how to deal with anxiety if i cant take electronics. Nothing's as distracting as videogames when you're freakin out! * DO NOT SCHEDULE ANYTHING ON THE 11th-14th OF THE MONTH. i have a bad history of my period landing on these days ONLY when i have to do something important. Or when its my birthday :P I dont need even more reason to feel nauseous on a plane! * figure out how many days the stay will be, and how many clothes etc I need to bring. probably a basic thing, but this is my first time going on a holiday alone so i need to write stuff down to make sure i remember! * figure out how long exactly I want to spend with each friend, and how long I can afford in hotel fees. And does a plane ticket cos more if you're staying for longer? * find out what kind of luggages are easiest to carry and how to carry three luggages when i have two hands. Can you tie them together and make a luggages train??? * Find some sort of secure way to carry large amounts of money. I'm gonna have to do that since I need to get all my currency converted before I go. I was thinking maybe a little matchbox tin chained to the inside of my coat or around my neck? Something where you couldnt get it without roughhousing with me, and it'd still be hard to pull it off the chain. Gives me a precious few extra minutes to yell for help/possibly bludgeon a guy with a suitcase * Figure out hotel(s) in different areas of america, depending on how far I'll have to travel. And figure out affordable ways to travel the difference if its not a situation where the friend can pick me up. And make sure they are cool hotels, not just the absolute minimum! i wanna make a fun tourist experience of the hotels!! I havent been in a hotel since I was a kid! * Possibly schedule it like a 'safehouse' thing? Returning to home base! I need to make sure I schedule around the potential anxiety of doing so much travel in a new place. So maybe schedule it out so I have a period of me-time in between visiting each friend? Itd probably cost too much to rent a hotel room for an entire day in between so maybe just schedule it out so I have half a day at least. I dunno if hotels allow you to sleep in all day tho, are there rules about what time you need to be up and out? * I'm kinda looking forward to using hotel beds and showers cos theyre like luxury compared to my house XD man, I wonder if I could get a place with a hot tub?? or the fabled mini-bar?? (which i would drink nothing of, but it would be fun to take photos!) And it'd be so cool to see what american breakfasts are like! And lol all my friends have just been like 'YOU NEED TO SEE OUR LOCAL RESTAURANTS' and im like... dude, i dont need to get fatter XD lets limit it to ONE! * I dunno if my friends would just wanna hang out in their local mall or something, or if I could visit their house and say hi to their family? that might be going too far. i'll still bring gifts they can give to their family tho, i wanna show my appreciation to everyone!! * are you allowed to bring extra empty suitcases onto the plane with you? I'm anticipating that knowing myself im probably gonna buy enough souveniers to need one. I'm planning to basically have half the money be for travel and then half again is just for buying NOVELTY HATS! * need to make sure to finally get a passport, and also consult heavily with my support worker and friends to make sure i have every form of travel documentation in order. I know stuff is... not good, in america right now. Thats probably why it'd be good that it'd take me years to save up for a visit, hopefully i'd be there after the next election. But I need to prepare anyway, in case border control is even more stringent. * Prepare the 'ol misgendering, because getting strip searched and treated as a suspicious threat is a very big reality for trans people. Having the wrong gender marker on your birth certificate is treated as 'this passport must be a forgery' rather than.. yknow.. transgender people exist. And then you need to be invasively handled by the guards to make sure you aren't packing explosives down your goddamn pants, they have to inspect the parts of you that you're most self concious about. *shudder* I've heard a lot of horror stories. I dunno if america is any better about it. But yeah I'm probably gonna have to just pass as female during boarding and hotels and stuff, and not wear my binder til i get to meet my friends. Saves trouble... Man, I might have to even go buy some more cliche feminine outfits or something, to make sure. Itd be fun burning them afterwards, I guess... * BRING GIFTS FOR FRIENDS N FAMILY! Figure out what is and isnt allowed to be transferred between countries. As far as I know I cant bring any form of food or drink right? I'm only allowed to eat the in-flight meals? Thats a shame cos I wanted to bring welsh cakes, theyre the only one of our local delicacies that's not a super acquired taste. (I tried bara bryth for the first time and DIED) And I dunno if anyone would be interested in silly souveniers of my country but I could get a pile of em if you are! Want an eight foot tall lovespoon? Want a giant inflatable daffodil? Want a bazillion ceramic dragons? * I am determined to bring at least one personalized super awesome gift for each person! It might just be an expensive merchandise of their fave show, it might be some form of handmade handicraft of one of their ocs! whatever I'm able to do! ^_^ * BRING SKETCHBOOKS SO WE CAN DRAW TOGETHER. LEARN THE WAYS OF THE AMERICAN MASTERS. * hey does anyone wanna trade trading cards yo. They'd be like the single easiest thing to bring with me, but I only have a handful of pokemon ones and i only really have one friend that I know likes yugioh. (And she's in england) * WE CAN FOOL AROUND LIKE DOOFS. God willing, if anyone wants to join me I will play water balloon tennis or jalapeno roulette or any sort of insane friend activity you can think of!! Gotta make up for the fact im a boring teetotaler. Tho lol I probably already act more drunk than the real drunks at a party XD * TAKE A LOT OF PHOTOS!! And possibly try and acquire a portable video camera? I'd only photo/video anyone if they gave me permission, and I wouldnt post it online unless I also had permission for that. I just wanna make a lot of memories and record them forever! Whenever I feel down, I can remember this amazing trip!!! * remember to get one of those plug adaptor thingies cos american plugs have one less prong. Gotta trade the pokeymons!! I know I can already do that easily online but BATTLING IN PERSON WOULD BE EPIC * ...bring an Ash cosplay? XD * no but seriously if i could schedule this right to coincide with an american convention or something that'd be awesome! EVEN MORE SOUVENIERS! And I could actually try cosplaying!! I'd have to find a character that suits me tho, I dont wanna get laughed at like everyone always does with fat people cosplaying thin characters. (Like... almost every character is thin, yo. let people do what they want) * possible idea: magma admin tabitha from pokemon? he's like the only fave I have who's chubby but not like... inherantly a comic relief ugly guy or a seventy year old grandpa. I wanted to do quina quen from final fantasy 9 but I dont think I have the charisma to pull it off. I'd get paranoid if people just treated the character how they treat the character, my brain would twist everything into an insult on my costume or myself XD also I kinda already look like tabitha, tho I'd either have to go without hairdye or like... wear a wig in my natural hair colour. Also his costume is super heavy and sweaty in a convention setting, according to what I;ve heard from other team magma cosplayers. (Makes you wonder how on earth they all wore it on a volcano!) * WHAT IS AN AMERICAN BISCUIT. They look like savoury welshcakes??? Learn about all the language differences! Man I wish I could bring food souveniers back with me, I'd never be able to try every single different foodstuff in america in one day without DYING. AND DYING AGAIN. * Collect product wrappers and advertisements! Its always really interesting to me to see the differences between countries! A friend mailed me an american cola once and the bottle was a whole different shape??? (he also mailed me a bunch of spent shotgun shells, which was kinda terrifying cos I was currently in a christian homeless shelter and I didnt exactly wanna cause trouble XD Apparantly it is totally legal to own unuseable bullets tho, as long as you dont have a gun.) * I dunno if any of my friends would be equally interested in similar things? i could take requests for weird british stuff to bring with me! * for summon-daze specifically: since we are both cuddly honest goofballs of childlike joy, maybe bring some of my plushie collection to show her? I'd usually just bring one as an emergency anti-anxiety measure. Tho the embarassment from having a full on meltdown in public and having to be seen hugging a plush toy to keep from crying means its not 100% effective. Only works good when I'm with people who arent judgmental. Secret pocket gengar plush is good for other times! (I've been squeezing that thing during doctors appointments and nobody noticed!) * extra reason why I'd love to visit my friends: visiting my friends's pets. I have been absolutely blessed by images of dazy's pet cat Pam, and apparantly her family has a few other cats and a dog! O_O WHAT AN AMAZING LIFE YOU LIVE. I always tell her to give pam a hug from me, and I know pam probably wouldnt like me very much when we first meet cos she's shy, but still I'd love to at least see her. I wish cats could somehow know that they give joy to people through the internet! * ...are you allowed to bring medications across the border? is there a procedure I need to go through to be allowed to bring my antidepressants? Would painkillers be allowed too? If not, is there anywhere I could buy plane-bring-onnable headache meds in the lobby or something? Just anticipating that I might get a stress migraine on the plane, cos it'd be my first time ever flying. * are you allowed to take photos out the plane window, if you use a non electronic camera? i know you cant really see anything but panning landscapes but it still sounds awesome!

#long post #sorry #FRIENDS COUNTRYMEN LEND ME YOUR EARS #i still have no idea wtf that means #the amazing america plan

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sending-the-message · 7 years ago

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Wolves, Dogs, and Dead Coyotes by Ilunibi

It took a while to bounce back after the incident with Joseph Shepherd, whether I knew what a Pentacle of Solomon was or not. Even Dead Coyote, as unflappable as he was, seemed a bit more alert and sober. The old ritual of meeting him at the playground was quickly replaced by me getting off the bus one stop sooner so I could go straight to his apartment since I didn’t feel safe going outside and was even more shaken by the idea of being at home by myself. I knew Joseph and his friend were sitting in jail waiting to be added to a list, but I kept thinking of all the cruel, evil things he used to do, and all of the vicious people he was on good terms with. Those thoughts would get stuck in my head and make the inside of my chest ball up like yarn.

I told my mom that I was taking after-school classes for fun. I don’t know how much she believed me because it was a matter of days before neighbors--pissed off because Dead Coyote invited the police into the neighborhood--were knocking on our door to tell her how unusual it was that her little ginger child was spending so much time with a towering Hispanic man who perpetually smelled like Drano and smoke. What I do know is that she eventually stopped telling me to stay away from him, either because she was too exhausted to care or because he was cheaper than hiring a babysitter. I really don’t know.

What matters is that, after the school bell rang, I was always at his apartment. I’d knock on the door, listen as he unlatched the locks, and he’d usher me inside where I’d stay until I heard mom’s car rattling down the road. Dinner would be whatever we could pick up from the corner store (I ate a lot of frozen burritos and Skittles in elementary school), and most of our time would be preoccupied by waiting for his regulars to leave. I learned a lot about hepatitis and cutting product and the horrors of fentanyl, but when his clientele could finally be herded out the front door, we’d sit down around his broken coffee table with a stack of metaphysical books and he’d teach me the good stuff.

“Magic,” he told me, poking me on the nose. “M-A-G-I-C. None of the ‘spell it with a K’ bullshit, ‘cause Princess? We ain’t walkin’ the right-hand path.”

The left-hand path, he said, was more useful in our situation. We were underdogs, we were poor, we were in situations where we had to take happiness where we could get it and were suffering from disadvantages right out of the gate. The left-hand path didn’t mean we were evil, it wasn’t bad, but the left-hand path was a lot more opportunistic and powerful and it would keep me safe from those who’d wish me harm. The path could take a dark turn if I let it, but so long as I did no harm to those undeserving, it was really no different than any other school of thought.

But, it was very, very important that I learned everything I possibly could before I even so much as thought about drawing one sigil. I had to perfect every sacrament, every ritual, every incantation to make sure that I would be doing it safely. Hell, I had to read the source material from before the most famous grimoires were ever written. It’s odd to think that I could recite the Testament of Solomon before I was ever taught how to figure out the value of “x” in any given equation, but I wound up flunking algebra around the same time I was trying to discern why Asmodeus is allergic to fish.

I did nothing but study for four years. Four years of being taught the right way to sacrifice birds so that it was humane, four years of arguing with Dead Coyote that a pinprick of blood didn’t seem like enough to appease dark spirits, four years of learning new uses for chicken bones, and four years of laughing every time he explained Belphegor to me. Because that’s what happens when you tell a child that shit demons are real.

On my thirteenth birthday, Dead Coyote finally decided that I had learned enough. I was technically a teenager, one step closer to being a woman, and had been through enough of his lessons that I could have earned a college degree in occultism. Or he could have just been bored and high and wanted to do something new. Whatever his motivation on that bright April afternoon, Dead Coyote answered his door with a joint hanging out of his mouth, a huge grin on his face, and every single light in his house flicked off.

Any kid with an ounce of sense would have been more than a little creeped out to be greeted by a messy-haired stoner standing in front of a dark apartment that was illuminated only by the light of dozens upon dozens of black candles, but I shrieked like I had been given tickets to see my favorite boyband. I threw myself at Dead Coyote with so much force that he nearly fell, not even giving him a chance to tell me what he had planned. He didn’t have to, because I knew. I fucking knew.

We were going to contact something.

“Marchosias,” he told me, holding a dripping, licorice-scented Dollar Tree candle over one of his books. “This is the familiar I work best with. Easy, too. Fucker could be in a Life Alert commercial.”

“Why?” I asked.

“‘Cause, he’s fallen and he can’t get up.”

Now, Dead Coyote didn’t like to play around with demons and spirits who were known to be dangerous or cause too much trouble because, in his opinion, he was already playing with fire in terms of his occupation and addictions. He stuck to safer spirits like Buer and Orobas; supernatural familiars who had centuries upon centuries of records showing they were capable, trustworthy, and generally mortal-friendly. And, in terms of mortal-friendly, you really can’t get much more friendly than Marchosias.

Marchosias is a fallen angel from the Dominion order. Marchosias is also very adamant that if he’s a good boy, his fire-breathing butt will be let back into Heaven. He’s essentially harmless. He’s a flying, fire-breathing wolf with big dreams and more optimism than most people, and Dead Coyote figured he’d be a good first summon to take my spellcasting virginity.

After lighting a few more packs of candles so we could see halfway decently, we dragged all of his living room furniture into the kitchen. Every floor in his house was lined with linoleum tile because the housing authority didn’t trust poor people with carpet, so chalk for the sigils was replaced with a suitably red dry-erase marker that ran out of ink after the first few circles of our Sigillum Dei. We finished with a much less sinister green. We kicked off our shoes, we surrounded our sigil in candles, he drew Marchosias’ crest on my palm with a pen, and finished off his second joint with a deep inhale.

Now, the ritual he had in mind is kind of like meditation, but it’s basically clearing your mind, sitting in silence, and focusing all of your thoughts on this one thing you’re trying to conjure. The sigils are pathways, the candles are a wall keep unwanted energy out, and with enough practice you can pretty much summon all sorts of weirdness on your own. Being a novice, though, the plan was that Dead Coyote would be in the circle with me to do most of the work while I was instructed to just close my eyes and envision what I thought Marchosias would look like.

I climbed in the circle, and he followed suit. We made sure again and again and again that we didn’t knock over any candles, then sat on the floor, backs pressed together and spines as straight as we could manage. We interlaced our fingers, his palms strangely cold despite all the candles he’d been lighting, and he bellowed something in Latin that I couldn’t understand despite all the Latin lessons he gave me.

“Close your eyes. Head down. Don’t open your eyes, princess. Just think ‘wolf.’”

“Why can’t I open them?” I asked.

“Well, you can, but you won’t like what you see.”

“Why not?”

“Just keep ‘em closed, a’ight? Now, eyes closed. Take all that desire you got, how much you wanna succeed, and just focus it on his crest. Think ‘wolf.’ Think ‘wolf’ real loud.”

So, I tried. I thought of the illustration in his books, the same one used over and over of a weird, borzoi-looking thing with eagle wings and swollen teats, which confused me because wasn’t Marchosias a boy? I struggled to keep my thoughts focused as they fought to drift away into the realm of figuring out gender identity for spirits and demons, and eventually I found myself only able to keep my brain on track if I just chanted “winged dog” inside my head like a skipping record.

Winged dog. Winged dog. Winged dog. Winged dog.

The air became bitterly cold, gradual at first though it was soon like even my body heat had been sucked clean out of me. I kept mentally chanting my summoning mantra, fingers twitching and eyes clenched closed. I heard something groan, like old plumbing, from somewhere in the apartment and my heart jumped into my throat. I fought not to show that I was scared because Dead Coyote hadn’t even flinched and, more than anything, I wanted to make him proud.

Winged dog. Winged dog. Winged dog. Winged dog.

Now, you know that feeling? The one where you can tell there is somebody close by, even if you can’t see them? It’s like a faint pressure bearing down on you, like their very spirit is trying to urge you to give it some more room. Your hackles stand on end, sometimes you get goosebumps, and that’s just if your boss has snuck up behind you while you’re playing Solitaire on your work computer. Imagine, if you will, just how much more intense that feels when the thing sneaking up on you isn’t human.

You can actually taste them in the air. You can actually feel their personality in their presence, beating down on you. I had been told that Marchosias was intense but amiable, but what I felt was red hot like fire and sinister and hungry. There was a strange warm feeling that roiled in my stomach, which I only figured out when I was older was the melty-goodness of pure, unadulterated lust. Though I kept trying to think that maybe I had just underestimated the power a Marquis of Hell exuded and that Dead Coyote was used to this presence, between instance of the words “winged dog,” I couldn’t help but have my doubts. Something was wrong.

So, I opened my eyes.

And there was Dead Coyote.

I felt a scream crawling up my throat when I squeezed my hands and realized I was still holding his. I leaned further back and, yeah, I could definitely tell I was leaning against him. Clammy as his fingers were, the sweat on his back was seeping through my T-shirt and he reeked of pot. My jaw tightened as Not-Coyote’s mouth stretched into a toothy grin, though it was wrong, all wrong. It was like some mad scientist had taken the teeth of a dog and shoved them into a person’s mouth.

I swallowed again and again to try to keep down the terrified squawk fighting its way out of my chest, and I kept pressing further and further into Dead Coyote’s spine to try to ground myself enough to not run and break the sigil. The more I stared at Not-Coyote, the more I began to realize that there was something writhing beneath its skin, like eels, and the eyes were growing blacker and blacker as its pupils started to expand. When it opened its mouth, nothing came out but this strange, roaring “boom” that whipped past me like a gale of wind.

That was when I squeaked. I squeaked and I squirmed and I felt Dead Coyote squeeze my hands back as Not-Coyote crept closer and closer, sinister and curious, pulsing and grinning. I clenched my eyes closed and dropped my head and hoped that if I pretended that I had never been stupid enough to open my eyes, it would go away. But it didn’t. No, I felt a warm hand against my cheek, rough and sandpapery like the paw pad of a dog.

Then, I felt myself fall backwards. I hit the ground so hard that the wind exploded out of me in a loud “WOOF”, and when I looked up, it was only to see Dead Coyote towering above me. Screaming.

In Spanish. So I have no idea what he was saying.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, plastic squirt bottle. It looked like one of the ones you use for condiments in lunch boxes, but it was filled with a clear liquid that made Not-Coyote howl when the top was popped. After a few more Spanish curses, some of which I understood, he splashed his doppelganger dead in the eyes and devolved into a mixture of Spanglish and Latin that was obviously the product of both nerves and inebriation; words he couldn’t bother to remember in one language, he just spat out in the other.

Not-Coyote howled, the walls shook, knick-knacks fell from shelves and posters crashed down from walls, their cheap frames splintered. It hissed and sputtered, its face stretching into something vaguely canine as it threw back its head in a furious, defeated cry, then, in the matter of a few seconds, melted into a puddle of shadow and shot down into the sigil and vanished in a plume of sour smoke.

After a moment of tense silence, Dead Coyote looked down at me flat on my back on the ground and asked, “The fuck were you thinkin’ about, princess?”

“Winged dog,” I answered breathlessly.

“Yeah, no. Marchosias is a wolf. Not a dog.”

“Isn’t it the same?”

It turns out it's not. You see, ceremonial magic is tricky and you need to be very, very specific. Mixing up a winged wolf and a winged dog might seem like much to you and me--I know it didn’t seem that big of a deal to me at the time--but with sorcery and summoning, it’s a very huge deal. The difference between “dog” and “wolf” can be pretty catastrophic because Marchosias, the benign demon with a heart of gold, is a wolf.

Glasyalabolas, the patron demon of mood swings and murder, is a dog.

And I had just invited him in like it was no big deal.

“S’fine,” Dead Coyote told me. “No worries. That was, uh, actually kinda impressive, bringin’ the big guns in with the wrong crest on you.”

“Does that mean I’m good at this?”

“Means you could be.”

He nudged me with his foot and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. His hands were twitching from adrenaline and cravings, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sticking to his face from sweat. He damn near finished his Marlboro before he said another word, though he never stopped fidgeting. When he started scratching, I knew he was wanting something a bit stronger to bring him down from the rush of exorcising a murder-dog.

“C’mon, princess, get up. We get these candles up, we go to the 7-11, we get a frozen pizza…”

He considered, then coughed.

“Two frozen pizzas, and then I’m teachin’ you how to make holy water. You’re gonna need it."

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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