#I’ve been pressuring myself to post so much only to be met with dismissiveness when I do

[kimtaegis]

I’m feeling quite sad about how much the active bts fandom on tumblr has shrunk and/ or how selective the community has become regarding content interaction. I’ve heard people pointing out a clique-building here lately, and while I’m well aware of closer mutual circles existing – and I can only speak on behalf of my friend group here – these pretty much develop naturally when there’s just no one else who reacts, reblogs from and talks to you anymore except for these handful of people. I don’t like that some people perceive these “cliques” as “exclusive”, for example to content creators only. that’s bullshit; it’s certainly not great to have only other cc’s support your work because they personally know how much time and effort it takes. also, knowing how lovely most of these people are, you’d get immediately followed back and showered with love too as soon as you’d even show a speckle of kindness on a regular basis, regardless of whether you make gifs yourself or not. ccs dedicating sets to each other isn’t a sign of exclusivity, but rather us holding onto and appreciating people who still give us at least some motivation to create and post in the first place anymore, because there’s quite literally no one else left by now.

[trimitive]

So… I’m not going to call you a bigot, but I am going to, as politely as possible, remind you that the experience of trans individuals, pre or post, are not a universal experience.

I can and will agree with you that transitioning is not a cure for depression. If you are a young person who’s chronically depressed, this isn’t a fix-all, and take into consideration that depression might trick you into thinking this is what to do. Take time to experiment with your gender expression— celebrate your body as it is, if you can, and make EDUCATED choices. Resources are becoming more and more available.

I’d like to share my counter-story. I had severe dysphoria. The first time I technically came out to my mother was when I was 5, 2 days after kindergarten started. I was understandably dismissed as an imaginative child.

When I started puberty, I was in Hell. Life had been hard, but the best way I can describe it is walking around in a mascot outfit, and being known as that mascot, not me. Having to play the role of someone you inherently weren’t, not fitting in with boys or girls. Having to try too hard to be “enough” of a girl. I had more imposter syndrome as a CIS women than a trans man. I couldn’t look in mirrors, couldn’t see pictures of myself. I hated myself so much, I’d cry every day. I went to therapy after my first suicide attempt, but it didn’t address the root of my problem, which was bodily dysphoria.

Then I cut my hair off.

I didn’t have a big light bill by moment.

I didn’t have this grand epiphany.

I just saw myself in the mirror and had a moment like “oh, there you are.” I tried on some clothes for men… started staying that way.

This was back in the old days. Transgenderism wasn’t a common word or lingo. In fact, it was insulting. It was only after doing a ton of research that I understood what it was, and that there were people like me out there.

I was then told by a therapist I’d be just as unhappy as a boy as I am a girl. So I went back in the closet for another 10 years.

10 adult years of trying to be female enough, trying to see myself again, trying so hard to be something I just wasn’t. In the meantime, I managed to get myself 2 bachelor degrees, one in which was Human Gender & Sexuality studies. I did this because I needed to know I wasn’t broken. That the suffering I endured due to something so small wasn’t for nothing. I needed to understand it culturally, biologically, psychologically, and more, just to be able to say to other people without a shadow of a doubt that I’m a man. I did 3 award winning thesis papers on it, taught classes, and even gave lectures at Cambridge.

Our trans experiences were very different. I am so sorry you went through this, and that it was something you felt was pressured on you. I’m sorry that you thought that this was a cure for unhappiness. I am so happy that you have found the happiness of motherhood, the love your dreams, and your child is blessedly healthy. I’m happy you are healing from a mistake you made, and you felt was necessary for your own growth.

I agree that people who are considering it need to understand that the changes your body will have are more or less permanent. So you really need to know for sure before you start. That’s the part I’m concerned with.

I have been happily transitioned for 3 years after coming out over a decade ago. I’ve met the woman of my dreams, and we are getting married very soon. I can take pictures now without grieving, my confidence has improved, and I’m finally seeing myself. What’s more, I haven’t considered committing suicide or have locked myself inside due to my body. I have hair where I want to see hair, a voice that matches my internal voice, facial hair, and even inherited my father’s male patterned baldness. I would never ever go back.

The original post is an amazing cautionary tale about transitioning before you know it’s what you need.

But as a trans man who has found himself, I’m never going to tell other closeted people not to consider the option. But I want you to do it safely. I want you to do the research; understand the changes you’ll have, that they’re irreversible, consider your desire to change to be the product of anxiety, depression, or rejection. Change in other ways first— exercise more, eat better, check for behavioral issues or trauma issues, and really rule out anything that can cause you to make a decision you might one day regret.

OP, I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished, and I wish you all the happiness in the world on your own journey.

hey everyone. Hope you’re doing well, though I question that if you’re still active on tumblr.

just wanted to log back in to say that I am detransitioned, married, and 38 weeks pregnant. I am very grateful for my fertility and the healthy pregnancy I have had. Due to my elective double mastectomy in 2018, I will never be able to experience breastfeeding. Yes I was warned about this, but I was so deeply deluded about my gender that it didn’t matter to me. Life was about fulfilling my fantasy, not about my future family, which I knew, deep down, I would need to face at some point.

i decided to stop taking synthetic testosterone in May of 2020, met the love of my life, married him in December 2021 and found out that despite my efforts to run away from my femaleness, my body graciously allowed me to conceive a child 10 days later. Even more graciously, it allowed me to have an easy pregnancy and a thriving baby.

All I will say is this is way better. Way better than what I was doing, or whatever the fuck I was planning on doing with my life.

one more thing, and i risk offending people with this, if you are thinking about transitioning, don’t. You don’t need to. Don’t even do step one. Don’t change your pronouns or your name. But above all, do not try to change your body. You will not succeed. Maybe I’m too late in warning whoever is reading this. But on the odd chance that I’m not, and you’re a young and insecure person trying to figure out what to do in order to not be miserable, transition isn’t it. Please try to resist the urge to call me a bigot or scoff or dismiss my mistakes as meaningless. Yes, they are my mistakes, but I wouldn’t have made them if it wasn’t for this website and the hours I spend on it. I believe that 100%. Wait. Just wait. I see you and I know you’re in pain. Perhaps an amount that you never thought would come with simply existing. There is a light at the end of this dark tunnel.

Don’t transition. Turn around NOW while you still can.

[ashasmonsters]

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make,  erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity.  You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

[infjsnightmare]

This will be chapter one of the Fyodor×female!SO amnesia fic that I am working on. I haven't posted a fanfic in who knows how long so the quality is probably on the poor side. Any feedback is appreciated! I'm hoping to continue this, but it will probably be on the back burner of my schedule. I also am not used to tumblrs platform, so any advice for formatting would be greatly encouraged. I'm not adding character tags to this since I don't want it to clog up the fandom, but if you end up liking it and would like me to tag you in future updates, don't hesitate to ask. Anyways, I think that's about all in the way of introductions!

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She glanced over at the dark-haired man as he worked, yet again, into the early hours of the morning. The pale blue of his various monitors was the only thing to illuminate his snow-white skin. His tired eyes barely blinking as they scanned the database in front of him while his long slender fingers danced along the keyboard. She sighed knowing that arguing his work schedule would prove futile. In all the years she'd known the man, he would never put himself before his cause, even for a few hours of needed rest. Still, she wouldn't sit well with herself without at least a half-hearted attempt.

"Fedya", the shorter woman lightly placed a scarred hand on the back of his swiveling desk chair, "you'll never create a promised land without proper sleep." Her tone was sharp and came out as an order as opposed to a suggestion. The woman winced upon realizing her terse composition, a remnant of her time as a child soldier. "Hmm?" The man hummed his response, inflection rising as a question. He was being gracious with her, giving her a chance to correct herself. There was no doubt he had heard what she said, but this was a mercy he spared for only her. "I mean to say, that your promised land will wait for you, but I worry that your health may not," She turned his chair to face her, pleading eyes betraying her stoic expression. "Please come to bed." Her eyes were always a point of weakness for the Russian. Her straight posture, tight jaw and tense shoulders could never take away from the pure wealth of emotion her eyes gave away. "This is important work," Fyodor began as he already saw those precious eyes relax in resignation. So, she was fully prepared for him to reject her offer. Noticing the puff of air she let slip, he decided that perhaps he had been too persistent in his goals the past few days. He tilted his head thoughtfully, stray black hairs like a silk spider's web swaying over his crimson orbs. "But, since Decay of Angels will be moving into its next phase soon, it couldn't hurt to prepare myself and rest." He punctuated his decision with a soft smile, grabbing her hand from the chair to lead her to bed. Eyes widened the faintest amount, the only hint of shock she portrayed. "Thank you, sir." She nodded while examining his pale elegant hand in her much rougher calloused digits.

Everything about him spoke of grace. An angel among men, with the unfortunate disposition of a demon. But that's what she admired in him. When they met all those years ago, her rifle placed directly at his temple. Even then, she couldn't fathom the young man in front of her leading such a dangerous life. But, when their eyes met, he had just chuckled lightly, grabbing the barrel. "Would you like to see this world burn?" All it took was one question from his lips and she knew she would follow him to the depths of hell. Being a soldier, recruited for her ability that never let her miss a mark, forced to kill from such a young age, the world to her was a pile of rubble, but this man, this god, would show her paradise. When she stared back into his eyes, she knew it was the truth. That was the day she left the Russian Special Ops. That was the day she massacred the rest of her division and escaped. That was the day she vowed her body and mind to Fyodor. At the time, she believed she no longer had a heart and so it was not something she could offer, but now, looking up at his tired profile, feeling that tightness in her chest, realized that he already possessed it.

She followed him wordlessly through the corridors until they came to their shared bedroom. Her hands moved to his shoulders, lightly massaging his exhausted body, while removing his jacket. "What is it that's on your mind, Milaya?" The deep voice disrupting her thoughts. "I was just thinking of all we've been through. I truly would do anything for you, Fedya." She stared straight into his eyes, and any lesser man would've cowered under her gaze. Instead, he let out an airy chuckle "You say such sweet things as though you are about to kill a man." An amused smile played at his lips while tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "If all goes according to plan, there shouldn't be much for you to do in any case." Fyodor dismissed the though with a wave of his hand as he dropped to the bed, all his muscles giving in to the plush bed and warm blankets. "If all goes according to plan, you'll be tucked away in a cell in Europe." She smirked playfully pushing him until his head hit the pillow. Her smile faltered briefly at the thought of how far away he would be. Sure, he'd been gone on missions before, but she always knew when to expect him back. This time was different. This time relied on the other members of the organization to play their part.

"And if I'm captured? I've heard that there are abilities that could extract information about you from me. Similar to Sigma." Her brows furrowed as she continued "I've been thinking a lot and I believe that if I am to be found, I will need to forget you.... to protect you." She finished and looked up at him, seeing the faintest trace of worry etched in his face. "Don't be ridiculous. It will never come to that." His voice was even, though his agitation was apparent to her trained eye. "Now isn't the time to discuss such matters." She nodded in agreement. "You're right, you need to rest. We'll talk about this in the morning." She wrapped herself around him, laying her head on the space between his shoulder and chest. He rolled his eyes at the prospect of continuing this discussion at any point in time but planted a chaste kiss to her temple regardless, as they both drifted off to sleep.

The warm smell of steeping Lady Grey roused the young woman from her slumber as she blearily rubbed at her eyes. Sleeping next to Fyodor was the only way for her body to relax as she rested. She knew that she was safe. Her training had taught her to always be on alert and for a long time she could have awaken at the drop of a pin. But, whenever she slept with him next to her, she would wake to find him already dressed for the day, tea on the bedside table and she would not have the faintest inkling of how long she must have slept through his routine. "Good morning." Fyodor's voice sounded like honey to her as he traced a gloved finger underneath her jaw. She lazily scanned the room before her eyes settled on his form sitting next to her bedside. "Good morning, Fedya. How long have you been sitting there?" Pressing her cheek lightly against his hand before straightening her posture, slowly reverting to her tense state of being. The raven haired man smiled watching the remnants of his dazed princess slip away into the strict stance of his loyal soldier. "Not long." He gave a quick reply, his façade nearly perfectly covering the truth. He'd been watching her for about 32 minutes at this point, memorizing her rhythmic breathing and the delicate parting of her lips. He wracked his brain for every possible scenario of how last night's conversation would play out this morning and every route led him to the same conclusion: he wasn't going to change her mind. She was his soldier after all and she was loyal to a fault. If she believed her own mind could put him in danger, then she would destroy it. If she believed her love for him would put him in danger, then she would let go of her own heart.

"Milaya, I-" "You've already deciphered how this conversation ends, haven't you?" She cut him off before he could even start. The way his eyebrows slightly contorted on his soft features relayed his worry. He must have been recalling last night and she knew if she gave him too much room to talk, there was a chance his silver tongue could change her mind. "I have." Lowered voice, clipped. He was unhappy with her decision, but he wasn't going to waste time arguing around a pre-determined outcome. Maybe he could change her mind, but not without manipulating some aspect of their conversation, not without toying with her emotions and using her like a pawn. He frowned bitterly at the thought. She was a queen in his chest set and he could never allow her to be set like a pawn. A queen was always there to defend the king, roaming the board freely, but always returning back by his side. Against the odds, he would have to trust that she would do just that. That if she were to throw away their past, throw away her memories, that she would still find him again and return to his side.

A squeezing pressure against his hand brought him back out of his own head as she gripped his hand with hers. “I promise you, I will return to you. We will stand together in the new world. Just promise me, no matter how long it may take, that you will wait for me?” The sincerity held in her eyes shown brightly before him. Not just sincerity, but something else. Love. The most basic and most complicated on the spectrum of human emotions. It had the ability to make weak men strong. To make strong men crumble. To make a feeble man think. And to make even the most genius of men fall into stupidity. And here he was, staring into the eyes of the only being he gave merit to, stupidly agreeing to let her follow through with her plan. He stared into her eyes with such intensity she was sure that her soul was bared naked before him as he made his promise. “ya obeshchayu tebe, moya lyubov.” The air in the room hung heavy, and it almost seemed as if time had stopped as the pair gazed, entranced by one another. She felt her jaw clench and tighten with an emotion she wasn’t sure how to name, lost somewhere between heartache and contentment. “Thank you, Fedya.” Standing abruptly, she wrapped her strong arms around his slender frame, face pressed firmly into his chest. A rare display of raw emotion from the woman, fighting her natural composure. It was only in these moments, just the two of them, that she could be this weak. It was only times when they were alone, that he could allow himself to be this warm. And, as much as the lovers could wish that time had actually stopped, it would continue on regardless. “Of course, that is only in the event that I even be captured.” She straightened, fixing herself with a quiet confidence. “I never miss a target. I would never be taken easily.” Her expression remained void of any defining emotion, but her eyes held the credence and self-assurance that a soldier of her caliber is sure to possess. “Good.” The simply reply held the acknowledge of her skill and all the weight of an order. The implication that she would raise hell and only enact this contingency plan as a last resort was not lost on her. Cool lips brushed delicately over hers in a chaste kiss, faint and fleeting as though it were a ghost. Her lips were warm like fire against his as she chased the kiss adding the slightest pressure. The pair exchanged one last fervent glance before regaining their aloof composure and exiting to continue their work.

[san-shui]

HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED! @djts-arts

i'm sorry this took a while but here's ur gift! it's based off on the MLB AU but doesn't follow ur plot. basically - let parrmour be happy lol! anyway i love you and hope you enjoy it!

i also posted it on ao3

On Monday

On Monday, I met you

It was the first day of school and the first akuma attack when Jane Seymour, a.k.a. Chat Noire, met Ladyblue.

How they met was by accident when Ladyblue flew into Chat Noire, who was walking along her baton like a tightrope, learning her new abilities. Their time to get acquainted was cut due to having to fight an akumatized classmate, Stoneheart.

But the moment Chat Noire met her partner in crime, she was entranced.

I liked you, I liked you

The girl had bronze skin and short, dark curly hair that parted on her left side with blue highlights hanging over her deep brown eyes.

Her skintight was black with light blue on the front in the style of an opened short sleeve jacket that stopped at the waist and on the legs from the knees down her to her feet, and within the light blue were black spots while white pearls lined along her wrists and waist into a “V” on the front. Her mask was opposite of the suit (light blue with black spots), and on her head was a black headband with silver spikes.

Even though she was in her superhero outfit, Ladyblue was gorgeous. Appearance was one thing, but her personality was another, and it's just as beautiful as her. Her bravery, her cleverness, her strength, her positivity, and her confidence.

It’s Monday – bad day

After defeating Stoneheart for the second and official time, the superheroes checked to make sure that the citizens were alive and well. To their surprise and glee, the akumatized classmate ended up dating their crush.

But good day for us

“They’re made for each other,” Ladyblue awed.

“Like us two,” Chat Noire flirted, offering her new partner a hand.

Good for us

Right then, Chat Noire’s ring beeped as the fourth paw flashes green – signaling one minute left before transforming back into civilian form. At that, Ladyblue grabbed her wrist and pulled it forward, showing the ring.

“Uh-oh, you see that?” Ladyblue asked lightly.

Chat Noire glanced at it then at her, and noticed how close their faces were to each other.

Even though they just met today, Chat Noire briefly wondered how those lips felt against her. It must’ve been subconscious because the next thing Chat Noire knew was her eyes drifted close then getting shoved back.

You wouldn’t let me kiss you

“Time to split,” Ladyblue said, releasing her hand.

Too stunned to move or speak, Chat Noire merely stood and watched as Ladyblue walked away.

“See you soon, Chat Noire,” Ladyblue said with a wave, then swung her yoyo out and launched herself into the air and behind some buildings.

Chat Noire smiled and dazely waved.

And that is why

She’s been in a relationship before and truly thought she was in love with him, but he turned out to be douche. She thought she learned to not fall in love so fast, but fighting alongside Ladyblue, Chat Noire was willing to do anything to get closer to her.

“Can’t wait, milady,” she whispered, then turned and vaulted away.

You were my kind of guy

~~~

Then Tuesday, I called you

Chat Noire was playing with her baton while lying lazily on a roof. After defeating another akumatized civilian, the superheroes agreed on doing patrol around London to further prevent harm and more akumas. Chat Noire wanted to talk to Ladyblue, but she left before Chat Noire could get a word in.

Chat Noire wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Wasn’t Ladyblue curious about her partner too? Or was she just too busy today? Chat Noire knew what it was like to be busy. Her civilian form, Jane Seymour, was a famous singer in England, she was bound to be crowded with meetings and rehearsals and classes.

Still, why did Ladyblue leave in a hurry?

Chat Noire supposed she could learn more about her baton’s gadgets. She had the rest of the day anyway. She was boredly pressing buttons when Contacts popped up on the screen. Seeing the only contact on her baton was Ladyblue’s, Chat Noire perked up.

She immediately pressed “call” under Ladyblue’s profile and waited eagerly. To her disappointment, the call went to voicemail. Chat Noire frowned, but it quickly vanished when an idea hit, and she pressed “call” again.

Several hours later, Chat Noire had left about 15 voicemails for Ladyblue of her rambling about her day. Unlike the others, the last voicemail was sincere as she asked if they could meet and talk. Assuming Ladyblue wouldn’t answer, Chat Noire set down her baton, sighed, and gazed at the starry night.

Ignored me, straight voicemail

A minute later, her baton vibrated with a beep, and Chat Noire glanced to see a notification from Ladyblue. She excitedly opened it to a message.

You texted back saying:

Ladyblue: play hard to get. ready. set . . .

You wouldn’t let me see you

Baffled, Chat Noire reread the text over and over. What was that supposed to mean? Was Ladyblue interested? Did she think she (Chat Noire) was messing around? She knew she was a jokester between the two, but she’s real when it comes to feelings.

Whatever it meant, it was clear that Ladyblue was not going to video call with her - at least for today.

Got so depressed by your test

Chat Noire sighed. That’s fine, she didn’t want to pressure her partner to the point of scaring her. Although she probably annoyed her with all of the voicemails. Chat Noire would gladly wait to see her lady, but that didn’t dismiss the depression that she felt at unanswered calls and the game Ladyblue set up.

Still I thought

Yet, a smile crept on her lips at the excitement of the game with Ladyblue, and she typed her response.

You’re the best

Chat Noire: u’re on >:P

‘Cause I’ve been so juvenile

That to take my time is just not my style

~~~

Come Wednesday, black coffee

After purifying the akuma, the victim offered them free coffee. Chat Noire happily agreed, while Ladyblue hesitated but agreed.

“You like black coffee?” Chat Noire asked her partner.

“Yeah, and you don’t?” she countered, raising a brow.

“Just because I look good in black doesn’t mean I like black coffee. I prefer flavor like myself,” Chat Noire teased proudly.

Ladyblue rolled her eyes, and Chat Noire laughed. Once they got their coffee and gave their thanks, the heroes left to drink in peace. They decided to sit on Big Ben, having a perfect view of their city.

Pure talking, clean touching

For hours, they talked and laughed. At some point, they discussed their double lives as being superheroes. While Jane was thrilled to have more freedom as Chat Noire, Ladyblue appeared anxious and concerned.

“I’m glad doing this to save London, but I can’t help but think I’m not the right one for this job,” Ladyblue confessed, staring down at the busy streets.

Chat Noire frowned and leaned back on her hands, gazing up at the sky.

“I get that. I doubt myself too sometimes. This may be bias but–”

Feeling bold, she placed a hand on Ladyblue’s. Startled, Ladyblue stared at their hands then at her with wide eyes.

“–I think you’re perfect for the job. Sure, we have flaws, but that’s what makes us human. I’ve never seen someone as smart, brave, and strong as you. I know we’ve only met and done this for three days, but it feels like a lifetime, and I can’t picture a better Ladyblue than you,” said Chat Noire sincerely.

Chat Noire wasn’t sure if it was the sun’s lighting, but she could’ve sworn she saw color on Ladyblue’s cheeks.

Oh, Wednesday, hump day

Ladyblue averted her eyes and stammered.

“I– um, thank you, Chat. I couldn’t have a better partner than you,” she said, facing Chat Noire again.

From the soft tone and her genuine eyes, Chat Noire knew she meant it and smiled. Then, to her astonishment, Ladyblue turned her hand over, grasped Chat Noire’s, and squeezed it gently. Chat Noire’s heart skipped a beat, and a silent gasp left her lips.

But we just held hands

“And I can’t picture a better Chat Noire,” Ladyblue whispered, giving her a small smile.

Chat Noire beamed and laughed.

“That’s a relief to know,” she teased.

Ladyblue giggled then gazed forward again.

You wouldn’t let me take you away for the day

As much as Chat Noire wanted to do more than hold hands, she was content with this for the day. Facing out, she too stared out at the city. About an hour later, Chat Noire decided to push her luck for the day.

“Are you up for hanging out more? Maybe go see a movie?” she asked.

Ladyblue chuckled and shook her head.

“Sorry, kitty, but I gotta stay. I have some things I need to finish,” she excused apologetically.

Chat Noire tried her best to hide her disappointment.

And I felt so juvenile

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good luck on your stuff,” she said.

Chat Noire then took Ladyblue’s hand, who was close to resisting until Chat Noire simply kissed her knuckles.

“Goodnight, milady,” she said, shooting her a wink.

Suppressing a smile, Ladyblue shook her head.

“Night, Chat Noire,” Ladyblue said.

Chat Noire smirked then jumped away. As she leaped from building to building, a part of her was feeling impatient with her and Ladyblue’s relationship (friends or more). She was clearly pushing it, but she didn’t know what else to do with these feelings – especially towards a girl.

The logical side of her informed Chat Noire that she’s taking this too fast, but the emotional, useless, romantic side of her wanted her to pursue this. Hell, she only knew her partner for three days, and Chat Noire was willing to do anything for her.

You gave an inch of time, and I took a mile

If Ladyblue wanted to just be friends, she would’ve said, right? Maybe she was interested in Chat Noire, but was too afraid to admit it or didn’t know it yet.

Arriving at her mansion, Chat Noire jumped through her bedroom window and landed quietly on her floor. She de-transformed into her normal clothes then walked over and face planted on her bed with a groan.

“You’re such a useless lesbian,” Plagg said bluntly, floating above her head.

“Shut up, Plagg,” Jane mumbled into her pillow, but Plagg ignored her.

“Psh, why love a complicated human when you have camembert!” Plagg said, throwing a piece of cheese up and into his mouth.

Jane flipped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

“She may be complicated, but she’s still amazing. I’m still not sure how we ended up getting these miraculous, but we’re meant to be. I can feel it,” she said thoughtfully.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Yuck. You being all gushie is making me sick. If you need me, I’ll be in the cabinet with my love,” he said, stroking a piece of cheese then disappearing into a desk under the TV.

Jane grinned and shook her head then stared out her window at the moon as thoughts of Ladyblue swarmed her head.

I was so juvenile

‘Cause to take it slow is just not my style

~~~

Then Thursday, like Tuesday

Fed up with her family, Jane used Chat Noire as an excuse to flee her house. She roamed around London for a bit, helping citizens here and there, then ended up relaxing on top of a building.

Similar to Tuesday, Chat Noire called Ladyblue and left voicemails about her day. She probably shouldn't bother her, but Chat Noire found comfort doing this. She’s not sure why, but being able to talk to someone other than Plagg was relieving.

But unlike Tuesday, Ladybug never responded. This baffled Chat Noire. Was it something she did yesterday? Everything seemed fine . . .

Your “day off” from me

A loud crash came from behind, and Chat Noire turned to see a large robot stomping through the streets. It was about to hit another building until a yoyo stopped it, restraining its arm back. Chat Noire followed the line to see Ladyblue tugging on it.

Maybe that’s why Ladyblue hasn't responded. Whatever the reason was, Chat Noire had to put the issue aside as she sprinted to help her partner.

~~~

But Friday busy

Twice, Chat Noire tried to bring up Wednesday’s night event, but Ladyblue kept dodging it, using an akumatization or needing to hide before transforming as reasons to avoid the topic.

And Saturday too

Another victim saved, and Ladyblue and Chat Noire’s partnership appeared alright, but Jane could see through the mask (figuratively and literally) that Ladyblue was evading more moments with her. Jane’s heart broke the less Ladyblue interacted with her when they’re not fighting alongside each other.

Not wanting to deal with this game anymore, Jane made certain Ladyblue would talk to her the next day.

What’s up with you?

~~~

On Sunday, after a well fought battle with an akuma, Chat Noire caught Ladyblue before she left.

You don’t wanna kiss me

“Ladyblue, wait!”

You don’t wanna see me

Ladyblue froze and stared at her with apprehension.

You don’t wanna take me

“You’ve been avoiding me and I want to know why. I get you don’t wanna kiss me, but why don’t you want to see me? Or even be with me?” Chat Noire asked desperately. “Look, if it’s something I said or did on Wednesday, then I’m sorry. I know it seemed like a game and it’s only been a week now, but I really really like you. But if you don’t feel the same, you can tell me. It’s okay.”

So let me go

Chat Noire lowered her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the heartbreaking words. Instead, a gentle hand rested on her shoulder, prompting her to look up into kind eyes.

But you said:

“There’s things I know . . . you are cute, but juvenile,” Ladyblue said, booping her on the nose.

Then she placed her hand on Chat Noire’s cheek, who happily leaned into the touch.

“Don’t you know the greatest love takes the greatest while? So if you’re willing, take my hand and take the trial for just a mile and then another mile. Be patient for that one day.”

Before Chat Noire could blink, Ladyblue kissed her on the other cheek. When she pulled back, both faces were blushing. Ladyblue chuckled and looked at the sunset.

“Look, kitty, it’s Sunday,” she said, then glanced back at her. “Come with me, and I’ll make it worth your while. Maybe it’s not far away or coming down the aisle, but . . . I do wanna kiss you and try this out if you’re okay with going steady,” Ladyblue asked shyly.

But I wanna kiss you now

Chat Noire beamed. “Can I kiss you now?” she asked eagerly.

Oh . . .

Ladyblue giggled and nodded.

And kiss you

Chat Noire grinned and cupped her cheeks then connected their lips.

And kiss you

Ladyblue tasted like sweetener, and Chat Noire couldn’t get enough.

And kiss you

They broke away for air, but they could barely get some as they laughed at one another.

And kiss you

They then rested their foreheads against each other as they calmed down – goofily smiling.

And kiss you

“Is it too soon that I just want to kiss you?” Ladyblue asked in a hushed tone.

And kiss you

Chat Noire giggled. “We can do it as much as you want, milady,” she whispered.

And kiss you

Ladyblue chuckled then closed her eyes and kissed her again, which Chat Noire gleefully returned.

Till Monday

[literary-corvid]

I have been trying to find the right words since the minute Ky posted and gave me the green light to add on to it, but I keep coming up empty. My friends are rubbing off on me, though, because I can hear @firefliesandfuckery’s voice saying “fuck it, we ball.” So here’s an attempt.

I am very firmly Not A Woman.

But sometimes this keeps me up at night: what if the only reason for that is that I don’t want to face the societal pressures of being a woman? What if I’m just taking the easy way out?

And yes, I know that’s TERF rhetoric, and I know it’s fucking stupid, but there’s that nagging little voice of self doubt that challenges my trans joy. And logically, I know that existing as a trans person isn’t easy. And I know that I don’t particularly pass, if there is such a thing for being genderqueer/non-binary. So I still get pushed into that little box labeled “female” in public.

But I’ve never liked it. I mean, I’m sure even cis women don’t like the implications of it. But one of my earliest memories is insisting to my mother that I could go to Pre-K without a coat in the dead of winter because I didn’t want to wear a pink puffer. I rejected all things pink very quickly. I refused to be interested in makeup, denying it, lying through my teeth even when I was caught wearing it in 3rd grade (“I don’t know how that eye shadow got there!”) (do you remember those little kid makeup pallets that you could get at the dollar store? We had some as emergency gifts, so I hid one under my bed for months). So I hid away the Barbies and Polly Pockets my sibling and I shared. I refused to listen to Taylor Swift or Miley Cyrus or Britney Spears. I did not wear jewelry, dismissed the notion of piercings, scorned at painted nails. I pushed down my own indignancy when my classmates kicked and stomped on flower beds.

To put it simply, I hated femininity. I hated being a girl. I hated being seen as female.

But I’ve been on this project of learning myself, recently. Trying to become self aware and all that.

I still can’t wear a dress - or even a skirt - in public. Hell, not even in my own room in years, actually, but there’s still some tucked away in my closet. I want to, someday, maybe.

But I never go out without a watch on my right wrist (even though I’m right handed) and the plain black band around my ring finger (because it didn’t fit my middle) and a fidget ring around my pinky, also on my right hand. Usually, at least one of three necklaces are added. Sometimes, the bracelet matching one of the rings goes on my left wrist, in addition to the two hair ties there - one for me, one in case someone else needs it.

I’m not particularly fond of most shades of pink, but there are some that I love. I don’t own makeup, but I want to learn it. Instead, I have far more bottles of nail polish than are reasonable situated on the top row of my bookshelf. More than one are pink and sparkly.

I’ve been putting together a playlist, recently, of my favorite nostalgic songs. Most of them are the ones my parents played me: Brown Eyed Girl and Don’t Stop Believin’ and American Pie and everything The Who and the Beatles and Queen and Styx and The Beach Boys.

But I’ve been catching up on what I’ve missed, too. Coldplay and One Direction and Carly Rae Jepsen all have some actual bangers. Call Me Maybe makes me giggle every time it comes on (come on, you’re going to tell me “before you came into my life, I missed you so bad” isn’t one of the most relatable things ever?!). I’ve learned I don’t actually care about Taylor Swift - she has a few good ones, but mostly I’m ambivalent. Furthermore, I've learned that this is a hot take.

When I’m in charge of road trip playlists, my friends laugh because they know as much as I love the likes of Lil Nas X and Janelle Monáe, I’ll be playing the songs I know they were listening to when we met; when we were never far apart. The few rare ones - Fight Song and Demons and Pompeii - I shout the words alongside them 'till we laugh too hard to speak. The other ones I’ll play, and I’ll listen, and it’s almost like I get to do it again. Like I get to go back love my friends in their own language. Like I get to have loved myself the whole time.

I’m not a woman. I’m not always confident in the why, but I don’t really think it matters. Actually, I'd fist-fight anyone who asked a friend why they're trans, so it definitely doesn't. I’m happy where I am - at least, I’m learning to be. But I’ve learned that I don’t have to denounce my history and continued, albeit strange relationship to womanhood; I don’t have to close off femininity.

I am not a woman, but I have been a girl, and she did nothing wrong. As much as I know who I am now was lost in her, I can still love her all the same.

I'm proud of her.

...I hope that she's proud of me, too.

I wish I could tell younger me that she would love being a woman when she's older.

Sure, periods are still going to suck. The physical pain of your sex won't go away. You'll still fear every man you meet, and you'll always be looking over your shoulder when you walk on the street. You never stopped feeling that intimidation that comes with entering a room full of men, because yes, you're still a little hellfire determined to make her own in a male dominated field.

But you'll embrace your femininity. You like wearing makeup now, something you scoffed until you had graduated high school. You learn that women are not your competitors, but your only friends in many aspects of life. You'll still be boyish, but now it's done with a touch of lip gloss and bows in your hair.

You're still a force to be reckoned with, even moreso now that you aren't forcing down any part of who you are. You love being a woman. You even adored the Barbie movie.

You're a beautiful woman, and I'm so proud of you.

[aroacechillzone]

We Must Fight in Unison

This post is for the March 2021 Carnival of Aros which is about “Intersectionality and Inclusivity Within the Aromantic Community.” 

2020 didn’t give us much, but it did give many people, myself including, a lot of time to think. Many people used this time to learn more about themselves, including questioning their gender and orientation. Questioning gender in particular is quite common because gender is enforced by society. When you remove that pressure it’s much easier to start analyzing how you truly feel.

I’ve been identifying as aroace for about two and half years now. Even before that, I always had the sense that something about me was different from everybody else. But whenever I showed any kind of disdain for romance or romantic media, I was met with a “you’ll get it when you get older.” After a while though, those words started to wear off. Once I heard of the words aromantic and asexual, it took me maybe two weeks at max to start identifying with them. Since then, I’ve never questioned my orientation. I have no reason to and I likely never will. Even though my aroace-ness was easy to figure out, my gender isn’t. For the longest time I identified as cisgender because there was always this voice in my head that said, “you’re a girl.” I had a few meaningless thoughts about questioning my gender, but I never seriously considered them until December of last year. I’m still not entirely sure what my gender actually is. The chances are pretty high that I’m just a cis woman, but something about that doesn’t entirely seem right sometimes. I’ve toyed with the idea of genderfluid as well but I’m not sure if it’s my actual gender or my attitude about gender that changes. One day, I’ll figure it out. But quarantine not only made me question my gender, it also made me question my political beliefs. The older I’ve gotten, the further and further left I have shifted from the moderate Democrat base my parents rose me in. I’d say two events were the keys that shifted me from being a liberal to being a leftist: the death of George Floyd and the 2020 election. The outcry from the first made me really start to examine the mainstream narrative and my own racism as a white person. The second was when I lost faith in the general perception of American idealism liberals and conservatives alike. All of these pushed me off the “Overton window” of acceptable political beliefs into leftism. 

Currently, I identify as socialist. It’s a good catch-all label that sums up my political beliefs quite well. Capitalism always has and always will be a system that requires the exploitation of others in order to function. It creates and upholds discrimination based on race, class, orientation, gender, neurodivergency, and disability. The ultimate “goal” of capitalism is for the white, rich, neurotypical and able-bodied cishet men to be able to exploit the rest of society that does not fit any one of those definitions. This includes us a-spec people. We’re certainly not straight but we’re certainly not gay either. Many people say that we don’t experience “real” discrimination or experience it “less” than other groups. I always hated this narrative because firstly the discrimination we experience doesn’t change anything about our identities but also it kinda dismisses it what we do experience? Like yeah, I probably won’t get killed for being a-spec, but that doesn’t mean my struggles are any less important than any other allo queer person. Along with anticapitalism, one of my other core beliefs is solidarity. So many people in the queer community are so intent on driving wedges between in our to determine who is The Enemy™ who is using x identity to do bad thing xyz. I’ve said it on this blog before but all of this gatekeeping only benefits the very people we’re trying to fight against. If we divvy ourselves up like this we have no chance of achieving true equality and liberation. We only stand a chance if we unite. This isn’t just the case among queer folks, but all marginalized members of society. We have to collaborate and support BIPOC, the poor, disabled and neurodivergent people so we can all fight back together.  Taking it back to aromanticism, I find it absolutely wonderful that AUREA is taking more efforts to include aros of marginalized identities. As I’m writing this after the original roundup was posted, I enjoyed reading everyone’s thoughts on this topic. As a white, able-bodied and neurotypical person I still have a lot to learn and unlearn. I am and will continue to be the best ally that I can be. It’s time to stop letting our ignorance divide us.

[cutenessinanutshell]

You know what i’ve been thinking today?? How it’s been ten years since I started actively writing about my life on the internet. I started sometime in 2011 on Xanga, when I’d write about all the dirty day dreams I’ve had as a hormonal teenager.  I have clear memories of writing about all the things I wanted to do to him when we went to see a school play. And I remember reading all the comments and feeling heard, whatever I was talking about. Then Xanga shut down and I couldn’t find a blogging site I liked (and i still can’t high key), so we came to tumblr. A few different blogs and a couple years later and here we are. 

All the boys, all the sadness, all the adventures later. I think what we can all conclude, I am hella dramatic and emotional LOL I also LOVE Taylor Swift hahaha

I was thinking about how it took tj seven years but he’s finally starting to be better to me. I still think he’s bluffing but the ball hasn’t dropped yet.  And so I’m happy these days. Things feel more quiet. It felt really loud a month ago, but not because of him. The studio’s been closed since November. Ontario has the record for longest lockdown in the world. If you add the amount of days we have been closed since COVID hit us, it adds up to 368 days. An entire year without a consistent income. I’m tired of it. I missed winter and spring with the girls. Sad. I miss having things to do. Vanessa and I want to find a new space. One with hopefully more windows or natural light. Open brick would be the dream but it’s hard to find those kind of spaces in the suburbs. We want to offer more than just pole and circus. We want to make it a space that has turf, and weights and barbells and physiotherapists. But not up tight like a regular gym. Still very feminine and in line with the brand. Glamourous, fierce and epic. The studio that throws the best showcases in the GTA. But with so much more. I want to elevate the brand and be able to pay myself properly by the end of the year. My plan to move out went out the window with the pandemic, so this is the next best thing and my only hope. 

I have to build my following more. I   know I could be worthy of a bigger following. But I’m terrified of sharing on social media because of November. It makes me so anxious. I’ve started experimenting with Facebook and I’m comfortable with it i think, but posting on IG, where majority of my community is active, gives me the worst anxiety.  There’s just so many people watching me. So many people that don’t like me watching me. Sooo many people that would smile if they heard I failed. All watching me and that’s a lot of pressure. I know you’re not supposed to care what those people think but I do.  I hate them for making me feel like I’ll never be good enough, and still I can’t help but freak out at the idea of them seeing my stories and thinking “pft.”  I’m just bitter because girls showed so many colours to me. Girls I trained with all the time, who showed that they never thought I was good enough, and they were keeping up appearances when they talked to me because I was on the inside.  Girls who I would help and give free training time to, just dismissed me. Let me go over their head because I was just the ditzy admin without a real people job like them, so I could never. Those are the girls watching me. The people who watch my stories and laugh at me and gossip in group chats. 

My stalker is also back. Yall I hadn’t heard from her since August. Like bruh I went to vegas in 2019. Why is she still on my ass, i literally can’t figure it out and its gonna drive me mad. I just don’t get what her issue is, I’ve literally never met her. Ever. But she thinks I’m running my mouth about her, when I only know that she’s constantly calling me a sand n word, and telling me im a loser prostitute on a pole and that I’m a loser bitch whatever the fuck lol. She’s trying to blackmail her but I’m not engaging. I haven’t engaged at all and it’s still been going on for 2 years.  She lives in arizona, i do not know this bitch LOL. You get tagged in a guys IG post once and then you’re fucked forever i guess.  She’s a literal crazy person and someone needs to commit her

My life is boring because of the pandemic haha. I just wanted to write. 

\

[perriewinklenerdie]

I’ll be your light (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note:  Hello, hello, hello! I've had this one sitting on my PC for at least two weeks, and finally got to posting it. It's fluff. Like, fluff on fluff, literally no plot at all, just fluff.

This fic is part of the Ever since I met you series. If you want to catch up on it, the links are in the Masterlist, and all you need to know about this AU of sorts is that Ethan and Claire met when she was in med school.

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317561

Tag list:   @paleweasels , @lilyofchoices , @hopelessromantic1352, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian , @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @strawberrwess @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements,  @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h

Enjoy! <3

--------------

The moment he walked into the hospital that day as the clock striked the sixth hour, he knew that he was in for a long one. Pressure in his skull was beginning to irritate the living light out of him, causing his vision to be blurred around the edges. By the time he managed to dig through a couple of his responsibilities, he had already taken painkillers twice, and it didn’t seem like it would be the last time.

Claire’s path crossed his around noon, and the second her eyes landed on him, she knew something was not right. Their gazes met for a split second, just long enough for him to notice her nodding slightly, a secret signal they came up with to let the other know that they wanted to talk in his office.

His body fell into his office chair with a heavy thud, standing out against the muffled sounds of the life of the hospital on the other side of the door, the never-ending string of words, the endless series of signals. He vaguely noticed the soft sound of door opening and closing, the gentle steps that led to his desk.

Her cool fingers touched his temples, massaging his skin with tender touch, wordlessly giving him what he needed to survive the day. An action so simple that many could dismiss it as unnecessary but welcomed by him with a low hum.

“Did you drink water?” her voice remained nothing more than a whisper, answered only by something awfully close to a whine. “Do you want some tea? Cause I assume you already took painkillers.”

Gathering what was left of his energy, he muttered how much he loved her, how she was a saint. As soundlessly as she could, she placed the mug on his desk and bent down, kissing the top of his head, her breath warm against his skin.

“Actually, I’m your wife. But ‘saint’ works too I guess.”

------------

Claire’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as she bit her lip to remain absolutely silent. She had to be, she couldn’t so much as say a loud word, but in her head, she was screaming, using just about every profanity she knew, in any language she knew. Ethan was sleeping in the seat next to hers, and she was in the dead center of the worst traffic she has seen in a while. All because some idiot clearly found his driver’s license in a bag of chips and didn’t know the basic rules. They were supposed to be home thirty minutes ago, but instead here they were, and from the way things were at the moment, they would be home in an hour at best.

In her peripheral vision she saw Ethan stirring in his sleep, and once she turned her head to look at him, she noticed how his face twisted at what he saw in his sleep. Her hand found its way to his cheek, careful and mindful of its movement, while her other hand kept the car’s trajectory stable. Sensing her presence near him calmed him down, stilled his movement and he seemed to fall back into the deeper sleep.

They were almost out of traffic when he woke up, confused about where he was or what was happening. She grinned briefly, amused by his behavior almost as much as worried. Tapping her fingers impatiently against the smooth material of the steering wheel, she leaned sideways to see how many more cars they had ahead of them before they could finally get home. Her action caught Ethan’s attention, sparking his interest as he finally began dissecting the situation around them.

“How long have we been in this traffic?”

“Almost two hours now. At first, I thought that it would go quickly, two cars crashed against one another, nothing too serious. But people are dumb, and there were two more crashes as people driving by the first accident didn’t pay attention and caused another one.” she recalled the last two hours of her life, shaking her head in frustration. “It’s good you woke up when you did.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’ve been keeping quiet for so long that if I have to bite it down one more time to keep myself from opening the window and screaming at some asshole to start using their brain if they have one, I’ll lose it.” All on one breath, the words rushed past her lips, leaving her tired and struggling to catch any oxygen for a short moment. He placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. His thumb traced the line of the column of her neck in an attempt to calm her down.

“Thank you for letting me sleep. I don’t know what’s going on, it should pass soon.” He spoke slowly, keeping his eyes trained on her, allowing him to see her cheeks lift slightly when she smiled. “I mean it. Thank you for taking care of me.”

She glanced at him briefly, her eyes sparkling with affection, running deep within her. He burst out laughing when, as soon as she looked back at the situation on the road ahead of them, she slammed her fist against the steering wheel, cursing.

------------

“Ethan?” her voice broke through the thick mist of the tangle of his thoughts. He looked up from his spot on the couch, expecting to see her ready for bed, but instead was met with a sight of his wife in her bathrobe. She crossed the room, crouching next to his head, her fingers brushing the stray lock of his hair away from his face. “Come with me.”

“I’d say ‘anywhere’, but if you want to drag me to bed to watch some movie, that will be a ‘no’ for me, Darling.” He muttered, a slyly grinning at her. A sound of air leaving her lungs was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Her hand took his, pulling him up from the couch gently, wrapping her arm around him and guiding him to the bathroom.

The bathtub was filled with hot water, the lights turned off, the room illuminated with a few candles. Ethan turned around, just in time to see Claire let the bathrobe fall to the ground, revealing her naked body underneath. She came closer to him, helping him take his clothes off, and then hugged herself to him, a silent moment of perfect comfort. He inhaled her scent, taking a deep breath, letting the feeling of her next to him calm his senses and relax his muscles.

Without saying a word, they got into the bathtub, sinking into the hot water with a breathless sigh. She sat behind him, his back to her front, her hands washing his body gently. Snaking her arms around his chest, she pulled him back against her, lying down together. Neither knew how long they remained that way, the closeness far too comfortable to leave it behind. After what seemed like eternity, he turned around in her arms, lying down with his head on her chest, holding her as close to him as he possibly could.

She raised her hand out of the water, away from his side, and began running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He nuzzled into her even more, like he was afraid to let her get even an inch away from him, as though the thought of her leaving was unbearable to him.

“I really love you.” he muttered under his breath, pressing his lips to the skin of her neck and letting them stay there, breathing deeply.

“I know you do. I love you too.” She hugged him closer, her grip on him stronger, to show him she was there. To express to him that she wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t a single thing that could take her away from him. “Are you okay?”

The only answer she got was a nod, barely palpable, and another kiss, much softer, a barely-there touch that sent sparks throughout her body.

They remained submerged in the water until it ran cold, and even then, they didn’t want to move. It was Claire’s decision to move them to bed, to avoid getting sick. She stood up, getting two towels from the shelf, passing one to his extended hand. He wrapped the soft material around her body, drying her tenderly, paying attention to every curve of her body that he loved. She returned the gesture, standing on the tips of her toes to reach his head, patting his face dry, then moving down his chest, and then finally draping the towel over his shoulders, the same way he did for her.

He helped her get into her nightgown and she helped him into his nightwear. The silence spoke volumes, their actions screamed the amount of love they had for each other, and once they finally fell into bed together and got under the covers, their minds were halfway gone, just barely registering what was happening around them. Ethan pulled her closer to him, pressing his lips to her forehead in a warm kiss, smiling the same way she did.

[colour-anon]

Why I love the Henry Stickmin Collection

WARNING: I mention mental illness, implied suicidal tendencies, death, and a few other sensitive topics.

Also this is long.

 So I was thinking about the Henry Stickmin Collection, as you do, when I remembered why I got into the Flash games all those years ago, and why I latched onto the collection when it came out. I’m posting it because it’s a story I almost forgot once, but I never want to forget. I want to be able to look back on this post later and smile. It’s probably not an interesting story, and people most likely aren’t going to read it, but I don’t care.

Soon after Stealing the Diamond came out, I stumbled across it on some website (pretty sure they didn’t have permission to have it on their website, but I’m not sure). I played it for like three choices, then quit.

Then in about 2014, my brother asked if I had played Henry Stickmin. I didn’t remember it, so I said no. We then spent several hours playing the games together and getting as many endings and fails as possible. I remember playing Stealing the Diamond a while ago, and wondered how I had dismissed it. I was having so much fun with my brother! We had no idea what order the games were supposed to go in, so we were kinda confused, but it was still fun.

Two years later, I came across the games yet again while browsing the internet on the computer at my grandmother’s house. I played through them all (Fleeing the Complex had been released a little while prior, but I wanted to play the others again too). I did, and I was so excited when I saw Ellie. Now I’m nonbinary, but I’m biologically female (I’m not out to my family, so I’m still a female to them but that’s besides the point). At that time, I still identified as female. I was sick if girly stereotypes, so an awesome, feisty, red-headed criminal in a series I already admired was just what I needed.

I never drew any Henry Stickmin art (until recently), but the series still kickstarted my festive journey. At some point in this whole thing (I think when playing with my brother), I remember thinking to myself how much I loved the art despite it being simple. I figured I could do it, too. Come 2020, and I see MatPat and Steph playing it on GT Live. Seeing GT Live in my recommended already hit me with a nostalgia blast (I remember watching them several years prior that felt like a lifetime), but Henry Stickmin, too? Dang.

So I watched it, then released they weren’t playing the Flash game I knew and loved. Oh no, it was new, bigger and better. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a game more.

I hate spending money for myself, though. It makes me feel terrible and guilty.  Even 15 dollars felt like too much for me. But my brother heard me raving about it, and the next thing I knew I was given 15 dollars that I was only allowed to spend on THSC because no, sis, you are not spending that on more art supplies just to make gifts for other people because you feel like they won’t lie, you otherwise. You’re getting the game, got it?

And got it I did, both the point and the game. I played it to 100% completion (endings, fails, achievements, bios, the whole shebang) in two days. I had a great time. 

With most games, that would be it. I completed it, nothing more to do. Not Henry Stickmin though. Now what I didn’t mention in the above stories, is during this all, is I developed depression. It started around the time I rediscovered the games on my grandma’s computer. Soon after playing the games, her husband, the only one of my two grandpas who didn’t die before I wa shorn, died. That didn’t help my depression in the slightest. Whenever I talked to my grandpa about being sad I didn’t get to meet my other grandpa, he would say “well, twice as nice pays the price!” But now they were both dead, and no one could be extra nice to console me. 

Then my grandma died just over a year later. At that point, I was already in a very, very dark place. Her death crushed me. I kept smiling though it all. I’m fact, no one knew I had depression until this year I kept it hidden so well (my dads a psychologist and taught me all about mental health, so I knew I had bad depression, I just wasn’t formally diagnosed because I didn’t want anyone to know). My mom told me that me staying strong made her happy, so I felt pressure to hide how devastated I was. For her sake. That’s a toxic mentality, and that’s not what my mom wanted to encourage. She couldn’t possibly have known how damaging that would be to me.  Around the same time, things got tense at home. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to go into it, but I will give you the vague gist: things would get tense in my family sometimes and would result in things being broken and angers exploding   Things happened, and I further retreated into my mentality that I shouldn’t make things worse by adding my emotions into the mix. I also was traumatised by this experience, and still am. I also grew to somewhat resent my brother.

This continued for several years, and then 2020. We all know so much happens in 2020. My mental health which  has been garbage since literally birth was it’s being pounded over, and over, and over again. Then THSC, and GT Live.  It reminded me of playing the game on my grandma’s computer, which reminded me of all the other computer games and various activities we work.s so together.  It reminded me of being besties with my brother, no trauma whatsoever, and playing THSC with him.  It made me so happy. I kept the game to myself, not playing it with my brother. I  wanted to cherish the memories, not confront the still-healing wounds left by all of the recent events around me.  It became, and still is my comfort.  I met friends online because of it.  The characters’ stories inspired me to keep living my life, write y story, and not cut I short like I was so close to doing, and still consider at times.  I owe this game so much. 

[mrsbhandari]

Shutter - pt 5

a/n: bonjour!! sorry that this is a little bit later than i thought i would post it, i went to do a bunch of stuff today oop-- anyway, i hope you like this one!! also the instagram post described with nia and tyril is this one by the lovely lxdy-starfury because i like to think that they become good friends and share a love of books teehee.

warnings: there’s a section here that’s nsfw (masturbation) so uh yeah

words: 3k

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @brycemaloliver

#

Jesus Christ. That was the first thought Naexi had when she nodded and Tyril slotted his lips against hers, effortlessly molding to her mouth as if they had been together for years. He tasted sweet, like funnel cake at the carnival and shared laughs as powdered sugar covered her mouth. In an instant, he hopped down from his stool and stood closer to her, gently placing a cold finger under her chin and positioning her head for an even better angle. Naexi’s head spun, feeling her mouth open and his tongue brush hers. She let out the smallest of whimpers, and all bets were off. He was borderline desperate to taste her, feel her, with his hands traveling down to her hips and pulling her close by her belt loops. 

He took her chin in one hand and tilted her to the side, exposing her neck and allowing him to trail his lips down her skin. Gasping, her fingers found his hair and the messy bun he’d thrown it in before tugging on the hair band and freeing the raven locks to fall down to his shoulders. She tangled her fingers into it, relishing how fluffy and soft it felt against her palm, images of it splayed out on the pillow below her and it hanging over her face as he looked down on her flashed into her mind, making her dizzy with desire for him. The feel of his fingertips finding their way under her sweatshirt and gingerly running across her stomach shocked her senses. His hands were cold, but soft, and gave her goosebumps wherever he stroked. 

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was husky in her ear before his mouth pressed a soft kiss to her neck, smiling against her skin when he felt a shudder go through her body. Their time was cut short by a loud ringing coming from his pants pocket, making them both jump.

“Dammit--Hello?” he impatiently answered, lips swollen and hands still twitching against her skin. 

“You’ve been there a while, boss. Just wanted to make sure she didn’t force you to write her into your will and kill you.” Imtura sounded bored on the other end of the line.

“Is that even possible?”

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Ignoring that...ominous statement, yes, I’m fine.”

“Did she say yes?” Naexi gave him a confused look, but he just offered a small, embarrassed smile in return. 

“I...didn’t get a chance to ask yet.”

“Ah, I see.” She didn’t say anything else.

“Well...I’m going to go. I’ll be on my way soon.”

“Later, boss. Oh, and uh--” He could practically hear her grin through the phone. “--give her a kiss for me.” 

Tyril hurriedly hung up the phone and slammed it down on the counter, face flushing a bright red at Naexi’s laughter. 

“Was that the bodyguard I met at the shoot?”

“Imtura, yes. She’s…”

“Fantastic!” Tyril rolled his eyes.

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

Trailing her fingers up his sharp jaw, Naexi gave him a small smile. “What did you want to ask me? Does it have to do with the ‘favor’?” He hummed and closed his eyes, enjoying her gentle touch.

“Yes, my father has a charity gala coming up and I would like you to come with me.” He opened his eyes and bit his lip, making Naexi wonder what else he could do to get any sexier. “As my date.”

“A fancy rich people gala....with the girl who hated you when she first met you because you’re rich....sounds like a disaster, Tyril.” She looked away, unsure, but the moment he leaned down to her ear and whispered “Please” in her ear, she knew she was putty in his hands. “Fine!” He grinned down at her, making her knees weak. “But you owe me.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, one that had her leaning forward for more after he pulled away. “Anything.” His smile seemed to hold the promise of the world in it. 

She believed it.

#

Tyril sat heavily on the leather couch of his apartment, quiet and empty without Naexi’s smile to brighten it up. The feel of her lips against his and her body in his palms was intoxicating, enough so that his head still felt fuzzy and his pants still felt tight. He’d never felt this way for anyone after Kaya left him, and half of him felt completely ashamed for thinking of Naexi that way. The other half of him was extremely turned on. 

Making an executive decision, he stood and walked to the bathroom, turning on the water and stripping down, waiting for it to heat up. In that time, he couldn’t help but think of how perfect she looked in the candlelight of her kitchen, shadows flickering on her face and sharpening the roundness of her face. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing how hard he’d become at the thought of her so close to him.

“What are you doing to me, Naexi?” he whispered to himself, turning back to step in the shower. The hot water hit his muscles just right, washing away the tension buried so deeply in his shoulders. If he closed his eyes and dreamed, he could imagine that it was her hands running across his back, kneading her fingers into the flesh and trailing down to his sides. He shuddered and braced one hand against his shower wall, nails scraping the grout. He resumed his fantasy, thinking of her soft hands sweeping down over his hips before wrapping around his hard shaft. He gasped as he felt the pressure surround him, water dripping into his mouth and off his chin from the hair that was plastered against his forehead from the steady stream of the shower hitting him. Her hand moved and she was whispering in his ear, walking around to face him as she got him off, forcing him to look at her in those big green eyes that had him in a trance.  

“C’mon, pretty boy, come undone for me.” Then she was kissing him and he could feel himself reaching his peak and spilling over his hand, ripping him from his mind as he opened his eyes to see that he was alone in his shower with his rapidly softening dick in his hands under a stream of water that was no longer as comforting as it was just a few minutes ago. Laying his forehead against the warm tile, he closed his eyes again and pictured her pretty face as his breath slowed.

#

“You sly dog!” Mal clapped Tyril heavily on the back, making the latter man nearly choke on his coffee. Being friends with Mal typically came with the inevitable injuries from the man’s brute strength and touchiness, and Tyril often wondered how exactly he hadn’t ended up in the hospital from one of his ‘friendly’ punches. 

“I am nothing of the sort,” he deadpanned, keeping his gaze forward as they walked. 

“Aw, come one, killer, admit it.” Tyril sent a sidelong glance to Mal. “You’re falling in love with her.”

Tyril rolled his eyes. “It’s far too early to say anything as serious as that.”

“But you’re at least falling for her,” Imtura corrected, holding a long index finger up. “No offense, boss, but after Kaya left--” He winced at the name. “--you were a whole mess. Like, watching rom-coms while crying and eating ice cream kind of mess. Like--”

“Yes, yes, I was broken up that my fiancee cheated on me and planned on buying my company out with her lover, who just so happened to be my biggest competitor. I was a mess who immediately dismissed the entire idea of love because if someone could really hurt me that bad, then what’s the point of believing that there’s any good in the world?” Imtura opened her mouth to speak, but Tyril continued. “Which is why I throw myself into my work and shun dating altogether because I’d rather focus on the good I know I can cause rather than the unguaranteed good of someone to date and marry.” He realized that his two friends were staring at him. “Were you going to say something different?”

“No, I was just going to say that you needed to get laid. I think that proved my point.” Imtura and Mal laughed, exchanging a fist bump as they walked after Tyril. He just rolled his eyes. “Plus, didn’t Kaya also screw over your competitor, too?” 

“What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying that at least you’re not the only one.” 

“You’re right, I feel so much better now. No more therapy for me!” 

Mal exaggeratedly shivered. “Hearing you sound sarcastically happy is creepy.”

“Listen, all I’m saying is that it’s good that you’re getting back out there! I’ve had enough of you moping. My job would be so much more exciting if you did stupid stuff because you’re heartbroken.” 

“Plus, now you’ve got a total babe to go to the gala with,” Mal interjected, earning an exasperated sigh from Tyril. “What? I’m right!”

#

“You made out?!”

“Shhhhhh!” Naexi waved off a few nosy patrons of the store before turning back to her best friend, who was trying to silently freak out on the couch. “Yes, we did.” 

“If I don’t get a detailed play-by-play right now, I’m literally announcing to the entire store that you made out with a billionaire.” 

“Well, you already half-announced it.” Naexi explained what happened in her apartment to Nia, who would interject with random squeals and squeaks at certain points, nearly spilling her coffee on her friend at one point. Finally, when she was finished, Nia was bright red and fanning herself.

“Wow! And now you get to go to the gala! You’re like a princess,” she sighed, earning a scoff from Naexi. She was about to retort, but her phone buzzed on the table. 

PICTAGRAM: @tyrilstarfury is now following you.

Nia glanced over her shoulder at the screen. “Ooh, getting serious, hm?” she taunted, poking her friend in the side and giggling. Nia’s own phone lit up, detailing an alert on Tyril’s name in a tweet. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? What are we uh-ohing?” Naexi glanced over at the Zizzfeed account pulled up on her screen with a tweet reading “Who did Tyril Starfury follow on Pictagram?” with a link to an article featuring countless old gifs between sporadic sentences about the bachelor and his odd following of a random photographer’s account on social media. “What the hell?! How are they so fast?” 

“You’re famous!” 

“Did you forget that I’ve been published in multiple magazines, including Vogue, one of the most notorious fashion magazines in America?”

“I feel like Zizzfeed is like, officially famous, though.” 

#

“It’s not uncommon, I’ve always had news sites like that one sticking their noses into my business.” Tyril scowled into his glass of water. They were sitting on his couch, making his large apartment feel less empty with full kisses and even fuller laughter. She reached up a hand to trace his jaw, bringing his gaze up to hers. 

“It was just a little shocking, is all.” He reached a hand up to his hair and brushed a few strands out of his face. He seemed bashful, not at all like the typical powerful man she’d come to know in just a few short days. It made her heart melt. 

“I understand that this whole billionaire thing can be overwhelming, and I don’t want you to feel pressured to stay with me if it makes you feel uncomfortable with all the eyes that might be on you--”

“Tyril.” He stopped his rambling and looked at Naexi, all wide eyes and sweet smiles. “I don’t want to read any stupid news about you because I have the source right here. I want to be with you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier, but I’m here now, hm? Kiss me, please.” He grinned happily obliged, their lips coming together easily in an act that had his head swimming every time they did it. Her mouth trailed down his throat, leaving pinpricks of heat as her teeth nipped at his skin, sure to be the reason he would need to wear turtlenecks for the rest of the week. 

“You’re a troublemaker,” he murmured, breath heavy under her touch. 

“Let me guess.” She leaned back, but their faces were still close. It was torture. “You were a good little boy who didn’t associate with the likes of little girls like me.” She ran her finger over some of the new hickeys decorating his skin, making him hiss. 

“Let me guess...you were a little girl who teased little boys like me.” His hands wrapped around her thighs and effortlessly pulled her into his lap. 

“That’s because I didn’t realize how naughty those little boys could be.” She was straddling his hips and he felt like he was living the teenage years he never got to have, full of raging hormones and obvious hickeys and immature laughter. Her body was pure warmth in his hands, heating his body up from its usual cool temperature. She had a red sweatshirt on, complementing the dark gray sweater he had chosen for himself after what seemed like hours of deliberation, eager to look perfect for her. Those words surprised him. It seemed like every step he took revolved around those words. 

For her. 

#

Beside her, a phone buzzed and she looked at the headline that took up the top space of her notification bar: TYRIL STARFURY SPOTTED ON DATE WITH VOGUE PHOTOGRAPHER. She clicked on it and was immediately met with a large photo, no doubt taken by a paparazzo on the sidewalk across the street from a local ice cream shop they had visited together. The picture featured a typically stoic Tyril smiling with a dot of chocolate ice cream on his nose, placed there by his new girlfriend who just wanted to make him happy. She smiled down at the picture and saved it to her phone, sending a screenshot of the article to Tyril. 

NAEXI: I still think this was a cute look. Shame it didn’t last longer. 

TYRIL: I seem to recall the reason it didn’t last long.

NAEXI: Enlighten me.

Tyril let out a small laugh and sent an embarrassed smile to Mal, who gave him an odd look in across the table in their conference meeting. 

TYRIL: You insisted on licking any ice cream off me, remember? I’m surprised the paparazzi don’t have more scandalous pictures. 

NAEXI: I’m going to email the pap and ask if I can have copies of the rest.

TYRIL: You wouldn’t!

NAEXI: Too late.

NAEXI: He said yes!!!

# 

Nia’s attempted sneaky picture was thwarted by the loud shutter sound that jolted the both of them. Tyril looked up from his book with furrowed brows. 

“What are you doing?” Nia flipped her phone and showed him the picture, which turned out surprisingly good considering the jostling. 

“Can I post it? Look how cute you look!” she exclaimed, hopeful eyes matching his tired ones, framed by his glasses. 

“Sure,” he confirmed, smiling a little when she let out a little cheer. She was busy tapping away at her phone while he leaned forward and tried to catch glimpses of what she was doing when she pressed a button and laid her phone back on the table. His phone lit up with a Pictagram notification a few seconds later, telling him of how @niaellarious_x tagged him in a photo. 

He looked down at his hair that fell nicely over his shoulders and the turtleneck he’d been forced to wear by Naexi, who was ever enthusiastic when given any sort of access to the sensitive skin on his neck. Liking the photo, he scrolled down to the comments and skimmed through the hundreds already asking how Nia knew Tyril, settling on one in particular that made his heart pound. 

@naexi_c gorgeous 

#

“I’m thinking about wearing this one for the gala,” Naexi said, holding up a violet dress that hung limply on the hanger. From what he could see, it was long and looked smooth, and he tried imagining her in it, but could only envision her in what she was in now, a pair of shorts and yet another sweatshirt. On anyone else, he was indifferent to baggy clothing, but on her, it only left him wanting more. She seemed to know the effect she had on him, stretching often to allow a sliver of her stomach to be revealed. His fingers twitched at his sides as she did it again. 

“Are you not going to try it on for me?” She laughed and hung the hanger back up. 

“You’re not slick, handsome. I see right through you.” Reaching out a hand that he grabbed, she walked over to where he was seated on her bed. He placed his lips on the center of her palm and brushed his lips over the inside of her wrist. 

“You’re right, I should know that you look beautiful in everything.” 

She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek before moving to his lips, where she simply said, “Sap.”

#

“Finally! I’ve officially kicked your ass!” Mal pumped his fist, nearly throwing his controller out of his hands.

“This is Mario Kart, it’s not like it required any actual skill…” Tyril grumbled, taking a sip of water from the glass on the table next to him. 

“Hand-eye coordination, bitch!” 

“Mal!”

“Aw, c’mon, am I not allowed to celebrate my victory?” Tyril rolled his eyes and threw the controller down on the cushion, left dissatisfied by the soft clatter it made. Checking his phone, he missed Mal’s scoff. “I can see I’m no longer the only one in your heart. It wounds me!” 

“Everything wounds you,” Tyril muttered, smiling a little at the text that appeared on his screen. 

“When am I gonna meet this chick, hm? She seems to have left quite the impression on you.” Mal wiggled his eyebrows over the glass of whiskey he was about to drink. Tyril remained unfazed and kept his eyes on his phone. 

“The gala.” 

“Two more days of having to snap for your attention!” Mal set his cup down heavily and realized that Tyril was sucked into his phone again. He snapped his fingers above the screen. “Hello?!”

[its-pronounced-quoassoint]

Power Rangers AU-Chapter 9

Pairings: romantic Logicality, Prinxiety, Demus, Remile

This Chapter features: Roman centric, brief coming out story, again another ‘filler episode’, sorry

This Chapter Warnings: swearing, talks of passive aggressive homophobia and transphobia from another character, talks of therapy and seeing a therapist, mentioned first kiss, food and eating, sympathetic dark sides

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post).

If you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic please let me know in reply!

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Chapter 9-Faith

Roman would always remember his first homecoming. Logan had been his closest friend since the fifth grade, but in the few months leading up to Homecoming he had been pulling away. Roman didn't know why at the time but he was determined to get their friendship back to how it used to be by asking him to homecoming. Roman remembered it all so vividly. Logan wearing a long-sleeve pale blue dress and ankle boots. Roman wearing his favorite dress shirt and pants. The two arrived at the dance, went into the full gym, and listened to one song. Then Logan ran.

Roman was so shocked he couldn't move. He just watched Logan go. Roman looked around, worried that people could see him all alone. Then he ran after Logan, scolding himself for even thinking about other people's thoughts before Logan. He was terrified. Why had Logan been so distant? What had Roman done wrong? He thought this dance would help, but now it seemed to have backfired so bad he might lose his best friend.

When Logan returned to Roman's worried side, he was with Patton Valentine, a sweet boy who Roman had subscribed to on YouTube months back. The most surprising sight however, was that Logan and Patton, who were roughly the same size, had switched clothes. When Roman asked about the outfit swap Logan simply smiled and asked Roman to join him outside, saying a quiet goodbye to Patton. That was the night Logan had come out to Roman as trans. Then it became the night Roman came out to Logan as gay. Then the night Logan also came out as gay. Then the night they both talked about crushes without it being as awkward as before. Finally, the night they both shared a bag of microwave popcorn with Remus while they sat in the twins' treehouse and watched Star Wars Clone Wars on a portable DVD player.

Roman also knew that he would never forget his second Homecoming. Logan had decided not to go, and Roman figured he wouldn't push it. Roman actually had a boyfriend named Breyden at the time so he went with him. Roman had a good time and at first it didn't seem like that night would be all too magical. Until Breyden kissed Roman. Roman's first kiss. At a school dance, with a cute guy, and during the song 'Die Young' by Ke$ha. Roman's and Breyden's relationship lasted only a few months after that, but it wasn't a bad breakup. Roman still considered Breyden a friend and life went on.

Junior year Homecoming was the first school dance Roman didn't attend. Homecoming was mainly for the Freshmen and Sophomores, besides Roman was busy preparing for his first lead role in a musical.

Now, as a senior, Roman was spending his Homecoming night sneaking Logan into his car and driving with him and Remus to Thomas's for impromptu therapy. The three arrived at Thomas's fairly quickly, but not without Logan complaining that Roman didn't have to pick him up.

Patton was already there when they entered. He sat on the couch looking down the hallway toward's Emile and Thomas's rooms. Thomas was in the kitchen making something that was sizzling, and humming along to Wicked.

"Hey, Pat." Roman greeted him.

"Heya kiddos!" Patton smiled cheerily back.

"Whatcha makin' back there Thomathy?" Remus asked, plopping himself down practically on top of Patton and pulling out his phone.

"Quesadillas." He replied.

"Oh that sounds good." Roman said.

"Smells good too!" Remus shouted distractedly. "So is Dee here yet?"

"No, sorry." Patton shrugged.

"Hmm." Remus only looked at his phone more intently.

"What are you two?" Logan asked, taking his place next to Patton as well, though farther away that Remus was.

"What?" Remus asked, an eyebrow raised.

"You and Dee. I'm confused by the manner of your relationship." Logan began.

"We're friends. I think. Most of the time. Maybe." Remus said with a sideways glance.

"I assume you know that answer made no sense whatsoever." Logan leaned forward to look at the other boy.

Remus huffed and put his phone down. "Look, I've told him how I feel about him and he just ignored it. He wants to stay, whatever we are, and that's fine with me."

"That's bull crap Remus and you know it." Roman stated.

"Well, it's not my call Roman." Remus retorted. "I'm not gonna force him. Besides, even if he wanted to date me-"

"I'm still not convinced you two aren't dating now." Logan leaned back.

"-I wouldn't go out with him. He's still friends with Kayley and I personally want to rip out each fake eye lash and injection on her stupid face." Remus growled.

"Wow." Logan pursed his lips.

"Oh I can't stop picturing it." Roman groaned.

"How sure are you that he doesn't want to go out with you?" Patton asked.

"Pretty sure. Like I said, he ignored me earlier. And more to the point he's friends with Kayley!! She disgusts me." Remus went back to his phone. "She always goes on about how much of an ally she is! She said the A in LGBTQIA was for ally. Like bitch, no!"

"Language." Thomas and Patton said at the same time.

"I think I'm allowed to call her a bitch." Remus sneered.

"I don't like her too much either Remus, but you still shouldn't call people that." Patton said.

"Why don't you like her?" Roman asked.

"Like Remus said she talks constantly about how much of an ally she is, but when Juleka came out as a lesbian, Kayley started saying just awful things and called her slurs." Patton stated. "She kept talking about how Juleka had a crush on her and how gross it was that she's gay."

"When I began my process of coming out she pretended to support me, but when it came to actually helping me with bullying or actual transitioning, she didn't do anything." Logan added.

"What? Why didn't you say anything?" Roman asked astonished.

"Well, it didn't matter, you enjoyed sitting at her lunch table, besides it really didn't bother me as much as it may seem." Logan dismissed.

"Well shit." Roman's voice cracked. "I can't believe I let her just get away with this."

"It's not your fault Roman, it's not your responsibility to police her for her actions." Logan stated.

"But I still could have noticed. Why do I even sit with her?" Roman ran a hand through his hair and knawed on his bottom lip. He knew what Logan was saying was true, but it still didn't sit well. He was supposed to be there for protect his friends when they needed and he had let this girl get away with hurting them for too long.

"Kayley only wants to sit next to you for clout you know." Remus interjeted.

"Well I'm not sitting with her any more." Roman scoffed.

"You can sit with me." Patton suggested. "Naomi thinks you're all very entertaining."

"What are you guys talking about?" Dee's voice asked from the door, shutting down the conversation immediately.

"Nothing." The four replied, looking in different directions.

"Okay then." Dee shrugged, not sounding totally convinced. He went over the the couch and sat down next Remus.

It was quiet, though not uncomfortably so. Roman perked up when he heard a door open and close down the hallway and Emile stepped into view.

"How's this?" Emile asked, walking down the hallway. He entered the livingroom and gave a small twirl.

"I like this one a lot more." Patton told him.

"Like what a lot more?" Logan asked.

"The outfit." Patton explained. "Emile's got a date to homecoming tonight!"

"Who ya going with?" Remus asked.

"My girlfriend, Sara." Emile responded.

Everyone seemed to be looking at Emile in some form of confusion on Roman spoke up.

"Oh my god for a second there I forgot straight people exist!" He laughed. The seniors all began laughing with him.

"Ha, ha." Emile crossed his arms. "And just so you know, I'm not straight. I just don't feel like labelling myself right now."

"You shouldn't be pressured to anyway." Logan stated.

"Thank you Logan." Emile nodded. "Now! Outfit thoughts?"

"I already said I liked it. Very cute." Patton remarked.

"I have no issues with the clothing." Logan said plainly.

Roman examined what he was wearing. A shell-white dress shirt, small pink bow-tie, and black pants. Simple, comfortable, adorable; Emile.

"Very dashing." Roman told him.

"Alright by my standards." Remus shrugged.

"You have no standards." Dee pointed out. "Very nice Emile."

"Great!" Emile sighed. "Alright, have fun with therapy tonight, I'm leaving."

A series of farewells were said to Emile as he left, and the Rangers went back to silence. Thomas finished making quesadillas and began handing them out. They munched while awaiting Renette's arrival. It didn't take too long, but Roman had watched Remus practically inhale his quesadilla and he didn't need anything more. When Renette knocked and opened the door she gestured for each of them to enter a car. Roman saw she was on the phone and looked particularaly exhausted.

Roman hurried his friends out the door and into cars before they could protest his choices in seating. Patton and Logan next to each other in the first one. Remus and Dee in the next. Finally, Roman and Thomas in the last one. Roman figured his matchmaking for the night was over and hopped in happily.

Renette got into the passenger seat of the last car and looked back to smile at Roman and Thomas.

"No! Listen to me, you listen to your mother." Renette continued, signaling for the driver to start the car.

The other cars started their engines and they pulled away.

"You know what I mean when I say listen to your mother. You're not going out tonight. I don't care that it's friday. If your mom said no and your dad said no then what makes you think I'm gonna say yes?!" Renette continued. "Oh don't you 'Ma' me Remington! You've been sick for a whole week, and you know that those kids do-"

She listened to what the other person was saying.

"Well I didn't know Emile was going to be there you should have led with that! Emile going is your most valid argument so far!" Renette pasued again. "No this doesn't mean you can go! One good argument from you doesn't change my mind. Besides, your mom and dad both said no, even if I wanted you to go I'm outnumbered! Nope, I'm sorry hun but I'm not risking it! You're sick and this is Florida, people don't exactly vaccinate down here. End of discussion."

Roman looked out the window trying to make it seem like he wasn't eaves dropping.

"Yes yes, love you goodnight." Renette hung up and sighed into her chair. "Roman, if you ever want kids meet my son, he'll change that real quick."

Thomas, the driver, and Renette laughed.

"Then again, you've met Emile so you probably think kids are just little angels." Renette added.

"Oh he's certainly not a little angel." Thomas rolled his eyes. "Emile may seem like it, but I've seen him sucker punch people a few times."

"Only cause you trained him to!" Renette laughed.

It fell into a lull of discussion between the adults after that. Roman pulled out his phone and began texting Logan. Until Patton took over to text using Logan's phone. When the cars stopped it was at a building a ways outside of town. The sun was going down earlier and earlier as winter drew closer, and currently the sky was just fading into a deep blue.

Roman, Thomas, and Renette stepped out of the car. The other Rangers followed quickly and together they all went inside. It was well lit and smelled of lemon scented cleaner. Renette led them past a few doors until reaching a counter with a woman sat in front of it.

"Hey Janica, how are ya?" Renette asked.

"I'm doing good Renette. They should all be ready for you boys." Janica replied, she handed Renette a piece of paper. "I need your signature here." She pointed to a line at the top. Renette signed and Janica took the paper back, then gave Renette another paper. "These are their assigned rooms."

"Thanks Janica." Renette smiled, taking the paper and moving to enter the door right of Janica's desk.

"Oh, best of wishes to you and your family Renette. There's a little something that a few people in the department put together for you. We heard about Remy and wanted ot help." Janica smiled.

"Thanks!" Renette smiled warmly, opening the door and walking in. "Okay boys, Roman you're room one. Logan room two, Dee room three, Remus room four, Patton room five, and Thomas you know where to go."

"Thanks Renette." Thomas nodded.

Roman looked to his right and saw a stretch of doors, marked one to fifteen. He walked all the way down with the others, each friend leaving him to head into their respective doors. Roman finally reached the door with a bronze 1 nailed to the front and inhaled. He put his hand on the doornob and twisted. He felt his stomach tighten but he didn't entirely know why.

"Roman?" A sweet voice inside asked.

"Yes." Roman nodded. He looked over to see a larger woman sitting casually in a chair. The room smelled like carmel scented candles.

"Come on in." She told him. "It's okay, whatever you're comfortable with. Want some tea, coffee, water?"

"Um, no, I'm good." Roman replied, taking a seat on the grey leather couch across from her.

"Okay. My name is Doctor Faith Hop, you can call me Faith." She smiled. "Are you ready to begin?"

---

It was Tuesday the next week when Renette showed up again.

"Hopefully you all set up a schedule to meet with your therapists weekly?" She asked.

The Rangers all nodded.

"Wonderful." Renette smiled. "Now, a couple things I need to get out of the way. One, I set up a meeting with a couple friends of mine, some higher-ups in foreign governments. It's very important that you meet and discuss with them next week. Two, I need to hear any and all strategies from this moment on. Especially now. That fiasco during the last attack cannot happen again. We need results. I'd hope you all have come up with some idea as to how you can get any closer to defeating Virgilius. I want to hear everything."

"Okay, uh, Renette, what do you mean we're meeting with your friends?" Roman asked. "I don't really have a lot of time to drive somewhere like Washington D.C."

"Yeah and my moms are getting really sick of my excuses as to why I can't be home for take-out night." Dee said. "I miss eating chineese food with them."

"Don't worry about that, my friends are coming here. I cleared this with Thomas weeks in advance."

"And you're only telling us now?" Logan quirked an eyebrow.

"I could only tell you now. Anyway, you all share science class together I believe, and your teacher and our current official working at the school has agreed to give the whole grade a large group project, with which you will claim you are all working on Saturday, so you can arrive here." Renette said quickly.

Roman looked at her incredulously. "Mrs. Ryans?"

"Yes, she works for me." Renette smiled.

"She works for you?" Patton's eyes went wide.

"I believe I just said that." Renette stared.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dee put his hands up. "So you're telling me, that Mrs. Ryans works for the government and has been spying on us-"

"I certainly never said she was spying on you but yes since you've become Rangers she has been keeping a closer eye on you."

". . . Right." Dee deadpanned. "So she's making our entire grade do a group project just so we have an excuse to leave the house on Saturday?"

"That is correct." Renette nodded.

"If we're here on Saturday when are we going to work on said project?" Logan asked.

"Well that's not my problem." Renette dismissed.

"Hold up, hold up!" Roman started.

"No, no, no, no, no." Dee started waving his hand.

"Wait a minute, what?!" Patton exclaimed.

"I'm gonna fail science." Remus sank into his blow up pink chair.

"Oh you boys will figure it out." Renette tried to wave off their concerns. "What you need to focus on is the meeting with representatives from the UN who expect a level of professionalism from the only people on Earth that have acess to weapons that can defeat the Dragon Witch."

"Oh god." Roman sighed.

"I shouldn't go." Remus shook his head.

"You're all going. Whether you like it or not." Renette stated. "Now, I am hoping, praying, you boys have some kind of lead or strategy that can be used against Virgilius."

It went quiet.

"What happened to those letters you found on the map?" Thomas asked.

"Oh, yeah, that turned out to be a dead end." Roman grimaced.

"What letters?" Renette asked.

"Um, yesterday, we were looking at this map of the county." Patton got up and pointed. "Logan put pins into the places where Virgilius previously attacked. Even attacks from a year ago. Anway, we were just looking at em' and I thought these kinda make the shape of an 'H'."

"We figured he was trying to say 'help' or send a message." Dee sighed.

"And?" Renette asked impatiently.

"When we traced them all out it said 'Ha suckers!'." Roman said in an annoyed tone.

"Exclimation mark included." Logan reminded.

Remus started laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I mean I'm not really that sorry, but come on that's good. Like he got us."

Roman looked at his brother and just shook his head slowly.

"Clever child." Renette pondered. "Distracting you, throwing you off his scent."

"We're pretty sure he's like in his twenties." Roman said. "He's tall so."

"Yeah taller than me." Remus said, almost impressed.

"Okay, good to know." Renette nodded. "But, other than your failed attempt, do you have anything more for me?"

Roman looked around. Logan, the one who usually concocts their plans, had nothing. However, when Roman looked to the others, he saw them exchanging glances. Thomas, Remus, Dee, and Patton lookedas if they were all in silent debate with each other. Finally Thomas gave a firm nod and the four looked to Renette.

"We may have something." Patton told her.

Taglist:

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors @maddarc @pheonix-inside-reblogs @thisismysanderssidesblog @almost-all-my-ships-are-gay @mostpeopleannoyme @the-smol-est @i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake @nadja-chamack16@too-bi-too-function @rainbowbowtie @mistypelt1234 @tricksterangel25 @authorized-trash @echocw @stripestar128128 @coffee-mugz @slitherynchicken

[angst-fairygodmother]

On Her Father’s Wings (The Umbrella Academy S2 Fic)

CHAPTER 2: FATHERS

What if there was one more thing left in Five’s care at Hazel’s untimely passing? Something more precious than a briefcase, more useful than a tape, and infinitely more infuriating. A smart-mouthed girl determined to pick up where her father left off and help save the world, whether the Hargreeves like it or not.

Word Count: 5230 Rating: T for canon-typical violence, swearing

Warning: this chapter contains major spoilers for both S2:E2 (The Frankel Footage) and plot twists later in the season. Read at your own risk.

Cross-posted to AO3: here Previous Chapter: New Sidekick

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“So that went well…” Piper drawled, leaning back against her elbows on the edge of the bar.

Five startled, causing her to snicker.

“How did you get in here?” he asked, sounding less surprised or impressed than she’d hoped and not even bothering to look up from his drink.

“Fun fact, they’ll let anybody in when you’re dressed like a cigarette girl,” she said wryly. “So what are you going to do now? Besides mope into a whiskey?”

I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’ve struck out with both siblings I’ve been able to find.”

“So far. But you all landed in the same place, and Elliot said they all went back to the alley looking for the rest of you, so odds are these two aren’t the only ones that stuck around Dallas. Just have to keep looking.”

“And what if I say no?”

“Then I’ll kick your scrawny ass and do it myself.”

He looked up at her finally, surprised by her determination, only to quickly look away again, blushing from her sequined and very revealing outfit.

“Do you want me to stick around, keep an eye on this brother and see if he leads us to the rest?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

“No need. He said he thought we were all dead.”

“Cheerful. Could he be lying? I mean he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you from where I was standing. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting them?”

“Protecting them? From me?”

She shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I mean you are a time-travelling assassin. And I don’t know what family Christmases are like at your house.”

Five sighed in exasperation. “Stay if you want. I’m going back to Elliot’s. He’s still, unfortunately, my best lead.”

He continued to sip his drink. She rolled her eyes, not liking the feeling of being dismissed. Still, she decided, she may as well spy on his brother and Jack Ruby while she had the opportunity.

Just as she was about to walk away, Five finished his drink, muttering about how their father should have left Luther on the moon as they both watched the larger man “escort out” a drunk. Then he stood, the pocket of his jacket catching on the back of the chair and tearing away to reveal a bulky yellow box. He took it out, staring at it, puzzled.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked her almost absently, voice sounding like his mind was far away.

“No idea,” she answered, eyes fixed on the label, on handwriting as familiar to her as her own. “It was in your pocket. Why would I know about it?”

“I think Hazel put it there. When he saw those goons get off the bus.”

“Well, it’s probably important then. You should go figure out what it is. I’m going to stick around here and see if I can’t find out a little more about your brother problem.”

Five frowned, glaring as she turned the tables, dismissing him for once, but she was already walking away, a cheerful smile plastered on her face as she held out her cigarette tray in question to one of the other club patrons.

Not long afterward, Piper watched as Luther exited through a back door, and followed, keeping far enough back that he wouldn’t notice, or at least she hoped not. He seemed to freeze, staring as he watched a mystery woman climbed into a car near the payphone out front. Piper couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t really need to to recognize the shock written across his entire body. The woman stared back for just a moment, confusion on her expression evident.

“Vanya,” she heard Luther whisper as the woman shut the car door and drove away.

Luther turned, watching her go, and Piper caught a glimpse of his distress before she ducked back inside to avoid getting caught tailing him. Back inside, she leaned against the wall, biting the nail of her thumb as she debated sticking around to see what other events unfolded for the night and reporting back to Five that she had at least some idea of where another sibling was.

Her decision was made for her though, when an unnervingly large arm pressed across her, pinning her to the wall by her shoulders.

“Who the hell are you?” Luther asked, face mere inches from hers and twisted into a scowl.

“Relax, there’s no need for violence here,” she said, trying to placate him.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not. I mean I was. Sort of. I mean it was more general surveillance than ‘following.’ Although it did…also involve following…”

“Shut up and answer my questions.”

“Um, which of those would you like me to do? Because I can’t simultaneously shut up and…speak, which I need to do to answer your questions.” She tilted her head questioningly to one side and put on her most charming smile.

He pressed his arm harder across her collarbones, shaking her, the pressure making it momentarily harder to breathe until she adjusted to it.

“Quit playing games. Who. Are. You?”

“My name is Piper Rofa. I’m with your brother, Five. A fact that he’s not super thrilled with because of his whole grouchy loner thing, but I’m not about to let that stop me. I stayed behind to keep an eye on you in case there was more you knew or something, even though he’s willing to write you off as a lost cause. Because I’m not about to let the world end based on the fact that your asshole family can’t get their shit together.”

His hold on her slackened, though the arm was still large enough that even slight pressure kept her in place. “I don’t know anything. Until Five showed up, I thought everyone was dead.”

“So that wasn’t your sister in the car?”

“It…was. But tonight was the first time I’d seen her since…”

“Since she blew up the moon and tried to kill you all? Or was that the other sister?”

“No…that was Vanya. How do you know so much about us?”

“It’s a long story. One I’ll happily tell to all of you once you’re rounded up in the same room but I really don’t want to have to keep going over.”

“I’m done with that life.” By now he had released her completely, but she remained rooted in that spot anyway.

“But they’re still your family. Don’t you want to see them?”

“Are they?” his voice was soft, pained. “All I’ve ever done is push them away and hurt them. It’s better for everyone if I just…don’t go back.”

“Bullshit. Family’s hard, but also family’s family. Whatever you’ve fucked up, they still love you. Or at least, the one I’ve met does. You should have seen his face…”

He stared at her, mouth open in shock, face twisted in uncertainty. “How…how many of them are together right now?”

“None. But we can make it at least three, possibly four if you give me that address, and you come with me back to our makeshift base of operations. We still haven’t found Allison or Klaus?” she hesitated, unsure she had the names right. “And the other brother is locked up in an asylum which Five for some reason decided not to spring him from, but that’s…fixable.”

“I’m not going to give you this address. I don’t even know if Vanya actually lives there, but if she does…I don’t know you, no matter what you claim. And I need to talk to her first. Alone.”

Piper rolled her eyes. “Fine, suit yourself. Just, when you’re done, both of you should come to Morty’s Television and Radio.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask,” she shrugged. “Now unless you’re planning any other secret sibling reunions or interesting events, I should probably be off.”

She gave him a wink and wave as she sauntered away.

~

“I can’t tail a car on foot!” she shouted in frustration as Five raged. “And what else was I supposed to do? Fight your brother for the wallet? He could snap me in half like a toothpick!”

“You incompetent…useless…” his face was rapidly reddening. “What is the point of you if you can’t even do a simple task?”

“Hey!” she glared, folding her arms over her chest. “At least we can confirm that she’s still in Dallas. And that she’s either a very good actress or didn’t recognize your brother. Neither of which we’d have without me sticking around, which you called a waste of time. Besides, Luther all but said he was going after her, so we can tail him there.”

“Don’t bother. Let’s just focus on this tape from your father and hope it’s more helpful than you are.”

She bit back the first retort that came to mind, sticking her tongue out petulantly. “Do you have the magic power of film development now too?”

His jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth angrily. “No. I don’t have the power to develop the film. But I’m sure I will find someone who can.”

“Some stranger? When there could be signs, clues, or references to the apocalypse? Great plan. Definitely won’t lead to panic or getting arrested as a terrorist or anything. Especially if you drag them out of bed to do it.”

He sighed angrily. “What would you suggest then?”

“Wait until morning, see where these came from,” she gestured to the photos around the loft. “Until then, do some more research through all this junk to see if we can find where the last two siblings are?”

She watched him struggle with himself, not wanting to admit that she was right.

“Now pass me that box,” she gestured to a large cardboard box overflowing with sheets of paper and newspaper clippings, clearly things that Elliot thought were important but hadn’t gotten around to sorting into his desk or “conspiracy wall.”

~

Hours later, Elliot shuffled out of his bedroom, setting up a pot of coffee before noticing that the two time-travelers were there, each wrapped in their own heads and oblivious to the world.

“Do…do you like eggs?” he asked them, stammering out an offer for breakfast, cutting through their thoughts. “Or cereal?”

Piper looked up, smiling politely as she accepted and Five waved him off, muttering about “just needing coffee.”

As the girl and Elliot ate, Five looked around again, eyes falling to focus on some of the strange images on the walls.

“Elliot, did you develop these photos yourself?” he asked, leaning in to look closer at one of them.

“Of course. Can’t exactly drop that stuff off at the neighborhood Fotomat,” Elliot stood, walking across the partition with his bowl of cereal. “Government has eyes everywhere.”

Piper rolled her eyes, half listening as they discussed the lack of darkroom and Five asked him to develop the footage her father had slipped him.

As Elliot began listing supplies and excuses for why they were difficult to get, she rose, moving to lean in the doorway, arms folded.

“Elliot,” Five said, face taught with frustration.

“It’s like five, maybe six hours.”

“Would it go any faster with a sweet ride?” she asked, spinning her keychain, complete with neon orange rabbit’s foot, around on her finger.

Elliot’s eyes lit up at the prospect and Five became distracted by the call over the radio.

“The hell is a code 3-15?”

“Fugitives on the run,” Piper and Elliot said at the same time, glancing at each other in surprise before focusing back in on the rest of the call.

“Oh, Diego,” Five sighed, pressing his lips together and turning his eyes toward the ceiling as if to ask God ‘why?’

“Who’s Diego?” Elliot asked and Piper gave him a puzzled look.

Hadn’t they talked about it the day before, when he’d shown Five the mugshot? Or was the at least 30 hour day starting to mess with her memory? She shook it off, surreptitiously pinching the flesh of her own upper arm, the quick, sharp pain waking her up some.

“Imagine Batman, then aim lower,” Five explained before turning away from the radio.

She snorted at the description, which just about matched up to what her father had told her.

“You get started on that film,” he told Elliot. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Actually, it’s probably faster for you to go alone,” she pointed out with a shrug. “I mean you can just pop to him and sort things out without…awkward introductions or sidetracking. Plus, I can get the supplies, help Elliot here; we’ll know what’s on that tape a lot sooner.”

Five hesitated. She flashed him a reassuring smile.

“I promise,” she said. “We’ll play nice. I mean, I can only hope the feeling’s mutual but I like Elliot, and this is something actually useful I can do. Now go teleport after your crazy-escapee brother.” She waved her hands in a shooing motion and Five rolled his eyes, heading for the door.

“Alright, Elliot,” she said, turning back to the man and planting her hands on her hips in an exaggerated, almost-superhero pose. “Hope you’ve got a shopping list and some cash because I have neither. But I’ll drive.”

~

Several hours later, she sighed, brushing hair out of her face as she bent to the task Elliot had given her, focused intently as they neared the finish line. Suddenly, something heavy clumsily smashed into the side of her head and she staggered away from it, dropping her tools and turning, shifting instinctively into a defensive stance to face her attacker.

“Elliot?! What the hell are you doing?” she shouted, watching the nervous little man drop the lamp he had swung moments earlier.

“I saw the footage!” he shouted. “I know what you are!”

Her head throbbed from the blow.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, frowning. “What exactly did you see?”

“I saw enough! And I won’t let you get away with it!”

She sighed, uncoiling her fists and trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. Holding up her hands, palms flat and facing him, she locked eyes with Elliot.

“Calm down Elliot, please,” she said, voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but I promise there’s an explanation.”

“I’m not going to let you warp my mind!” he shouted. “You’re some sort of demon or alien or…or Russian spy!”

“What?”

Rather than responding, Elliot charged at her and swung a wild haymaker, so unexpected (and surprisingly quick) that it caught her off-guard. Striking on the same side he had already hit her, it drove her to her knees, vision swimming. The last thing she noticed as the world fell away were hands on her wrists and her only thought was that she had failed.

~

When Piper woke up next, she was somewhere completely dark. She could feel that her wrists and ankles had been bound together, trapping her in a hunched over position. Luckily, her captor (Elliot she suspected) made the mistake of putting the ropes in front of her, and probably didn’t know about her training in escape artistry. Gritting her jaw against the waves of pain and nausea that her movements triggered, she set to work, among other things discovering that she was in the darkroom closet.

Outside, she could hear shouting, and then, worryingly, the blast of a gunshot. Elliot wouldn’t actually shoot Five…she hoped. Though she also didn’t expect him to knock her out cold and tie her up, so maybe she didn’t know the nutter as well as she thought. And even if he wouldn’t really shoot Five, she couldn’t say the same in reverse if Elliot threatened him.

Finally, she felt the ropes go slack and stood.

“Where is she Elliot?” she heard Five ask through gritted teeth.

Her hand stilled momentarily on the doorknob, curious to hear where this would go.

“The one you left here to kill me when I found out the truth?” she heard Elliot snap. “I took care of her. Bet you weren’t expecting that.”

She rolled her eyes. So dramatic.

“I swear, if you hurt her…”

“Who are you talking about Five?” she heard another voice ask. “Is Allison here? …or Vanya?”

So that must be Diego then. Before things could go any further, she decided to make her grand entrance.

“Christ,” she said loudly as strode casually out of the converted closet, shaking the remaining ropes off her wrist. “That was uncalled for.”

Elliot stared. Diego and the mysterious woman with him stared. Five pointedly avoided looking at her, but she thought she might have caught a flash of relief cross his face.

“Seriously,” she smiled at Elliot who she now noticed was pinned down by the one she assumed was Diego. “That was an impressive punch from such a wimpy-looking guy,” her face fell into disappointment and she held out the rope, “but it was super unnecessary.”

“He managed to take you out with one punch?” Five asked, tone somewhere between mockery and incredulity.

“I mean, there was the element of surprise. And I think a lamp?”

“I had to do it! You people are dangerous! I know!” Elliot shouted, trying and failing to struggle as the strange woman tied his legs together.

Piper rolled her eyes. “You don’t know shit, Conspiracy Brain. Which would have been obvious if you let me explain instead of giving me a migraine. Now you had better have aspirin somewhere or I am going to be very annoyed.”

“Who the hell is this girl Five?” his brother asked.

“I like her,” the woman chimed in, earning her a glare from both Hargreeves and a smirk from Piper.

“My name is Piper Rofa, it’s really nice to meet you,” she called as she rooted through the bathroom medicine cabinet. “Do you want to explain the rest, Old Timer, or shall I?”

“Rofa…why does that name sound familiar?” Diego muttered.

Piper caught sight of Lila’s eyes, narrowed and studying her shrewdly. Something about her calculating look put the younger girl’s nerves on edge and she looked back with the same faux-casual inspection.

“Let’s just watch the film, see what’s got Elliot all worked up, and we can do introductions later,” Five said, brushing aside Diego’s curiosity.

They tied Elliot more securely, to one of the dental chairs he had inexplicably laying around. Lila dug out an old bottle of sickly green nail polish and began doing her fingernails and the captive man’s toes. Piper couldn’t help but chuckle from where she sat with her boots resting up on the corner of the kitchen table; the other woman was really doing a bang-up job of playing the loon.

They all sat in silence as the tape began. And then, realizing what it was, Diego leaned forward with a new intensity of focus.

‘He really is obsessed with JFK,’ she found herself thinking. ‘Professional interest or crush?’

“How do you have this?” Diego asked his brother.

“Hazel died to get me this footage,” Five explained, eyes flickering to his brother, and then to Piper who tried to hide her distress behind a blank mask, before turning back to the projector screen. “It must be the key to stopping doomsday.”

“It had better be,” Piper muttered.

“Hazel?” Diego said with an accusatory frown.

Piper stiffened, swinging her legs down to the floor. She did not want to deal with a confrontation right now when her headache was finally going away, but she wasn’t going to stand for anyone disparaging her father’s memory either.

“Long story,” Five said dismissively, still focused ahead of him.

“What’s doomsday?” Lila asked, looking pathetically up at Five from her seat.

“Longer story.”

“What exactly did he say to you?” Piper’s eyes flickered to Five’s face, equally curious for his answer as his brother was.

“Well he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it’s on this film.”

Her teeth found the middle knuckle of her thumb, biting down on it gently while she wracked her brain for something her father might have told her that could help, feeling useless. How could she claim to have known him, to be his protégé or fill his shoes if she didn’t even know what he died for?

Four sets of eyes flickered determinedly over the screen as chaos unfolded, only Lila looking away, confusion and fear on her face as she instead watched the watchers. Suddenly, Five muttered something under his breath and moved to rewind the tape, shifting the projector around to change the focus. Whatever he saw, Diego noticed the second time around, hesitantly unfolding himself from the countertop, mouth hanging open as he approached the screen in shock to get a better look. Elliot meanwhile, was thrashing about and struggling in his chair as if he still thought he could get away. It was distracting, and for a brief moment, Piper considered the lamp and returning the favor just to get him to calm down.

“This can’t be,” Five said, his focus fixed.

“Okay are you going to fill me in now?” Lila snapped. “What the hell is this shit we’re watching?”

“No that’s impossible,” Diego’s statement might have been a denial but his face seemed to say that whatever the realization the two Hargreeves had come to, it was as plain as the hair on their heads now.

“Clearly it’s not.” At least Five had the decency to sound awed at the new information.

Information Piper still didn’t understand.

“What…what is it?” Elliot asked from around the makeshift gag in his mouth.

The two remained transfixed on the grainy image in the center of the room.

“I gotta say I’m with Lila and Elliot on this one. You two might recognize the mystery blur, but the rest of the team’s,” she gestured around, “in the dark.”

“Dad…” they both said softly.

“Oh shit.”

To call what followed a discussion would have been giving far too much credit to the participants, and vastly underplaying the childishness of their sniping at each other.

“No, you’re jumping to conclusions,” Five said, pacing back and forth.

“What the hell else is he doing standing on the grassy knoll, holding an open black umbrella, on a sunny day, in Dallas, the exact same moment the president gets shot?” Diego shouted, gesticulating wildly at the screen.

“It doesn’t look good, I admit,” Five snapped back.

“I mean your father clearly had a thing for umbrellas, given the academy, tattoos, etc. so that could be nothing,” Piper drawled, inspecting her nails as the brothers went around and around in circles, physically and metaphorically. “Or it’s for shade, and maybe he’s there to watch or meet the president, like everyone else in Dallas? He’s not a supervillain, right?”

“You think it’s a coincidence? No. He’s the signalman for the whole goddamn thing.” Diego turned to face her, eyes ablaze. “And what would you know anyway? Who the hell are you?”

“I told you. Piper Rofa. I’m…a friend.”

“Bullshit.” From seemingly nowhere, he had drawn a knife, pointing it at her threateningly. “I saw your face while we were watching the footage. You know something.”

“I wish I did! I wish I could answer your questions or villain monologue or whatever it is you’re looking for. But I don’t know jack, except that the world is ending. It might be connected to Kennedy, it might not.” She shrugged, slapping her hands back down to her sides. “My father is dead, and he told me that The Umbrella Academy were the best chance at saving the world. So get your stupid knife out of my face, and figure it the hell out.”

“Who…?” Diego looked momentarily taken aback. “Who’s your father? How does he know about us?”

“Piper, don’t,” Five cautioned. “Now is not a good time to be bringing that up.”

She sighed, turning away from both of them and folding her arms around herself. “Hazel,” she admitted softly, almost apologetically.

She thought she heard Lila gasp and frowned at that, but there wasn’t time to address it as Diego seized her shoulder and slammed her into the nearby doorframe.

“Your father killed my…friend,” he hissed through clenched teeth, knife pressed to her throat and face in hers.

She rolled her eyes, undaunted. “Oh cry me river. Good people die all the time. Besides, that’s in the past…or the future? And I’m not him. Nor will killing me do anything, other than make a mess of this lovely apartment and delay what’s important. So can we focus back on your dad, who you apparently think is just as bad or worse than mine?”

He growled, pressing the blade harder into her neck, enough that she felt a thin trickle of blood, clearly not taking kindly to her opinion on the matter.

“Easy Diego,” Five interrupted, placing a hand on his brother’s arm and drawing him away.

Piper rubbed at her neck and shoulder where the majority of Diego’s weight had been, adding them to her growing catalogue of bruises to expect.

“Seriously,” Five sighed in exasperation.

“No, it makes sense,” Diego insisted, shifting instantly back to the topic of Reginald Hargreeves and JFK as if there had been no interruption at all. “This is what Hazel was obviously trying to tell you.”

His eyes flickered over to Piper and she shrugged. Lila stood up, offering to help her with the wound and hesitantly she accepted, both women leaving the brothers to argue.

“We have to stop dad from killing the president,” Diego declared dramatically.

Piper rolled her eyes and caught Lila doing the same. She frowned. There was something about this woman…something that set her teeth on edge but felt very familiar.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“No. I don’t think we’ve met,” Lila answered with a smile that seemed to waver uncertainly. “But I can tell we’re gonna be good friends.”

Piper bit her lip, wanting to say more when Five’s voice cut through again.

“Dad’s clearly in Dallas, right? Let’s just go talk to him. Maybe he can help us fix the timeline.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Piper muttered, brushing aside the rest of Lila’s first aid to return to the main room in case she had to referee between them.

“Dallas is a big place,” Diego pointed out. “We need to find him first.”

“Gee, if only we had some magical, old-timey way of finding people and their addresses.”

Piper tossed the October 1963 phone book at Five, “Or should I pull another fast one on the 911 operator?”

He dropped in on the table. “Let’s start simple, his name.”

Before he could, Diego had already opened the book and bent over it, scanning for ‘Hargreeves’ with increasing frustration. When they didn’t find it, Five suggested looking for his company instead.

“D.S. Umbrella Manufacturing Co.”

“Yeah, I know the name,” Diego shot his brother a look.

“Seriously, more umbrellas? I think it’s time to consider it was a fetish,” Piper joked, drawing a laugh from Lila and a disgusted shudder from Diego.

When they found what they were looking for, the two almost immediately turned to go, rolling up the screen and heading for the front stairs down into the showroom.

“He okay to leave here like that?” Diego asked quietly.

“Yeah, he’s fine. What about the girl?” Five answered.

Both men looked behind them to find Elliot, still tied and gagged, and Piper flipping aimlessly through a magazine, once again leaning back in a chair and resting her feet on the table, making it all to obvious  that she was eavesdropping. There was no sign of Lila.

“Shit,” Diego muttered, turning back.

Five sighed. Piper pointed over her shoulder to the darkroom closet Lila had scurried off to as soon as their backs were turned. He sat down across from her while Diego went to check on the other girl.

“Are you coming with us?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“No. I think I’m going to stay here. We still need to find the rest of your family as fast as possible, and I have a few ideas. Plus something’s not quite sitting right with me that I want to follow up on. And I don’t think your brother likes me much.”

Five chuckled. “Diego doesn’t like many people.”

“He likes Lila a hell of a lot. You sure that’s not going to be a problem?”

“No, I’m not. But it’s one we can deal with later.”

She sighed, fidgeting with her hands on the table. “You wanna take my car?”

His expression softened, understanding the gesture of trust it was meant to be.

“No, I don’t want to draw attention.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a very flashy car, Piper.” The tone of his voice sounded almost like a scolding father, or like her mother’s not-quite-disapproval when she’d cut the picture out of a magazine and pinned it to her corkboard at fifteen. It made her smile sadly, rubbing at the sting of loss she hadn’t let herself feel completely yet.

Diego emerged from the cupboard, Lila following behind a few moments later.

“You three play nice now,” Five said, faux-sternly. Diego turned to him, surprised, but his face was blank, showing no sign that he might have just made a joke. “We’ll be back soon.”

~

Piper waited until Five and Diego had been gone for some time, and until Lila had finished painting Elliot’s nails, in case things went south – it would be rude to leave him with only two thirds of a mani-pedi after all.

“We need to talk,” she said sternly, setting aside the article she had been reading and sitting up to face the other woman, arms folded across her chest.

“About what?” Lila’s tone was the epitome of innocence and Piper found herself impressed. She was one hell of an actress.

“You’re Commission right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lila frowned in confusion.

Piper scoffed. “Oh please. My father was a Field Agent til he met Mom and settled down. But you knew that.” She cocked her head to one side in question, inviting Lila to deny it again. “He taught me how to spot another agent, in case they ever decided to use us to force him into un-retirement or something.”

Lila tensed, body movements subtle but still there, noticeable to a trained eye like Piper’s as she got ready to attack.

“You can relax,” Piper sighed, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “You don’t get in my way, I won’t get in yours. Or rat you out.”

“And what if our missions are incompatible?” Lila’s eyebrow quirked, finally dropping her ‘scared little crazy girl’ act completely.

“Still no reason to bring extra parties in. If it comes to that, we settle things the old fashion way, and may the best woman win.”

The two women locked eyes, sizing each other up, baiting each other. The air practically crackled with electricity. Elliot, still bound and gagged and distinctly uncomfortable, tried to mumble something as his eyes flicked frantically from one to the other. Surprisingly, Lila broke the stare first.

“Yeah sure, I’ll agree to that, at least for now.”

“Excellent,” Piper smiled wryly. “Like you said, I can tell we’re gonna be good friends.”

[maraudererasmut]

The explanation you gave to Sirius being mean makes sense but it just doesn’t show in the writing I guess

Normally, I don’t feel the need to defend myself when I see things like this, mostly because I know that lots of people have differing opinions and they are totally entitled to them! 

However, I can find parts of Black and White that clearly examplify all of the things that I said in my last response… 

 And I’m kind of confused that my writing ability is brought into question, because I can pinpoint all of these instances (and more) with ease. 

 So let’s break it down line-by-line, anon! 

 "For me, I see him as a very troubled person. He comes from a very wealthy, abusive family who solved all of their problems by throwing money at him.“

 ((Sirius’ family wealth is seen in Part 1)): 

 "Sirius Black, son the illustrious Orion and Walburga Black, is following in his parents’ footsteps as a curator of magnificent works of beauty.“ 

 ((Sirius’ absusive family can be seen in Part 16)): 

 "Before you ask, no, I’m not close with the other Blacks. They're… the only thing we share is the name. I’m not… well, I’m different. We don’t speak anymore. It’s better that way.“ 

 ((And Part 18)): 

 “Anyway…” Lily continued. “One of the main reasons that Sirius left was his parents. They were… well, they were cruel to him. They drank. A lot. It… never ended well…” 

 "Keep in mind, Lily and James both love and care for Sirius— There must be something they see in him that Remus hasn’t noticed yet." 

 ((Lily and James’ love for Sirius can be seen in Part 18 where Lily insists that Sirius is a nice person. She believes this strongly.)): 

 "He’s more than that, though, despite what the past few weeks have shown you…” 

 Remus responded with a laugh of his own, recalling the look in Sirius’ eyes at the coffee shop. He had seemed so apologetic, so genuine, so different from the gallery owner version of Sirius. 

 “I don’t doubt that…” 

 “I’m sorry about him, by the way. I swear, he’s not usually like this. He’s a really nice guy…” 

((Also in the same chapter, Lily shows Remus that she talks to Sirius outside of what the reader sees, and that Sirius is genuinely worried that he made Remus upset)): 

 “Good. Don’t worry, Remus. He’s not mad at you.” 

 Remus raised an eyebrow skeptically at Lily. 

 “You sure?” 

 “Positive. He doesn’t see this as your fault at all. As far as he’s concerned, he’s worried that he upset you.” 

“What? Upset me? How? Why would he think that?“ 

 “That’s what I keep telling him. Now we just have to wait for him to believe me. Things will be fine in a few days. The dust will settle and you two will be able to get back to… whatever it is that you call normal…” 

 ((And in part 25, Lily is absolutely convinced that Sirius would never take advantage of another person, almost as if she knows he’s a good guy…)):

 “Positive,” Lily said with absolute certainty, as if she had been there to verify. “Sirius would never do that. Never.” 

 Now, we can get to examples in the fic where Sirius has shown good qualities, such as caring for other people and putting them before himself: 

 ((In Part 2, Sirius offers Remus an interview after just meeting him. This isn’t really something most gallery owners would do)): 

 "I’m an artist, actually.” Remus’ cheeks were beginning to ache from his forced smile, but he kept it up. “I’ve been looking for the right gallery to show in for some time now.” 

 “Well then,” Sirius responded, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth turned up. “You’ll have to stop by with your portfolio at some point. I’d be remiss if I didn’t give James’ friend an opportunity to show me his work.” 

He put a particular emphasis on the word friend, as if he was entirely aware of the fact that Remus and James had only just met a few moments before.  

((In Part 19, Sirius shows Remus a softer side of himself)): 

 "Thank you, Remus. Not… not just for the coffee… but for coming. Here. I… appreciate it.“ 

 ((In part 21, Lily says that Sirius has been telling her that Remus’ work is great)): 

 "Don’t worry so much, Remus, you’ll be fine. From what I’ve heard, the pieces you’ve made are great. People are going to love them." 

 ((In Part 22, Sirius notices that something is wrong with Remus, and immediately goes to try to take care of him, even when Remus says he’s fine)):

 "Remus, are you okay?” 

 Remus reached out a hand and pressed it into a black lapel. The fabric was so soft, he couldn’t help but run his fingers across it. 

 “Yeah, ’m fine,”………..“Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I'm… I’m fine?” 

 Remus felt two surprisingly strong hands brace against his arms, and he leaned into the touch, his fingers still grazing soft material. 

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus nodded aggressively, immediately regretting that decision. The room was feeling quite dizzy. 

 “Let’s get you some water…”

 Remus felt himself being guided across the room, he felt pressure on the small of his back, an open palm, fingers spread out. He liked that feeling. 

 ((Same chapter, Sirius realizes that kissing a drunk person without their consent isn’t right, and immediately dismisses himself from the situationa fter apologizing):

 “I— I shouldn’t have done that,” Sirius murmured, taking a step back, putting distance between Remus’ body and his own. “You’re not thinking straight… I shouldn’t… I’m sorry, Remus.” 

 ((In part 24, Sirius tells Remus he was worried about him. True, he’s not handling his emotions well, but he clearly cares about Remus)): 

 "You left without saying anything, you ignore my calls all day… Hell, I even went to your flat, Remus! I was worried about you!“ 

 ((In part 25, it’s revealed that Sirius took care of Remus while he was drunk, including cleaning up after he vomited and having his clothing (the only suit that Remus owns) dry cleaned by the time he woke up)): 

 “When the party was over, you were too drunk to go home on your own. James and I were fine with you staying, but Sirius had insisted…” Lily trailed off, recalling the events of that evening. “He brought you back to his place, saying he wanted someone to keep an eye on you. You… well, your alcohol didn’t stay down. Sirius helped you out of your messy clothes and put you to bed in his spare room. He had his assistant get your clothing dry cleaned early the next morning.” 

 Look. I’m not normally one to not accept critique of my work, but I’m fairly confident that I included enough instances of everything that I had discussed in my previous post within my actual fic. 

Throughout Black and White, Sirius is shown to be someone who has a short temper and who doesn’t handle his emotions well. He is also shown to be someone who cares about his friends and is capable of good things. I show my viewers a very limited perspective (through Remus) and I have put these characters through some challenges. 

Sirius is not handling things maturely, and he is acting out, but I don’t think it’s a valid assessment that I have painted him as "irredeemable”. I think instead of “it doesn’t show in your writing”, a better statement would have been “but I didn’t pick up on it throughout the story.” The evidence is there. Whether or not you noticed it does not mean that it is not included.

[medschoolash]

Do you mind sharing more your road to medical school? Only if you’re comfortable of course?

yeah sure anon! I’ve actually never written my full story on here or anywhere so I’m glad I get the chance to do it now and hopefully this encourages someone else to keep pursuing their goals or dreams. 

Warning this is a long story . 

so I graduated with a degree is biology back in 2012, it took me 5 years to finish that degree. I was initially a biochemistry major and I changed halfway thru, which put me behind a semester. The semester I was supposed to graduate my depression, something I had struggled with since childhood but never quite acknowledged, had worsened to the point that I could barely function as a student, so I ended up failing every class I took that semester which meant I had to comeback for another semester. 

My final semester in undergrad I prayed everyday for just Cs, that’s what I needed to graduate and that’s all I really wanted because I had zero energy to invest anymore. God heard my prayers and I finished the semester with straight Cs. 

this is the face of a depressed girl who had finished an academic journey well below where she’s used to being but who is grateful she even got to finish at all.

It’s safe to sat that after my terrible academic performance my medical school chances were shot to hell and my confidence in my ability to actually be a doctor what almost zero. I was an amazing student in HS, won every award imaginable, was student of the year, etc but undergrad just didn’t go that way for me. I started off strong and gradually declined as my mental health problems became worse and worse. So to finish the next part of my academic journey at such a low place academically was a blow to me. After graduation I had to make a decision about what I would do next. I thought about doing a post bac program but I couldn’t mentally handle more school and I had zero desire to get a masters in biology when I was so miserable as a biology major.

I ended up deciding to take a year off after graduation. I have amazing parents who support me so they were okay with my decision. I didn’t work or attend school and at times I felt like I was just wasting my life but I did do a lot of soul searching and I discovered what I was really passionate about it life. That time off gave me a chance to mentally rest and recover from a very hard phase of my life. It gave me the freedom to get to know myself better without the pressures and responsibilities of life. I was always aware that this was a privilege that a lot of people don’t get which made me extremely grateful for it. During this time period I was introduced to the field of public health. My best friend had left some months before to pursue a Masters degree in public health and she mentioned she felt I would like it. During my break I looked into it and I learned that it was the perfect combination of all that things I was passionate about at that time: medicine, community, service, and advocacy. The more I explored the field and myself the more I became sure that this was the next step in my path, that this would be the place that I could fine fulfillment while also doing something that could potentially made me a better medical school candidate. while I researched school I started a community health initiative through my church, volunteered in my community, and did small things that made me feel like I had purpose and was making some sort of difference in the world. 

One night when I was up at 3am binge watching the early seasons of game of thrones I saw an email about a school in California that offered a Masters of Public Health degree via their School of Community and Global health. I had always wanted to live in California and the school was perfect for what I was looking for so despite knowing that my grades technically weren’t what they needed to be for a graduate program (yes my undergrad GPA that THAT low) I applied to the school. I even took a huge risk and applied to ONLY that school because that’s how much faith I had about this being the next step for me. It was stressful waiting to hear back from the school and I had many moments of doubting if it was the right decision. I applied to the school in early 2013. The end of July early august approaches and I still haven’t heard anything back even though school starts the first week of September. All of my friends and family knew I would get in but I was seriously doubting. They believed in me so strongly they even gave me a surprise going away party before I even got accepted. 

My dad later encourages me to call the school so I call, fully expecting to hear that I was rejected. At the end of that phone call I learn that I had gotten into the school but I never received my acceptance letter because there was a mix up in their office with the reporting of my GRE scores. I cried as soon as I was told I was granted a conditional acceptance so I barely even processed that it was conditional and not full right away. Either way I was just happy that my faith had paid off, I was going to be attending a school in my dream area and studying something I was passionate about. 

I had less than 1 month to move halfway across the country which was hectic but my family was amazing and made the quick transition a breeze. In August 2013 I moved and once  I got there I now had to finally force myself to deal with the fact that I had a conditional acceptance looming over my head and if I didn’t perform up to par I would be dismissed.  This was also a very  expensive private school that is a part of a very prestigious consortium of colleges that based on stats I shouldn’t have even been accepted into. So  I couldn’t afford to fail at this.  This was stressful at first because my confidence in myself academically still wasn’t great after my experience in undergrad. Long story short tho, I needed to maintain at-least a 3.3 my first semester in order to be granted full acceptance and continue in the program…. I ended up with a 4.0 that first semester. I shocked myself with my performance and doing that well really gave me a much needed boost of confidence. After this first semester I slowly started to allow myself to really dream of medical school again and believe it was possible.

My Graduate experience ended up being exactly what I needed. I met amazing people while in my program, got to experience an amazing city like Los Angeles, and I started to really understand what kind of physician I wanted to be going forward. It was during this program that I realized that there was more to medicine than the science and that It should take more than just perfect grades to call yourself an MD.  I learned that I needed to be a doctor that their patients could trust, that could see the bigger picture outside of just their disease, that could advocate for them, that could treat them with respect and understand everything that affects their quality of life like income status, race, educational background, access to affordable transportation, food and healthcare, and health policy. This is where I decided that I wanted to be a primary care provider instead of a neurologist, where I finally found what my purpose truly was. It wasn’t to just be a doctor for the sake of being a doctor, it was to be a true servant of the people on a community level and global level. 

Despite all this amazing growth and the amazing experience, during my final year my depression and anxiety started to rear it’s ugly head again. It was even more dejecting this time around because I was so happy, so content, living such an amazing life but no matter what I seemed like I couldn’t escape. At the end of 2014 I had health issues that made my mother fly out to California for a week to take care of me and I had huge mental breakdown in February of 2015 (I wrote about it on here before). I remember crying to my friend in the UK about how I was tired of the up and down and how I felt like it was just hopeless for me at this point. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t leave my house, couldn’t make myself eat. Even a small task like combing my hair, brushing my teeth, or putting on proper clothes felt like a chore that I couldn’t do. It was the worst I had ever been.

Once again my academic performance started to suffer again. The only thing that really saved me was the fact that I was pretty much done in the classroom at this point.  I was mostly working on my internship with the exception of one elective class . That’s the only reason my GPA didn’t take a huge hit but my internship was threatened every week. I worked for an amazing organization in LA county that was dedicated to serving the health needs of the incarcerated population. My preceptor was so flexible and amazing that when I told him I had issues with anxiety that were preventing me from coming to the office he helped me arrange working from home. He did all he could to help me finish even when I missed deadlines, appointments, etc because I couldn’t leave my house. More than once he had to be firm and tell my that If I didn’t do better I wouldn’t be able to continue but he always managed to find some grace to extend to me. His final act of grace was granting me an extension on my internship year. 

Basically what happened was by the time the beginning of May 2015 rolled around I did not have the hours to complete my internship. This was okay from a school perspective because it meant that I could still walk, but from an internship perspective I was very behind, well behind my initial contract and they didn’t have to extend it to allow me to finish. My preceptor sat me down and wrote out a plan that would require me to put in very strict hours until October of that year and if I finished by that deadline then they would sign my paperwork that would allow my degree to officially be conferred by the university. I was so grateful for the grace that I cried in his office.

I walked for graduation in the May 2015 ceremony got the summer off, then returned to california to complete my internship and my capstone. 

this was me on graduation day, 3 months after a major mental breakdown

Nothing but the grace of God got me through those months after my breakdown and the next few months. I mustered up every piece of energy and courage I could find and finished my Internship by my deadline in October and my preceptor signed off. My final project was designing an in custody Hepatitis eduction program to add on to their existing HIV education program, something that I am extremely proud of doing since LA county has one of the largest prison populations in the entire world and the vast majority of those incarcerated are black people. 

Immediately after my internship was done I went through a very trying family issue that once again sent me into a spiral. I had initially planned on staying in LA to work in public health until I decided to apply to medical school but after talking to my family I ended up deciding that moving back home near my family would be the better option so I left a city I loved and returned to my parents house. While home I decided that I was tired of not getting help for my mental health issues so I made the decision of finally get into therapy. I made the decision because I knew I could never be a doctor unless I got help. I also made the decision because I was tired of being held back in life because of it, because I was tired of having every good moment tainted my illness, because I knew I couldn’t keep living the way I was living. 

The beginning of 2016 was so hard because therapy, though helpful, opened up so many old wounds. I was often drained after my session (I would walk around whole foods for an hour buying random stuff after each session just to get some of the weight off my shoulders before returning home) but the experience was so freeing that I kept going and I could see the improvement. I learned so much about myself and why certain things have repeated itself at every stage of my life. I learned so many valuable skills and unlearned so many harmful thought processes and behaviors.For the first time since I was a child I finally felt like a free person, not like a walking pit of achievements and expectations, not like a sick person, not like a person just going thru the motions. This helped me finally decide that I was ready to purse medicine again.

My initial plan was to apply to medical school while I was in my graduate program so that I could stark right after graduation but I was so paralyzed with depression and anxiety I would stare at my MCAT book and just cry for hours because I didn’t feel good enough, I didn’t feel smart enough, I didn’t feel worthy enough, and I didn’t feel strong enough to even take that exam let alone actually be a real doctor. So I put it off. I remember being in my therapist office crying because I wanted to be a doctor so badly but It felt out of reach with my grades and history. The day I finally found the courage to schedule my MCAT exam I actually cried as I pressed the process button. I remember sitting in my therapist’s office crying as she smiled and encouraged my for having the bravery to face something that brings me so much anxiety and for having the courage to keep going forward despite the uncertainty. 

If this was a Disney movie I would have scored super high on my MCAT and then been accepted into my first choice school but life isn’t a Disney movie. 

I was scored barely high enough to be competitive but not high enough to offset my academic history so I was rejected in my first round of medical school applications. Prior to therapy I would have completely crumbled and given up, but because I was so much better at that point, so much stronger and braver I cried my initial tears and sat down to restudy for the MCAT again two days later. I was determined to do better, to cope better, and manage my life better. I started yoga, kept going to therapy, and spent time with myself and my friends and family and really finally healed and grew as a person

During this time I prepared my second round of applications for medical school, I applied to over 16 schools with the full knowledge that my application wasn’t as competitive as it needed to be but knowing I had what it took to be a good doctor and somehow it would work out for me. I retook the MCAT and got literally the exact same score as before lol I took that as a sign that I didn’t need to put my faith in an arbitrary measure of intelligence that actually had no bearing on whether or not I would actually make a good doctor or do well on the boards (research backs this up) and instead that needed to put my faith in myself and In God. 

During my previous round of applications I heard about IMG medical schools and I started an application for one school but never finished it because I remembered the stereotypes about IMG students and how they weren’t respected in the states or didn’t make it. During my second round of applications I ended up talking to an associate that was at a small Caribbean school. She told me about her experience and really made me open minded about pursing this alternative path. After doing lots of research I learned that the school I almost applied to at first is one of the most respected IMG schools out there and has given thousands of students the chance to be physicians. 

I decided to apply just before my US medical school rejection letters started coming it. There were a few times that I started to feel like I would never get in or if I did I would be making a huge mistake by going. shortly after sending my application I started a job in a hospital emergency department and while there I learned that 2 of our main ED doctors were actually IMG graduates. I also learned that the hospital had two residents from the school I applied to. This was so encouraging to me because it showed my that I wasn’t wrong. IMG grads can make it, and they aren’t any different from any other grad. They have MD behind their names and perform their jobs just as well as anyone else. The IMG docs were getting the same respect and salary as the Stanford grad on staff. None of that truly mattered, what mattered was can you do your job and do it well. 

What a lot of people don’t tell you about IMG schools is that yes a lot of people attend because they have a rocky academic history, but many attend because they were excellent students but US schools just didn’t have the space for them (google how much of a physical shortage US hospitals have because US schools can’t meet the demand with their low acceptance rates). Many attend because they decided to be doctors later in life and had huge gaps between degrees that US schools found unattractive. Many of them are good enough to be excellent doctors, they just needed the opportunity to do so, I was one of those students. 

After getting rejected by all 16 schools I applied to I ended getting into my current medical program BUT it once again it wasn’t a complete acceptance. I was granted conditional acceptance into the school of medicine, the condition being I had to pass a strenuous hard sciences program with a 3.5 GPA (well above the GPA requirement actual first year medical students need to pass into the next term) AND I had to pass a comprehensive exam at the end of the program with at least a 75. This brought on so much anxiety because if I failed to meet this high standard I would not be allowed to continue and my medical journey would truly be over. Most of the students who get placed in this program don’t pass because it’s that hard. I had 6 different classes, the most credit hours I have ever taken at one time in my life, each with their own exams and class requirements. This was truly the test that would show how much I had grown because this was the most pressure I had ever faced. I was walking into a program thousands of miles away from my family and friends on a secluded island and being placed into a situation that could trigger every single one of my issues. Instead of quitting before I even started I decided I was going to do it, I was going to mass no matter what, I wasn’t gonna let anything stand in my way. I felt like this was what all my suffering had prepared me for, this was what all the delays was for. It was to get to a place where I felt strong enough to give this my all and perform as well as I knew I could. 

My time in the first program was hard. I missed my family, I never felt like I could take breaks, I cried so many times because there was so much doubt and pressure at times. I cried before my first round of exams in the program thinking I would do terribly and I ended up getting As on every exam except one. This helped my confidence tremendously and I finally started to believe deep down inside that I could do this. By the time my program had ended I had lost friends because grades made them withdraw or because of petty reasons and I had a relapse with anxiety that sent me to the department of psychological services once a week for 2 months. But through it all I made it though a program where 150 people started, only 90 made it to finals, and only 50 of those 90 passed (many on appeals) with All As and 1 B and an A on the comprehensive exam. 

I did that, I worked my ass off in a foreign place and I performed at a level that I didn’t think I was even capable of for a long time. I passed with flying colors, I passed with no doubt that I was capable, that I was strong enough to endure this process, that I could achieve every dream that felt our of reach for so long. 

This is the face of a person who worked so hard for so long, who battled so much and finally got to wear the coat that she felt so unworthy of for a long time. This is the face of someone who earned her place at the table that no one can ever take from her. 

and this is the face of the girl who based on undergraduate grades and probably every statistic out there shouldn’t have gotten into medical school but who just finished her first official term as a medical student with an A average and  in the top 10% of her class. This is the face of a person who is as happy as she’s ever been and as whole as she’s ever been. 

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 15)

Slow

We’re 15 chapters in; here’s a sprinkling of action... a very fine, stingy sprinkling. I did say this story was going to be slow burn lmao :’) 

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

 -

Arthur and I had sat ourselves down underneath a tree, he was leaning up against it and had taken his hat off to give me a good view of his face. I sat a few feet away in front of him, holding the paper he'd given me from his journal and a book about wildflowers and herbs that he'd given me to lean on. I observed him for a while as he settled, getting comfortable. He looked a little shy all of a sudden with my eyes on him, but he didn't say anything and just looked out towards where Rayna and Jet were grazing. 

When he was ready and seemed to have relaxed, I started sketching out some guidelines. I started with a light oval shape and a few lines to place his eyes, nose and mouth, then worked lightly as I started mapping out his features. I went over the same place a few times until I got the shapes as close as I could, slowly warming my wrist up and getting my artist's eyes back. When I drew for a while I would start to see things differently. Back when I'd draw myself the image in the mirror would turn into a collection of lines and shapes that could be more easily replicated than a face, but when I was drawing Arthur I could not lose his image. I was constantly reminded of who I was drawing; it required a little more effort and focus, but it was good practice. 

It certainly threw me back into the water when it came to drawing again. 

It was an interesting experience being able to really stare at him in a context where it was entirely appropriate to do so. I noticed things about him that I hadn't before; the scar on his chin, the dimple on the tip of his nose, the slight signs of his age in the form of creases around his eyes. All it served to do was make him even more attractive to me, and my hand would shake a little each time he met my eyes. 

My drawing certainly wasn't anything to write home about. I supposed you could tell that it was him but things were a little off; his eyes were definitely too big, his chin was too small, he was certainly better looking in the flesh, but it wasn't a terrible drawing. I worked on the shading, darkening the side of his face furthest from me where it was in shadow and put a little more detail into his eyes. Gosh, his eyes. I'd never be able to do them justice with a stick of graphite but I sure did enjoy trying. The longer I drew for, the more relaxed Arthur seemed to become and he kept his eyes on me more often than not. 

If felt strangely intimate, just sitting and drawing him, sharing eye contact as a breeze rolled through the grass. It was peaceful, too, with the sounds of tree branches rustling and songbirds flying overhead. It was lovely, really, and I found myself threatening to overwork my drawing simply so I could drag it out for longer. With a soft sigh I looked between Arthur and his graphite impression, pursing my lips. 

"I think I've worked on this all I can," I told him. "I guess it's okay, though it's not going to hang on anyone's wall."

"Did you enjoy making it?" He asked me and I nodded without hesitation.

"I really did," I grinned. 

"If you enjoyed it, that's all that matters," he said, putting his hat back on. 

"Thank you for sitting for me, you're an excellent model," I told him, resulting in a bashful chuckle. 

"If you say so."

I paused for a moment, looking down at my drawing and thinking about my next words. 

"Do you wanna see it?" I finally asked, nervous to see his reaction but wanting to share it all the same. 

"Really? I'd love to. Only if you're happy to share," he said. I turned the drawing around and tilted it towards him. Arthur looked at it, then moved away from the tree to scoot closer to me. 

Arthur studied the drawing for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. 

"Wow, I ain't never seen a drawing of myself before," he noted, leaning in closer. With how I was holding the drawing it meant his head was above my lap, so close to me. "You did a good job, looks like me!"

"You think? I reckon I did you a little injustice," I snorted, flushing a little. 

"What'chu mean? Looks fine to me."

"You're better looking than that," I assured him and he glanced up at me. He only leaned back just a little when he noticed how close he was. He looked a little stunned, like he didn't know how to respond; so I saved him the trouble. "You got any tips for me?"

"Oh, I don't think it's my place. I'm hardly an expert," he said, looking back down at the drawing. 

"You're more skilled than I am, I'd say that makes you qualified enough. I'd appreciate the advice, since I'd like to draw more often," I said, watching Arthur run his thumb along his bottom lip. "Please?”

"Alright. I'm not really sure what to say, you've clearly got skill already but I guess if I was gonna give you some advice…” he trailed off and paused for just a moment. 

"I noticed as you were drawing, you tend to go over the same place over and over, I see what you're doing, I do it myself. You're feeling out the line," he pointed out the edge of his nose in the drawing as an example. "But you do it real quick every time, trying to get the line right in one quick stroke. Sometimes you gotta slow down a little, guide the pencil down slow as you look at what you're trying to draw. Either that or you do a series of shorter strokes, go in stages. Take a little pressure off yourself, take your time."

"Oh, I see what you mean," I nodded, turning the drawing to have a look at it myself. "That's definitely something I tend to do, the quick lines. It's sort of like I'm taking a stab in the dark and hoping it looks right," I laughed. 

"There's nothing wrong with it, it just might save you some hassle if you slow it down."

"Right," I agreed, absorbing his words. "Thank you, Arthur. Anything else?"

"Just keep at it," he shrugged his shoulders and looked up at me. "I'll keep my eye out for a sketchbook for you. Then maybe we can do this more often; come out and do some drawing together.”

"I'd really like that," I told him, failing to keep the grin from spreading across my face. Arthur was still so close, his eyes studied my face for a while, a certain warmth appearing in them.

"Yeah, me too," his voice was quiet and smooth, and he wasn't moving away. He was close enough for me to hear his breath and feel it too, and I was a little embarrassed to realise that must mean he'd notice my own breath pick up. 

Arthur licked his lips, glanced down at my mouth and a spike of hot, bright anticipation lit up my body. I was frozen still and yet he tilted his head and edged forwards. Something was about to happen, something that'd never happened to me and all I could do was sit there and panic on the inside. From my lips, his eyes moved back up to my eyes and he seemed to see something in them – probably the panic – because just like that, his head tilted back down to my drawing. He let out a breath, sort of like an awkward laugh mixed with a sigh, then he sat back to give me some space. 

What? No! No, no, no!

Had I imagined all of that? Was he actually just looking at a chunk of something stuck in my teeth? Probably. 

Idiot.

"I'm sorry, I–” he started, pausing to take out the pocket watch I'd gifted him. "I should be heading towards Valentine, I reckon." 

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry to have kept you," I said, clearing my throat and holding out his pencil and book. He took them from me very carefully, like he was conscious of avoiding contact with my skin.

"Nonsense, this was nice," he told me, then rose to his feet. I stood up too, quickly, so that he wouldn't feel obligated to offer his hand to help me up. "I'm sorry we never got to find that oleander."

"It's okay, I'll probably stick around here and look for some, since I'm already here." 

"You sure? And you'll be okay on your own?" He queried and I gave him a look. He remembered he was speaking to little miss lone wolf and chuckled. "That was dumb, I'm sorry."

I dismissed his concerns with a shake of my head. "Thank you for riding out with me, and for the paper and the art lesson."

"The pleasure's all mine, my lady," he dipped his head a little.

We stood facing each other for a few moments, not quite meeting each other's eyes. Something hung in the air and I was starting to think that perhaps I wasn't just imagining things; in which case, how disappointing that things hadn't unfolded in the way they seemed to have been going. He and I could've been rolling around in the grass together, his lips on mine, by now. 

"Uhh, anyway. I best be getting back to it. I'll see you back at camp," he eventually said, reaching out to give my upper arm a gentle squeeze and caress. I certainly didn't mind those little touches of his.

"Sure, see you later," I replied, my voice sounding much sadder than intended.

"You look after yourself, alright?"

"Will do. You too," I nodded. He gave me a little smile before slowly making his way over to the horses. He walked oddly, like he wasn't certain he was going in the direction he wanted; each foot being placed awkwardly and hesitantly. He turned and looked back at me as he went, and for lack of knowing what to do I gave him a silly wave, which he returned. 

He mounted Jet, giving me a final nod before setting off, leaving me to stand there watching him go… feeling like I wanted to punch something; preferably my own face. How could something have come so close and yet crumbled to dust so easily? Maybe if I had looked a little less terrified, maybe if I had leaned in too, maybe if I had said something when he looked back at me just then, maybe, maybe, maybe. 

With a quiet whine I stomped over to Rayna, putting my drawing of Arthur away in the saddlebag before mounting up. 

"How awkward did that look from over here, girl?" I whispered to her, patting her neck. She shook out her mane, and I wasn't sure what to make of that. 

With a wistful sigh I headed back to the trail, going in the opposite direction to Arthur to head towards Bayou Nwa, on a quest to find some oleander. 

-

When I rode back into camp that evening, saddlebags stocked with Charles' oleander, I noticed things looked sparse. Bedrolls were packed up, fires were out, some tents were already gone and others in the process of being pulled down. I dismounted my horse and jogged over to Dutch who was in his tent, speaking with Hosea. 

"What's happening, Dutch? Where's Arthur?" I asked him, worry creeping into my tone. Dutch looked up at me and sighed like I was an inconvenience, though perhaps that's all I was.

"Arthur has gone with Charles to scout out our new camp. We're moving."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Of course something happened, now, I ain't got time for this so you can either clear off on your nag, or stick around and help us! It's time for you to choose your loyalties, I don't care either way," he snapped at me, clearly extremely stressed out, before getting up and stomping past me. 

I watched him go with widened eyes before turning back to Hosea who had a sad look about him.

"Don't take it personally, my dear, he's had a lot on his plate as of late," he told me wearily. I glanced in Dutch's direction before meeting Hosea's eyes again. "Though, he has a point. If you're going to leave us, now's the time to do it. No one'll be counting heads."

"And no one'll miss me, huh?" I chuckled, not taking it to heart. Hosea gave me a look, one that said that wasn't what he meant and I knew it.

"You're more than welcome to come with us. You've been a hard worker, but it's entirely up to you. I won't try to convince you either way," he continued, speaking through a sigh before rising to his feet and moving past me.

"Thanks, Hosea," I spoke after him. He paused to look over his shoulder at me and we shared a look for a few moments, a comforting smile passed between us before he left. 

I took a deep breath and turned, marching towards Susan. 

"Miss Grimshaw? Point me towards someone who needs my help."