#Maybe ill just donate blood and faint again

[druddigoon]

bede and gloria; late night confessions

[it’s been a while since i worked on this, i tried to finish this to something ao3-worthy but the muse is just not comin ;_; didn’t quite get to the meat of your prompt tho it’s still at 1.5k words and full of drunk shenanigans!]

Bede doesn’t know how he got here. 

There’s something digging into his side, uncomfortable and wet (a log, some part of him helpfully supplies, before his thoughts sink into oblivion) as he half-squats, half-slumps onto the peat. Bioluminescent mushrooms pulse like strings of faerie lights at the edges of his periphery; he closes his eyes and feels the pleasant hum of television static against his bones, loose-limbed and sluggish. 

“Bede. Hey.” Someone’s standing him, shaking him. Glor-Gloria? What’s the champion doing here? She’d had more pressing obligations to take care of than visiting him, right? Unless she was…

He sits bolt upright. “Training.” 

“Hey. Bede no, you’re in no state to train.” She’s grabbing his shoulders, so irritably he shrugs her hands off. “Okay, fine. Haterenne, help me please?” 

“Hissssss.” 

“I know, it’s my fault, you can hate me for this later. Could you teleport him to Opal before he pukes on me?”

“I won’t puke on you.” He attempts to stand up, wobbles, and relocates onto the log, looking up at her like he only intended to shift his seat all along. “Just...don’t say a word of this to Opal, she doesn’t know I’m rende...rendezvu...meeting you for training at night.” 

Gloria makes a face like a goldeen, open-mouthed and slack-faced, before reeling herself in, blowing her bangs out of the way in exasperation. “What’re we going to do then?” 

“Train.” The log is awfully comfortable. 

She throws her hands up, stalking a ways away into the undergrowth. “Fine, you win. Hatterene, he’s yours now.” 

“Rene.” 

“This’ll wear off,” he insists after her. “Besides, we still have an entire night. It’s only--”

                                                                                     --Three in the morning. 

He knows this because it’s a routine ingrained into his internal body clock, reinforced by Sylveon sitting at his bedside and repeatedly probing him in the cheek. She dodges the togekiss sleep mask he flings at her, mewling incessantly from her safe space behind his rarely-used study desk as he fumbles the blanket off himself. 

Check surroundings. Judging by the iron klefki wards she hung in front of her door every night, Opal’s asleep across the hall; woman can sure sleep like the dead when she wants to. It’s quiet, empty. The portobellos growing on the kitchen walls ebb with the faint chartreuse of early morning. He pulls on his gear as quickly and quietly as possible, recalling Sylveon into her ball before climbing out his bedroom window. 

Despite most of the Ballonlea population being asleep, the Glimwood Tangle is teeming with activity: impidimps chittering from the trees, the echoing croons of hatterene in the distance, a male indeedee wandering around collecting swathes of amanita--most likely for some courtship ritual. He’s been gym leader for nearing six months now, and they no longer saw him as an intruder on their turf. The oranguru that always meditates underneath a wisteria-choked tree barely gives him the side eye as he passes. 

At the edge of the faerie ring, in their designated meeting location, he finds the Champion resting between the boughs of a tree. 

She’s already noticed him, of course--squirrelly, quick-eyed and observant, Challenger Bede had scribbled in his league-issue notepad, where he kept track of rivals and how to counter them--and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she made her way down, landing like it’s all she’s known, to fall and pick herself up. 

“The usual?” He prompts. 

“Nope.” Something clinks in her tired leather bag as she straightens herself. “I was thinking of having a battle today. Haven’t had one outside a boring league stadium in weeks.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat reserved for when the region’s champion calls million-dollar, painstakingly designed entertainment buildings “boring”. Then again, Gloria never cared much for the stark geometry of commercial buildings. 

“But first. I brought something.” After rifling through her bag, she produces a jar of clear fluid with more flourish than she ever showed in her league battles, handing it to him. 

He unscrews the lid for a whiff and immediately regrets it. “Don’t tell me you smuggled alcohol all the way from Wyndon.” 

“Aren't you legal?” 

“Yes, I am. You aren’t.” Hatterene take him if Opal caught him in a hangover the next morning. At least Gloria had her own condo. 

“It’s only illegal if they catch you.” She replies, and Bede would agree wholeheartedly on any other day, if not for his desperate need to retain the vestiges of self-control slipping through his fingertips. Before he could protest, she takes the jar, tips it back to take a sip, then returns it to him.

He supposes he’s not a stranger to alcohol. While Rose never greeted him in-person, Bede had attended fancy meet-ups with potential patrons on behalf of the man (Galar loves a good rags-to-riches story, Oleana always told him) and let himself enjoy a flute or two of champagne on corporate dime. 

One sip. Surely nothing would come of one sip. 

“Alright,” he relents, “I suppose it’ll take more than a--

                                                                                    --Couple swallows in and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, the tips of his fingers strangely numb like that one time he accidentally stuck them into Gardevoir’s moonblast. Damn Opal and her “fairy boot camp”, he could bet on his favorite soap opera that no other trainer got their leg tied to their pokemon and forced to three-leg a batt--

“Drink.” Gloria orders, pushing the empty mason jar she refilled with water up to his lips. It tasted slightly viscous when he drank and...how did she get this anyways? Was it from her golisopod? Was he drinking bug spit?

“Bede. About your. Uh.” 

“We’ve disgus...discussed this to death already. I didn’t mean. Anything with the finalist speech. It was the heat of the moment, I was focused, and you were all that was on my mind--” 

“--So you were thinking about me then?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Anyways,” she continues uneasily, “Could you recall Hatterene? She looks like she wants to tear me to shreds with her mind.” 

“Oh.” He glances back and, sure enough, Hatterene is right behind him, every strand of hair bristling with psychic energy. “Hattie, behave. You’re better than this.” 

Hatterene trains the brunt of her attention to him, and there’s the low before a tidal wave, thrumming in his skull like a shotgun blast before she presses her pokeball and enters it with a huff. 

He hears an audible exhale from Gloria in the ensuing silence. “I haven’t heard you call her ‘Hattie’ in a long time.” 

“Old habit.” She’s long outgrown it now, but he still remembers her as a hatenna small enough to fit within the cradle of his arms, the outlier of the batch Macro Cosmos had donated to his orphanage. Most likely a breeding reject--too smart for her own good, too ill-behaved and unruly to be championship material--because nobody liked a pawn that didn’t follow orders. He knew how it went. “My younger self’s nicknaming skills left much to be desired.” 

They’ve come a long way since then.

“That’s sweet,” she says, and normally Bede would bristle at a challenge to his dignity, but today his limbs are sluggish and the bottomless pit of hatred he’d often found himself visiting seemed strangely empty.

"You were friends since you were young," Gloria clarifies, "And she obviously cares for you a lot--I've heard most hatterenes are as misanthropic as psychics come. It's nice that you've managed to keep it strong through your gym challenge."

"Gloria..."

"What's done is done though. I'm Champion, he's a researcher, and you're drunk out of your mind." When Bede sputters in response, she tips the jar of water in his general direction. He's forced to catch it so she doesn't spill the entirety of the contents on his clothes.

Definitely bug spit. But if this is the fix to the pressure building behind his eyes then he may as well take it. Even if that damn taste--

                                                                                    --is not at all what he expected: medicine-grade and overpowering, a hyper beam to his sinuses so powerful it forces him to tears. If this thing is safe to drink, the only reason would be because no bacteria would bear to live in it. He manages to swallow purely by willpower, refusing to spit it out in front of Gloria; whatever face he saves is instantly destroyed when she bursts out laughing at his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. Bede stares intensely at a cluster of mushrooms metres away and prays it’s too dark to catch the blood rushing to his face. “I thought-I thought you’d take it better. Maybe I overestimated you.” 

“And should I be under the assumption you’re a heavyweight drinker?” 

Gloria shrugs in lieu of an answer. “Leon always brought some kind of new wine or liquor when he visited home, and shared some of it with Hop. Hop shared some of it with me.” 

Unbelievable. And to think Leon was lauded as a children’s role model. Bede resists the urge to rub away a phantom headache. 

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Ancient History, Part II

Chapter 25 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up! 

In which there is more lore dumping and hopefully no huge glaring holes, kjghkg. Part I of the lore dump is here. 

It’s a long one (>9300 words), so only the first little bit will be here. Formatting on Tumblr just takes soOoOoO long you guys. Read the whole thing on AO3.

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

There was a brief stunned silence, which Tamaris eventually broke. “It didn’t work, though,” she said. “Putting their dragons in the deep roads to keep the Blight in was pointless. If Ghilan’nain already had a piece of red lyrium from fucking Andruil—”

Felassan cut in. “The Evanuris didn’t know it was futile. They didn’t understand the nature of the corruption that red lyrium would bring.”

“But we know that now,” she argued. “We know now how red lyrium spreads. And by ‘we’, I mean the whole Inquisition, including Solas. We know red lyrium can be grown like fucking plants in a garden, so why the fuck was he so mad about the Wardens wanting to kill the archdemons if all the archdemons do is lead the Blights?”

No one replied for a moment, and Tamaris realized with a jolt that she’d been yelling. 

Then Felassan laughed. 

Tamaris’s belly twisted with guilt. His laughter sounded so weary. Here he was, trying to lay out thousands of years of ancient history for them, and how did she repay him? By yelling at him.

He rubbed his face tiredly, and Tamaris sighed and leaned into his side. “I’m sorry, Felassan,” she said quietly. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” She waved impatiently at herself. “I’m being a bitch. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being a bitch,” he said. “You’re frustrated. There is a difference.”

“Yeah, there is, and I’m definitely being a bitch,” she retorted. 

He lifted his head from his hand and smiled at her. “You are a master of charmingly crass apologies.”

She smiled faintly in return and laced her fingers with his. “Fuck off.”

He laughed again, and it sounded more genuine this time. “All right. Maybe Varric can summarize what I’ve shared so far.”

Varric nodded. “Ghilan’nain’s crazy gets rewarded by making her an Elvhen god. Meanwhile, Andruil found some red lyrium, probably from the Titan’s heart, and brought it to Ghilan’nain as a present. Chuckles finds out too late about the red lyrium and warns Mythal, who goes looking for proof and comes back with some well-warranted worries, and she gets all her god buddies to donate their dragons to guarding the Titan’s heart, since that’s where the Blight comes from.” He lifted an eyebrow at Felassan. “Or so you think.”

“A fine summary,” Felassan said. “You have my thanks.”

Varric scoffed at his faux formality, and Dorian sighed. “Well, if you think the Blight came from a Titan’s heart, I suppose it’s a good thing that the Titan we saw with Valta has mysteriously sealed itself off since our visit, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tamaris said grimly.

Varric scratched his chin. “But I don’t get it. How can the Titan heart be the source of the Blight? It didn’t have the Blight when the elves first found it, did it?”

“Not to my understanding, no,” Felassan said.

“Then how could it be the source of the Blight?”

Felassan rubbed his mouth before replying. “I’m honestly not sure. But I do have a theory, if you’d like to hear it.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Varric said wryly.

Felassan gave him a faint smile. “The theory concerns the nature of magic. Or I should say magics, plural.” He looked at Tamaris. “Tamaris, Dorian: you both know the feeling of magic – the hum of power that you can feel in your body and your blood when you draw from the Fade.”

“Yes, of course,” Dorian said.

Felassan nodded. “Magic drawn from the Fade has a certain… a certain vibration, for lack of a better word. Or a pattern of vibration that is unique to the Fade.” To Varric he said, “You could even call it a song, if you were being fanciful. Magic of a dwarven nature — that is, that’s tied to lyrium — vibrates, or sings, in a different manner that is difficult for non-dwarves to control. I’ve spoken of this to Tamaris already, but when Templars ingest lyrium, they are forcing themselves to perceive this song that was never meant for them. It gives them powers, but it changes the way their minds and bodies work.”

Varric’s eyes widened. “That’s what makes them addicts.”

“Yes,” Felassan said. 

“But if that’s the case,” Dorian asked, “why are mages able to use lyrium? How does lyrium enhance our abilities without making us ill if it sings in a different frequency than our magic?”

Felassan pulled a little face. “I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s possible that lyrium-based magic and Fade magic can, um… damned common tongue.” He muttered to himself in Elvhen for a moment. “They might… resonate?” he said. Then he frowned. “Is that the word I’m looking for? Ah, I’ll have to use it for lack of anything better. I think these forms of magic are able to resonate if the lyrium is tamped down by being in a diluted form. If it’s diluted, the two forms of magic can sing in harmony to make an even stronger song.”

“Hm,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “A plausible theory. I’ll have to think on it, but I like it at first glance.”

“I’m thrilled to please you,” Felassan said with a smirk. He released Tamaris’s hand and leaned back casually on the couch. “Now, we know that lyrium is actually the blood of Titans, and that Titan hearts are a source of enormous power. Tell me something, all of you: did you hear a pulse from the Titan’s heart? Was there an actual heartbeat?”

“Absolutely,” Dorian said.

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. “It was slow, but really obvious.”

Felassan nodded in satisfaction. “That’s what I thought. I’ve never seen a Titan’s heart, you see. But I’m fairly certain that the song of lyrium is generated by the Titan’s heart. And…” He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “May the Dread Wolf never catch my scent. He’d surely gut me for telling you this. Especially since it’s just my suspicion and I could be wrong.” He smiled at them again, but his smile held a hint of a grimace. “Let’s be sure to keep this among the four of us, shall we?”

“Certainly,” Dorian said.

“No problem, Jester,” Varric said, and Tamaris nodded her agreement.

Felassan exhaled slowly and rubbed his mouth. “I would hypothesize that what you call the Blight is actually a corrupted vibration pattern or ‘song’ caused by a damaged Titan heart.” He looked at Varric. “That’s why I thought it interesting that Valta called herself ‘pure’ once she connected with the Titan — an undamaged Titan, I should say. The lyrium from the damaged Titan became impure and corrupted.”

Varric frowned. “But why would a damaged heart mean that the song makes people turn into crazy fanatics? Why does it make them so much sicker than regular lyrium ever could?”

“Now, this might sound like even more of a stretch,” Felassan said, “but I wonder if it might have something to do with the Titans having feelings. You know, seeing as they’re alive.”

Tamaris’s gut jolted. How had she not thought of that? “Oh. Fuck,” she said blankly. “Yeah, I suppose if a parade of strangers came out of nowhere and experimented on your people and started tearing out pieces of your heart, you’d be pretty pissed.”

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it?” Felassan said drolly. “And as we all know, rage can be a corrosive, noxious thing. The Titans feel rage, their rage changes the song, the song makes people into the worst versions of themselves...” He shrugged. “But that’s all conjecture.”

“It’s extremely well-considered conjecture,” Dorian said.

“Thank you,” Felassan said brightly. “I have had a little bit of time to think about it. Just a couple thousand years, you know.”

Tamaris sighed. “Fuck. All right. Well… well, all right. This tells us what the Blight is, then.”

“What the Blight possibly is,” Felassan corrected. “It’s all just hypothesizing.”

She nodded, then shot him a little frown. “Why did you say Solas would gut you for telling us this?”

“I suspect he wanted to keep the so-called ‘root of all evil’ away from you,” Felassan replied. “And I meant you specifically, avise.”

She blinked. “What? Why me?”

“Because he loved you,” Felassan said. 

She frowned. “So?” 

He gave her a chiding look. “He watched red lyrium corrupt Ghilan’nain, who was once one of his dearest friends. He watched it ruin our entire empire. Can you really not see why he would want to hide the knowledge of its source from the woman he loved?”

“That’s a paltry excuse,” Tamaris retorted. “All that tells me is that he didn’t trust me not to misuse the information.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “How are you defending him about this? You’re the one sitting here telling me all of this information!”

“I am, yes,” Felassan said. “But remember, avise: I am explaining him, not defending him. As for why I am telling you, the reason is simple.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I am not Solas.” 

Her heart squeezed at the seriousness of his expression. She understood what Felassan meant in the context of this conversation: that unlike Solas, he trusted her with this information. But this was not the only way that he and Solas were different.

Where Solas had been a fluctuant wave of hot and cold, Felassan was a constant wash of warmth. Felassan was certainty and humour and openness, and Tamaris did not need the reminder of how different he was from the Solas she had once thought she loved. 

“I know you’re not Solas,” she said quietly. She squeezed his knee. “I know, Felassan.”

His expression softened. Then Varric cleared his throat. “So, uh… so we think we know what the Blight is, and the dragons were probably there to keep it in check. What happened next?”

Felassan looked away from Tamaris and smiled at Varric. “Unfortunately, this is when things started to go downhill for our poor Rebel Wolf. For indeed, this is about the time when he started being called by that infamous moniker.”

CLIFFHANGER, SORRY. Read the rest on AO3!

[lovealtars]

WE START OVER AT THE END // 1.4k words

If you liked this consider commissioning me or donating to my Ko-Fi! Thank you! Reblogs/likes are appreciated!

The air grows cold as it swirls around her. Moss and dirt gather between her toes and nails with each step she takes toward the disturbed soil that awaits her at the end of the path. In a bed of leaves, dirt and the slight rise of tree roots does she feel warmth once again.

Trees speak to her in a hushed whisper, branches creaking and bending beneath the breeze. His voice, his laughter is entangled in the wood. Even in his absence, she feels him. He keeps a watchful eye on her, always a step, a breath, a life away, much like he was when he was alive. Tomás still shelters her from the harsh world despite how saturated she is in its cruelty and malice. Odessa has been hardened by the world, but he was made soft and forgiving. Never to be taken advantage of, but soft nonetheless. She was supposed to protect him and she failed.

She breathes in. It’s morbid and makes her skin crawl in her moment of clarity—but they have been so few and far between in since he left—but this is where she belongs now, right beside where his body lies in the shallow grave she dug for him in an act of selfishness to keep him all to herself.

Odessa feels the cold sting of metal against her skin as she kneels in the dirt.

So alone in her grief, she prays for the first time in years. Since she first felt the hardness of a man’s touch on her skin and the rough way he handled her like she was nothing more than a thing, a possession for him to stake his claim over instead of a little girl who trusted a little too easily and believed his sugary sweet words that turned sour when his intentions became apparent. She begs and pleads again on her knees for her pain to be taken away, for God to hear her.

Not even the crickets respond.

Again, she is left unanswered by God. Once again, she is betrayed by Him.

The wretched and pitiful sob that escapes her brings the wildlife back from its reverie. Owls hoot and cicadas make their presence known. No longer do they play voyeur to her heartbreak.

She rips at the dirt beneath her as the fauna continue their song.

So alone. So alone.

Within the sudden breath of life given to the scenery, she hears him. His voice is a whisper amongst the chaos and he speaks, “Go home.”

She freezes. There is no home for her, not anymore and he had made sure of that, however unintentional it had been. The moment the light left his warm eyes, the little house on Lorelei Street with its white shutters and her wilting rose garden no longer felt like home. Everything was a reminder of him. Memories tainted the house they had declared as their oasis. They were not haunted by their pasts when they walked the length of its rooms. Now she is haunted by her past and his, even when she curls beneath blankets and holds his pillow tight to her chest, hoping that the cocoon of comfort would warn away the shadows that move gracefully in her room. It had worked until his scent left the fabric.

Tomás had recounted the horrors his father had inflicted upon him as a child. The leather belt, the snap and crack as it flung through the air, the bruises and cuts from the metal of the buckle and the blood and tears that flowed so freely from his body. Each story left a new scar on her heart and a burning in her chest. Her husband didn’t deserve to have his trust broken by one of the two people he was supposed to trust without a doubt. It fuels her own hatred. Tomás may not have been vengeful in life, but she was.

Trust was hard—is hard—and yet, he’d made it easy for her to hand it over to him. Honey sweet kisses and brown eyes turning gold in the rays of sunshine that always seemed to find him. His gentle smiles coaxed her from her own fear. Around him, she felt no ulterior motive or ill-will beneath his actions or words, nothing there but a man enamored by a woman. Tomás washed away the need to escape from her own skin and the paranoia seeped into her bones that the man would come back to reclaim her body as his again. Odessa held him through sleepless nights and comforted him when nightmares and memories came back to grab him. She combed her fingers through his hair and hummed soft lullabies to ground him.

Her own memories have come back, rearing its ugly head harder and more insistent than ever before. Nothing scared them off like Tomás’ gentle words. She can’t face it without him.

“You are my home.”

Odessa digs and digs and digs until she pants from the energy she exerted, until her back and arms burn, until she feels his flesh beneath her nails. Piles of dirt, fungi, and leaves surround them in a halo, a bubble once again to shield them from the world. Odessa and Tomás. 

It’s only been two weeks and her love is almost unrecognizable. Bloated in the belly and the stench of death whirls around her. She gags.

She had wondered what would decay first: her or her love for him.

Odessa lays next to him, pushing past the thought of disgust that curls her upper lip and reconciles the fact he still carries her heart even in such a state of decomposition. She pulls her limbs close to her in an attempt to fit beside him.

His skin, once tan and radiant, is cold and nearly grey. He didn’t look as peaceful as she imagined he would. The skin of his cheeks droops over the sharp curves of his bones. She spots a worm wriggling across his shoulder and maggots resting on his chest and throat. A bloody foam oozes through his nostrils and out the corner of his mouth. Big, brilliant, brown eyes have sunken into his skull. In an attempt to comfort herself from the horrifying, warped image of him, she cards her fingers through his curls. Those had at least stayed the same, only dirty now. Her hand settles on his cheek.

Tomás’ death is her fault. From the moment they had met, it had been a running joke between them. You’ll be the death of me, he said, breath hitched in the back of his throat as she had grazed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his chest to his stomach, lower and lower until she reached the spot that made his hips bucked involuntarily against her mouth.

She had done it, lured him into a world that he didn’t belong to all just for the peace of mind of knowing she was safe. The only thing she can take pride in is the comfort she offered him through his last hours. After all, he took a bullet meant for her. It’s Odessa’s fault that he won’t live to see greying hair and deep wrinkles carving their way onto his face. So, she condemns herself to his fate.

She hears the faint voice again. Go home. Go home. Go home. It turns into a chant made to drive her from her spot beside him.

“I am home.”

Despite the total independence she had forced herself into from the second she turned twelve and her ordeal had ended, she had become dependent on him as he had with her. No longer do they suffocate each other with a heavy love. She is now only suffocated by her loneliness and heartache.

Even if He never responded before, she hopes He will forgive this ultimate sin to see Tomás again. Maybe there’s something better for them in another life where they are untouched by terror. An end for them both here, but a new beginning in the next life. Entwined with hope and dreams that don’t rouse them from sleep in a sick sheen of sweat.

She breathes in and closes her eyes.

Odessa slips the knife from her waistband and prepares herself for the moment of pain to take her on her final journey.

Her loneliness forged the knife she holds between their bodies, fear of a life without her lover pushes the point of the knife into the skin of the inside of her elbow, and her love for him, however dependent and unhealthy it had been for them at times, causes the split of her skin down to her wrist.

She holds back a sob as her blood spills from her arm and seeps into the rich earth.

Odessa had no intention of leaving the woods.

She is returning home to him.

[melmac78]

Sentence starters: The day Lady Penelope got jealous

(Note: I have most of another one in my head, but this one worked out faster. Starters are in bold italics.)

“He’s so pretty I think I’m gonna faint.”

Gordon sighed as he yet again heard a woman coo at him from the edges of the dance floor at the Austrian mansion.

He noticed the dark look of the brunette currently in his arms and shrugged. “I get that a lot,” he apologized.

His dancing partner snorted. “She better not... or she’ll faint by my right hook,” said the woman.

Gordon, choosing to not point out the incorrect medical statement just gritted his teeth and smiled, quickening up the waltz around the floor.

The young aquanaut may have lived life to the fullest, loved being at any type of party... but despised these types of socials.

Not the company per se, but the fact his family’s generosity toward others meant he wasn’t with his date having fun.

He and Lady Penelope were at a fundraiser for a children’s hospital. Gordon had been invited to attend as the Tracy representative to present the family’s donated item.

What neither expected was the fact most of the women there: stuffy, dripping with jewels and money, would demand to dance with the second youngest Tracy.

So, Gordon agreed to a few dances for a donation to the hospital.

What should’ve been a couple of dances that lasted 10 minutes had turned into an hour and a half, and counting.

The last chord finally faded, and with a chaste kiss to the hand, Gordon left his dancing partner.

He then walked over to the one person who made his heart truly flutter. Lady Penelope looked ever elegant in a pink ombré beaded and lace dress. The dress started out on top in a pale pink, fading into a deep rose just past the knees.

It matched the ombré tie and cuff links he wore with his white tux perfectly. “Hi Lady P... and Parker,” he said.

The older man gave a polite nod, choosing to not speak, while Penny gave a slight giggle at the exchange.

Her chauffeur and dear friend Parker was nearby, keeping an eye on her and Gordon, but not being intrusive.

She admittedly chuckled at the fact for all Parker was doing to try and stay inconspicuous, the caterers were a bit leery of the older man and their actions prevented discretion.

Lady Penelope smiled as he neared the refreshments table. “So, how was your dance with Mallory Dewdrop?” she said politely.

Gordon smiled, though the aristocrat didn’t miss the wince of his eyes. “Charming,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “For a moment there I was afraid I’d have to be a paramedic.”

Lady Penelope quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said cool-toned. “Pretending she was going to have a coronary from being love struck?”

Gordon scoffed. “No, this one thought of decking the competition,” he said as he ate a mini spinach quiche. “And that was because someone talked about me.”

Penelope smiled. “Let me guess, some sort of simpering remark regarding your looks, your Olympic gold medal or your family,” she said.

“I think this one about being so handsome she ‘had a case of the vapors’,” he said, finishing his appetizer with a swig of punch. “I admit I’ve been more than happy to earn the hospital more money, but over an hour’s worth of dances?”

The woman opened her mouth to speak when they heard a waltz come into play

Gordon grinned broadly, holding out his hand. “And as Mallory was the last dance on my card... Lady Penelope may I have this dance?”

Penelope smiled and reached out for his hand, only to have it suddenly slapped away and be pushed back.

Gordon frowned at the action, but then was harshly grabbed from the side. “Hey!” he said indignantly as he turned to the offender.

He saw a raven haired woman with cold grey eyes stare at him. While she was young and by most descriptions a knockout, what made him shudder was how she eyed him like a piece of meat.

Penelope recovered and looked at the offender. “Madison Smyers,” she said, gritting her teeth.

The woman nodded. “Yes, how nice to see you Penny,” she said, voice dripping with lava.

Lady Penelope turned her nose up at the nickname. It was reserved for friends, and the woman standing in front of her was as much of a friend as Fischler had a successful invention.

Meaning - no friend at all.

Madison then turned to Gordon. “You’re dancing with me,” she said bluntly.

“What?!” Gordon tried to step back, but the woman’s grip would put a lion’s jaws to shame.

He then recovered. “I’m sorry but I have asked Pen... Lady Penelope to dance,” he stammered.

The raven haired woman looked at Penelope with derision. “I don’t think she’ll mind...”

“Actually, I do mind,” corrected Penelope.

Gordon smiled. “It is the Lady Penelope’s prerogative...” he started, wanting nothing to do with Madison.

The intruder was having none of it. “You’ll accept the dance ... unless Penny would like me to tell the others to rescind all their donations to the hospital,” she said, then smirked. “Or say all other Creighton-Ward charities.”

Gordon blanched. Though Lady Penelope was a London agent, part of her cover was helping these charities.

To lose the sponsors because of one of these dances would likely cause her to lose important covers, affecting her help in International Rescue, and both he and the blonde-haired woman knew it.

So, he sighed in resignation and smiled. “I’d love to,” he said, inwardly grimacing as he was led to the dance floor.

Penelope frowned as she watched Gordon dance with Madison, and felt something she never had before.

This wasn’t a simple “We do what we must” feeling that was common with her social duties.

It was flat out fury at how the woman blackmailed both her and Gordon.

And another feeling, as she looked around the social at the ones who danced with him.

Jealousy.

‘But what to do about it?’ she mused.

There was a gentle tap on her shoulder. “Beggin’ you pardon m’lady, but you appear to need a cooling punch,” said Parker, handing her a glass.

Penelope, realizing Parker has noticed she was fuming, completely unladylike, nodded and took a sip of the frosty lime sherbet punch. “Thank you Parker,” she said, eyes still narrowed. “Can you believe that... that... Madison...?”

“Yes, I can. She and the h’others ‘ave had their greasy ‘ands on Gordon all night, when ‘e’s supposed ta be with you,” said the chauffeur, and sighed. “And that’s not right.”

Penelope turned to Parker, a bit surprised. “I thought you might be happy with his plight,” she said perplexed. She was well aware Parker wasn’t too fond of the aquanaut.

Parker put his hands up. “No, m’lady... h’I tease ‘im true, but h’I’m not ‘appy,” he said adamantly. “Scott said Gordon ‘as been lookin’ forward to this for weeks... and yet ‘e hasn’t danced with you once.”

“True,” said Penelope, who then sighed. “Parker, what am I going to do? I can’t risk Madison harming the charities...”

Parker smile. “Well... why not fight fire with fire?” he said, mischievously.

The woman first was puzzled, but thought about comments said throughout the night.

Her grin then broadened. “Parker, I have an idea, but I’ll need your help,” she said.

The older man not so innocently grinned and said - his count - two words.

“Yes, m’lady.”

•••••••

Gordon was miserable as he waltzed on the floor.

He had so wanted to dance with Lady Penelope, and was incensed he was dancing with this ... interloper.

“Interloper... John would be happy I learned a new word,” he thought, groaning inwardly as Madison put her head in his shoulder.

He didn’t miss where she put her free hand on his back half either, or the derisive comments about his date.

The aquanaut sighed, and was so lost in his misery he didn’t notice the music stopped or murmured voices.

Then, there was a tug on his jacket. “Mr. Gordon...” said a gruff, but urgent voice.

Turning, Gordon frowned and stopped dancing. “Parker?” he said, perplexed at Parker’s panicked expression.

Parker nodded. “Beggin’ you pardon, h’it’s Lady Penelope - she’s fainted,” he said bluntly, pulling Gordon with him.

“Fainted?” said Gordon, concerned as he started to head over.

Madison grabbed his arm. “She’s faking, because I stole her date,” she scoffed.

Gordon pried her fingers off his arm. “No, she doesn’t fake illness,” he growled. “And as the only paramedic here I will go over and check on her,” he said.

“But...”

“But nothing Madison. Someone needs my help...,” he started, only to see her lift a jewel encrusted private communicator to her mouth.

Seeing the charity’s largest donor’s avatar on it, he grabbed that wrist and narrowed his eyes. “Listen carefully: if you threaten me or Lady Penelope with losing charity money over it I will make your life miserable,” he growled warningly.

It was a vague threat, but it worked as Madison stepped back, lowering her wristband.

Gordon nodded in satisfaction and went over to the crowd.

His heart sank when he saw Penelope on the ground, motionless with others trying to bring her around.

Gordon shooed the gawkers away and kneeled by the senseless woman. “Lady Penelope... Pen... can you hear me?” he said, checking her pulse.

The aquanaut briefly paused, puzzled as he propped up her feet on his shoulder to get the blood flowing back to her brain.

Shortly after, Penelope stirred, making them all sigh in relief.

Gordon lowered her feet and leaned over as she opened her eyes. “Gordon?” she said groggily.

“Yes your ladyship,” said Gordon, in full professional paramedic mode as he checked her pulse again. “Rest now... you fainted.”

Penelope blushed faintly. “Oh,” she said simply. “It must be the stuffiness in here.”

“Maybe,” Gordon said, fighting a grin at the double meaning - it was warm too.

He then offered a hand. “I think some fresh air will help. Do you think you can stand?”

Penelope nodded and stood with Gordon’s assistance. She wobbled however, and the aquanaut swept her up in his arms.

“Easy Penelope,” he said, then heard a whispered comment in his ear from the host.

He nodded and headed toward the rose garden, carrying Lady Penelope.

Madison, still incensed at being abruptly dismissed and threatened, followed. No one would deny her the right to steal one of Lady Penelope’s dates...

That is, until she was blocked by a stern looking Parker. “H’and where to you think you’re going,” he said.

“I...I...”

Seeing the woman nearly speechless, he not quite so gently grabbed her arm. “Well, your comin’ with me,” he said sternly. “‘Cause you h’and I need ta have a chat about what charity and respect is...”

••••••

Meanwhile Gordon carried his friend to a lounge in the center of the rose garden.

“How are you feeling Penny?” he said kindly as he set her down.

The young woman smiled. “Better, thank you Gordon,” she said.

The aquanaut chortled. “I bet... since you didn’t faint,” he said. Seeing Penelope about to protest, he put a hand up. “Nice try, but you can’t fool a paramedic completely.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry Gordon, but ...”

“Thank you,” he said, making her look up in surprise. “That woman was getting way too touchy-feely.”

“Touchy-feely?” She said, quirking an eyebrow.

Gordon cleared his throat, shuddering. “Well... let’s just say the only buns she needs to squeeze next time are of the flour and dough variety,” he said derisively.

Penelope to his surprise politely giggled. “I do admit she does have a point there,” she said mischievously, giving her own apprising look.

“Jealous much?” he teased as he jokingly flexed.

Seeing the woman look away, he frowned and sat down next to her.

“You were jealous,” he said honestly, surmising what happened.

She nodded. “Gordon, I invited you to come because I wanted to spend time with you,” Lady Penelope admitted. “And instead I see all these - ‘lovely’ - women dance and flirt with you...”

Gordon gave her a gentle hug. “Pen... I only danced with them as part of our agreement to raise money,” he said. “I expected two, maybe three dances, not 12.”

“I know but...

“Trust me, next time I’ll ensure it’s a couple, in writing, with an extremely high starting bid...” he said. “And only again with your approval.”

She smiled and he returned it as he continued to hold her.

“Can we stay like this forever?” said Penelope, nestling deeper in his shoulder.

“I don’t see why not... you could ‘faint’ again,” he said, “I mean, I’m so handsome I make people swoon.”

That earned him a playful swat on the shoulder, and he laughed.

They looked at the stars for a time, wondering if John was watching from Thunderbird Five.

Gordon chuckled at the thought, as John still went slightly pale at any mention of a recent social in the Swiss Alps.

Or the word social at all for that matter.

Penelope however was happier John was on Five for another reason.

“Dance with me Gordon?” she asked.

The aquanaut grinned broadly. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and they began to dance under the moonlight.

After a few minutes, she looked up into the warm cinnamon brown eyes of her friend. “Gordon, I had one more favor,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Please just kiss me already.”

Gordon smiled. “Yes, m’lady,” he said, enjoying the flowers, sky and most importantly, a dear friend who would gladly embarrass herself slightly to help another.

[kittae]

Catastrophic Karaoke

Pairing: BTS OT7 x reader

Genre: light comedy? lol idk, Vampire!AU

words: 1516

Warnings: strong language, mentions of blood, fainting

Disclaimer: prompt found on @writing-prompt-s and used some oneliners from this list, also inaccurate representation of Goth culture as a whole with no ill intentions.

⟶ Halloween prompts masterlist

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here, if you’re being honest. ‘Here’ being standing in the middle of a living room that isn’t your own, your shirt drenched with blood that isn’t yours and surrounded by a group of wide-eyed men while My Chemical Romance on Singstar still blares in the background.

“Um… is this...?” You gesture at your chest, the dark fluid sticking to your naked skin through the formerly white cotton of your T-shirt after Namjoon’s spilled the content of his cup all over it. You still cling onto the smallest shred of hope, the minuscule possibility that maybe they just like to make their party punch this deep red and...thick. Even when the trenchant smell of rusty iron keeps filtering through your nose and making you sick to your stomach.

“___-, we can explain.” Namjoon grimaces upon watching you gag, Jin’s eyebrows shooting up to make a face that translates to ‘We can?’.

“It’s not not blood.” Taehyung helpfully contributes to the situation, earning pained groans from the older men and a fistbump from the only younger one.

“Oh my– Whose blood is this?!”

Hoseok snorts in slight disbelief, although accompanied by a smirk of pure amusement. “Uh, not the question i’d thought you’d ask but okay.”

Jimin furrows his eyebrows, confused. “Wait, what question should she be asking then?”

“Answer the damn question!” You shriek, already in the process of peeling off the blood-drenched article of clothing as any ounce of shame gets thrown out of the window along with your dignity, to make place for skin-crawling horror as you strip down to your bra.

“Don’t worry, ___-, we’re not monsters. People consent to getting their blood taken when they volunteer.” Namjoon tries to placate the circumstances but quite possibly only manages to make it worse.

“People volunteer to get their blood taken from them?!”

“Well, duh? As if you’ve never donated blood before?” Hoseok counters.

“Yes, Hoseok, to the fucking hospital!”

“Exactly! Which is our main source, so it’s all morally justified! Aside from the fact we don’t exactly have permission to take those donations.” He pulls a face. “Oops.”

“Have you ever considered you’re taking this whole thing way too far? Like, out of the seven of you, there was not one of you who didn’t want to be a part of this sick shit? I knew you guys were hardcore but you’re drinking human blood! What the fuck, you guys?!” You angrily throw your hands up and allow yourself to breathe after your breathless rant.

The group exchanges worried looks before Jin speaks up, talking slowly as if he’s trying to make something clear to a toddler. “___-, we don’t really have much of a choice…”

Watching how your expression goes from angry and disgusted to utterly confused and lost, Jimin comes to rub your back in an attempt to comfort you. “Oh honey, we thought you knew…”

“What?” You ask, voice significantly smaller now you’re suddenly not sure about your earlier convictions anymore. An even crazier thought briefly crosses your mind, though you quickly push it to the back just when jimin’s compassionate voice forms a strong contrast with the words he speaks.

“That we’re vampires. We just thought that, you know...You knew.” He shrugs a little sheepishly.

“Vampires? No, you’re just hardcore goths. Like wannabe vampires because there’s no such thing as...Actual vampires. You’re just pretending!” Nervous laughter bubbles up your throat as you try to make light of the situation by treating it as a joke. Of course it’s a joke! “You’re just messing with me for Halloween, aren’t you? With the fake blood and all, you almost got me there! Ha ha!”

Instead of the expected roaring laughter, an uncomfortable silence fills the entire room for ten excruciating seconds before Hoseok releases a fake breath. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Speaking of awkward, where’s Yoongi?” Jungkook suddenly remarks, pointing out the elder’s absence for the first time that night.

Yoongi! He hates pranks even more than you do, so he’d definitely be on your side when you tell him how the others tried to scare you!

“Probably still sleeping downstairs– Wait, ___-, where are you going?!” Namjoon calls out for you, alarmed, when he watches you sprint down the stairs and into the basement.

“You don’t think she…. She’s not going to…?” Jimin sputters, eyes wide in fear.

Namjoon nods his head, a sad and sorry expression marring his handsome face. “May she rest in peace.”

It’s not like you’ve never seen the basement before, but every time you visit the underground room, the view still manages to astound you. Most people have a clear picture of what basements should look like and more often than not it’s a bare, cold place where you just stock firewood, wine and cans of peas or something. Well, picture the complete opposite and this is it. It’s spacious, cozy and fully furnitured including seven luxurious coffins. You stopped asking questions a long time ago, taking your friends’ odd lifestyle choices not too seriously. Some people just get really into their subculture and that’s completely fine. Who are you to judge, right? 

“Yoongi.” You call, three polite knocks on the rich black oak of the closed coffin signaling your presence.

The cover of the casket opens slowly, mechanically, until it reveals the sleeping form of a pale and black-haired man, eyes closed and brows furrowed in a displeased frown.

“Who has the audacity to wake me up but not actually die?” He murmurs, still not opening his eyes and laying as static as a real corpse.

“Yoongi, you have to get up there. They’re all messing with me and I need you to tell them to knock it off.” You plead, feeling slightly guilty for interrupting your friend’s nap but you seriously need an ally up there.

“Oh, it’s you. Why is that my problem?” He peels one blood-red eye open to watch you pout down on him. “Where is your shirt?”

“They also opened your one hundred year old bottle of whiskey.”

The little white lie doesn’t miss its effect as Yoongi’s practically jumping out of the coffin to sprint upstairs, and that’s saying something considering you rarely saw him doing more exercise than moving from the couch to the basement and back.

“Which one of you fucktards opened my father’s whiskey?! Answer me!” You hear his voice thunder from the living room before you join them again.

“Ooh, fucktard! That’s new!” Hoseok quips and whips out a small notebook to quickly write something down. “By the way, ___- thinks we’re either hardcore goths or pranking her and she lied to get you out of the coffin.”

“She thinks we’re what?”

“Goths. Google it.”

Yoongi begrudgingly does as the younger man says and fishes his phone out of the pocket of his robes, briefly scrolling through the results and shrugging. “They have no idea what it’s like being a real vampire but i like their style.”

“Yeah. Apparently some even drink each other’s blood, too.”

“Humans do? Wild.”

You can’t believe your own eyes. Yoongi, playing along with all of this?!

“Look,” You raise your voice, sternly planting your hands above your hips, “I may not be the sharpest tool in the… toolbox. But I’m not buying this vampire crap! And someone give me a fresh shirt, for fuck’s sake!”

“Honestly, ___-, we really are vampires. I just thought you already knew.” Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Some of you wear cross necklaces. Jimin wears silver rings.” You counter.

“So?”

“I don’t see any of you catching fire?!”

The long overdue collective laughter finally resounds through the living room and a shred of relief washes over you when you think they’ve finally decided to drop the act because they can’t keep it up anymore. So you wished.

“Sweetie, those are just rumours from hundreds of years ago. I can’t believe you’d still fall for those.” Jimin manages to enlighten you between laughing fits after falling off the couch.

“So what, I’ve accidentally joined a vampire coven, then?” You ask, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Yeah, pretty much. We thought you were funny so we decided to keep you.” Taehyung answers seriously, but still flashes a warm, boxy grin at you.

A wide, boxy grin. A toothy grin. Two long, pointy teeth. Fangs.

As you look around the room, at your friends still roaring with laughter, you start noticing the same lengthened teeth with sharpened ends in each of their smiles until everything goes dark before your eyes and the last thing you see is the Singstar mic rolling out of your hand and onto the ground.

The laughter stops abruptly, another tense silence taking place as they all stare at your limp body on the floor in shock.

“I found a T-shirt...” Jungkook feebly announces, holding up the shirt he’d just gone to get you from downstairs only to find you knocked out cold.

Hoseok takes a hesitant sip from his own cup. “This is going to sound controversial, but I think that went well.”

[rosebudmendes]

La Vie Est Belle (Shawn Mendes AU)

Description: She has to take care of her ill father. He has to provide for his younger sister. Just when they think their lives couldn’t get busier, fate intervenes. 

Warnings: terminal illness, anxiety, alcohol

Word count: 2,852

A/N: I had a blast writing this first part! Hopefully will be continuing this as a series, since there are a few unanswered questions lol. Thanks to the lovely @stockholmshawn for being a babe & helping me edit this! Hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts! 

The smell of floor wax hit you hard in the face. There was an overload of sounds of conversation and clatter, along with insanely bright lights. A strong pain shot through your head and you began to massage your temples. You and your family had just arrived in an airport in Italy and you so desperately needed aspirin and coffee. You hated flying, you always have, but your reason for departure was causing a wretched feeling of discomfort.

“(y/n),” Your father muffled behind you. His airy voice snapped you out whatever trance you were in. You turned around and saw his frail body hunched over his walker, carry-on bags resting next to him. You didn’t need him to tell you he needed help.

“Sorry Pops, I got the bags.” You rushed over and picked up all three carry on suitcases. This trip was definitely going to be difficult. Your family spontaneously decided to go to Italy, recommended by your dad’s physical therapist.

Ever since you were 10, your father has been sick. In the beginning, things were progressing slowly, and you hardly noticed any change in his health. But, the disease has become more aggressive over time and your family was desperate for a cure.

“Guys, can you please walk faster! We are going to miss the short Starbucks line!” Your mother whined from ahead. You just rolled your eyes at her and continued helping your father. You were dreading this entire trip, not only because it was difficult seeing your father in such a fragile state but because you will be stuck in a resort with your mom and her favorite companion, scotch.

Once you guys made it to the Starbucks, you helped your father sit down and rest at the table nearby. “Do you want a coffee, Pops?” You always asked him if he wanted coffee, even though his doctors recommend staying away from it. His body didn’t react well to the caffeine anymore, but you know coffee is an indulgence so you offer it anyway.

“Your father doesn’t need any coffee. I will take a grande toffee latte with extra foam.” You didn’t even have to make eye contact with her and you could feel your blood pressure rise. It was clear as day that she was only on this trip for the bragging rights. She never tried to help you care for your father, rather she complained about how hard life was to her friends.

Another trip to Europe with my loving family.

As you turned around you were almost run over by some guy sprinting into the kiosk. Saved by a millisecond, the guy quickly apologized without even looking back. Another country filled with careless people, you thought.

Fifteen minutes later you returned to the table with three drinks in your hand. You set your mom’s obnoxious order in front of her, not saying a word. You put a straw in a cup of water and suggested your dad drink some. You three sat at the table, not saying a word to each other. These last few months the only conversations that took place were about your father's health and the finances of it all. It wasn’t that you guys were necessarily poor, but after your dad had to leave his job it has been more difficult to make ends meet. Thankfully, this trip was covered by donations and charity from your hometown. Although you would never admit it to anyone, you were glad you lived in such a small town. Everyone knew everyone and was always willing to help out. The night people found out about the severity of his illness, the town practically broke. Granted, your father was a well-known businessman with many connections. Still, it would have been near impossible to get the medical assistant needed if you lived in a big city.

After you three felt well caffeinated and were used to the environment, you headed out of the airport and into the streets of Italy. You held the door open for your father, and something caught your eye. A wallet. How could someone be careless enough to lose their wallet, in an airport? Nonetheless, you picked up the wallet and put it in your purse. You felt it was a better idea than leaving it up to the universe for the owner to find it.

When you finally arrived at your resort, you firstly helped your dad settle in. These days it was hard for him to partake in daily activities without being completely exhausted. Walking from the Uber to the room was enough to give him a splitting headache and knee pain. You left him in his room to rest, not worried about unloading his bags quite yet. You didn’t pay much attention when you heard your maternity leave to go get some groceries. It kind surprised you that she’d offer to help out, but then remembered you always forget her alcohol.

Now that you were basically alone you laid down on the bed, put your headphones in and put on a calming meditation guide you use to calm your nerves. You’ve been using this meditation guide for three months now, and have noticed a small change in your irrational outbursts of anger. You were insecure about your anger management issues, and not very many people stuck around long enough to really see how it affects you.

After you were relaxed and felt at peace you reached in your purse to find the abandoned wallet. The smart move would be to turn it into the police, but you were nosy and wanted to know who was clumsy enough to drop their wallet without noticing.

Inside was the typical components; driver’s license, debit card, cash. There was something unique about this particular wallet, though. Hidden behind the driver's license was a folded up piece of paper. When you untangled it and smoothed out the harsh creases, it read “Pick up Shelia, drop off package.” There was definitely a story behind this small to-do list, and you might not ever find out.

Picking up your laptop, you searched the address that was written on the driver's license. It showed the destination was a 15-minute walk downtown. How convenient. There was a good possibility the address was wrong but no harm done trying, you thought.

Seeming as the jet lag was finally catching up to you, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to sleep well you decided to take a quick walk to deliver the wallet.

When you walked outside, the sun was setting and the air seemed soft and light. There were couples and families slowly strolling nearby, and the sounds of tourists exclaiming excitement towards the sunset filled around you. The smell of baked goods and beer was a strong, pungent combination. You pulled up the address once more on your phone and followed the directions precisely, fearful of getting lost in a foreign city.

Around 20 minutes later you arrived at the house. It was a small light blue cottage with a porch swing and flower baskets hanging off the deck. It was almost dark now, and you expected the light to be on but there was a faint light coming from one window. This worried you.

You approached the door and suddenly remembered how little French you knew. This was going to be a disaster if the owner didn’t know English. You knocked a few times and after a few seconds, a young girl answered the door. She didn’t greet you, and you were left unaware of the language that was to be spoken.

“Hello, I found this wallet- uh, it belongs to a Shawn,” You began. The little girl nodded as though she understood and slammed the door in your face. Confused, you stepped back and waited for a few moments. Behind the door, you could hear muffled talking and distant TV.

“Hello?” The door opened again and a tall, broad man appeared. He looked about your age.

“Hi, uh I think this is your wallet.” You stuck your hand out with the wallet and hoped he would be relieved to have his belongings back.

“Oh, thanks. Anything else?” He grabbed his wallet and stuck it in his back pocket. You had just noticed his face in full detail as the street lights had just censored on. His eyes were swollen and almost bloodshot red. Almost as if he hadn’t had a proper nights sleep in weeks.

“No, that's it.” You wanted to know about the piece of paper but didn’t dare acknowledge the fact that you went snooping through a stranger's wallet.

“Well, thanks for returning it to me.” He shuffled his hands around and grabbed a spare bill in his front pocket. “For the fare back-“

“Oh, no I walked here. I’m just staying a few blocks back.”

“Are you from America?” He asked, putting the money back in his pants.

“Yeah…I’m here for a few months.” You responded. Great, now a complete stranger knows your whereabouts.

“Well, maybe I could take you out for dinner one night.” His cheeks flushed with red, and he kept looking down. “I don’t meet many kind Americans here.”

“Oh, yeah sure.” You were unsettled with accepting this offer with too much enthusiasm. You grew up very aware of the dangers that came with talking to strangers. Although you were 20 now the horror stories still replayed in your mind. He handed you his phone, and you typed in your number. This was stupid, you were being so irresponsible. You shouldn’t even have walked here in the first place. There was no denying how attractive he was, and it could be fun for you to get out of the caregiver mindset, and actually experience life as a 20-year-old.

“Actually, are you free right now?” His words felt as if they just fell out of his mouth. “I could take you to this Diner close by if you want.” He said with a slight feeling of uncertainty.

You have never been the spontaneous type, you actually find joy in the planning. There was a small part of you that wanted to say yes though. To forget about your anxious thoughts, forget about all the "what if’s.” You hadn’t been on a date since your dad’s health had taken a turn for the worse, and you knew he felt guilty for being responsible for that. Even though that was only partly true.

“I’m free! I’d love to go with you!” You added a little extra excitement this time. Fake it 'till ya make it right? Immediately following your response you felt guilt settling deep in your stomach. Twisting and turning your stomach, almost causing a pain. Breathe. In and out. You replayed your meditation guide through your mind as Shawn went inside to grab a jacket. It wasn’t necessarily cold outside but as the night grew so did a slight breeze.

“Ready?” He shut the door while simultaneously straightening his jean jacket. He looked effortlessly handsome while all the while radiating exhaustion and fatigue. His dark pants hugged his thighs in a snug manner, followed with dark converse high tops. His light washed jean jacket was nicely paired with a loose white t-shirt. His casual stance and outfit made you relax a tad bit more. You were in Italy after all, might as well make some memories while you can.

You both walked side by side to the diner that was just down the street and across a small bridge. This was the first moment you noticed how beautiful the city was. The houses were built with humble accents of classical designs and neutral toned pastels. The conversations that filled the atmosphere around you were nothing but soft white noise, seemingly they were in French. Shawn filled the silence with normal small talk about the sunset and weather, nothing too personal too quick. The walk over was quick enough that you hadn’t much time to think about the horrible outcomes if he wasn’t as trustworthy as you suspected.

You continued to follow behind Shawn’s lead, being careful not to walk too close to him. Oddly enough, you weren’t afraid of being close to his physical presence. He smelt of vanilla and a familiar cologne, maybe old spice like your father used. It reminded you of happy memories at home and it was drawing you towards him more and more each step.

“Ladies first,” His voice was deep and grounding. He motioned to the small booth that the kind worker had set. You slid in and tried to release any tension that was being held in your shoulders.

“I found this place by accident, came in to get change for the bus.” He looked around and noticed you follow. “The food’s not the greatest, but they serve the best coffee in a five-mile radius.” He let out a minimal chuckle, which sent shivers running up your spine. He really was handsome. “Plus, not much can beat this view.” Both of you looked out the window onto the streets. Across the street, there was a guy selling flowers out of a mobile cart, and a body of water was barely visible enough to see the reflection of the sky. The sun was mostly gone now, only a sliver of a dome still appeared.

The waitress came around, and you both ordered a cup of coffee with a slice of pizza. When the pizza came you internally groaned. Shawn was right. For an Italian Diner, their pizza looked surprisingly abysmal.

“I sure hope the coffee tastes better than this pizza looks.” You blurted out. He chuffed and took a large bite off of his slice. You took a sip of the coffee, hesitate to burn your lips. “So, Shawn,” The coffee stung a little when it touched your lips. He looked up from his pizza, mouth shiny from the massive amount of grease that settled into the cheese. “I can only assume you didn’t grow up in Italy, your English is impeccable.”

He coughed and took a napkin to his face. “Uh, yeah. I grew up in Chicago. Moved here when I was 12.” His statement was rushed and choppy. This left you to believe there was something to that story that he didn’t feel appropriate to share over the first cup of coffee. “What brings you to Italy?” He quickly changed the subject back onto you. “Here for some sightseeing and culture shock?” The tone of his voice sounded almost jock-like.

You didn’t focus on it too much and looked out the window. You focused on your reflection and felt tears prick at your eyes. “I’m actually here with my family.”

“Like a vacation?” He questioned.

“Not exactly,” Your throat choked up. Your gaze was still focused out the window. You didn’t dare make eye contact with him, that is a for sure way to make you cry.

You still struggled to talk about your dad illness with people. They just didn’t understand. People always try to make you feel better with the casual “praying for you” and “I’m here for you” responses. None of it mattered. None of it helped. It wasn’t a magical cure for his sickness. He was still ill. And you were still hurt. The thought of your father dying, leaving you alone with your mother was haunting to dwell on too much.

“Hey, it's alright I don’t need to know.” Shawn softly uttered. He reached across the table and grabbed your hands that were resting next to the coffee cup. He didn’t follow up with any more questions, and just silently went on with his coffee. “Besides, I work most days so you’ll probably never see me again.” He pulled his hand back to his side, and you immediately missed his touch. You made eye contact again and for the first time in a long time, you felt heard and accepted. He as a stranger, you met not even two hours ago and yet you ached for him to stay with you forever.

“How come you work so much?” You wanted to know more but didn’t want to pry.

“Short answer, I need the money for bills.” He was quick with his answer.

“Long answer?”

“Well, that sounds like a second date topic.” His cheeks flushed with bright pink. His soft voice was sensual, although you didn’t get the feeling he meant it.

You smiled and pushed your hair behind your ear. “Well, if you work so much how is a second date going to happen?”

“Guess that’s up to fate to decide.” He smirked.

The tension was intense, and you hated that. You could easily come back with a snarky comment to turn him off quickly, but instead, you said nothing. For once you didn’t want to know what the future held. You were perfectly comfortable leaving it up to fate. There was something immensely romantic about a mysterious love in a foreign city. If there was any right way to be spontaneous, this was it. This was right.

[kitty-bandit]

I love hearing about you delinquent au! Can’t wait to read it

How about a sneak peek, Anon? (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Lavi shoved his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. The late September days were still warm, but nights turned surprising cold. He wished he’d brought his favorite scarf as he stood next to the raffle table. Excited shouting came from the packed bleachers, and he looked up just in time to see a few players celebrating in the endzone. He sighed, sitting next to Lenalee in one of the empty folding chairs behind the table. “I should’ve listened to Yuu. This is kinda boring.”

“That’s why I bribed you with food.” Lenalee smiled and greeted another group who stopped at the table. After taking their money and handing them tickets, she turned back to Lavi. “It’s been almost two hours and I am ready to leave.”

“Where is your partner, anyway?” Lavi asked, peeking into the bucket with the ticket stubs.

“Please do not call him that,” Lenalee said, rubbing her temple under the dark purple knit hat she had worn for the night. Her hair was plaited into two pigtail that hung over each shoulder. “He went to get another roll of tickets from the supply closet. We’re almost out.”

With a chuckle, Lavi leaned back in the chair, the metal scraping against the cement sidewalk underfoot. The table was set up near the entrance, close to the ticket booth—specifically placed so no one could miss it as they entered the field. “What is the raffle even for?”

“I thought you could read?” Lenalee teased, pointing the the sign on the table. “We’re giving away a mini fridge. One of the student’s parents donated it.”  As another group of students passed the table, Lenalee smiled and waved.

Lavi’s good eye widened in surprise. “That’s actually not an awful prize.” He leaned forward peering at the sign. “Maybe I should buy a ticket…”

“Five bucks gets you one ticket, twenty gets you five,” Lenalee recited, as she had been all night.

Lavi winced at the prices. “Too rich for my blood.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Speaking of rich, I could go for some of that overpriced food you promised me.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Lenalee, grinning wide.

“And here I was hoping you’d forget.” She shook her head before something caught her eye. “You’re in luck. Link’s back.”

Lavi looked up and spotted the Lenalee’s number two, as it were. The vice president of the student council looked more the part than Lenalee did, and that was an accomplishment. Link’s blond hair was plaited tight and neat, the long braid swinging as he strode towards the table. He looked completely out of place in his dress shirt and sweater combo, especially as he passed another group of students decked out in sweatshirts and jeans. His khakis looked stiffer than his personality.

“This is the last of the tickets,” Link announced, setting the bright red roll to the side. He looked at Lavi, who had stolen his seat, disapproval in his russet eyes.

“That’s fine—there’s barely an hour left in the game and sales have slowed a bit.” Lenalee stood, straightening out her light coat and grabbing her purse from under her chair. “I’m going to take a break. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“Fine,” Link replied, taking back his seat as soon as Lavi had vacated it. “Don’t linger. The table really should have two people working it at all times.”

Lena smiled as she bit back a comment. “Of course.” She grabbed Lavi by the elbow and dragged him off towards the bleachers. As soon as they were out of earshot, she sighed, the noise sounding more angry than any breath had the right to be. “He sure has some nerve saying that after he left me there for nearly thirty minutes.”

Lavi didn’t fight her pull, stumbling along next to her as they headed up the steps. “He should really see a doctor about that stick lodged up his ass.”

She managed a quick laugh, her fake smile turning into a genuine one. “If only it wasn’t permanently stuck.” She spotted Kanda and Alma at the top of the bleachers huddled close to each other. When Alma spotted them, they waved, grinning widely.

“You managed to escape!” they said, making room for Lavi and Lenalee on the bench.

“I told Link I would be gone for ten minutes, but I’ll stretch that to thirty.” Lena wrapped her arm around Alma as she sat down, sitting as close as she could to keep warm. “Lavi and I are going to the concession stand. Did you two want anything?”

“Yes. I want to leave,” Kanda grumbled, tucking his chin into the folds of his jacket.

Alma rolled their eyes. “Don’t listen to him. We’re having fun.” They rested their head against Kanda’s shoulder, pink painted lips stretching wide over their face. “Something warm would be nice. It’s colder than I thought it would be tonight.”

“I think we can manage that.” She nudged Lavi, elbowing him in the side. “Ready to get some sub-par, overpriced food?”

“Always.”

They walked back down the metal bleachers, avoiding the crowded walkway and headed to the nearby concession stand. As they stood in line, Lavi checked the menu tacked on the wall next to the small order window and balked at the prices. “Yeesh. Are you sure you can buy stuff for everyone? This is more expensive than I thought.”

She pulled her wallet from her purse and held it up as if she was brandishing a sword. “Komui gave me his credit card for tonight, so we’re living large on chili cheese fries and king sized nachos.”

Lavi grinned, rubbing his hands together as he studied the menu board again. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

When they reached the order window, Lenalee listed off their choices—hotdogs, chili cheese fries, nachos, and a hot chocolate for each of them. By the time their order was ready, they had their arms full as they precariously balanced each item. Lavi winced as he juggled four hot chocolates in his hands.

“This is the definition of hubris, isn’t it?” he asked, carefully following Lenalee back up the bleachers. Every step was a challenge to keep the chocolate in the too-thin paper cups and off his fingers.

“Don’t talk. You’ll lose your concentration and spill,” Lenalee replied, carefully balancing all of the food in her hands. Her stacking technique was impressive, and Lavi would have congratulated her if he didn’t have to worry about spilling hot cocoa all over himself.

When Alma noticed their burdened states, they hurried down to help with the final leg of the journey. “Ah, careful!” they said, taking two of the cups from Lavi’s hands before heading back up the stairs.

“Why did we pick the highest seats on the bleachers again?” Lavi asked, setting the last two cups on the bench to help Lena distribute the food.

“Because Yuu doesn’t like people sitting behind him,” Alma reminded them, grabbing one of the hotdogs and settling in next to Kanda again.

“So, it’s my fault?” Kanda asked, frowning as he grabbed his hot chocolate from Lenalee and sipped it angrily.

“Hush and eat your nachos,” Lenalee said, pushing the flimsy paper container into his hands. Once the food had been distributed, she sat down, only to sigh again. “I forgot napkins.”

“I’ll get them,” Lavi said, setting his food down on the cool bench and heading down the bleacher stairs. He heard Lenalee’s faint call of ‘thank you’ mixed in with a sudden cheer from the crowd. He looked up at the field again, having missed whatever play had happened to cause the ruckus. He hopped down off the last couple of steps and turned to walk towards the concession stand when something under the bleachers caught his eye.

Just under the bleachers was Allen, reaching into the back pocket of someone’s pants. Lavi watched as Allen slipped their wallet out with ease, pocketing the cash inside, and then returning it as if nothing had happened. He did it again and again, systematically grabbing any wallet or purse within reach and cleaning the money from the billfolds. Lavi stared in awe, watching Allen’s swift, nimble fingers steal hundreds of dollars in cash from the unsuspecting parents watching the football game. That same feeling bubbled up in Lavi’s stomach—the one he’d felt when he’d witnessed Allen pinching those candy bars from the convenience store weeks ago. Nervousness mixed with admiration, and a healthy dose of concern. Lavi had never stolen anything in his life, but watching Allen do it almost felt as if he was an accomplice—too dumbstruck to say anything or try to stop the crime in progress.

As Allen pocketed the last of the cash, he looked up and met Lavi’s frozen gaze. He stiffened for a brief moment before that same smug smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Lavi felt his heart rattle against his chest, cheeks flushed against the cold breeze blowing against them. He didn’t know what to do, and as much as he wanted to run away and forget what he’d seen, his feet were glued to ground, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi.

Then, before Lavi could move or say anything, Allen approached him.

Lavi swallowed, throat tight as he watched Allen close the distance between them. He was wearing that same oversized sweatshirt Lavi had first seen him in, and a black knit stocking cap to hide his shock white hair. Lavi didn’t doubt he’d come to the game for this exact reason—to steal from the crowd. And from what Lavi had seen, it was easy pickings.

Allen stopped just in front of Lavi, looking up at the redhead with a calm smile. He reached up and pressed a finger to Lavi’s lips, his skin cold and chapped from the wind. “This is our little secret, right?”

“I, uh—” Lavi began, lips moving against Allen’s finger. With his stomach tied in knots, Lavi nodded, his heart flipping in his chest and nearly jumping right out of his mouth. “Sure.”

Allen pulled his finger back, his smile softening. He tilted his head, looking Lavi up and down, as if he was assessing something—though the redhead wasn’t sure what. “You’re Lavi, right?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He winked, brushing past Lavi and merging into a large group of students heading towards the exit. “See you later.”

As Allen disappeared into the crowd, Lavi’s heart continued to beat like a drum in his ribcage. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

What the fuck was that about?

[scriptmedic]

An Anonymous Patron asked: 

I’m in the plotting stages of a fantasy novel, and I’m trying to put together a concept of how magic works. I had the idea that magic might be based in blood, so that casting magic would require shedding the caster’s own blood in proportion to the strength of the spell. Personal health, stamina, pain tolerance and squeamishness therefore become the constraints on how much magic one person can cast. With that in mind, I have bleeding related questions! I already know from your writer’s guide to bleeding the stages of bloodloss and how much a person can lose without dying. Drawing blood via a needle might be the cleanest and most effective way of extracting blood whilst minimising injury. But for quick and dirty magic casting, the nearest sharp object will have to suffice. Biting cuticles or pricking the pad of a finger with a needle would probably be enough for tiny spells, but for anything substantial it’s going to need something more dramatic. The stereotypical act in movies and such is to cut the palm with a knife, but this strikes me as a very bad idea since it’s going to hurt like crazy, prevent use of that hand until it’s healed, and risks permanent damage by slicing through tendons. What better alternatives do I have? Where and how would be the best place for a person to spill their own blood if they’re looking to produce a substantial amount of bleeding over a short timeframe but without causing themselves permanent injury and (ideally) minimising the chances of accidentally killing themselves? Related – what might be realistic risks in terms of infections and bloodborne illnesses from the practice? The state of medical knowledge is based on alchemy and herbalism, so antibiotics and probably much more than basic wound care are not available. Since the ‘rule of reality’ is in play I’ll figure out for myself how magic may or may not modify the natural healing process, but some hints of what I need to research would be greatly appreciated. Would soaking a knife in strong alcohol or carbolic acid or holding it over a flame be enough to sterilise it and minimise the risks?  

Hey there nonny! Thanks for this question :) 

Using blood as a magical element has a long and storied tradition, but you’re right that opening up a palm -- especially with a dramatic gasp and squeezing of the blade -- is a Hollywood trope. 

You’re also right that a needle, or even a lancet (the thing diabetics use to stick themselves to check their blood sugars), would be ideal for small amounts of blood. 

But larger amounts of blood require more direct sources of bleeding. While cutting an artery would be a terrible idea to use a spell, veins will bleed rather nicely, are relatively easy to stop the hemorrhage from, and, particularly on more muscular types, are fairly easy to spot. 

From a medical standpoint, using the smallest cut they can to get the required amount would be best. So theoretically, taking the tip of a very sharp dagger, identifying a vein, and pressing down just hard enough to cut it open will produce the smallest wond, will heal the best, and will still get nice and bloody. 

Note to witchy folks who may or may not follow this blog: this is not a recommendation for you. Do not do this thing, bleed out in your witchin’ kitchen, and tell your paramedics “But Aunt Scripty Said....” No. 

(Seriously, the lancet thing works. Trust me on this.) 

The question then becomes: how often do they do this, and  how much blood is lost during each casting? The closest guideline I have is on how often a human is permitted to donate blood in the US. A typical donation draws off 500mL (~18oz) of blood. The donor is not eligible to donate again for another 8 weeks (56 days). 

Half a liter of blood would likely power quite a mighty spell, but what about 10x 50-mL spells? Or 4x 125-mL spells? 

(They won’t measure exactly, and it may not be relevant. But you might want to keep track of roughly how much they’ve given.) 

Also, here are some side effects of losing that much blood volume that quickly: 

Dizziness

Potential nausea & vomiting 

Potential fainting 

High heart rate 

Fast breathing 

Excessive tiredness for a few days 

So your spellcasters might experience some or all of those symptoms after using their magic, plus whatever energy draining the magic itself requires. 

This would also mean it’s very, very easy to tell a caster: look at their non-dominant forearm. There will be knife marks all over it. (Your characters can use: the forearm, the back of the forearm (more difficult), the crook of the elbow (if you have to), the back of the hand (if you have to), the foot (look at your feet they are Veiny), and a slew of other places.) 

You could even have That Shady One who everyone thinks is a caster, but no one is sure, until they take their boots off one night and wham foot scarring. 

Infections & Bloodborne Illness

First things first: your character cannot contract a bloodborne illness like HIV, hepatitis, etc. if their blood does not come into contact with someone else’s blood or bodily fluids during their casting. 

As for infections...

It’s very true that the character who repeatedly pokes themselves in the vein is repeatedly giving bacteria an opportunity to colonize not just their bloodstream, but the wound as it heals. They’ll want a steady supply of clean bandages. 

A silver blade will actually be ideal for this purpose (as long as it doesn’t tarnish from the blood -- blood likes to eat metal, as I understand), because silver is a natural antiseptic surface. 

Running the blade through a flame will indeed sterilize it, but it will also make it so freaking hot omg if it stays in for longer than.... really, anything. We make pans out of metal because it gets hot and stays hot. Having done stupid things with knives at various points, this is A Thing. 

But realistically... does your character understand the concept of a pathogen? You’re saying healing is based on herbalism. Dirt is nature. Herbs grow from dirt. Dirt must be good! Have a poultice made of clay and mud. 

You see where I’m going with this? Part of the problem I have with helping fantasy authors is that the premise often requires an understanding of germ theory. If it’s a medieval-ish setting, miasmas of ill health are still a valid theory of illness. No one has physically invented the microscope yet. So all they’ll likely use will be water (boiling water will be best) and maybe a rag. Likewise, bandages will likely just be strips of whatever cloth is available -- in whatever state of cleanliness, or filth, they are. (Okay, maybe they’ll be boiled in the water. I’m just saying, your characters maaaay not be washing their hands after they poop, much less tending to their weapons or wounds in ways modern medics would approve of.) 

And, of course, if you want Theatrical Flames, they can always dip the blade in any kind of alcohol you like and then light it on fire. Just, y’know. Hot knives. Bad for skin and b ad for getting blood, since it would cauterize the blood vessel. 

I hope this helps you get your story where it needs to be :) 

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

[disclaimer] 

[Come to Patreon, where the Inbox Never Closes]

[drv3imagines]

Hey, what up friends of this blog. If you were expecting Mod Ouma, But Ironically (Mod Tojo) to answer an ask, I deeply apologize because that’s not what this post is about… HOWEVER. I would like to pay special attention to a few characters we’ve missed out on for birthday bashes. I was waiting until Rantaro’s birthday to go ahead and compile the birthday bashes we’ve previously missed out on. I had no intention of JUST doing Korekiyo, Ryoma, and Kirumi (Everyone deserves the love the killing game didn’t give them). I’m gonna go as far back as Angie Yonaga, Kokichi Ouma, Tsumugi Shirogane, Shuuichi Saihara, and finally our boi who’s birthday is today! Rantaro Amami! No one placed these asks in our boxes, so technically we aren’t obligated to write for them? But, I like being fair, and those poor kids deserve more.

So without further ado. Have a VERY LONG POST.

Angie Yonaga You weren’t exactly sure what to get Angie, which is a little more complex than you thought it should have been. She found a lot of gifts from you pleasing through the eyes of Atua. New art brushes? Atua thanks you for the offering of tools to further Angie’s craft for His eyes. Cute hair pin? Atua says that s/o is kind to bring forth ornaments to decorate Angie’s hair~ Once you tried to make her dinner, but that didn’t work out too well… Atua said it sucked and you ended up ordering out instead. Atua was right on that one, pizza was much better than eating burned meatloaf… You didn’t want to separate Angie from her religious views, but you honestly wanted to hear what she had to say for once. Even though you’ve been dating for so long, was it possible to hear just her thoughts on something? Especially since today was her birthday. That’s when you started to formulate your plan… Angie had just finished leading a prayer, when you stopped her just before she could go off. “Hey Angie, y'know what today is right?~” You asked in a sing-songy voice. The artist closed her eyes -probably asking Atua- before humming out the answer. “Atua says… Today is the day we celebrate a devout follower!~” “That’s right! And I got you som-” “S/o finally wants to donate blood for sacrifice!” A twinge of panic caused your heart to leap. Not that you didn’t wanna appease her wishes in donating…it’s just that you already agreed to do that nearly four times this month…any more blood and you’d end up in the hospital… “Maybe…next month…or three. Actually, it’s your birthday~ And I got you something! I think you’re going to really love it this time, Angie!” “Ah, but Angie already loves everything you offer. As s/o’s kind heart is pleasing in Atua’s eyes. He sees you and loves how you treat his dear children.” Perhaps…Angie really does appreciate everything you do behind her religious veil…if this is the best she could do to admit her feelings then you’d just have to accept it. You’d love her either way… You pulled your gift to her out of the bag anyway and she squealed. “It’s an avocado!~ Thanks!~ The gracious avocado is a blessing that Atua sends to Angie’s island as a gift for our devotion to Him! However…Angie thinks the best gift she has received from Atua…is you, s/o.” You blush at her comment before muttering, “do you think you can ask Atua if I can kiss you?” Angie pretended to think for a moment before cheerfully giggling, “Atua grants you permission~”

Kokichi Ouma It was never a quiet day at the Ouma household. Your boyfriend was as childish as he was in high school, always the jokester and prankster. Still cuter than a button, and a huge tantrum throwing crybaby at times, but that’s what made him special. Who cares if he’d grow to be a man-child? He was loving and cared for you like no other. That’s why you reserved all your rest for his special day. Each year since you’d known him he’d been a guy to go all out- But… When you woke up this morning…it was quiet. You immediately thought he just got a super early start and wasn’t here, but you found him in the kitchen making a breakfast. It was a tad cleaner than when he normally cooked but- “Okay, who are you and where’s my energetic boyfriend?” He turned to you with that infamous devilish grin of his accompanied with his ‘evil laugh’. “Nishishishishi~ Good morning s/o~ I decided this year I’d shake things up for my birthday~” What. This was automatically suspicious. What was this dork planning? “Awww, don’t you trust me, s/o?” No Well, of course. But if Kokichi made an unexpected change, something very bizarre was going to happen…you’d just have to keep a close eye on him for the day. Unfortunately…you were left with nothing. Your boyfriend was completely unreadable all throughout the day. You spent a whole day with him, indulging in activities you wanted to do??? Was it like some April Fool’s Day prank he was pulling?! But it isn’t April… maybe he’s got something really strange planned up ahead…better brace yourself. Yet nothing happened. It was actually well into the evening and the two of you were having dinner at a restaurant the two of you would frequent on really special date nights. Okay, seriously what is going on?! “Kokichi…are you alright? We spent your entire birthday doing things I liked to do? Did you do something I need to know about?!” That same smirk he gave you this morning reappeared, but it was softer…and very loving… “You’ve been so suspicious of me today, s/o,” he whined, “don’t you trust me?~” This time you vocalized your answer, “yes… I trust you, Kokichi. Please tell me why you’re doing this?” “Well, since you’re so nosy today~ I guess I should spill, huh?” For a moment you thought he blushed, but whatever it was, it immediately disappeared. “You’ve trusted me this long. I guess I should start acting like I like it or something. Every year you’re always making my birthday memorable, so I thought I’d be selfish and make this next memory one I create for us~” You didn’t have the slightest clue of what he was talking about until he pulled out a small box from his pocket and kneeled down at your side.

Tsumugi Shirogane Plain. That was the single thing your girlfriend asked from you on this day. She wanted the day to be a reflection of who she was. Plain. No surprises. No cake, unless it made a specific cameo from her favorite anime episode. And definitely no parties. Definitely no. She just wanted to cuddle her human dakimura and watch some of her favorite classics. Even though Sailor Moon was typically for normies, she was glad the remakes were staying true to the classic. You decided you would obey her demands…for now…and cuddle your otaku til her heart’s content. Eventually, noon rolled around and you had started to get hungry. Offering her lunch was pointless when she was fully immersed in whatever you two had been watching (Sailor Moon had to go when a new episode of her fave was on), so you took it upon yourself to make her something cutesy. While you were cutting up vegetables to put on her side, you checked your cell phone really quick before returning to your otaku. You thought you heard her mumble something, but you figured it was about the show, and started your at lunch. Just as the next episode began, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” even though it was pointless to announce when she wasn’t paying any mind.

Tsumugi had finished her lunch a while ago, but her focus was on this crucial exchange between the protagonist and the antagonist. It would determine whether a successful escape would be possible for the protagonist and the future of anyone else who received this fate, or if the antagonist would have the advantage and would continue their plot even after death. She figured it would be a pretty cool reference for her next cosplay. Maybe she should discuss this matter with someone who had appreciated her– Oh? But… where had you gone off to. Tsumugi paused the episode, worried that she had lost your interest by being to delved into her favorite show. Even though it was her birthday…she should have considered your feelings too. Deciding she’d apologize, the cosplayer picked up her plate and placed it in the kitchen, before searching the house for you. “S/o? I-I’m sorry I got lost in the show again… Ill do my best to give you more attention if that’s what you- Oh?” Had she somehow reentered the fictional reality she just left? Blinking repeatedly, she made sure she was awake, but nothing had changed. You stood before her, dressed as her favorite character, but not only that, you turned your shared bedroom into the world the character came from. It was nearly perfect, almost as if she had done the work herself. “I know you said you didn’t want a surprise, but I just wanted to do something special for my not-so-plain girlfriend. I had a speech prepared, but I think I’ll wait to deliver it when I’m not in character.” Her heart is completely overwhelmed at the work you put into impressing her. You’re almost worried she might faint, so you embrace her gently, steadying her balance. “Th-thank you… For not only taking the time for putting this together… making my belief that cosplay is an expression of love real.”

Shuuichi Saihara Today is my birthday. Shuuichi thought to himself. A few years ago if he said that to himself, he’d have mixed feelings about it. He didn’t really like big social gatherings and only kept the celebratory matters amongst his family members. And even then, he insisted they kept everything on a low profile. That is…until he met you. You were very exciting, and persistent. You always helped him out of his shell every now and then, allowing him to comfortably be able to celebrate this renewed day knowing love and care. He couldn’t wait until he found out what you had in store to- He turned over to see your side of the bed very much empty. It wasn’t even like warm, meaning you had been absent for some time. Curious of the situation, Shuuichi climbed out of bed and began to investigate. And investigate was definitely something he was going to have to do today. He smiled at the sticky note on his door, a symbol scribbled on its surface. So this is what he had in store today. After getting dressed, Shuuichi had accumulated nearly twelve sticky notes all of which had some kind of symbol scrawled on it. But he was at a dead end when he collected all of the notes. This can’t be right, none of these sheets have words on them. Shuuichi closely examined each of the notes splayed across the table, then he examined the area once more before his eyes rested on an out of place book. It looked like it had been recently removed from the shelf as the other books were more settled. Shuuichi removed the book finding his guess to be accurate when he discovered a sticky note with a smiley face tacked on the first page. It was a book of codes, you’d bought him for his previous birthday. He didn’t want to spoil himself as to what could be in store next…but he was practically bouncing in his shoes with excitement at his guesses. Turns out he was right! You had used previous gifts to give him clues as to where you could be hiding…all leading up to the final destination. Shuuichi saw you patiently waiting underneath a gazebo in a local park…the scene had looked vaguely familiar to him… but he couldn’t recall why… After your normal greeting, Shuuichi followed your movements carefully, trying to note what was it about this place that was ringing so many bells at once?! “Would it be too much trouble to ask you out on a tea date next time? I could perhaps bring my novels and we could talk about our favorite characters.” Almost on instinct, Shuuichi replied, “that wouldn’t be any trouble at all. If it’s with you, I would-” Oh. My. Gosh. You were recreating the moment when the two of you first met! “I see the light bulbs going off Mr. Detective, have you finally solved the case?” “I think so. I think the culprit is definitely you this time. The crime you’re being charged with……stealing my heart.” He’d have to look up some better pick up lines next time! He was not prepared at all, but at least you blushed. Maybe even-…even after all these years you still took his breath whenever you kissed him.

Rantaro Amami “S/o!~ Rise and shine (ursine…//shot).” You grumbled in response to the cheery voice, turning over to put your pillow over your head. “Come on, s/o, you promised.” You could almost hear the pout he was doing. Rantaro was easy to understand in these moments… But it is his birthday today, so it was understandable. And, honestly, you were looking forward to it. Heck you were really excited to celebrate with him……but this year he had a little something daring saved up for this afternoon. And that thing was rock climbing. We aren’t talking about your basic run of the mill indoor plastic walls with artificial hand and foot holds. No, we are talking a real terrain. A real terrain with steep cliffs. A real terrain with natural sharp rocks. That kind of extreme rock climbing that only your boyfriend would suggest. You trusted he would make it safe for you since your skill was no where near his, but you still had your doubts. The bed sunk as you felt an extra weight approach you. He was getting persistent. You mentally sighed; it wasn’t fair for you to lie in bed and make him go by himself…especially on his birthday… “Okay, okay… I’ll do it for the birthday boy.” You mumbled in your half-sleep state. Whatever he was planning, stopped and he immediately retreated. “Great, I’ll see you at the rendezvous then?” Wait?! We’re leaving now?!? “By that I mean breakfast~” he chuckled and headed out of the room, leaving you to reluctantly get ready.

“Rantaro…are you sure you want to do this today? Have you checked the weather? Do we have enough supplies? What if we get lost and our phones die? Or they lose signal?” Your worried state didn’t phase your lover as he winked to you and passed a slice of cake to you. “It’s early, but consider it our last meal together.” He stated gravely, holding back a laugh. “Rantaro, that’s not funny! I’m being serious!” Your green haired lover froze at the graveness of your tone. It was silent for a moment before he turned back to the counter and moved the entire cake to the center of the table. You weren’t sure what he was up to, and became even more confused when he returned to the table with some candles and a lighter. He offered you some of the candles and you begrudgingly assisted him. Once he lit each candle, he gave you a small smile, then closed his eyes and blew out the candles. “Hopefully, that will keep us safe and not make you worry any more.” Huh? “What are you talking about? What did you wish for?” “If I told you it might not come true and we really could die~” “RANTARO!!!”

[keziacole]

tagged by @bumbleblossoms​ - thank you! 

Tagged Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

THE LAST:

1. Drink: Coffeeeeeee

2. Phone call: My partner, just as they left the dentist. :( 3. Text message: Motherbot 2.0 4. Song you listened to: Been Caught Stealing – Jane’s Addiction 5. Time you cried: Uh… some point in the last couple months, I guess? Not sure when, but it was at something related to dogs. Honestly, I did most of my crying last year, during The Year From Hell, and I’m still a bit dried out.

6-92 under the cut. :)

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: As in getting back together again? Nooooo. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: …yup. Often. Sometimes not until a long while later, though!   8. Been cheated on: Not to my knowledge. 9. Lost someone special: Yep. 10. Been depressed:  Eh, I’ve never been diagnosed with depression, so no, I don’t think so. Situationally really fucked off with things? Yes. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Once. Story time, everyone! 

So, I generally have a really good alcohol tolerance and a cast iron stomach (not necessarily for good reasons, but hey), but I did once go to a party that ended very badly. I was about 17, had recently been diagnosed with CFS, and was on a heavy painkiller regimen. I drank when I shouldn’t really have done so, because bullshit and All the Emotional Drama, BUT… I did not know that my friend’s asshole brother had spiked my drink. (He was a peach. Gave his 14 year old brother acid once just to point and laugh at the result. Fuckin’ hated that guy.)

At some point in the evening – somewhere after the sham marriages, interpretative dance, and someone putting someone else through a table, because teen parties – I realised I was wayyy more wasted than I should have been, despite the painkillers, and I ended up spending all night hallucinating and throwing up, plus feeling horrific for about three days afterwards. 

Moral of the story: if you spike people’s drinks, you are a gigantic bag of toe lint and should suffer mosquito bites on your asshole for a thousand years. The end.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. Purple 13. Red 14. Blue

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: Not yet. Befriend me, tumblr, you’re my only hope.  16. Fallen out of love: No, though I have watched my relationship with at least one family member crumble into dust. Does that count?  17. Laughed until you cried: At least four times a week. Which is one big reason why I’m marrying that motherfucker.  18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yes. See 16. 19. Met someone who changed you: Not yet.  20. Found out who your friends are: Yes, sadly. It sucks when you realise how effectively someone has manipulated the people around you.  21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Nah, I don’t really do the FB thing. I should, I guess?

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: See above. I kind of have a profile, but I only use it to message people I’m related to who are freaking obsessed with Facebook and won’t communicate any other way. Ugh. So… most of them? I guess?   23. Do you have any pets: One dog – Hector, a grumpy and elderly terrier - down from two resident mutts and a boatload of fosters. Older dog died last year, and I’m not in a position to foster right now, which sucks, because I miss having a house full of beasties, not to mention making a difference. 24. Do you want to change your name: Already have done/am doing! I have no real interest in keeping up with more than 80% of the people I’m related to, and I never liked my birth name, plus this is easier to spell and dictate to people, and isn’t known by the abusive assholes in my life. So, yay! 25. What did you do for your last birthday: Ordered pizza and watched favourite movies with my partner. We did The Blues Brothers and shit-talked the progression of police militarisation in the US over the past 30 years, and it was incredibly fun, despite the fact we’re 3000 miles apart right now. Also, they remembered my birthday, which is more than can be said for over two-thirds of the people I’m related to.  26. What time did you wake up: 9am, but in my defence I was up until 3 last night. 

27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Talking shit with my partner, knitting an afghan, and watching foster kitten cams and reviews of awful movies together, because these are good ways to help someone who has a dental appointment in the morning try to stay calm. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Getting my current backlog of work finished. Sooo clooose…. Promised myself a movie and gaming binge when I’m done. 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Last week. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Either having enough money to fix all my problems (yes, in this case, money most certainly can do that), or just being on the same continent as my partner, so we didn’t have this immigration thing to worry about. Not having a debilitating illness that fucks everything up would be pretty awesome, too.  31. What are you listening right now: Freddie King 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yep, many Toms. All the Toms. Well, like, five plus. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Not knowing whether or not the electrician is going to show up tomorrow, which will mean I need to move the paintings and quilt top I currently have all over the sitting room floor. I’m not done piecing that thing yet. Grr. 34. Most visited website: Lots. Mostly Google, Politico, Reuters etc., but I’m living on eBay right now because I’m trying to sell off a bunch of DVDs, books, and vintage glassware. …Does anyone want to buy some vintage/antique glassware? 35. Mole/s: Yep. I had one removed from my back once. Turned out to be benign (phew!) but I got an interesting scar out of it. 36. Mark/s: I still have a faint surgery scar on my elbow, but it doesn’t look as Frankenstein-y now. Most of my scars have faded, but I still have some weird idiosyncrasies from things that have been broken or busted up. 37. Childhood dream: Writing was always my main thing, but also acting/directing. Illness took that away. Other than that, I always wanted to live somewhere rural with lots of animals, and be happy.  39. Long or short hair: Long. Lots. It’s huge. Send help. I like both on other people.  40. Do you have a crush on someone: Not right now. Give me ten minutes and a new Fet profile to stalk and I’ll get back to you... 41. What do you like about yourself: I’m a creative dynamo and I don’t stop until I fall down. I’m also proud of the fact that I’m a pretty compassionate and patient person, and I like the fact I’m slow to really anger. Someone told me recently I’m a very stabilising influence, and that was nice to hear. I feel like life can use more of that.  42. Piercings: Ears (two left, three right), nose (left). More on the way, maybe, when I can justify it.  43. Blood type: ???? I should check. I know the NHS won’t let me donate blood because of my medical condition, which blows.  44. Nickname: Zia. Some people call me Kez. One person is allowed to call me Admiral Fuckface McAsshole III.  45. Relationship status: Open relationship with my primary partner, technically speaking. Poly is good, but my planner is too cluttered for anarchy.  46. Zodiac: Aries w/ Aquarius moon, Virgo ascendant. I also have Mars and Venus in Taurus, so mooooo. And yes, I did used to do natal charts for beer money. I read palms, too. I’d still do it if asked nicely.  47. Pronouns: They/She. I don’t mind feminine pronouns, because I’m incredibly cis-passing and most people will assume “she”, plus I can live with being labelled female if it’s a binary choice, but I see myself more as a person than a gender, so I love that neutral pronouns are being used so much more now.

FWIW, I considered whether or not I was trans for a hot minute when I was a younger teen, because I used to love passing as a boy when I was a kid (until puberty at nine. Boo.), but for me it was the difference in how I was treated when I passed as male that mattered. It was the difference between “Oh, isn’t he confident and intelligent?” and “Hello, sweetie, don’t you look pretty today?” that affected me, not a real sense of dysphoria, so I decided the problem wasn’t really in how I presented, but in society itself. I have yet to really find a satisfying way of rectifying that, but I think we’re all making progress as a society. It’s very slow progress, sadly.   

48. Favorite TV Show: I don’t watch that many series, but Star Trek (especially TOS and DS9), X-Files (S1/S2), Game of Thrones, old mystery adaptations (all the Agatha Christie ever), Stranger Things, Better Call Saul, Breaking Bad… can’t think of anything else right now, but there are some. 49. Tattoos: One black and grey dotwork spiral goddess on my arm, next one coming soon (watch this space, now I’ve found an artist!) 50. Right or left hand: Ambidextrous. Yes, I can write with both hands. Sometimes, I switch in the middle of the sentence. No, it doesn’t look the same. I can also operate light switches with my toes from a standing position.  51. Surgery: I fucked up my ulnar nerve a couple of years ago by blacking out and falling on some stairs. It was melodramatic, and I lost the use of my left hand. Had surgery to correct it. I was awake but a bit sedated, and spent most of the time talking to the cute anaesthetist about chastity cages. Because... sedated? Yes. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Sadly, he did not call, though I’m pretty sure he did a lot of googling when he got home that night.  52. Hair dyed in different color: Always, since I discovered Olaplex, which means I can actually bleach my hair without it completely frying. Most recently, I’ve had a mermaid fantasy in turquoise, green, and purple, but it’s faded a lot. Not sure what I’ll do next. Maybe orange, or neon yellow again. 53. Sport: I can’t do much without turning blue and blacking out, but I’ve always enjoyed tennis, badminton, swimming, and equestrian stuff. Is hiking a sport? Hiking’s fun.  54. Do you use sarcasm a lot: Um... 

55. Vacation: Last one was to see my partner; next one will be too. So, the woods of NEPA. Hiking out with some granola and my favourite human, and spending a few days playing with shelter pitbulls. <3 Otherwise, I’ve never really been on holiday. I went on a school trip to Germany once where I nearly got arrested and, when I was seven, I went to Malta and there was a hurricane. I remember wedging wet towels into the window frames and hoping we didn’t die, because we were on the twelfth floor and there was nowhere else to go. 

I did go to Norfolk with my mother for four days after her breast cancer diagnosis. Macmillan, a cancer charity that is very worthy of support, granted her a short break. There was a lot of playing dominos and trying to convince her she wasn’t actively dying at that precise moment.

56. Pair of trainers: Converse. All the ratty old Converse low tops in the world. 

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: I have the house to myself right now. It’s awesome. I’m celebrating with homemade shiitake tofu stir fry, wontons, vegetable udon… and doughnuts. Not in the same bowl, though. 58. Drinking: Rum. 

59. I’m about to: Finish a short story, close out an editing project, format a print galley (again. Goddamnit, Adobe.), and try to finalise the running order of a poetry collection. Maybe send some emails, maybe eat the rest of those wontons.   61. Waiting for: The dizziness to go away, usually. 62. Want: The time, space, peace and quiet to focus on my work, and my health to cooperate long enough for that to happen. 63. Get married: As soon as possible, which basically means when we can afford it, because immigration, legal wrangling, and a ton of other bullshit. It’s a headache, but if there weren’t so many technical hurdles it would already be done.  64. Career: I write and make stuff. I’m doing it under a new name now, which is daunting, because it means starting over again, but I’ve spent the past few years doing a lot of genre fiction and being told my original work is “too original”… but I’m ready to say “fuck you” to that and see what I can carve out for myself. Come on, internet: don’t prove me wrong, ‘k? 65. Hugs or kisses: Ooh, tough. Yes? I guess hugs if I have to pick.   66. Lips or eyes: Eyes. 67. Shorter or taller: I honestly don’t care, though I do very much enjoy short subs. Pocket rockets are adorable. 68. Older or younger: It really doesn’t matter. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Arms, I guess? Doesn’t really matter. It’s all pretty to look at, but who really cares? Arms are best for hugs. 71. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive. I don’t like too loud. 72. Hook up or relationship: Define the terms, yo. I’d say relationship, but the definition of “relationship” can be open to numerous things. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Um… possibly a bit of both, but more hesitant, probably.

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a stranger: No. 75. Drank hard liquor: Yup.

76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I once dropped a contact lens down the back of a gas fire and spent three hours getting it out with Vaseline on a paperclip. My vision is awful and I wore very expensive gas permeable lenses at the time. 77. Turned someone down: Yup. 78. Sex on the first date: Nothing wrong with it (and nothing wrong with sex being the date), but it’s not for me. 79. Broken someone’s heart: So they said. 80. Had your heart broken: Yes, but not how you might assume. 81. Been arrested: Nope. 82. Cried when someone died: Yep. 83. Fallen for a friend: A couple of times, with varying degrees of success.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84. Yourself: I try to, because few other people often do. (*the world’s tiniest violin plays*) 85. Miracles: Yes, sometimes in the form of coincidences, surprises, or the results of hard work. I believe in inverse miracles, too, when things go catastrophically wrong for no apparent reason. Or, as we call it at my house, Tuesday. 86. Love at first sight: Yes, in a way. Potential for love at first sight, I guess? I’ve usually found I know the moment I meet someone whether that’s a thing that’s going to happen or not. 87. Santa Claus: YES, DAMN IT. Okay, maybe not a literal dude in a red suit, but as a personification of the generous spirit of Non-Denominational-Winter-Solstice-and-Festival-of-Lights, he works. (I’m an eclectic neo-pagan/hedgewitch, but my most loved time of year is the whole October-February period, so I start celebrating Yule/Christmas around December 1st and don’t stop until Twelfth Night. I will take ALL of your symbolism, ALL your traditions, and – most importantly – ALL your festive foods and embrace them. In my belly. Thank you.)

88. Kiss on the first date: Probably. Unless it’s a baaaaad first date. 89. Angels: Again, not so much the literal sense, but it’d be nice to think there are positive presences looking out for us. I’d be very concerned about the serpent-like pillars of fire, though.  

OTHER:

90. Current best friends name: Aside from my dog, that’s my partner but they don’t like their details shared, so SHHHH IT’S A SECRET. 91. Eye color: grey-blue-thing 92. Favorite movie: You can’t just ask a person that at the end of the thing like it’s a simple question…! So. Many. Movies. Depends on the genre. The Blues Brothers, Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, Gattaca, Silence of the Lambs, Re-Animator, Die Hard, Stand By Me, Sleepaway Camp, Alien, Lady in a Cage, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, TRHPS, The Great Escape… those are movies I can watch a billion times (and have done). Honorable mentions, depending on my mood, go to things like Basket Case, Caramel, An American Werewolf in London, Exterminating Angel, Secretary, Gran Torino… I could have done 92 questions just on the most popularist movies I like!

tagging: I’ve been away for a few days and I don’t wanna tag people who’ve already done it, so if you’re reading this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged! <3

[neverbetheexpectation]

I really want to donate blood next week, but I don't know if I should. I mean, I love donating. I've gone 5 times now since I turned 17 and could donate. Every time, with only one exception, I've had a bad experience aka fainting spells. Twice I actually fainted. Two other times I had excessive dizzy spells which left me feeling ill. One would reasonable presume that I just shouldn't donate again. Except I want to. And everyone keeps telling me not to and that I should give it a rest (which I have been for the last like, 4-5 months). I want to explain my reason to my family and friend, but I don't know how to explain it. The blood donor clinic is on Jan 14. My sister died in a snow monolingual accident 7 years ago as of Jan 10. She had to undergo surgery which was unsuccessful, but the doctors tried their best. Her blood type was AB- and mine is A- . Which means that while they were trying to save her life by giving her blood transfusions, there's a chance they could've been using the same blood type as mine. And I know it's stupid, but I really want to donate on this specific date in memory of her. She couldn't be saved, but my blood could potentially help save someone who's in the same situation me sister was in. Maybe my blood could help save someone else's sister. I know a blood donation wouldn't have saved my sister, she was too far gone. And I know that it can't make any difference now. I just... it's something I feel like I need to do. For Corey.