#WAIT NO it’s called a tide PEN

[pedrospatch]

Vee!! Quick. Think about trying every berry available with Pedro and ranking them. The fights. The reconciliation. Trying to get the inevitable stain out of P's shirt. 🩷

RACHEL I LOVE YOU TY FOR THIS 🥹

now i’m just picturing myself feeding the man berries while he lays his head in my lap tbh and then when he doesn’t pick my favorite berry as his favorite berry that’s when the fighting commences

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Making a Move

Summary: Spencer's been seeing someone new, and the last thing he wants is to mess this up

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Hotch called a meeting over the phone, and the team is waiting for him and Rossi at the Roundtable. In the meantime, everyone else has made their stops at the coffee machine, Spencer included. He was having his second cup (the first one was from his apartment), but he didn’t need the team to know that. Although not as romantic as expected, his late night was worth the extra yawns and blurred vision. He’d rather the team not know about that too.

“What’s got you so tired, kid?”

Too late.

Morgan fiddles with a pen between his fingers. As he asks, his eyebrow arches; he’s ready for an answer. His question brings everyone’s eyes to him.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

“Nothing?” He knows that’s not it. The pact to not profile each other basically ended before it started. “Cause this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve come in here yawning like every ten seconds.”

“It’s nothing. Maybe I need more coffee.”

Garcia pokes her head up from behind her laptop. “You never have more than one cup of coffee at the office unless you really need it.” She’s still typing while looking at him. “You don’t even suggest it. Until now.” Typing halts, and Spencer sees the realization in her eyes. He knows he can’t stop the tide from coming. “Ooo, what’s his name?”

“It’s not a guy.” Spencer sips his coffee, sugar granules sliding over his tongue as he swallows.

“So it’s a girl.” Prentiss butts in with a smirk.

Spencer rubs his hand on his forehead.

“It is!” Garcia unleashes a squeal. “Okay, what’s her name?” Her magenta nails are out like a cat exposing its claws, and Spencer knows she’s prepared to start a free background check.

“He’s not going to tell us,” Prentiss says.

“What about her job? What does she do?”

A kindergarten teacher. “Not saying that either,” Spencer replies.

“Well, has anything happened between you two?” Morgan joins back in.

Just hello and goodbye hugs.

“Guys,” J.J. calls. She’s standing by the projector, remote in hand. “It’s Spence’s business. He’ll tell us when he wants to. Okay?” She uses her mom voice, and Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if the following words out of her mouth were, “If I hear another word about this, you’re all grounded.” It’s comforting, even though he knew she’d have his back.

Sighs of disappointment and protest around the table were not subtle, but they were as close to a verbal “okay” as she was getting. J.J. accepts it anyway and eventually takes a seat. Garcia leans over and asks about Hotch and Rossi, likely regarding where they could be. Spencer wonders the same thing; so they can get started.

And because Morgan keeps staring at him. He’s eager for Spencer to spill. He even leans over. “Seriously, kid, nothing?”

“I’m not afraid to tattle,” Spencer whispers back. He finds his book, The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read it a couple days ago, yet opened a page and busied himself with the paperback. Morgan’s eyes are still staring. He’s not letting this go, even if this briefing led to the jet. Spencer makes the mistake of looking back at him for a moment, and he has no choice. He turned the page of his book and mumbled, “I want something to happen, though.” He bites his lips closed when the words finally leave them.

Spencer’s opened the door, welcoming Morgan and his sleazy smile. Something he — hell — that they’ve all seen and grown too familiar with at bars and clubs. “Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” He shakes Spencer’s bony shoulder. “My man.”

Spencer can’t help but grin, not in response, but because of last night. He was worried you’d consider him cheap or creepy for choosing to watch a movie at his apartment instead of the theater. He was hoping to make a move. Spencer thought you looked so cozy in your polka-dot sweater; he wished he could reach out and touch the material. It looked so soft. But all the mistakes he made might’ve ruined the chance for that.

“What’d you do?” Morgan whispers.

“I sat too far away at first. I tried moving closer but… I didn’t want to come off as weird. Then I excused myself to get some water, but then it still didn’t feel right and —”

“So you chickened out?”

“I didn’t chicken out.”

He chickened out.

“Okay, well, it’s good you’re not all over her. You’re giving her space and showing her respect. But Reid,” He ruffles his hair. Spencer smiles, and it’s the only thing that keeps J.J. from giving a lecture. “You’ve been on three dates. She likes you, man. She’s probably waiting.”

“But what if she —”

“She does. And you need to go in knowing that and display some confidence. When are you seeing her again?”

“Tonight. We’re getting ice cream.” Spencer tries to suppress his lips curling. It doesn’t work.

“See. Now let me give you some pointers.”

It’s been a while since Spencer’s built such a natural rapport with someone, especially someone in a field furthest away from the grim glimpses of humanity he sees.

He surprised you with a visit during your lunch last week. The vibrant colors in your wardrobe match your classroom. The walls covered in handmade decorations and class-made crafts are a refreshing difference from the dark basements and fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms. The light in your eyes when discussing your students is something Spencer doesn’t get to see often, and he didn’t want to lose it by moving too fast.

Displaying confidence was something that came naturally to Morgan. “Displaying” didn’t feel honest, Spencer thought,  more like a front. Then again, that’s what all displays really were. Spencer’s only known how to be himself. Morgan does have a point, though. He’s already been on three dates. So being himself has worked so far. But he’s sure he needs a little more.

On the walk to the agreed-upon spot, Spencer grips the strap of his satchel as he trudges uphill. It helps him burn off the nervous energy as he gets closer. But when he sees you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, he’s reminded again why he should be. You’re wearing a flowy yellow dress and white tennis shoes. The one difference from last night is the ends of your hair, brunette roots leading to dark pink ends.

You stand up and start walking toward him, beaming already. “Hey!” Your arms are already out, and you hug. Spencer notes you smell like coconut.

“Hey, you,” He tries to make it sound natural. His hand lingers at your waist for a second. “Your hair,” That same hand touches the ends. “It’s pretty.” He smiles, taking in your individuality. He thinks about how much you and Garcia would get along.

“Thank you,” your brightness radiates as you giggle. “It’s the most I can get away with at school, so I figured I might as well push the limits while I can. Plus, the kids love it.”

Spencer’s brain immediately goes to statistics about school dress codes and how they likely change the following year. He holds back. Morgan’s taught him that sharing statistics can apparently kill the mood. He even reminded him before Spencer left (early). “I’m sure they do.”

Your eyebrows quirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah, doll, I’m fine.” He tries again, but it’s taking everything for him not to cringe in front of you.

“No, you’re acting weird.” You cross your arms.

“Am I?” Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Oh yeah.” You snicker. “What’s up? Tell me about it.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to say, “I really like you but I’m terrified of messing this up so I’m attempting to put on a terrible impression of a macho man because I want to kiss you and I feel like being myself isn’t going to get me anywhere” in a form that’s going to sound coherent and not like a crazy ramble that ends in you running away. So he doesn’t say it at all.

“Spencer,” You reach out to hold his hand. “You can tell me.”

“I…” He feels like he’ll stumble over his words before he gets a sentence out. He looks at you, and your grip tightens a little. He returns the gesture. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up exactly?”

“Well, this.” He moves his hand where his thumb is on top. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I like you too!” You say. “We’re on the same page there. So how could you mess this up?”

“Because I don’t know how to make the first move. I don’t want to push you.” The wind blows, and both of you push hair out of your faces, and Spencer tries not to lose his thoughts. “I even let one of my coworkers give me pointers on how to be… smoother.”

You try hard not to laugh, but it slips out, and the insecurity on Spencer’s face spreads. “Is this the one you told me about? Dirk Morgan?”

“Derek Morgan. But, yeah, him.”

“Okay, Doctor,” You step closer, and now both your hands lead up to his biceps. Spencer cautiously moves his hands to your waist. He’s hesitant about public displays of affection, but you started it, and he won’t be the one to end it so soon.  “I’m going to bring you into my field for a minute. I’m assigning you a pop quiz.”

Spencer’s mouth quirks a little, wondering where this is going.

“I have no doubt you’ll ace it.”

“I’m usually good at acing things. Exams, tests, quizzes.”

“Good. It’s one question: am I dating Derek Morgan?” Your thumbs glided back and forth against his cardigan.

“Are we dating?”

“We’ve been on dates. Therefore: dating.”

“Then, no, you are not dating Derek Morgan.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you got a 100.” You push yourself up on your toes to kiss him gently. You both pause for a moment. His hands trail to your back as yours glide to hang on his neck. His breath is extra minty for six in the evening, and it made you realize that was the move he wanted to make. “Feel better? Now that that’s out of the way?”

Spencer leans in to kiss you again. His response is clear when he pulls you in to make it deeper, but still innocent. When you open your eyes, you can see the weight that’s been lifted, a weight you lifted.

“Next time you feel like making a move, you’re more than welcome to go for it. Okay? You have my permission to go for it.”

“What if I don’t know your boundaries?”

“Just ask.” You put your feet flat on the ground, but other than that, neither of you moves or shifts eye contact. “Spencer, I like you the way you are. You don’t need some sort of smooth rhetoric to make me fall further for you.”

Spencer, once again, fails to hide the smirk as it grows. “You’ve… fallen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He says quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

Thank you for all the love from the last fic. I'm glad so many of you liked it 🥹 For anyone curious, I don't have a schedule. I just write and upload when I have something. I'm focusing on getting back into writing so feel free to send oneshot ideas if you have any. Thanks again 🩵

“Good. Now let’s get ice cream.”

[starryeyedjanai]

when the tide turns

@flufftober prompt: enemies at first sight @eddiemonth prompt: cavalier 2.7k | rated: teen tags: "enemies" at first sight, misunderstandings, idiots to idiots in love, first kiss, demiromantic eddie

read on ao3

Eddie wouldn't go so far as to say the first time he bumped into Steve Harrington, it was enemies at first sight, but it was a close thing.

He was just trying to get to his professor's office hours, when they collided right outside of Professor Click's office. It sent the pen Eddie had in his hand flying across the hallway in the opposite direction.

And he hadn't even apologized, this guy. He just kept it moving, like Eddie was the one who was in the way.

Eddie went to get his pen and turned back to find this guy inside Click's office, asking questions about the homework. The only reason Eddie's a little bitter about it is because he was kind of there first, right? He would have made it there before him if he hadn't brushed past him like he was the only person with places to be.

And then he'd had to wait his turn, taking his headphones off and listening to this guy ask the exact same questions he had about the assignment, Professor Click's voice too low and the sound of the air conditioning too high for him to catch what she was saying.

So he was annoyed. That this guy had just basically cut him in line and didn't even apologize for it.

And what's that one phenomenon where it's like once you notice something, you keep noticing it?

Whatever it's called, it's happening to Eddie right now. He runs into this guy one time, and now he's seeing him everywhere.

Once Eddie notices Steve, once he literally bumps into him trying to get to his calculus professor's office hours, it's like he can't stop seeing him everywhere.

And yes, now he has a name.

Eddie didn't know this guy existed two weeks ago and now he knows his name.

After the office hours debacle, then it was the cafeteria, seeing this guy in line, grabbing the last of the chicken tenders, a couple people in front of Eddie. So he had to wait, again, because of him, while they fried up some more. And yeah, maybe it's just a coincidence that the second time he sees this guy is when he's inconveniencing him again, but it feels like it's more than a coincidence.

The third time he sees him, before he ever knows his name was in the library, when this guy was sitting in his seat. Legitimately, literally, actually sitting in his fucking seat.

He got up to go to the bathroom and came back to find his stuff moved and this asshole sitting in his seat - arguably one of the only comfy chairs on this floor of the library. And, okay, maybe he was hogging it for a while, but who the hell just moves someone's stuff like that?

So it wasn't enemies at first sight, technically, but by the third time obviously Eddie is thinking of this guy as his nemesis, his first college nemesis. His first nemesis, period. Because he took his seat, he took his spot during office hours, and he took the last goddamn chicken tender.

And now he has verifiable proof that it's not just a coincidence. That this guy has it out for him personally for some reason.

Because he turned in his Intro to Fiction assignment for peer review and some guy named Steve absolutely ripped into his assignment, saying his interpretation of the religious aspects of Old Man and the Sea lacked nuance.

He looks up Steve on the registrar's website - there's no one named Steve in his Fiction class, so he must be in the other section of this class that meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

He finds a million Steve's that go to their school, but narrows it down some based on their year. Clicking into every single account to look at the grainy little picture from everyone's student IDs is time consuming, but there's a dire need in him to know who the hell this guy thinks he is.

He luckily doesn't have to scroll too far because he finds Steve and wouldn't you fucking know it? Steve Harrington is the same motherfucker who's slighted him multiple times in the few short weeks since they've been back at school.

He does some digging on Facebook and comes up short because this guy has so little personality in his online presence, it's shocking how this could be the same guy who left him a scathing peer review. Other than finding evidence of some weird little frenemy thing he has going on with some guy and the guy's girlfriend, there's nothing.

So Eddie just silently seethes every time he sees Steve and wonders what the hell is going on inside that pretty little head of his.

Truth be told, there were much worse people at Indy State than Steve, but something about him just gets under Eddie's skin. His cavalier attitude, maybe, the way he can just rip into someone's perfectly good paper, how nonchalant he seems to be about everything - it all makes Eddie want to shake him until he gets a reaction out of him.

He's maybe a little bit obsessed, but he's never claimed to be normal about anything in his life ever.

It's nearing midterms when he finds Steve sitting in the only comfortable chair on the third floor of the library and he groans, turning away to go to a different floor.

"Oh, wait, Eddie?" he hears as he's walking away.

And there's no way.

There's no way this guy knows his name. There's no way this guy is calling his name like he knows him, like they know each other.

He turns back around and Steve is walking up to him.

He squints his eyes at him. "Yeah?"

"I thought that was you. Hey, I know you're in Click's calculus class and I'm really struggling with wrapping my head around some of this stuff. Do you want to study together for the midterm?" Steve asks and Eddie's entire world tilts on its axis.

Why would Steve want to be study buddies with him?

Eddie's literally flabbergasted, but he finds his voice and says, "But I thought you hated me."

Steve looks confused. He says, "I don't, I don't hate you. I don't even know you? But I definitely don't hate you."

And Eddie sputters because no way was this all in his head. He says, "But what about the first time we ran into each other? You breezed past me to get to Professor Click first. You didn't even say sorry when you knocked into me."

And Steve still has that cute, confused look on his face. He replies, "If I bumped into you, I definitely would have said sorry. Maybe you had your headphones in? I know you wear them around campus a lot."

Steve noticed him around campus?

"O-okay, sure, maybe I had my headphones in and didn't hear you. But you stole my chair that one time," Eddie says, nodding over at said chair.

Steve looks back at the chair and actually looks a little repentant about that one, so Eddie knows he's right. He had to have done it on purpose.

But Steve says, "I am sorry about that one. That chair is the only remotely comfortable one up here though. And I only took it because you were gone for so long. I got up here and no one was sitting there so I waited for like ten minutes before moving your stuff. I thought you were one of those people who leave their stuff on the good chairs while they're in class, which is such a bitch move. But then you came back and I was gonna apologize, but you just took your stuff and left so quickly."

He does look like he feels bad about it.

And he's not wrong, is the thing. Eddie went to the bathroom and then saw Jeff from his chemistry lab there and he remembered a question he had, so they talked for a while before he headed back to his seat.

When he got back and saw Steve had taken his seat and moved his stuff to one of the other available chairs, he basically saw red and gathered up his shit and left. He was fuming about that for days. And Steve didn't even do it maliciously, apparently.

"What about my English assignment? You ripped my analysis of Old Man and the Sea apart."

Steve snorts and says, "Lacks nuance about the religious themes?" and when Eddie nods, he says, "I wrote that on everyone's assignment. Professor Brenner doesn't look at what we write. He tallies up how many times you comment on other people's stuff and that's how he determines your online participation grade."

Eddie knew he wasn't reading those fucking comments, that old bastard.

But it appears that this feud between him and Steve has been all in Eddie's head.

And that kind of makes him upset. Because he's been running around under the impression that he had a nemesis for the first time and this dude has probably never thought about him a day in his life before today. Upsetting.

"Oh, man, I seriously thought you hated me this entire time," he says with a sheepish look on his face.

"Nah, man. I, uh, I actually keep seeing you everywhere on campus and noticed you're really good at math. And I could really use a study buddy, if you're interested?" Steve asks, sounding hopeful.

What the hell. Why not?

He says, "If you can help quiz me on some of my chemistry shit, I will totally make numbers make sense to you."

And so it begins.

Now, the problem is that he's hanging around Steve so much that it has the opposite effect of what he thought was going on before.

Hanging out with him, with how well they get along together, playing video games together, just doing normal stuff - it all has him kind of craving more.

He feels like Steve is all he thinks about now. And okay, maybe he thought about him a lot before, when he thought they were nemeses, but it's different now that he knows him.

Everything he learns about him, he likes. Every new part of him he sees, he likes. He's never been like this about anyone before.

Steve shows him a picture of him and his friend's dog and Eddie is shooting heart eyes at it the entire time, cooing about how cute his dog is.

Steve tells him he likes playing silly video games with his friends like Surgeon Simulator and Eddie buys a monthly subscription to Xbox Gamepass for his laptop so he can play that stupid game with him.

Steve needs help editing an English paper and Eddie is kind of bad at English, especially citations, but he looks up APA citations and helps him figure it out.

Steve likes playing frisbee with his Ultimate friends and Eddie is signing up for the intramural frisbee competition with him because his team needed another person even though he fucking hates organized sports, especially stupid ass ones like frisbee.

He's kind of got a bit of a Steve problem and it's hard to shake. He's everywhere and even when he's not around, Eddie is thinking about him, about his stupid, perfect hair, about his eyes, about his smile. All things he didn't let himself think about when he thought Steve hated him.

But now, once the floodgates opened, he can't get Steve out of his head.

He likes him way too much, likes hanging out with him way too much.

The semester closes out with Eddie in way deeper than he ever thought he could be. He's never really fallen for someone like this and he doesn't know what to do about it.

Because he knows Steve and Robin are platonic soulmates now, and he knows Steve isn't seeing anyone, but he doesn't know if Steve even likes guys, if he even likes him. He knows they hang out a lot, but that doesn't mean Steve thinks of him as a friend or anything. He's so not equipped to deal with this.

He spends all break moping and pining, so much so that Wayne asks about it, asks who's got him in such a tangle. And Eddie blushes hard when he tells Wayne about his crush.

Wayne looks at him and says, "If this is that boy you stayed up on the phone with playing your little video games with until 5 in the morning the other day, I don't think you have anything to worry about, son."

Eddie scoffs. "He just, he likes playing these stupid co-op games that the kids he used to babysit for got him into. We didn't mean to stay up that late."

"All I'm saying is I wouldn't stay up all night talking to someone I didn't like," Wayne says and it feels like everything comes into focus suddenly.

Steve and Eddie have been hanging out for months, getting to know each other, studying together - sometimes just talking, completely forgetting about their homework or whatever quiz they're studying for, staying until the staff is literally kicking them out of the library.

Steve's best friend is a lesbian.

Steve has texted him every single day since the semester ended.

If nothing else, Steve is probably one of the best friends he's ever had.

He gets back to campus in mid-January and knows he's going to tell Steve, somehow, that he's into him. It might not be right away, but he's going to do it.

He sees Steve the afternoon he gets back and can't help the way his face lights up when he sees him. He's missed him, even though he spent all break talking to him, texting him, staying up way too late with him voice chatting while they played whatever game Steve was obsessed with that week.

Steve's standing in front of his dorm building like he's been waiting for Eddie outside ever since he texted him saying he was coming over.

As soon as Eddie gets close enough, Steve pulls him into a hug and Eddie sinks into it like he's finally home, like in Steve's arms is where he belongs.

They stand there in the cold of the winter, in each other's arms, and Eddie knows what it means to want - with the way his heart clenches and he feels every hair on his arm standing at being so close to Steve.

They pull away and Eddie is suddenly ready to say it, ready to tell Steve how he feels, ready for whatever consequences there may be to that.

But he doesn't have to.

Because as soon as they pull away, Steve stays close and presses his mouth to Eddie's, just a soft, dry press.

Eddie's breath catches in his throat and his hand comes up to cup Steve's neck as their lips slide together a second time, as Eddie opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Steve's arms wind back around him and Eddie wants to stay here forever.

The world around them is chilly, but Eddie feels so warm right now, wrapped up in Steve's arms, with Steve's mouth against his, with Steve's tongue against his.

Steve pulls back from the kiss and smiles at him - this shy, little smile that Eddie's never seen on him before.

"I was hoping you'd kiss me back," Steve says, like there was ever any doubt. Thinking about Steve wanting this, thinking about this, has Eddie's mind spinning. How long has Steve liked him?

He says, "I mean, I think I had a crush on you even when I thought we were nemeses."

That gets Steve to laugh. "You're such a dork. Nemeses."

"Hey, you just kissed this dork," he says, noticing how close they're still standing, noticing how easy it would be to just lean back in and kiss him again.

"I did," Steve says, the expression on his face soft and fond. "Let me take you to lunch? Not in the caf. Somewhere else?"

"You tryna wine and dine me, Harrington?"

"And if I am?" Steve asks.

Eddie grins at him. "I just might let you," he says, leaning in again.

[vinjinssunglasses]

Hey can u write a Seongji Yuk x selectively mute!reader please

─────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───────

character seongji yuk

summary him in a relationship w u <3 (selectively mute)

start no clue

end 21 sept

a/n tysm for req! I’m not selectively mute, so tell me if this is anyway inaccurate n I’ll change it. this is a lil bit shorter <33 sorry for taking so long aswell😭🙏

─────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───────

ᯓ★ Respects your boundaries. He’ll never push you to talk whenever you don’t want to, but rather savour the comfortable silence where you’re together. He loves just being around you, just having you in his presence is enough to soothe him.

ᯓ★ The silence between the two of you is never suffocating. The warmth of your hands intertwined and the slow smiles curving from each others lips when you occasionally make eye contact allows the both of you to relax.

ᯓ★ Instead of dates where you’d go out to eat at loud restaurants, you’d both prefer to stay inside, cuddling on the couch while watching a tv show comfortably. As always, he made his favourite snack, tanghulu, but you only sigh and take a bite instead of complaining. No matter how many times you write messages about how dangerous this much sugar is, he never listens.

ᯓ★ Around the house, post it notes are stuck to walls back-to-back with cute little messages and inside jokes. You’d notice a note stuck on the fridge with a ‘I love you. don’t eat my food. 😾’ and you’d reply back, then going back and forth with bits of banter.

ᯓ★ Instead of verbal communication, you naturally understand each other with only meaningful glances and subtle gestures that just the two of you understand. There’s never a need to talk between you two, only when you’re comfortable enough.

(Usually, you’d use pen and paper or type on your phone.)

ᯓ★ He plans dates to take the main focus off of talking, letting the silence between the both of you communicate louder than words could. A soft brush of your hands, and you turn to face each other. The gentle tickle of sand under your fingers sparking anticipation. Your heart flutters when he takes the initiative to intertwine your fingers.

The sun casted a golden, pink glow over the horizon as it slowly dips. A gentle breeze carried the smell of seawater, feeling cool onto your skin while seagulls flutter into the distance. The tranquil beach was your favourite place to just relax with each other, side by side, taking in the breeze. Ever since you’ve been friends, you’d frequent this mesmerising view. Although you’d find yourself studying Seongji’s features rather the rising and falling of the tide hitting against the rocks.

Tonight was different. It was your first anniversary of being friends, yet the air between you two felt distant. Do people even celebrate this? It was only an excuse for you to see him that day. Do friends hold hands? Make up first year anniversaries and believe it? Does he feel the same way? These thoughts danced around in your mind, and came up with a foolish idea to finally write the words I love you. A piece of paper and a pencil rested beside you, and your hand itched to pick it up.

Seongji noticed your eyes lingering, lips parted as if you wanted to say something. He leaned closer, catching you off guard, and spoke softly.

“Are you okay?” His voice flows smoothly; like the warmth of a spring breeze, barely above a whisper. Combing his hands through your hair, you couldn’t help but fluster at the sudden contact. You paused and he waited for a response, knowing you wouldn’t express it with words. And he didn’t expect you to either

Lips trembling, the silence that was once comforting started to overwhelm your senses. You expected yourself to be able to do this with ease, yet here you were, shaking. Seongji called out your name, squeezed your hands in a feeble attempt to get you to respond in any way. If only you knew how much you meant to him. Pathetic. You felt pathetic. If only you were a little stronger…

“I love you, Seongji.” You muttered, and the world around you two went silent. The birds fussing in the sky, crabs scattering at the commotion, tree leaves dancing… It paused for a moment. Seongji gazed into your eyes, a glitter of hope inside his. He cupped your cheeks that ran with your tears, wiping them away in his thumb. Words couldn’t express how glad he felt in this moment. The words jumbled in his throat and the only thing he could do was hold you tight in his arms, head nestling against the pulse in your neck.

Nothing else mattered. The fact that this is the first time you felt comfortable speaking didn’t matter. He pulled away, and that’s when you noticed the tears glistening down his cheek. Seongji placed a passionate kiss on your lips, one that he’s been holding in for too long.

“I love you too.” Seongji whispered against your lips, pulling you in for another.

ᯓ★ Even throughout the surprise dinner the rest of Cheonliang fam held in congratulations for your relationship, he held your hand. At first, you didn’t plan on telling them. But when they caught you exchanging kisses on the lips, the secret slipped away. He gently stroked your hand with his thumb, a subtle reminder he was there for you. A touch so soft, as if silently asking are you okay? and you felt so safe knowing he were there with you. Every so often, hed glance at your facial expression, a search for any signs of discomfort.

He knows you’re not great at huge events or parties like this. Seongji even insisted you should relax at home for a while, though you wanted to. After all, everyone was so happy; giggling and cheering for the both of you. You felt you couldn’t let them down. The loud talking pained your ears, as well as the music playing from the radio. A nod here, and a gentle squeeze of his hand there. As always, your eyes did all the talking. When questions were asked, your gaze would shift to him, a silent request between the two of you.

Sometimes, you were comfortable enough to say a few words at questions that weren’t bothersome, and nobody would make a big deal. The air between everyone was chatty and easy-going, and that’s what you loved about the Cheonliang fam.

Somewhere to call home, and people to all family is all you’ve ever wanted.

You’ve struck gold.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

“It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ‘Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess’ face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

[wyngigi]

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 04

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

navigation┆prev┆next

“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 2.3k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through ↳ a/n┆i hope u guys love this chapter as much as i do !! a little blast from the past always has me excited <3 p.s let me know which pairings ur rooting for after reading hehe (and yes next chapter we will be back at the party dont worry the drama has just begun)

04⌇memories of summer bring you

As San weaves his way through the crowd, past the drunken bodies of guys and girls alike, he finds himself reminiscing in just how much he had changed the past few years. Was it okay to live a life like he was right now? He’s not too sure. San first thinks of high school, then his thoughts float to you.

San watches the clock tick above his teacher’s desk, mind wandering as he scribbles on his worksheet with a ballpoint pen. He’s trapped in a god-awful environmental science class (which mind you would’ve been a free period instead), courtesy of not taking enough science courses earlier on to hit the credit minimum. It’s torturous, making him study about the world in a stuffy classroom when he could be out there learning by simply living in it.

San might just be a little salty, but the lesson isn’t actually that interesting either, so his mind has been elsewhere the last half hour. He’ll listen when it actually gets important, maybe. First he was daydreaming about buying a motorcycle and speeding off into the sunset, away from this boring sad old town to go live some larger-than-life bullshit.

Then he thought it’d be too lonely to do by himself, so he brainstormed an alternative. If he were ever able to do it, he’d probably try convincing someone to come with him. He hasn’t even finished his senior year, yet his ideas still don’t seem all that crazy to him. It might be farfetched to others, but San disagrees. If you aren’t dreaming big, could it even be considered a dream at all?

Then he starts wondering if his thoughts are too reckless most, if not all of the time, if attempting to move through life hastily would be too irresponsible and could scare the people around him. But he really doesn’t want to miss out on living, San wants to go see and do the things you have to go out of your way to experience. Something you make the journey for to begin with, not just a simple detour.

The type of stuff you have to just hold your breath for and jump into with no regret before it’s too late, the tide retreating, water becoming far too shallow. (He truly wasn’t lying earlier when he said he loves to be on the move, or that the thrill of exploring had always been dangerously enticing to him.) Those mantras, principles, whatever you wish to call them replay in his mind daily. They always have.

San knows the world won’t slow down and wait for him too. He sees it outside the classroom window right now, how the cars still pass down the street as the birds fly high into the sky even if he’s confined to his seat. San is well aware that it’s him who has to be the one to take the leap of faith and choose to start living. The problem is that sometimes he just can’t.

When San would think about the daredevils, adrenaline junkies, risk takers of the world, those who love to live on the edge of things, preparing for their big take off, he’d think of how he would love to be like that someday. Yeah, someday. The difference was he liked staying on the edge too much. Didn’t like the feeling of climbing to the highest point just for the glory if he could end up tipping over, see himself falling down and lose control of everything in the process.

When third period ends San makes his way out of class then down the hall, stopping at his locker so he can drop off the notebook and stationery he no longer needs till after his second lunch break. San knows he has PE next, so he quickly grabs his gym clothes. It’s not that he cares much about being late for it or missing out on any of the “action” though, he only really enjoys it depending on what sport they’re playing.

He likes the sports where his only role is to defend whenever a ball or something comes his way. It’s why he thinks volleyball is torture; trying his best to stay in his position once his team scores but then somebody is already telling him to hurry up and rotate. Those days are just endless cycles of torture. Actually, were.  He started to sit in the nurse’s office on those days.

It’s a good thing they’re doing netball today (he doesn’t have any more passes to sit in the med bay now). San has a lot of fun playing it. He’s even claimed the goalkeeper bib before anyone else can so much that whoever he plays with just lets him have it. The people he usually plays with are good enough to the point where the opposing team never even gets to his third of the court.

Goalkeeper suits him for that exact reason, he enjoys getting to win without even having to take a shot with the ball. San liked how it was so much he didn’t think or want to try being a goal attacker or centre. Well, maybe sometimes he did a little. There were a couple instances where he wanted to try a different role for the first time. San had gotten as close as picking up a different position bib even. Thoughts like that were shoved away quickly however, and the bib would end thrown back into the crate. The mere possibility of letting anyone down in case he was terrible outweighed his curiosity (and potential) on multiple occasions.

Failure was a funny thing; it had given him a terrible feeling that would sit in the pit of his stomach or make him so nauseous it was awfully dizzying. The funnier thing was that San had never truly failed at anything in life, simply because he had never tried much to begin with. That was the case, for quite some time in his life as he knew it. He had been growing more than okay with that knowledge as time passed, then one day he wasn’t.

As he turned away from his locker, San spotted you walking the opposite way to your own fourth period class, clearly getting ready to ditch the rest of the day. His heartbeat had sped up and his palms were awfully sweaty but for the first time ever, he shut out every reasoning voice in his head and chose to do something he never had the courage to before.

The two of you were in the same grade, so he had seen you passing by in the hallways always with both earphones in (to drown out everyone else he assumes, you never talked to anyone when you had them in while carrying an almost sorrow expression). Despite how you looked, you would still be humming away to a tune he could never fully quite catch.

He also knew your lunch times were spent eating shitty snacks from the vending machines and that you really liked the strawberry lollipops from the cafeteria (which they only sold every Friday for some fucked up reason, he overheard you complaining about it to your friends in math).

San would also see you after school with all of your cooler, older friends too. You would all huddle around the corner near the bike racks in the parking lot, out of sight from teachers so you could bum cigarettes off of each other. You’d also listen to music while you were there, only with one earphone in though so you could still hear everyone talk. He liked seeing that, you always looked happy and smiley talking to your friends.

The two of you weren’t complete strangers, but nowhere close enough where he could feel safe calling you his friend either. You shared multiple classes with San, greeting him with a small smile when you’d walk by his seat to get to your own (he liked that you’d always say hi to him even when he never did first). The both of you even worked on group projects together, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to know more about you, to take even the smallest peek at the inner workings of your mind. To find out how you always seemed to not care when things went wrong.

He thinks of your reaction when you would fail a test, how you’d simply shrug before shoving the paper into the bottom of your backpack. Immediately after, smiling as you’d turn around to talk to your friends about whatever you all planned to do that weekend. Stuff like that didn’t make much sense to him. Why would you not opt out of hanging out just for one weekend and study harder to do better on the next test like he would?

San supposes that’s what separates the two of you into vastly different worlds, yet he wants nothing more than to just step over that line and join you.

When he had spotted you there, on that humid summer day in early June a feeling had begun to settle into his stomach again. The strange bit was that it didn’t feel humiliating nor demeaning, but there was still something unsettling about it. It felt extremely foreign at first but now, incredibly comforting. Because for once, it didn’t feel like failure.

So, he then decided to call out to you. It was the very first time he had ever greeted you, without you doing it first. Your name exceedingly foreign on his tongue when coming out of his mouth while you weren’t sitting at your desks in a shared class. You had turned around at the noise, both earphones still blasting music into your ears.

Once you had recognised who the voice belonged too, you immediately had taken out both of your earphones with a smile. The tune he had never been able to fully hear, was now playing into the world for him to hear freely. He felt the corners of his mouth beginning to prick upwards at that. Yet with no plan of what words he would say now, San was immediately regretting his choice to speak to you. His fists were balled up in front of him, grip tightening on his clothes ever so slightly as he lowers his eyes down away from you.

The edge he always treads so carefully on was now unstable and he felt it beginning to crack already. You don’t leave him any more time to freak out over it though. When he looks up, he sees you already opening your mouth to say hello in the soft tone you always use, ushering him over.

“Hey, San. You want to come skip with me?”

The cool breeze flowing through the corridor, cooling down his cheeks just had to heat up again when he locked eyes with you, of course they did. Because San had always found everything about you pretty, from the first time he ever saw you. Not a day would there be a doubt in his mind of that. But, in that very moment he found you strikingly beautiful. In a split second, where his brain and his heart finally worked in unison he had responded hurriedly, before he could overthink it and regret it for the rest of his days.

“Yeah, I do. I’ll come along,” As he chucked his gym clothes back into his locker, a switch had been flicked on in his mind. When he turned around and saw you then, one lollipop in your mouth and a second in your hand, held out to him, a realisation had been thrown into his face like a bucket of ice-cold water. San had ultimately discovered that dancing on the edge was fun, yet leaping off it was much better. Even if the water was too shallow down below, San thinks he would be okay with that.

While walking away from the gym and instead down the hall with you by his side, San had spotted your earphones tangled up and peeking out of your backpack. That day, he settled with the fact that maybe it was okay to be a little too reckless, to move a tad too fast. Even if it could scare people, even if it scared him.

If you asked San what made him love that summer far more than the previous ones, he might mention his drunken bike rides with you and your friends, or the nights he spent laying on the beach with you gazing at the stars. Hell, he even liked the part time job he had to take up thanks to the party you helped him throw (which ended in that broken window he had to pay for). Spending a portion of his summer working as a server wasn’t fun in theory but when you’d visit him on his breaks or pick him up after his shifts, San had found it pretty worth it in the end.

He was truly happy in every moment back then; he’s enlightened even now, because all the memories of summer bring you back to him. Despite existing only as a brief moment in his own mind, San is content because whenever he closes his eyes he finds a version of you is there with him. He’s able feel the sun on his bare skin, with your lips pressed against his own again. His favorite bit being when the lingering hint of strawberries followed as you both pulled away.

Yeah, that’s exactly when it was. Three summers ago. When San had first decided it was alright to embrace being him, to be the person he still was today. All thanks to you.

navigation┆prev┆next

[aislingsurrow]

FFXIV Write

Day 12

Quarry

918 words

Papa was going to leave for sailing and Aisling was scared. So scared that she cried and clung to his legs the night before- as if not sleeping would mean the night never ended. He’d never leave.

But he gently pried her from his shins and soothed his daughter. Patted her head- assured her future fears were for the future. He’d be as safe as he could- and if she had any thoughts she should write them down. 

“Get it all out, eh? It’s how I practiced my writin’.”

The next morning, when little Aisling woke to her father already gone to sea she cried some more. Mama gave her warm cider and sweet porridge and ham for breakfast, so it was a little better. But not much. 

So, when her heart felt heaviest, she took her father’s advice and started to write. 

Dear Diary, Papa said I should do this and talk to you. Someone keeps saying Papa is gonna be in danger but they must be lying. Papa is the best pirate so I know he’ll be okay, but they’re laughing at me and I can smell blood like when Chef Wydershyn is cutting meat. I can hear the laughing in my head and I can see r-

Aisling’s hand twitched and the next word was lost in a rough splatter of ink. She felt the shape of her back change- arm sweeping out wide. Her body hung straight and tall, head tilted, a puppet on strings. 

And she wrote again, in a hand and manner unlike her own.

I can see our quarry ahead. Captain says the headwind will let us reach her within the hour. Heart’s pounding hard in my chest. Little Dream’s cries in my head.  She’s always had a head for trouble. Whimpering before the storm, scared stiff of a window about to blow open. One time she figured a thief would come around, and she was right. Found him before he could raid the cashbox.  What if she’s right this time, too? I worry each time I hear her cry, that some disaster is right around the corner. I tell her we do all we can, but it’s like fate whispers to her betimes. Cece keeps telling me to quit the crew and work in the Burrow full time. Sometimes I wonder if I should. But the gil is good. Especially today. The ship we’re chasing is heavy with gun and powder. Garlemald keeps its merchant vessels protected well, but the cargo is rich and thick. My share might buy a new oven for the Burrow. That’s worth it, isn’t it? At least this will be over s

Aisling turned her head, hearing words unspoken in her room. But there was a call- a bell- thunderous steps above her- 

Her body didn’t move, but Someone did. And she felt that Someone toss the small diary and pen somewhere safe- and then above deck. Joining with a thrum of bodies- the crew, all as one, and 

A BOOM!

CRACK! 

Someone turned their head as splinters shot out around them and- above their heads- the mast cracked and fell- 

Aisling shouted and careened out of her chair, crashing like the mast into the deck. Her hangs dug at the ground- scrambled to find purchase- and her crying and frantic jingling of her bells alerted her mother. 

Cecelia ran upstairs to find her young daughter inconsolable. 

“He’s crushed! He’s all sunk! Papa! Paaaapaaaaa!” 

With heavy certainty in her skull, Aisling clung to her mother’s skirts all that day and found the waiting terrible. She was sure bad news would arrive- a broken, splintered ship. Flotsam and jetsam carried by the tide to shore. Cargo would come a day later, bodies soon and then and then and then- 

And then her arm twitched again. Someone was trying to write, and her back hurt so much she had to run to her desk and yank her diary open to ease the pain. She placed a pen in her shaking, already writing hand and caught something midword-

od day. My leg aches like a bitch but it’s fine. It’s fine.  The Garlean vessel took a fight. They crashed our mizzenmast first, but the main still had support from the fore and stayed aright. Rigging crew compensated well, but that’s when Jores fell and didn’t come back up.  The fighting came fierce. Broadsides traded. But we managed an approach and boarded well- a flood of us versus a wall of them.  Pissant Garlean commander didn’t know how to lead his men. We were lucky he didn’t. Numbers not on our side. A bastard got my thigh in the fray. I killed her, but I went down after. Couldn’t move. But I hid till the fighting managed a stop. Lucky I weren’t trampled.  We’re headed back now. I’ll look a fright for Aisling and Cece and I’m sure to get an earful. Maybe Cece’s right. I’ll have to talk to her about it.  Our haul is plenty. Share’s being drawn up now- I get an extra half for the injury. Maybe it’s still worth it. Kehv says he’s packing in though,

Her shoulder unhooked and little Aisling groaned, rolled out her shoulder. She peered at her diary- filled now with her father’s familiar handwriting- and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lucky you write stuff down, Papa,” she muttered. Her little hands clutched the book and held it tight to her chest- glad for once that Someone brought good news.

[sturniolocoded]

I Hate Boston - 🧡 Chris Sturniolo

The memories cascade like falling leaves in autumn, each one tinged with a bittersweet hue, as if they were painted by a heart torn between love and resentment. Y/n sits alone in her dimly lit apartment, her fingers strumming the strings of her guitar, her voice soft yet laden with emotion as she pours her heart into the lyrics she's penning.

"I was just a tourist," she sings softly, her voice trembling with raw vulnerability. "You got to be a big hometown hero."

She pauses, memories of Chris flooding her mind like a relentless tide. Chris, with his brown hair and piercing blue eyes, the YouTuber whose smile could light up a room. The boy from Boston who swept her off her feet with promises of adventure and love.

But promises are fragile things, easily broken.

"Made you feel important," she continues, her voice growing stronger with each word. "Still stuck in your high-school yearbook."

Y/n remembers the way Chris would reminisce about his glory days, how he seemed trapped in a perpetual cycle of longing for the past instead of embracing the present. She was just a footnote in his story, a passing fancy to be discarded when the novelty wore off.

"Why'd we have to cover so much ground?" she sings, the ache in her voice palpable. "You showed me around."

Boston, once a city filled with promise and excitement, now holds painful memories for Y/n. Everywhere she turns, she sees traces of Chris, reminders of a love that was never meant to last.

"As far as I'm concerned, they should just burn the whole city down," she sings, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow.

Y/n's fingers falter on the strings of her guitar, tears blurring her vision as she struggles to continue. The pain of their breakup is still fresh, a wound that refuses to heal.

"How'd you make me hate Boston?" she sings, her voice breaking on the final note. "It's not its fault that you don't love me."

The words hang in the air like a heavy weight, the truth of them echoing in the hollow chambers of her heart. Boston was just a backdrop to their love story, innocent yet tainted by the ghosts of their past.

"Had its charm, but it lost it," she continues, her voice growing stronger with each word. "It's not its fault, just a casualty."

Y/n's fingers find their rhythm again, the melody a soothing balm to her wounded soul. Through her music, she finds solace, a way to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

"Mm, how'd you make me hate Boston?" she sings, her voice tinged with sadness. "The whole thing is haunted."

Haunted by memories of a love that was never meant to last, haunted by the ghost of Chris and the promises he couldn't keep.

"How do you sleep?" she sings, her voice trembling with anger. "Oh, when you held me hostage."

Y/n remembers the suffocating weight of Chris's expectations, how she felt like she was drowning in his need for validation. Their love was never equal, always lopsided, with Y/n giving more than she ever received.

"You must be exhausted," she continues, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Don't you miss me?"

But the question hangs in the air unanswered, lost in the silence of the empty room. Chris is gone, a casualty of their love, leaving Y/n to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.

"And casual's the way you chose to leave," she sings, her voice soft yet defiant. "And you're all over every single street."

Chris may be gone, but his presence lingers like a shadow, haunting every corner of the city they once called home. But Y/n refuses to be defined by their failed love story, determined to forge a new path for herself, one free from the ghosts of the past.

As the final notes of her song fade into the night, Y/n sits alone in her apartment, the echoes of her music mingling with the whispered memories of a love that was never meant to last. But amidst the pain and heartache, there is a glimmer of hope, a promise of a future yet unwritten, waiting to be discovered. And as Y/n looks to the horizon, she knows that no matter where life may take her, she will always carry the music of her heart within her, a testament to the power of love, loss, and the strength to rise again.

[atiny-piratequeen]

Against the Tide: Eighteenth Dal Segno (Ch.18 Pt. 1)

Pairing: Poly OT8

•❥ Rating: Explicit (18+)

•❥ Genres: Heavy Angst, Action, Romance, Fluff, Smut, Fantasy

•❥ Series AU Tags: Demon Pirates, Supernatural, Poly Relationship (mxm), Past and Modern Day AU, Mythology Au, Slow Burn, Slice of Life, College Au, Rock Band Au, Happy Ending Endgame

•❥ Chapter Tws: Migraines, Nosebleeds, Blood, Guilt, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Misunderstandings, Poison

•❥ Chapter Sws: Foursome, Consentacle Tentacles (lets go Whiro!), Temperature Play, Comfort Sex, Finger Sucking, Jacob's Ladder Piercing, Hair Pulling, Blowjob, Frottage, Bareback, Auralism, Scent Kink, Cum Swallowing, Biting, Dacryphilia

•❥ WC: 10.7k out of 25.5k

•❥ A/N: The blue hellsite's devs are full of shit and my chapter was too big to post all in one so now I have to break it up into two posts. It would be real lovely for my AtTiny enjoyers to make sure to reblog my work when they're finished :3 This was going to be the reveal chapter but it was already 25k so I decided to break it up. Which...was clearly the right option since tumblr's new posting limitations hates me and my big chapters lmao. Thank you for waiting and stay tuned :) Also, if you haven't yet, maybe check out my new universe Ataraxia while you wait for the next chapter?

•❥AO3 | Taglist Form (Please make sure your urls are updated and able to actually be tagged) | Commission Sheet𓆩⟡𓆪

•❥ ©atiny-piratequeen 2024. do not repost, translate, or use my works.

•❥Network Pings: @kwritersworld​ | @cultofdionysusnet​ | @k-vanity​

•❥← previous dal segno                 next dal segno –>

(banners used created by @cafekitsune thank you sm!)

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

Friday, March 27th

-225 Days Remain-

-7:30am-

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

Siyeon sat in the center of her room, eight flowers in front of her. She glanced from right to left, pursing her lips before she exhaled and shuffled her cards. Her deck had begun to call her, awakening her from a recurring dream she was in. 

“I hear you, give me a moment.” She spoke to the cards as she shuffled them, placing a card before each flower. The ex-pirates had yet to come back to her to ask to do another Trial. 

She did not press the issue, they had time before she would feel the need to pressure them to do so. 

A stream of sunlight came in through her blinds, landing on her face and that was the moment she stopped shuffling. She smiled softly at the sunbeam, pulling eight cards and placing them before each flower. 

“Yes, thank you, I’ll have a look.” She spoke directly to the ray of sun and then reached for the card she’d set in front of the gladiolus. 

“Jongho and the Evil God, huh? I seem to remember those two being… strangely the second most in sync and harmonious of the bunch. What do we have?” She spoke to herself, looking down. 

“Seven of pentacles…I see. For a god like Whiro…both of you are startingly consistent…and positive?” She placed the card aside and looked towards the next flower, Wooyoung’s purple hyacinth. 

Siyeon stared at it for a long while before flipping the card. 

“Reversed…five of wands.” She brought her knuckle to her lips, staring at the card. She grabbed her notebook, muttering something under her breath as she recorded her findings, tapping her pen against it. She glanced at the recent reading and the one she gave the men after their trial, pressing her lips together.

The sun witch set the card down without another word, sighing softly before her eyes landed on Mingi’s yellow carnation. 

“Two of swords….You’ve had an especially hard time for all of these centuries, haven’t you?” She set the card down and adjusted herself on the cushion she’d put under her knees. 

“I hope you can find your peace soon. I’d love to do a full pull for you but my cards are already painting a clear enough picture…” she glanced at San’s snapdragon and the card in front of it; a reversed five of swords. 

“A clear enough picture for all of you.” she closed her eyes, feeling the next card pull towards her. 

She set the reversed card down and looked towards Yeosang’s lavender. Her brows went up in surprise as she picked up the King of Wands. 

“Oh? How…curious. Are you to experience a breakthrough soon? Will it be your time to show and prove?” She smiled softly and looked beside it to Yunho’s chamomile. 

“Justice? Very fitting.” She hummed, curious it wasn’t tied to his recent romantic accomplishment, but given the theme of the cards, she figured the full picture would clear itself to her soon. 

“Seonghwa…reveresed death?” She stopped short, brows pinched together. 

That…wasn’t great. 

Far from it, actually. 

She looked to the final flower. 

A lotus, for Hongjoong. 

The card in front of his had an…oppresive amount of energy. She pursed her lips together, reaching towards it before startling as a knock came to her door. 

“Unnie?”

Siyeon placed her hand over her chest and stood, heading over to the door. When she opened it, Chungha looked up at her, smiling softly. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” She inquired. Siyeon shook her head, relaxing her shoulders. 

“Not at all. What is it?”

“Breakfast is done. I didn’t want yours to get cold.” 

Siyeon looked at the spread she had and nodded, smiling softly. 

She could finish her read later. 

“I’m on my way, thank you for waking me, sweetheart.” She winked at Chungha, pretending cheekily that she didn’t notice the way the woman’s cheeks went bright red before the two walked down to the kitchen. 

In her room, a strong gust blew in through the curtain, scattering the flowers and their cards, sending them and the rest of Siyeon’s deck scattering throughout her room before the curtain settled, obscuring the rays of sun from coming inside.

Downstairs, Hongjoong was lacing up his shoes, adjusting to make sure they were situated properly on his feet before glancing between his coat and the one Yunho had let him borrow. 

Siyeon glanced at him, head tilted. 

“Heading out?” She inquired, leaning on the railing at the foot of the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder at her and nodded. 

“Yeah, I finished my breakfast already so I was going to go ahead and start placing our orders for everyone since Yeonjun had a slow start this morning and the others are still eating.” He sent her a sweet smile and turned to the door, holding Yunho’s jacket tight to himself as he moved to the handle. 

“Hongjoong?” 

He turned to look at his friend, tilting his head. Siyeon smiled gently at him and nodded once. 

“Maybe we get you a belt for that coat, mm? We don’t want it dragging the ground, after all.”

Hongjoong blushed and nodded. 

“Right. I’d feel horrible if I returned it to him all torn and damaged. Thanks. I’ll ask Chungha-noona to make me one soon.” 

With that, he waved and left the home. Siyeon pushed herself off the railing and moved quietly to join the others. 

Outside, Hongjoong shuddered as the cold air hit him. He tucked his face into the coat collar and headed down the sidewalk toward his favorite shop. 

“I wonder how much longer it is until the seasons change…?” He mused to himself, smiling as the scent of flowers and dried tea leaves wafted gently up to his nose with every step. 

Idly, Hongjoong wondered how Yunho was. 

He hadn’t texted him yet this morning, too flustered from yet another dream he had about his encounters with both the doctor and the god inside of him.

Ah…right. 

Hongjoong’s boots crunched in the snow that coated the sidewalk before he stopped, lips pursed. 

He’d started out having…rather… avantgarde and very intimate dreams after meeting the men. But then he…remembered?? A man he was certain he had never seen before in his entire life and the whole ass god inside of him .

He remembered him, their intimate touches shared that were impossible for him. 

Just…who was Yunho? How did Hongjoong know him? Who was Hongjoong if somehow the man in question (and Geb) remembered him both inside and out. 

Hongjoong felt that sensation come back. The head splitting pain, the world spinning. It happened every time he tried to pry a bit too deep. Analyze the situation he was in. 

Just a bit more, let him think a bit more.

Gods are real….obviously.

Even if they weren’t, magic or super powers…that was absolutely real, he’d seen and felt it himself. 

If Yunho knew him, and Geb knew him, and he clearly held memories from somewhere , did that mean the others-

The head splitting feeling amped up and Hongjoong felt his throat begin to tighten. His body tensed and the telltale sensation of blood running down his nose startled him back into focusing and he coughed, stumbling slightly. 

He’d gotten weird, concerned glances from others on the side walk but it was a warm hand on his shoulder that made him focus. 

“Excuse me, do you need help? Huh-Hongjoong? Oh my goodness! Are you alright?!” 

He looked up and locked eyes with Yeosang, blinking in surprise as the slightly taller man hurriedly put his sleeve to Hongjoong’s nose, holding his arm to steady him. 

“Y-Yeosang-?”

“Hey, hold on, let’s get you seated somewhere-San, can you open the door?” 

Hongjoong let Yeosang guide him into a nearby shop, cringing at the series of surprised gasps and chatter that erupted as the bloodied man and San came shuffling in. 

“I’m sorry, my friend got a nose bleed and he’s a bit dizzy, can we please have some water?”

Hongjoong looked up at Yeosang, feeling nauseous as the world continued to spin. 

‘I’ll stop for now, I’ll stop-’

He thought frantically, cringing as whatever it was that was bringing on the headsplitting migraine began to slowly ebb away, like a predator stalking their way back into the bushes. Never too far, simply waiting for the next time he had the audacity to try and figure out the chaos in his life. 

“Hongjoong-hyung?” 

His vision focused on Yeosang, staring into soft, concerned eyes. 

“Can you hear me? What happened?”

San rushed over to where Yeosang had sat Hongjoong down, holding out a cup of water to him. 

“I uh…I have these bad migraines sometimes. I think it may be from stress or something. Sorry if I startled you. Uh, good morning-shit, I ruined your sleeve-” 

Yeosang looked at his bloodied sleeve and shook his head. 

“Clothes can be changed. Here, drink this.” He moved so Hongjoong could drink the water, giving him a bit of space. 

“Do they happen often?” San inquired, eyes scanning Hongjoong’s face for signs of injury. Hongjoong shook his head, taking some of the napkins the younger man had gotten together and dipping some in the water glass, he wiped his nose and sighed at the amount of crimson that he saw staining the white napkin. 

“Uh, not…often.” 

They weren’t happening at all until he met the group of seven. 

“They are happening more frequently, though.”

 Every time he flew a bit too close to the sun and tried to unravel whatever mystery had fallen into his lap. 

San and Yeosang exchanged a look with one another that Hongjoong pretended he wasn’t privy of before Yeosang placed his hand near his on the table. 

“Where are you headed? If you don’t mind, can we head out with you? Not that I don’t believe you but I don’t want to risk you having another bad nosebleed…” Yeosang trailed off and Hongjoong nodded without hesitation. 

“No, I don’t take any offense to it. I was heading to the cafe to order some things for the others.” He sent them a tired smile. Yeosang nodded and stood, offering his clean hand to Hongjoong. The pianist took it and stood. 

“I’ll wash my hands and be out in a moment, then we can head out if that’s alright with you?” Yeosang tilted his head and Hongjoong nodded, watching as Yeosang headed to the bathroom, bowing in thanks to the staff members of the small shop who helped them out. 

Hongjoong glanced over at San, finding the man already staring at him, a stormy expression in his eyes.

“You look like I’ve died, San-ah. I’m alright.” Hongjoong tried to joke, but San’s brows pinched together in displeasure at the metaphor.

He glanced away before looking back to Hongjoong as he spoke. 

“I…I'm not good at healing ailments and helping nurse others back to health like the others. I just kind of. Lock up and panic."

Hongjoong blinked at the honest way San spoke to him. 

Something else is there, isn’t it?

Also, he didn’t mind that San felt that way, but were they close? Close enough that he’d be this torn up about him having a nose bleed and dizzy spell?

There was more. His head was pounding once again, so he knew he was on the right track. Whatever…that was supposed to be.

“San-”

“I’m back!” 

Hongjoong looked up when Yeosang came back and decided he’d approach San another time with his inquiry. He waved and apologized to the staff and lead the way out of the store, the March chill once again blanketing over him. 

The shock of the temperature change helped him focus a bit as he walked with the other two men. 

“How is everyone at home? It’s not often I see you guys split up.” Hongjoong smiled and looked at both of them. 

“I’m just checking out some grocery stores to see if they have the ingredients I need to make Seonghwa his birthday dinner.” Yeosang responded, sighing softly. 

“He’s been…under the weather recently and I’m sure he has no excitement for his birthday. So I want to give him something hopefully he’s never had before…or maybe something that reminds him of home…Oh, or even-” Yeosang began speaking to himself, muttering the names of things Hongjoong had never heard before. He was unsure what was supposed to be an ingredient and what was supposed to be the dish itself. 

“And you, San? Are you out here looking for a gift for Seonghwa?” Hongjoong turned his attention to the other man. 

San's fingers tightened on the handle of the coffee shop door. He paused, eyes focused on the worn brass of the handle before he shook his head. 

“No, I’m just helping out Yeosang. I’ll help him cook the meal. I’m not the best at giving gifts.” He rubbed his neck and pulled the door open, ushering the two men inside. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard one of them say that. Last time, it was Wooyoung, but he figured it was a sore spot and opted to leave it be, looking towards the counter. 

“Well, if I can help, please let me know. I can’t put on another big performance for a while since Yunho and Seonghwa’s birthdays are so close to each other….but if you need a singer or a keyboard player, I’m your man.” He sent them a big smile and both of them sent him a grateful one back. 

“We’ll certainly keep that in mind, Hyung.” Yeosang laughed. 

“Thank you very much.” Wooyoung nodded before looking to the menu.

“While we’re here, we might as well get the others coffee.” He mused. 

The three fell into a comfortable lull, discussing different menu items as they ordered for their respective groups of loved ones. 

Outside, a few flakes of crystalline snowflakes began to fall. Soon, others joined them, as the day’s gentle snow covered the city in a fresh blanket of white. 

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“What do you mean e n d of the world?”

“If you don’t succeed…the world itself as you know it may fall to utter ruin. I don’t want to…pressure you, but if you don’t succeed this time, there’s a very real possibility you won’t get another chance.”

“....”

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“Aren’t you supposed to, like, be in some college classes or something, pretending you’re a normal boy or something?” Jaemin squinted, holding a cup of coffee as Seonghwa sat in his living room, books scattered all around him. 

“I’m sorry, I just…I need to look into a few things.” 

“I let him in, don’t worry. As long as someone is seriously pursuing knowledge, my home is open.” Renjun lightly scolded as he made a sweeping motion with his hand, plucking a book from the top shelf with his magic and bringing it down for the ice prince to have a look at. 

“ Your house? I live here too, and it’s way too early for me to have someone rummaging around with books everywhere.”

“Jaemin, by the gods, you are a god of time , just rewind or some shit or put yourself in a chronic stasis so you can sleep for as long as you want, then.” The two began to bicker and Seonghwa perked. 

“A god of time? Could you perhaps-”

“Absolutely the fuck not. No . I am not interfering with any curse brought onto you and your pirate boyfriends because you pissed off Poseidon’s daughters or whatever. Besides, it takes a LOT of energy for me to rewind time and it has been centuries since your little uh oh. To rewind so far back a alter so many lives for the sake of you eight would cause catastrophic levels of damage control. And think of the PARADOXES-”

“No, I’m not asking you to go back.” 

Jaemin paused mid-rant and blinked at Seonghwa, squinting. 

“I would like to ask if it is possible for you to…put me in a kind of…stasis, as Renjun put it, so that I may train? How do I describe it…”

Jaemin deadpanned and pinched his brow. 

“Dude, it’s an anime concept you just hit me with.”

“...I do not know what you mean. Are you saying you cannot do it?” 

Renjun snickered behind his hand while Jaemin twitched and crossed his arms, eyeing the prince. 

“You all really like demanding things of us. What exactly is in it for me? Why on Earth would I exhaust so much magic so you can have some shonen anime montage?” 

Seonghwa looked at him for a while before he plucked a few books from the floor, beginning to straighten up the mess he had made as he began researching. 

“I know I’m asking for a lot with nothing good to offer in exchange.” he sighed and put the stack of books beside him, pressing his hands together to the floor and bowing, letting his forehead touch the floor. 

Renjun and Jaemin looked at the ex prince in surprise as he stayed bowed. 

“But I have a hunch on what we’re facing if we fail. I can’t do this alone. I love my boys, but I don’t think we can do it without any aid as we are now. Please help me. Help us . I will be forever indebted to you. I just…I’m so tired, Jaemin. I just want to protect them. I want to save them, myself…and apparently, the world.” 

Renjun’s sympathetic expression shifted to one of confusion. Jaemin squinted and walked over to the bowing pirate, hands on his hips. 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

Seonghwa rose his head, grabbing the book he’d placed at the top of his pile, opening it to a page and turning it towards the time god. 

His eyes drifted down, widening as he stared at the page. 

“What…about it?”

“If I don’t get my Captian back and he doesn’t remember us, that thing’s getting loose. The God of the Sun didn’t tell me explicitly, but I have a strong hunch I’m right.” 

Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, swearing. 

“You got a week, pretty boy. I’ll prepare. Come back then. Bring your A game because I can’t do the stasis too many times without fucking over my powers and if I ever truly get exhausted, time itself is going to be all out of whack.” He warned. Seonghwa nodded and smiled, grabbing the books he’d be borrowing. 

“Thank you, I will work hard. Thank you. I need to go before I’m late.”

Jaemin frowned, watching the taller man leave, shaking his head. 

“Park Seonghwa.” Jaemin called to him, eyes hardened. Seongha glanced over his shoulder at him. 

“You better not be late. I hate having to waste time.”

Seonghwa nodded and hurried out of view, the wind whipping his blonde locks over his forehead before the door closed behind him. 

A beat of silence passed between Renjun and Jaemin before the latter sighed.

“Gods dammit, how did I get roped into this shit?”

Renjun pushed his glasses up and watched Seonghwa leave through the window. 

“The sun witch girl did tell us things were bad, Chronos.” 

Jaemin scowled, tapping his foot. 

“I still don’t have to like it, Thoth. A simple curse should never have spiraled into whatever clusterfuck this is.” he hissed. Renjun hummed and nodded, moving to the kitchen. 

“I can’t say I disagree.” 

•••••͙⊱••✩••̩̩͙⊰•••••••

                10:30am

•••••͙⊱••✩••̩̩͙⊰•••••••

“ Mon Dieu , what the hell happened to your arm?! Are you hurt?!” Seonghwa was startled when he finally rejoined with the others, eyes landing on the bright red of Yeosang’s sleeve. 

The smaller of the two ex princes sent him a soft smile, shaking his head. 

“No, our Captian had a nosebleed on the street and San and I helped out. I’ve long since fallen out of the habit of carrying handkerchiefs with me so I didn't have anything else to use at the time….” Yeosang trailed off, noticing the heavy-looking satchel settled against Seonghwa's hip.

“Is that why you were missing at breakfast and were late this morning to class?” He inquired softly, eyes locking with Seonghwa's.

The other ex prince glanced down before looking at him. 

‘I'll know if you lie to me.’ Yeosang didn't break his gaze with Seonghwa.

“I stopped by Renjun, Jaemin, and Jenos's place. I wanted to look into a few things and see if I can come up with a plan of attack for breaking the curse as quickly as possible.”

Yeosang continued staring at him before his shoulders subtly relaxed and he cupped Seonghwa’s cheek. 

“Can I help?”

Seonghwa pressed his face into Yeosang’s palm, the chill of his skin contrasting with the warmth of the kitsune's.

“Yes… I just haven't gotten to that part of my brainstorming. But… I will need everyone's help.” He closed his eyes, simply enjoying the intimacy. 

Yeosang rubbed the curve of his cheek with his thumb before glancing behind him.

Yunho had met up with Hongjoong, smiling wide with his arm around his shoulder and Jongho and Moa trailing not too far behind them, the quartet engaged in light-hearted chatter. 

Chan, and Felix had roped Mingi's introverted self into an animated conversation about something that seemed to have made him comfortable after the initial shock of the two singling him out to talk to. 

Wooyoung and San were leaning against a wall a bit further off, sharing a pastry Wooyoung had gotten this morning and talking softly, not even Yeosang could hear them. He wondered for a moment if they were talking at all, or simply reading each other’s lips before he turned his attention back to Seonghwa.

“Just let us know what you'll need and I can assist. I've never been the greatest at organizing anything in combat, but food is always a good icebreaker for motivating troops.” He joked, pulling Seonghwa into a kiss.

Seonghwa let him, melting slightly into the hold before breaking it, pressing their heads together. 

“I appreciate you.”

Yeosang smiled. 

“And I appreciate you.”

Hongjoong glanced over his shoulder at the others before looking up to Yunho, nudging him lightly. 

“Do you want to invite everyone over? Have a movie date or something at my place?” He inquired. Yunho smiled and nodded. 

“I’ll ask the others. 8 sound good?”

Hongjoong smiled and nodded, a pep in his step afterward. 

•••••͙⊱••✩••̩̩͙⊰•••••••

                 6:30pm

•••••͙⊱••✩••̩̩͙⊰•••••••

“Wait, you’re not coming?” 

San frowned, watching as Seonghwa placed books down on the dining room table, spreading them meticulously. 

Wooyoung, Yeosang, Yunho, and Jongho all stood near the door, staring at the ice prince in shock. 

“Non, I will pass this time. Please tell everyone I said hello and I hope you all have a good evening. I’ll be up when you get home.” He waved at them and an immediate curtain of confliction fell over the men. 

Mingi decided he wouldn’t be joining either, telling the others he’d be familiarizing himself with the new culture they were surrounded with so he wouldn’t stand out so much when he spoke to the others surrounding their resurrected Captain. 

No one believed him, but for the sake of avoiding an argument, no one pressed him. 

“Maybe we should reschedule…” Wooyoung trailed off and Seonghwa waved a hand, cutting him off briskly. 

“Nonsense. It’s been…centuries. Please, you all deserve to unwind we have enough looming over us. Go.” He spoke a bit more firmly, leaving less room for them to contest him. 

“Next time,” Yeosang spoke up, his eyes landing on Seonghwa’s. 

“-next time, you’re coming.” His voice matched Seonghwa’s authoritative one and the older immortal smiled softly. 

“Deal.” 

The remaining five ex-pirates filtered out into the cold night, leaving Seonghwa in the quiet home. 

As soon as the door closed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes landing on the scattered papers before him. 

Gods, he felt like he was going mad. 

“A week. I have a week. Come up with a plan, Park Seonghwa.” 

He spoke to himself, grabbing a pen and a notepad and beginning to scribble wildly, jotting down every single plan of action that came to him. 

Devise a plan, find the flaws, throw it out, repeat. 

Adjust the plan, weigh the variables, revise once more, repeat.

This won’t work. 

That won't work, either.

It won’t work. 

None of it. 

Is this all a strategist like him has to offer?

Seonghwa grit his teeth and ran his hand through his hair. 

“Come on, Seonghwa. It’s not that hard.” He scolded himself and looked back at the papers around him. 

From the top of the staircase, Mingi glanced down, watching Seonghwa work almost manically, muttering to himself and making plan after plan, only to crumple them up and toss them away.

“....” The ex boatswain pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and turned to leave, disappearing back down the hall.

⋆⋇⋆⋇⋇⋆✦꘏✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆⋇

              8pm

⋆⋇⋆⋇⋇⋆✦꘏✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆⋇

“Oh…they stayed home?” Hongjoong frowned after San delivered the news. The “younger” man nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Mingi wanted to study and Hyung is keeping him company.” He lied without missing a beat and Hongjoong glanced at the remaining men. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to reschedule? We have these little family game nights like, multiple times a week-”

“We made them promise to come next time.” Yeosang piped up, sending him a reassuring smile as he held up a platter of snacks he made. 

“I made these. Where would you like me to put them?”

Hongjoong glanced at the platter and smiled, reaching over and taking it from him. Their fingers brushed against one another lightly as he did, and Yeosang almost recoiled at the small static shock that ran through him the moment they did. 

“Oh? Oh thank gods, they brought food, c’mon, get out of the doorway and get inside.” Yuta’s voice startled them all to attention as he leaned against the staircase. 

Jongho noticed the subtle headcount Yuta did with his eyes before arching a single, sharp brow. 

‘Keep an eye on that one, yeah?’ Whiro growled inside of him. He hummed in agreement before taking the first few steps into the home after toeing off his shoes at the door. 

The others followed suit, following Hongjoong and Yuta deeper into the home. 

“Oh! Just in time, I just counted and set up the controllers for smash bros, and Yeonjun-ah found the Uno deck for those who need to sit out between rounds.” Chan greeted them with a big smile while Suzuka pointed to the table at the corner of the room. 

“You can set the food there. Moa and Yeonjun have the drinks set up.” 

The boys dispersed into different groups, some curious to play smash brothers, some watching over as Chungha, Felix, and Yuta showed them how to play Uno. 

Hongjoong relaxed into Yunho’s chest, sitting comfortably in his lap as he explained how to play smash brothers, occasionally stealing kisses from the man behind him between character selection screens. 

It was a bummer that they weren’t all together, but he intended on making the next gathering even more eventful so Mingi and Seonghwa could enjoy it just as much. 

⋆⋇⋆⋇⋇⋆✦꘏✦⋆⋇⋆⋇⋆⋇

“Goodness, they might as well stay the night.” Siyeon exhaled softly, taking a blanket and pulling it over Hongjoong, Yunho, and Jongho. The trio lay in a heap on the floor, sprawled over each other after an exciting series of Uno matches. 

The shadows shifted along Jongho’s skin for a moment. Small, subtle movements Siyeon caught from her closeness, pulling the blanket snugly against them before settling back onto him. 

She smiled. So it was true. The God of Evil and darkness wasn't so bad after all now that he'd been stuck inside of the ex-gunner, hm?

Curiously, she moved her finger to poke Jongho’s arm, biting back the small laugh that nearly bubbled out as a shadow subtly pushed her finger back. The lines shifted before settling once more.

It was endearing. 

“I’ll grab some pillows.” Chungha disappeared down the hall and Siyeon looked around, finding that San and Wooyoung had fallen asleep with their heads in Yeosang’s lap as he gently pet them, watching over them all with a quiet gaze. 

“You are still awake? Aren’t you tired?” Siyeon approached him, cleaning up some of the refreshment platters that were on the coffee table. 

“We all are. I’ll rest in a moment.” He spoke softly, gently scratching his nails along their scalps. Siyeon nodded and continued cleaning up. Chungha helped her put the pillows under Hongjoong, Jongho, and Yunho before passing Yeosang one of the others. 

“You sure you want to rest there? You may have a sore neck if you stay like that.” Chungha warned him. Yeosang sent her a soft smile. 

“I’ll be okay, Noona. Thank you.” 

She nodded and turned to Siyeon. 

“Unnie, I’ll be in the kitchen cleaning up. Are you heading to bed?”

“No, my sweet. I’ll be there in a moment to help out. You shouldn’t have to clean up after everyone.”

Chungha’s cheeks went bright pink and she quickly darted into the kitchen, leaving Siyeon alone with the slumbering boys and Yeosang. 

“Siyeon, how long have you known Hongjoong?” 

She smiled softly and put the Uno deck away on the shelf in the room. 

“Mmm, in his last lifetime or this one?” 

The kitsune perked and stared at her, following her movements before she knelt down in front of him. 

“Tell you what. If you want to sit down with me and talk a bit, I am willing to do so.” She looked towards the men in his lap before meeting his eyes. 

“I’d love to do a proper reading on you all one day. No charge, of course.” 

As she turned to leave, Yeosang’s voice called out once more.

“What…what was the old Hongjoong like? The one from…your other life time?” He squinted and tilted his head. Siyeon laughed lightly and looked at him over her shoulder. 

“Joong? He was a chaotic jackass but he was the bestest friend a girl could ever hope for. That’s why,” She looked to the pianist, his face tucked into Yunho’s clavicle. 

“That’s why I’m honored to protect his reincarnation and help you all. I won’t ever get my Joong back, but I’ll give everything to help you all save our little artist and your Captian.” Siyeon walked away after quietly saying her peace. 

If Yeosang noticed the quiver in her voice, he was polite enough not to mention it, settling into the couch, his hands going back to running through San and Wooyoung’s hair. 

✰✰(¯`*•.¸,¤°°¤,¸.•*´¯)✰✰

Saturday, March 26th

-224 Days Remain-

      -5:30am-

✰✰(¯`*•.¸,¤°°¤,¸.•*´¯)✰✰

Mingi heard the door to his room opened and was fully alert in an instant. The stress had made him a lighter sleeper than usual, and while he didn’t open his eyes immediately, he was tensed and on alert. 

“Cheese, can you please stay here so the house isn’t empty when he wakes?”

Mingi’s brow twitched. 

Seonghwa…?

“Cheese will remain by his side but….where are you going, Master Captian?”

“Seonghwa is fine, Cheese. You needn’t waste your time calling me things I have not earned.”

“Okay, Master Captian Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa paused staring at the dog. Cheese wagged his tale, tongue out and delightfully happy. Seonghwa let out an amused exhale before he scratched the Jindo behind the ears. 

“Nevermind. I’m going out to train. If anyone needs me, please come get me, okay?” He lowered his hand, offering his scent to the Jindo out of a formality. 

The spirit hunting dog had long since imprinted their scents into him once they got him.

Still, the canine sniffed at his chilled hand before letting out a single affirming gruffaw. Cheese licked his hand and climbed into bed with Mingi, curling up at his side and settling down as Seonghwa turned his back and headed towards the door. 

He glanced over his shoulder at Mingi, his lips twitching up in a mournful smile. 

He really wasn’t very good at playing dead, was he?

Seonghwa left without audibly saying he knew the other man was awake, heading down the stairs and out of the house. 

As soon as the chilled air touched his face, his eyes sharpened. 

He had a lot to do today.

Back in their home, Mingi counted the minutes in his head before he felt Cheese nudge his hand. 

“Cheese smells the change in your scent. Cheese believes this is…’ apprehension’? Would you like to ‘vent’? Cheese may not be the smartest, but Cheese is a very good listener.”

Mingi opened his eyes and sighed. 

“I don’t know what the hell I should do, Cheese.”

Cheese shuffled closer, resting his head on Mingi’s chest. 

“Cheese believes what is often said is to ‘follow your heart’? Cheese has no idea what this means but Cheese is good at following. What does your heart say, Windy Master?” 

Mingi worried his bottom lip between his teeth. 

For obvious reasons, he was still…rather sore about some of his past lovers, and a huge part of him still wasn’t sure how he felt about this ‘new’ Hongjoong. He’d told him that he had no issues with him to quell some of the worry in the pianist, but was that really true?

No, of course not.

Absurd as it may be, wasn’t he betraying his Captian by falling for this…lookalike? 

It seems Mingi didn’t adapt to change as easily as the others. 

Part of Mingi felt horrible, harboring these feelings for someone who truly didn’t deserve it, but he still needed to sort through some of the shock before he could see himself…’letting it go’. 

“Captian, what do I do….?” He muttered into the stillness of the room. 

✰✰(¯`*•.¸,¤°°¤,¸.•*´¯)✰✰

Joong felt his body getting violently jostled as the dragon once more began to move, dragging his tail along the floor as he rolled to his feet. 

He’d ducked back into the safety of the silken fur of his tail, but he couldn’t resist peeking out more often than he had been before, staring at the crystal whenever he had the chance. 

The man inside of it. No doubt, was him. 

Or…a version of him? He wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on at this point, if he were being honest. 

He’d never been a religious or spiritual man-that was more Siyeon’s thing-but he did believe in things he could see. 

Right now, there were ‘two hims’, a fucking dragon, and the monster the dragon had nearly killed once he found this crystal. 

It’s times like this, the motorcyclist wished he did have the guidance of his best friend. Siyeon always seemed to have a calm head and a knack for explaining things that could not be explained. 

Joong flinched as the dragon roared and slammed its head against the crack in the crystal, grunting and possibly swearing in a language he did not understand. 

He peeked out between the dragon’s bouts of frenzy and saw the small crack grow just a bit larger. He couldn’t help the anxious clench in the pit of his stomach.

✰✰(¯`*•.¸,¤°°¤,¸.•*´¯)✰✰

The ground around him shook violently, and through those motions, Hongjoong startled awake, looking around. 

He was…in a palace, as it was, though as he looked out from the carved jade columns, he saw ocean life. He looked below him, finding the familiar scene of his feet causing ripples with every step, though they illuminated the way as he walked down the corridor. 

The shaking only grew more violent, and Hongjoong found himself stumbling. 

“What is happening?!”

His body jerked left and right before he grit his teeth and took off running down the hall. 

Where is he going? What is he doing?

These questions floating around his mind did not stop him as he threw open the doors before him, storming out. 

“Go up to the surface and find out what is causing those awful tremors. I am the Lord of these waters.”

Hongjoong looked for the person speaking, but found that everyone in the room were staring at him, their heads knelt down. 

A hulking beast stood to his full height. 

“I will go, Milord. Please leave it to me.” 

Hongjoong could not find his voice, watching as the man left. He glanced at the others in the room, pressing his lips together in a line before he turned around to leave.

He found that his head was raised higher than it was before, and he stood much taller now. The watery halls now had creatures bustling through them, all of whom scrambled to get out of his way when he walked by them.  

They uttered terrified ‘good days’, and ‘hello Milords’ to him before scurrying out of his way. Others looked upon him as if he was some kind of magnificent being.

“You look radiant today, Milord.”

“Thank you for the rains you’ve blessed the lands with, My King.”

Hongjoong walked until he reached a room he believed to be his wash room. 

It was…gaudy, certainly worth millions. He’d had plenty of dreams but this one had a bit more glitter and gold (or, rather, jade) than ever before. 

He sighed and looked to the wash basin, finding it had no knobs or faucet. His brows furrowed, but he found water began to shift and swirl around the space above the jade basin. He reached out hesitantly, startling at the turquoise scales and claws he had been met with when he brought his hands up. His lips parted in surprise as the water danced between them. 

‘This is weird.’

He looked up at the mirror, finding the image staring back at him was of his own. Two sided hair and all. He reached up to press his clawed hand to the glass and blinked. 

In an instant, the image shifted. 

Scales, the same familiar clawed hand, and piercing jade eyes.

One was a bit dimmer than the other. 

Hongjoong startled. The man looked exactly like him, but there was a frightening anger in his gaze that made a chill run down his spine. 

The pianist noticed his hand was back to normal and moved to pull it away from the mirror. As soon as he did, the clawed hand reached through, grabbing him sharply and yanking him through. 

Head over heels, he stumbled through the mirror, falling. He couldn’t find his voice, however, simply staring into those piercing jade eyes, staring back as the two of them hurtled towards the ground.

“Well, well, well~”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to ask who this man was, but the moment he did, water flooded into his lungs.

(_¸.•’´(_¸.•’´*♫♪♫♪*`’���.¸_)`’• .¸_)

“Hgh?!” Hongjoong jolted up, knocking into Jongho and making the man jolt awake. Whiro twitched along his skin, watching Hongjoong from the dark lines. Yunho was a bit slower to rise, but he looked up at Hongjoong, rubbing his eye. 

“Baby? Are you alright? ” Both he and Geb responded on instinct and Hongjoong coughed, touching his thoat in a panic as the last tendrils of the strange dream unraveled. He touched his face and looked around, unfocused. 

As if on instinct, his eyes scanned the room, counting. 

Yunho, Jongho, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San. 

Mingi and Seonghwa, where are they? He needs them all together, something dangerous is approaching he needs to protect his cre-

“Hongjoong?” 

His eyes focused in an instant to the sound of Jongho’s voice as he cupped his face abruptly, pressing his forehead to his and staring directly into his eyes. 

“-H-ho..Jongh..ho…”

“Look at me, breathe, okay?” 

Hongjoong stared, wringing his hands into the blanket Siyeon put over the three. From behind him, he could feel Yunho loop a hand around his waist, a sturdy support while he looked into Jongho’s eyes. 

“Where are you right now, Hyung?” Jongho’s voice spoke strongly and Hongjoong’s eyes broke contact only to scan the room. 

He’d woken the other three, and he felt his brows pull up, guilty as Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang scrambled over themselves to get closer, hurriedly also asking him if he was alright.

“Focus, Hyung. Where are you?” 

“H..Home.”

“Yes, you’re home. Who am I?”

“Jongho…”

“Good. Can you breathe? Does your chest hurt?” 

Hongjoong looked down, finding Jongho had placed a gentle palm over his ribs. He found himself slightly melting, putting his hand over Jongho’s, shaking his head. 

“No…No. I’m..I’m alright. Just a bad dream. I’m sorry.” He finally let out a relaxing sigh and smiled at the men around him. 

“Thank you. Sorry to worry you all.”

“We don’t mind.” San spoke, leaning out of his space once he was sure the man was doing okay. 

“So uh…good morning?” 

The six men startled, looking over and finding Felix and Changkyun staring at them curiously from the entrance of the kitchen. 

“Everything alright? Hongjoong?” Changkyun spoke firmly, eyes landing on the hand Jongho still had on Hongjoong’s chest and the…compromising position it looked like he was in.

Hongjoong went beet red and cleared his throat. 

“Yes, it’s not anything dirty, I swear.” He stammered. Changkyun’s eyes narrowed, unimpressed. A single, pierced eyebrow rose and Felix pursed his lips. 

“I didn’t say it was, but since you so graciously brought it up-” Changkyun cut his gaze over to Jongho like a disapproving older brother. 

“He had a nightmare. He was having a panic attack, it’s not anything inappropriate, Hyung.” Jongho spoke for himself without tripping over his words. Blunt, honest, and to the point. 

A moment passed before the poet’s shoulders relaxed. Changkyun seemed to appreciate it and take it for truth, if the way his eyes softened were anything to go by. 

“You’ve been having a lot of weird ones lately. C’mon, we’ll start some breakfast and get your mind off it. Let’s make today a lazy day.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders relaxed as Changkyun turned to go into the kitchen. Felix lingered for a moment longer before following his hyung into the next room. 

“Weird ones? Have you been having nightmares a lot recently, Hyung?” Wooyoung inquired, a frown settled on his face. 

Hongjoong looked around at them, rubbing his neck. 

“I’ve always had vivid dreams, they’ve just been vamping up recently.” He explained.

Yeosang watched him, noticing the small change in his scent. 

‘That’s not the full truth, is it? Is it us? Are we why you’re having the influx of dreams?’

“I’ll go help with breakfast.” Yeosang stood, dusting his clothes off. He wasn’t really…one to confront others, and he figured it would do more harm than good to pry into it a bit more. 

Instead, he’d do what he was great at, healing through cooking. 

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

1:37pm

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“Ngh! Again! I can go again!”

“Forgive me if this sounds…mmm…rude, but if you intended on training, why are the others not also with you?”

Seonghwa wiped away the bead of sweat that had rolled down his brow and tightened his grip on his falcatas. 

“They will be, I just-”

Across from him, Miyavi sighed, lowering the gleaming bow he had in his hands. 

“Tearing yourself up for the past is not how you all are to overcome this. The trials, making my son remember, it its all a group effort. You called me out to train with you early in the morning and you’ve been holding your own well but-”

“ They will be involved .” Seonghwa shifted his posture, cutting the Sun God off. 

“I just. How can I expect them to follow my lead if I’m weak? I had them jump into the Trial and all of them were worse off because of it. No one was ready, not even me, but if I can get better, become stronger, I can-”

“Seonghwa, who is this for?”

The ice prince paused, staring at the deity as he dispelled his bow. 

“I don’t take pleasure in senseless violence. If you can answer for me, with full honesty, who is this for , I’ll happily train with you and give my all. I understand your urgency to have my so remember, but if your body and mind is torn up, will you truly be able to help yourself? Let alone the others.” he walked over to Seonghwa, staring down at the ex pirate. 

“Have you even realized you’ve been healing slower with each of my bows that have pierced your skin? That’s enough for today.” he sent Seonghwa an understanding smile. 

“Be kinder to yourself, Mr. Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s shoulders slumped as the god walked away from him, leaving him alone with his own racing thoughts in the abandoned warehouse they’d been training in. 

His grip on his falcatas tightened, the ice one let out a cracking noise, but did not shatter and Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed. 

He didn’t need soft words of encouragement. He didn’t need rest . He needed results .

Seonghwa let out a harsh breath, summoning a series of ice dummies, completely freezing the floor over in the warehouse. 

Again, go again.

It’s the only way.

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

10:25pm

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“I’ll be back. Cheese, c’mon.”

The group of ex pirates looked up as San stood, whistling for Cheese to follow him. 

“ Cheese is right beside you, Blood Master!”

“San, it’s freezing outside, where are you going?” Yeosang inquired. San pressed his lips in a line and looked towards the stairs before looking back at the others. 

“Seonghwa hasn’t come back, you know. We haven’t seen him all day.” He reminded them. Everyone tensed, and Mingi fidgeted. The others hadn’t gotten back in until late in the afternoon and he’d…neglected to tell any of them that Seonghwa had left so early all by his lonesome at that ungodly hour. 

It really slipped his mind, he was just excited to have them return so he wasn’t alone (sans Cheese) with his own conflicted thoughts. 

Yeosang looked at the time and startled, setting aside the food he was prepping. 

“Gods above, I didn’t realize the hour. I’m coming with you.” 

Wooyoung stood, followed by Jongho and Yunho, with all of them quickly trying to devise a plan to break up into pairs to go see if they could locate the prince-

“The Master Captian is here!”

All heads snapped towards the door as Seonghwa walked through, his face pale and his posture slouched. He looked up when he felt everyone’s eyes land on him. 

“Oh, pardon. I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Where the HELL have you been?!” 

“Are you okay?! Where were you?!”

Seonghwa rose his hands in surprise, startled by the burst of noise as the ex pirates rushed him, all chattering over top of one another. 

“I’m alright-Goodness, I did not mean to worry anyone, I was merely out training.”

They all paused, staring at the tired man as he gave each of them a kiss, properly greeting them before he rose his head to look into Mingi’s direction, waving at him. 

“...Good evening, Mingi.”

Mingi glanced away. 

“Hey.”

Seonghwa took it for what it was, though he smiled at not being ignored. 

“Pardon me, everyone. I’m very sore and I’ll be heading to bed after a shower. I’m sorry if I worried any of you with my absence.”

They watched him leave, glancing at one another. Cheese trotted after him, his tail curled and wagging as he occasionally nudged Seonghwa’s hand with his head. 

“Cheese has made sure the Masters are safe in your absence. cHEESE DEMANDS PRAISE FOR HIS WORK!”

Seonghwa laughed gently and summoned a bone made of ice, handing it to the canine. Cheese took it, running back and forth through the hallways, playfully growling in excitement.

Tomorrow, he’d be up early again, he had an idea of who he could ask to help him train if the Sun God was unavailable.

“We should be doin’ more too, you know.” Whiro spoke once Seonghwa and Cheese relocated. Jongho nodded in agreement as the shadows rose from his skin. 

Wooyoung and San exchanged a look, worry on the formers while an unreadable look was on the latter’s. Yeosang touched his neck gently, remembering the burning feeling of humiliation at being defeated so soundly by Yugyeom during their first fight. 

The kitsune grit his teeth and frowned.

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

Tuesday

March 31st

-221 Days Remaining-

“Is everything alright?” Hongjoong leaned over, running his hand through Yunho’s chocolate locks. Yunho put his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, gently breathing in his scent. 

“I feel…like I’ve made a mistake.”

Hongjoong felt a pit in his stomach, hand tensing. Was Yunho referring to him…? They did start this relationship abruptly…

Yunho, sensing this, looked up instantly. 

“No, not you! Gods, no. I’m sorry my love.” He pressed a kiss to Hongjoong’s cheek and the musician relaxed for a moment before tilting his head. 

“So then…what? If you don’t mind me asking?” 

“I…said something before to Seonghwa and I think I….I’ve put a lot of pressure on him and that’s not..at all helpful. I don’t know what to do.” He sighed, closing his eyes. Hongjoong frowned and tilted his head. 

“Pressure? Pressure in regards to what?” 

Yunho kept his eyes closed, but sighed. 

“I…I’m sorry. I don’t think I can say yet without hurting you.” 

Hongjoong looked down, lips pursed. 

So it was in regards to…whatver the hell this supernatural thing was that was going on. The memories, the migraines, the nosebleeds, the dreams. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He inquired, pressing a soft kiss to Yunho’s head as he leaned on him. Yunho sighed again. 

“We can’t always expect you to fix our messes. I think…our reliance on one person always fixing things and leading us is part of why we’re not seeing eye to eye.”

Hongjoong stared at him. There it was again. That phrasing. It implied he’d been in this position many times before. ‘Fixing their messes’, as Yunho put it. His temple began throbbing in subtle dull pulses, but he decided not to pry too much. 

He could read between the lines, though. 

“So…have you all came together to do something for him since he seems to be stressed? I haven’t seen him in days, are you all sending him out of the house for birthday preparations? I haven’t seen Mingi, either.”

Yunho sighed. 

“Mingi has been keeping to himself, he takes a bit longer to warm up to new people so he’s been declining coming out. 

Hongjoong was about to nod in understanding when he felt his vision distort slightly. He squinted, rubbing his head before hearing distant voices rattling around in his head. 

“_____, I made friends with a shopkeep in town and she gave me a new book! Do you mind reading it with me?”

“Of course I don’t mind, baby. Let’s go get Seonghwa and we can read it together. Who knows, there may be a poem in there for you?”

“Hey, ____…?”

“Yes, Mingi?”

“Thank you…so much, for giving me the opportunity to meet so many new people and see so many new things. I can’t thank you enough”

“...Heh, of course, baby. I’d do anything for you, y’know?”

Hongjoong tensed. 

Yunho noticed and turned to him, tilting his head. 

“Hongjoong?” 

He blinked, focusing back. 

“Sorry, I spaced out. Do you think I can help with anything?” 

Yunho smiled and nodded. 

“I think I focus better when I hold you close. Mind if I test that out?” He smiled boyishly and Hongjoong shoved his chest lightly, muttering something about him being cheesy, all whilst leaning into his arms for more cuddles. 

He couldn’t help the small downward tug to his lips, his mind wandering in concern for a different tall man.

 ✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

X

✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤♖✣✤✣✤✣✤✣✤✣

“You’re holding back. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Prince .” 

Seonghwa scowled and threw up a shield of ice, blocking a glowing blade. It’s owner bounced off of the shield and spun on their heel, rolling their neck and adjusting the large bladed tonfas in their hands. 

“We’ve been fighting for hours and you’ve only cut me once. You are taking this seriously, right? Don’t waste time I could be spending training on my own if you’re going to bullshit me.”

“I would hate to have to explain to my beloved why his brother is dead otherwise.” Seonghwa growled. 

Across from him, Yuta tilted his head, a bewildered look on his face before he threw his head back, peals of laughter rumbling from his chest. 

“ You ? Kill me? With that stuffy, old ass way of fighting? You wish .” He taunted, standing straighter and circling Seonghwa. The blonde mirrored him, carefully matching his steps, eyes narrowed. 

Gods above, if he knew how snarky this one would be, he would’ve asked Moa or Suzuka to help him, or even Whiro and Jongho. 

Yuta’s foot shifted, and Seonghwa had a fraction of a moment to brace himself as the man lunged towards him. 

“The cut you hit me with has already healed. Won’t even bruise in the morning. Can’t say the same for your wounds.” He teased, slashing downwards and tearing through Seonghwa’s sleeve, gashing his arm. 

He swore in one of his many learned languages and moved to parry the second blow Yuta threw his way, knocking the blade back and catching him in the side. 

The guitarist retreated, smiling like mad as the red creeped into his clothes, staining them. 

“There we go. Get angry, Blondie. Get your shit together.” He dug his heels into the dirt, the blades of his tonfas beginning to glow as he laughed. 

“I wanna see the man who’s going to save my brother go all out. If you give me anything less, I’ll cleave your damn head right from your fucking body, throw the shit back on till it reattatches, and fucking hack it right off again.” 

Seonghwa’s jaw set as he exhaled, a chilly vapor escaping as he froze over his still bleeding wound. He missed the way the edges had been tinted purple before the ice obscured it.

“Fine, as you wish.”

(_¸.•’´(_¸.•’´*♫♪♫♪*`’•.¸_)`’• .¸_)

Hongjoong looked up from his screen, startled at the 2:24am that glared back at him from the clock he kept above him in the studio. 

"Shit-" He could feel both fatigue and hunger grip him at the same time and sighed, knowing he'd ended up skipping dinner as he was engrossed in his composing and planning for the group's next piece. He stood, cracking his back and neck after a good stretch and then moving to leave his studio. 

His home was quiet and still, and the pianist felt a bit guilty as he glanced towards the kitchen. 

If he went now, he'd wake everyone up. 

Wait, there was a convenience store down the street, right?

A smile came onto Hongjoong's face as he headed to the door, sliding on Yunho's coat and heading out into the chill of the early morning April hours. As he walked, he felt the wind chill him down to his bones. His body was wracked with a shudder before he pulled the jacket taught against his body, thrusting his hands into the oversized pockets.

"It's already April..."He muttered quietly to no one in particular. In an instant, he remembered Yunho's voice from earlier in the day. Hopefully, they’d be able to come up with an idea of something that could help the man with his current stress.

"Seonghwa-ya's birthday..." Hongjoong ducked into the convenience store, bowing in greeting to the cashier before grabbing a hand basket. 

He couldn't whip up another performance like he had for Yunho so close together. He wasn't even sure if Seonghwa would enjoy that as much as Yunho did. 

What did he like again…?

Hongjoong stopped in the middle of the store, pursing his lips. 

Maybe….if he tried a bit, really tried to wring his brain a bit, he could…remember?

He knew all of them, that much was obvious to an extent. But he had yet to have the same cosmic revelation on how he knew the others like he had with Yunho. 

Yet. 

He couldn’t deny he saw Seonghwa in a lot of them, though. Bits and pieces, but he knew those eyes staring out from the obscure figure. He’d heard his voice through those distorted dreams. 

He just…didn’t know what the man would like. 

Hongjoong sighed and grabbed some snacks, deciding he’d make ramen and an egg using the convenience store’s microwave and he’d just eat while he was out so he didn’t disturb anyone else. 

Hongjoong sighed, swinging his foot as he ate, zoned out. 

Outside, a figure watched him through the window, sneering. 

‘Ah, there’s the brat. I’d hate to end my fun early, but if I kill him now, that shitty dragon will be out of my space.’ Pricilla watched Hongjoong before plucking a marble from her pocket. She tossed it to the ground, watching as it morphed and formed into the shape of a man. 

‘When he’s out, get rid of him. It's no fun playing with my toy anymore if the dragon is going to get in the way.’ She waved a hand and turned her back to the entrance of the alleyway. 

‘I’ve gotten sick of the pirate, anyway. He’s gotten stale and boring. I refuse to let his lizard-brained self run rampant in my space I created. He’ll regret the day he slinked out of the shadows and DARED to mess with Scylla.’ She disappeared into the night, leaving the minion she’d summoned to handle Hongjoong. 

He stretched when he got outside, the bag high above his head before he rolled his neck and headed down the street. 

Maybe he’d take the day off or something, he tried to not make it a habit of going to class exhausted and wiped out. 

‘Crunch, crunch’

Maybe if he went out later today, after a nap, he’d be able to go to a department store and get Seonghwa a gift. Surely something there should catch his eye.

‘Crunch, crunch, crunch’

Was he a fashion type of man? Maybe if Hongjoong brought along Chungha and Yeonjun, they’d be able to advise him on what would look well and suit Seonghwa. Hongjoong wondered if the man was more conservative with his fashion or if he was more daring?

‘Crunchcrunchcrunch-’

Hongjoong spun on a dime, dodging a strike from the person who had been following him, grabbing their arm and twisting roughly. 

“Who are you?” He growled. The man opened his mouth, letting out a bark like a wild dog. 

Hongjoong’s eyes grew, he’d heard that bark before.

Fangs sinking into his body, tearing into him violently. 

Serpentine tendrils tightening around his form, yanking him back. 

Yunho has his hand in a tight grip, horror in his face as he tries to fight against the jaws yanking him towards the ocean.

The man turned and lunged at Hongjoong, and the pianist looked up, lip curled up as a burning, unspeakable a n g e r pumped into his veins.

༻(ᵔᴥᵔ)༺

White ears perked, followed by insistent sniffing. 

Cheese rolled onto his stomach, ears standing alert atop his head as he sniffed around the home for the scent. He guffawed and looked towards the front door. 

“Cheese smells….something is off.” 

“Cheese? What are you doing up so late?” Mingi inquired, watching as the dog beelined towards the door. 

Cheese did not respond, fur ruffled and eyes glowing as he phased through the door. His lip curled up, fangs elongating as he snarled. Mingi rushed to the door, opening it and watching the dog take off down the hall before vaulting the stairs.

“Mingi…?” Yeosang came downstairs, eyes squinted as he tried to wake up fully. 

“What are you doing?”

“Cheese ran out?? I don’t know why?”

Yeosang’s eyes widened and he rushed over. 

“I’m following him.”

“You’re what? ” Mingi startled as Yeosang’s tails unfurled, deep red streaks appearing along his cheeks as he looked at Mingi. 

“Are you coming with me or not?”

Mingi hesitated before sighing and grabbing a jacket. 

“Let’s go find our dog.”

Cheese was already several blocks ahead, running along the sky and chasing the bold flurry of scents that caught his attention and triggered his instincts.

Amber, bloody lotus, ocean. 

He smelled all of it. 

Amber, bloody lotus, ocean.

Amber, bloody lotus, ocean.

Amber, amber amber, blood, blood-

Cheese looked down from the platform he’d created, finding the one he was looking for and diving down, landing in the snow at the end of the alleyway. He let out a howl only a certain few could hear and rushed over, standing before the familiar oreo-haired man.

Hongjoong stared down at the fallen man that had attacked him, eyes narrowed, but still their natural brown color. 

Cheese could see the scales that had crept up to his neck and jaw as he backed away from the man, seemingly shaking off his daze. 

“W..what…? Where-” He shook his head, holding his head. Cheese sniffed, the scent of blood, lotus, and ocean water dissipating, leaving an overpowering amber. Cheese stepped forward, headbutting his hand.

“Woof!”

Hongjoong startled and looked down, finding Cheese looking at him, his fur back to normal and his eyes normal once more. 

Just a normal dog.

“C..Cheese? What are you doing so far from home off leash…?”

Cheese glanced behind him before barking once more, spinning in a circle, and heading out of the alleyway. 

Hongjoong startled and rushed to catch up with him despite his lingering wariness around canines. He didn’t glance behind him, not remembering anything from the past few minutes in the alley as worry flooded him. 

How the hell did his boyfriend’s dog get all the way out here this early in the morning all by himself? Would the dog listen to him if he tried to wrangle him back to his home until he could call Yunho?

Gods above and below he hoped the dog didn’t bite him if he tried-

“Hold on, I should call one of your dads so you can get taken home-oof-” Hongjoong ran right out of the alley and into Mingi’s chest, stumbling back for a moment before looking up. 

“Oh!”

The two stared at one another in surprise before Hongjoong looked to his side, watching as Yeosang quickly dispelled his tails and ears, looking at him in confusion. 

“Ca-Uh, Hyung? What are you doing out so late at night?” He inquired, checking him for signs of injury. Hongjoong rubbed his neck, explaining to them that he’d come out for food after staying up late producing. 

As they talked, Cheese slinked back into the alleyway, finding the ‘man’ had transformed back into a marble, a remnant of one of Scylla’s dogs. The Jindo bent down, taking the marble between his canines and swallowing it whole. 

“No one will be threatening Cheese’s Masters.”

“Cheese? Where’d he go again-” Mingi called for him and Cheese spun on his paws, bounding out of the alleyway once more, happily bouncing and nuzzling up to the three men’s side, tail wagging energetically.

“Cheese is here! Let us go home! Cheese will blend into the snow if he stays out like this! Now you see Cheese, now you don’t!” Cheese happily trotted forward again, jumping into a pile of snow before jumping back out of it eagerly, shaking his fur off, and rushing down the block. 

“Wh- Cheese!” Yeosang took off after him in worry. Mingi glanced down at Hongjoong, watching as the smaller man scratched his cheek in confusion. 

His knuckles were bruised. 

He glanced at Mingi and smiled softly. 

“Does this happen often?” He inquired, trying to make light conversation, seemingly not feeling the pain. Mingi stuck his hands in his pockets. 

“No, he’s normally a lot better behaved than that.” He mused before shrugging a shoulder, choosing not to address Hongjoong’s injury and beginning to walk. 

If he had, perhaps, the two of them would have noticed the way the bruising began to heal quickly mere moments later as Hongjoong began to walk a few paces behind him. 

* ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ►*

“Ugh, even in this life the shitty pirate gets on my nerves. I lost a dog, too. Ugh...Fine, I'll regroup.”

* ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ►*

---------Taglist-----

@jacksons-goddess-gaia @kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @angel0taiyo @gettin-a-lil-hanse @aeyla @eversionic @itsatinyworld @unatempesta-dipensieri @lonely10vely @yunhosblackgf @not-majestic-bluenicorn @moonmin-miya @snowstaytiny @delphinium3000 @just-a-starfruit @skmoonchild @allthestarsrcloser @im-what-iam @stayatinyfics @smallfrye @atinyteez @bangteezbaby @seomisaho @kirisimpma @chaos-ground-writing @daniblogs164 @yunhofingers @stormiestories @billboard-singer @asyamonet22 @perfectlysane24 @drunk-on-hwa @shingisimp @xuxibelle @twistedsiren @heesuncore @dreamyinception-world @justatiredhuman @serialee @babyhailey819 @eribear @spooo00oky @shymexican @stardragongalaxy @horizonmoonfics @ateezswonderland

[historicity-was-already-taken]

i have this excerpt from Notes from the Warsaw Ghetto: The Journal of Emmanuel Ringelblum printed and framed

Like, I paid an etsy seller to print it for me on the nicest cardstock with the best ink, and then I waited in line and paid a stupid amount of money to have it framed at the Michael's custom framing counter. And I have zero regrets. I've probably posted this excerpt here before but I don't care. It is everything.

The heroic girls, Chajke and Frumke—they are a theme that calls for the pen of a great writer. Boldly they travel back and forth through the cities and towns of Poland. They carry “Aryan” papers identifying them as Poles or Ukrain­ians. One of them even wears a cross, which she never parts with except when in the Ghetto. They are in mortal danger every day. They rely entirely on their “Aryan” faces and on the peasant kerchiefs that cover their heads. Without a mur­mur, without a second’s hesitation, they accept and carry out the most dangerous missions. Is someone needed to travel to Vilna, Bialystok, Lemberg, Kowel, Lublin, Czestochowa, or Radom to smuggle in contraband such as illegal publica­tions, goods, money? The girls volunteer as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Are there comrades who have to be rescued from Vilna, Lublin, or some other city?— They undertake the mission. Nothing stands in their way, nothing deters them. Is it necessary to become friendly with engineers of German trains, so as to be able to travel beyond the frontiers of the Government General of Poland, where people can move about with special papers? They are the ones to do it, simply, without fuss, as though it was their pro­fession. They have traveled from city to city, to places no delegate or Jewish institution had ever reached, such as Wolhynia, Lithuania. They were the first to bring back the tidings about the tragedy of Vilna. They were the first to offer words of encouragement and moral support to the sur­viving remnant of that city. How many times have they looked death in the eyes? How many times have they been arrested and searched? Fortune has smiled on them. They are, in the classic idiom, “emissaries of the community to whom no harm can come.” With what simplicity and modesty have they reported what they accomplished on their journeys, on the trains bearing Polish Christians who have been pressed to work in Germany! The story of the Jewish woman will be a glorious page in the history of Jewry during the present war. And the Chajkes and Frumkes will be the leading figures in this story. For these girls are indefatigable. Just back from Czestochowa, where they imported contraband, in a few hours they’ll be on the move again. And they’re off without a moment’s hesitation, without a minute of rest.

He only namechecks Chaike Grossman and Frumka Plotnicka here, but I can tell you for a fact that he's also referring to Tossia Atlman, Tema Schneiderman, and Lonka Kozybrodska. At least.

So far the count of Jewish women (that I'm aware of) who have responded to "They are a theme that calls for the pen of a great writer" with a book (or long-planned book) are three: me, Dr. Lenore Weitzman (who won't return any of my emails) and Judith Batalion (who did return my emails, had lunch with me, and told me that Dr. Weitzman wouldn't respond to her emails either). I hope more Jewish women--in and out of the academe--continue to take up this call, and I hope they keep getting published and aren't rejected because it's "too similar" to mine and Batalion's. No like seriously like two months after I signed with my agent, and one month after I got my book deal, I received a rejection from a lit agent saying that my book was "too similar" to Batalion's. Ok first of all it's not. I read Batalion's the day it came out, and they're very different books with very different focuses, goals, and approaches; the only thing they have in common is that they're both about this underserved, underappreciated group of amazing women. There SHOULD be multiple books about each and every one of them. There SHOULD be multiple books about one day Tossia spent in Vilna. Every white man who looked sideways at WW2 and the American Civil War have like, 87 terrible books dedicated to them, and I DEMAND at least 3 for each of these women. And 17 for Queen Zivia. (Who does have a biography, written by Bella Gutterman). Plus a biopic. So this post went in a direction.

tl;dr:

[alpydk]

Hi. Do you mind taking requests? I saw you did one for Chase/reader, and i funny enough had a shitty experience in a waiting room recently (I had an anxiety attack and kept having tics lol). So if I may request: Chase with a very anxious reader. Doesn’t have to be romantic. Maybe a sprinkle of Tourette’s if you don’t mind but no need, literally do whatever you want with this idea whatever you make I’m sure I’ll eat it up. Thanks!

Good morning anon. Thank you for taking the time to message me. I'm always willing to provide comfort when someone needs it, and I'm sorry about the experience you had. I know what it's like living with anxiety and some days it can be tough, so you have all my sympathy.

I have done you a little fic, but I must make a little disclaimer. I'm not overly experienced with Tourettes, so what you will find in this fic is largely based on a kid I used to teach and what I observed with them, as well as some reading from the NHS and such. I do hope that is okay.

The shrill of the nurse's telephone breaks through the din. Answer it, you think to yourself as each sharp ring pierces your senses. The chemical lights are too bright, burning your eyes. You sharply blink to relieve the sensation. The people around are sitting too close, shoulders almost brushing. You clear your throat and hope the guy next to you isn’t keeping track of how many times you’ve done this in the last few minutes.

Hospitals are meant to be places of calm, of healing, and yet each time you have visited you have felt overwhelmed. The lights, the sound, the people. There is a movement around you as if you were in a whirlpool, caught in the tides and being dragged under. You shrug your shoulder, nudging the guy next to you. He looks over with contempt but doesn’t say anything.

The urge to clear your throat comes again, but you hold back, lowering your head to make yourself smaller, concentrating on appearing normal - whatever that means in the world of medicine. Like a gull over tempestuous seas, the telephone calls out its shriek again. The storm rages around you. You become smaller. You clear your throat.

Each minute, each breath, you feel your throat become tighter. Clearing it is no longer an option as your heart squeezes its way up your larynx. You focus on your hands on your lap, tapping your fingers in a repetitive motion. Thumb to pointer, to index, to ring, to pinkie. Back again. Become smaller. Your shoulder shrugs. Again, the guy glances over. He’s considering moving, isn’t he?

You don’t hear your name called as your focus goes into the calming tides of your fingertips, a rhythmic back and forth keeping you held down. Your mind pulls you to the safety of a small bedroom, the storm now outside the window, your legs pulled to your chest, as you will yourself to be as unnoticeable as possible.  

“Where are you?”

You look up, blonde hair draped over soft skin. Blue eyes shining in front of you, Robert Chase looking at you curiously, as if trying to solve a crossword puzzle. You see the chewed-up pen in his lab coat pocket, see the subtle patch of his lips where he has bitten the soft pink flesh.

You don’t hear his words but feel the warm touch of his palm as he halts the tapping of your fingers. The waiting room is gone, the gulls silenced, the vortex peaceful. You clear your throat and blink. Your eyes no longer burn.

You cling to him as if he is driftwood as he leads you to a small examination room, turning off the florescent lights. Sunlight peers through the partially closed blinds and in the dim light of the room you feel your shoulders relax. Your heart descends back to your chest, but its beat remains constant as you watch him.

You perch on the edge of the small bed, your arms pulled tight around you, resisting the urge of the sharp jolt of your shoulder, and you watch as he pulls up a seat. You ask what he meant by his question. “Where are you?” You were in the waiting room, of course.

He shakes his head, blonde strands becoming subtle waves, and you see those blue eyes look over your features, searching for the answer to his puzzle once again.

“No, where are you?”

You realise what he means, that he’s searching not for your body but your mind. It sounds so stupid to say out loud, but something in the way he looks at you makes you trust him. The soft lilt of his accent is calming. Not the shrill of a gull’s call, but the beat of its wings.

“I’m in my bedroom.”

You do not tell him more of how you are the child curled up into a ball on the bed, trying to make yourself as small as possible, trying to block out the loneliness, the feeling of judgement, the fear. But he knows and understands. He sees you, every flaw, every blemish, every mistake and regret. He sees beneath the tics and the anxiety, sees the person in need of support.

“I’m in my father’s study,” he replies.

You don’t understand, but do at the same time. A kindred spirit lost at sea, just as you are, clinging onto driftwood and looking for shore. You clear your throat and want to apologise, don’t want to make his day any more difficult than it may already be.

He smiles, tells you not to worry. “You’re safe here. You don’t have to hide who you are. Just be you and everything’ll be okay.”

[letiel]

Kai/Evie - Questions

He walked past her door twice, slowing nearly to a stop each time before anxiety quickened his steps away and courage urged him to try again. Each time Kai got close his heart beat a little bit faster in time with the tug of war in his chest until finally, the scales of his knuckles rapped lightly on the wood with a soft *tap, tap*.

“Come in,” she called, just as softly, and it was too late to turn back.

Kai carefully slid the door open on its slide so he could step inside. Evie was kneeling on a cushion at the desk, dressed comfortably in a robe and slippers, midway through penning a letter. Her delicate script scrawled across the page in perfect rows all but forgotten now as she beamed. She didn’t even finish the word she was writing, all her attention belonged to him.

“Hey,” Kai managed, and his mouth felt a little dry. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” A shock of worry paralyzed him for a moment in anticipation of her response, but it faded just as quickly when she put the pen down and tilted her head ever so softly to smile.

“I’d love to walk with you! I need a moment to get ready.”

“I’ll wait for you outside then.”

A moment felt like an eternity. Kai had found a spot to sit to wait on the balcony overlooking the hostelry’s primary traffic. It was out of the way but easy to find. He fiddled with his pencil and the little notebook in his lap. The notes he had written for himself had blended into the patterns doodled in the margins. Ideas mixed with words he wanted to say to her, practice on paper when being alone lent itself to a less addled train of thought. Kai had to have read through them a dozen times, but he could barely remember the first few words.

Not a promising start.

Kai noticed Evie the moment she stepped out from private spaces to join the public and his heart skipped a beat. She had changed into a yukata, white at the shoulders and a darker shade of lavender at the bottom, blending in a lovely and subtle gradient throughout and under the white obi. Embroidered birds flitted about an assortment of flowers along the hems and sleeves. Her hair was loosely pulled back and held in place by a white headband and tucked behind her horns where it was long enough to do so.  

He immediately felt underdressed in his sleeveless top and black pants.

Evie noticed him in the same breath that she called his name and hurried up the stairs to meet him. Her tail was wagging so hard that thrice she very nearly fell over and he instinctively reached for her with his own to steady her.

“Where would you like to go?” she asked.

He blanked. Kai’s eyebrows raised by a hair, and he awkwardly glanced at his notebook for an answer. Finding none, he pocketed it. “Um.” “It’s okay,” she reassured him, “I have some ideas.” Evie’s smile softened and her tail slowed to a manageable wag. She grabbed one of his hands in both of hers and pulled him to his feet, already tugging him along to the Tasogare Bridge.

The late Summer sun and corresponding heat danced with the ocean breeze, alternating between the scent of warm stone and the salty sting of the sea. It swirled around the Kugane markets as they wandered, carrying sounds as well as smells, giving their noses a path to follow through the mishmash of merchants. They picked up takoyaki and dango, senbei and taiyaki, and all the while Evie’s tail wagged, even in the moments when his tail held hers.

Kai caught her stealing glances as the afternoon turned into evening. She was studying him, squeezing his hand, and gauging his level of comfort. The crowds weren’t his favorite. The noise *did* get to him but while he preferred quiet spaces, he didn’t mind them as much today. It was easy to tune out the world when she smiled at him. When she spoke all the other voices faded away into a distant background. When she pulled him along his stride reached to stay beside her as though he’d be swept away in the tide of people without his anchor, his rock, his light.

When the sun kissed the horizon and the clouds became fire against the dark velvet of the evening sky, they strayed from the beaten path. The market crowds, the colored lights, and cacophony of summer sales had morphed into a proper assault on the senses, and it was time for softer pastures.

They wandered instead to the quiet streets of the upscale citizenry, where soft lamps cast subtle glows along the paved road, sharing shadows with the setting sun. It was aimless but not lost, where they went ultimately didn’t matter, it hadn’t from the start. But as they moved away from the bustle and to the quiet, Kai felt the anxiety in his stomach like a pit, and he couldn’t hope to hide it from Evie.

She squeezed his hand and pulled him along, following the soft sounds of running water to a garden tucked in a space between buildings, a cultivated haven of nature, resisting the creeping of the city around them. Little lights along the pond made the scales of the koi glitter like gems in the dark water and cast shadows in the canopies of the sheltering trees. The flowers and the topiaries absorbed the rest of the lingering sounds and left them alone in quiet peace.

“Evie,” Kai started, and she paused at the foot of the bridge spanning the pond to look up at him. “I have a question for you. All those years ago, what made you approach me?”

Evie furrowed her brow a little and her tail stopped wagging. She let go of his hand to walk up the bridge and lean over the railing to watch the fish. Her lack of immediate response was making him nervous and he wondered briefly if he should have practiced some more.

Her tail swished back and forth, and she held out a finger for a firefly to land on. It flashed a pale yellow-green and considered its perch before lazily taking off to glide amongst its friends above the water.

“You were sad, and I wanted to help,” she thoughtfully answered, and Kai realized she was recalling the days of their youth. Evie held her hand to her chest, curling her fingers into a loose fist as though grasping at an invisible something there. “I remember feeling a nudge, no, a tug, deep inside. Almost like a voice without words telling me that someone needed me.”

He took the few steps to stand next to her and leaned so he could put a hand on the railing.

“It sounds silly when I say it out loud,” she admitted.

“It does,” he teased, and she playfully punched his thigh.

“Do you remember how ridiculous we were back then?” Evie asked.

“I was never ridiculous.”

“You were thin as a stick! And couldn’t stop fighting with Ori!”

“Ori couldn’t stop fighting with *me*,” he insisted, and his tail reached for hers.

She chuckled at the memory. “He won a few times.”

“He did not.”

“More than a few times!”

Kai huffed but smiled all the same. “His mudpies were better than yours.”

“He had more practice rolling around in the mud, caterpillar eyebrows!”

He snorted.

“I learned how to cook real food before he did,” she said.

“Debatable.”

Evie bumped him with her shoulder, briefly leaning into him before pulling away. “Better than you.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Noooo,” she tried to make a show of pouting and flopped over the railing with a huff, still smiling. “You two are still really competitive.”

“Not as much anymore.”

Evie gave him a skeptical look and he ignored it, avoiding eye contact.

A couple of the fish splashed in the water beneath them. The notebook in Kai’s pocket felt heavy and he shifted his weight as though that would offset the perceived imbalance. The sun had properly set now. Only traces of its light remained, and the brightest stars were blinking into life above them to compete with the lights of the city.

“Evie,” he started, and it felt weird pulling words from his core like this, practice be damned, “I enjoy being around you.”

“I enjoy being around you too, Kai,” she said, and he put his hand over hers. She blinked and looked at his hand, then up at him, only just now feeling the weight of his words.

“I mean it. You were always there for me even though I never said as much. You always knew what to do and I… I’m sorry for being so difficult at times, especially when we were in Ishgard…” he mumbled and studied the water, watching her reflection instead of her as the warmth in his cheeks spread to his nose. He pulled his hand back, putting them both on the railing, physically closing himself off to protect himself from how painfully awkward he felt. “Evie… I, um…”

Evie put her hand delicately over his. “Kai, I want to help you. I know it’s been a very long time since we were kids, and you’ve become so distant… but I know the Kai I remember is still in there; the Kai that I felt so drawn to, that I see in the little things you do and say every day, that I fell in love with.”

They both paused, processing what she said as they looked at each other. The color in her cheeks visibly deepened from a shade of pink to one of red.  

“I-I know this is a lot to ask,” she continued, getting even redder, “but would you want to try? Would you be my boyfriend?”

Kai had no idea how to react, so he didn’t, but Evie certainly did enough for them both. She wiggled in place, curled her tail, and buried her face in her hands.

“I-I’m so sorry!” she stumbled, “It’s okay if you say no! I-I really value our friendship too and I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable! S-So if it’s too much then we can stay friends!”

“No,” he managed to get out, little more than a peep as his brain rebooted after finally processing what she had asked.

“No, you don’t want to be my boyfriend?” she asked with a little bit of a quiver to her voice that she was desperately trying to squash.

He felt the panic in his whole being and hurried to reassure her, “N-No! I mean yes!”

She blinked and tilted her head, visibly confused, and Kai felt dizzy. It was suddenly extra hard to look at her and where did he usually put his hands? He felt feverish.

“Evie, I,” he tried but words had stopped working and he turned away from her instead to compose himself, maybe find a breath. He took a single deep breath and then Evie was hugging him from behind.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she mumbled into his back.

He shook his head and delicately untangled her arms so he could turn around and kneel to be closer to her level.

“Yes,” he said firmly. Then he took both her hands in his and said it again. “Yes, I want that.”

Evie blinked little tears from her eyes and smiled even more warmly than he felt. She took her hands back and delicately placed them on his cheeks to cradle his face. “My boyfriend,” she whispered.

They looked at each other for another moment, blushed even more deeply, and then they were *both* turning away in flustered confusion.

“Is it supposed to feel awkward like this?” she asked with a peep.

“Why are you asking *me*?”

“Cause you’re my boyfriend!” Evie’s voice cracked into a giggle when she said ‘boyfriend’ and Kai groaned.

“I take it back,” he grumbled and stood back up. She turned back around to hug him around his waist, still a little giggly.

“No, you don’t,” she mumbled happily to him, and he knew she was right.

“No, I don’t,” he agreed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And the red string of fate holds true! Took them long enough to get together >.> ~circa Stormblood era Kai Silberne and Evie Kiku belong to @ksilberne Always a delight to get to write them~ Thank you again for trusting your babies to me~ There is a sequel in the reblogs :3c Or here's a link if you're lazy: https://www.tumblr.com/letiel/722593687626022912/if-anyone-wants-to-know-how-evie-felt-about-all-of

[jacklucian2000]

꣑୧ Lover man - Rebecca Chambers x Billy Coen ꣑୧

Her eyes were solemn as she lay alone and dazing off in her cotton sheets. Her mind played stories behind her eyes. She would be under that moon, dancing, hugging, kissing under the moon that provided tides and soft light among her and her lover man. She lay alone with no one to love, no one to call her own. She had the moon, she had the grass, she had her heart to give but hadn't had her Billy since the Umbrella facility. They'd send letters to each other that seemed to dull over time. She missed him dearly and missed his touch. She wished to feel his hand caress her shoulder and for him to hold her close as they would sleep in each other's warmth. How she longed for him to dry her tears and whisper sweet nothings to her. Her friends had husbands and boyfriends. Their romances sounded heavenly and dreamlike. But she waited for her love. For the thrill. For her lover to be more than paper and pen. All the things they've could've done together. All the things they've been missing out on.

[nemenalya]

Beast; Day 1 of @tes-summer-fest In the wooded heart of Skyrim, it is ill-advised for a lone child to travel too far, for the devious and the divine lurk inseparably entwined, waiting to cast their snares. 

In Atmora of old, there were no children left by the end. By the end of the end, neither were the woods. 

Year by year, season by season, the world got smaller; the storms surrendering a little less land from howling snow and lashing branches. Those who had neither foresight nor good fortune to be taken by the woodsman soon found themselves staring down the endless ocean, herded by creeping glacial giants. The fey ones, the woodwalkers, the spirits‘ playthings and companions, all penned in on the piers their mellower counterparts had long since set forth from. Ushered onto boats jauntily bobbing on the torrential currents, the last woods of Atmora creaking underfoot.

With ice nipping at their heels they were forced onto the vast expanse, unwell and seething under the hands of the oarsmen. Unwashed bodies smelling putrid in and under furs, meat rancid where there was any to be had. The crisp smell of the shore a distant memory before the tang fermenting slickly on the planks. 

Skyrim is stuffy, claustrophobic with its many peoples dispersed through the land, inhabitants old and new and newer still the silent raving sentinels of Atmora. Sweltering coasts and swamps and woods all carved up in a fever, parcelled out and jealously guarded. Tumorous sproutings of towns and villages all over, people domesticating themselves in one last betrayal of their frozen home. 

A veritable cacophony to senses weaned on glacial waters; honed on ritual hunts. People talking incessantly and clamouring and shouting the very earth into submission. Cages within cages. There’s a lord over them all now, by his own admission and ambition. He summons the mighty, the furious insane. Even among the last feral hermits his invitation is passed, there’s talk of accepting. 

The eastern lands sound cruder still than this drab shadow of mighty Atmora, heaps of foreign novelty. Many slink away from the fires, the settlements, called back out by blood. The wolf pelted earth breaker is among them– they won‘t be some scrawny king‘s lap dog.

Skyrim is divvied up, and yet there is enough wilderness to swallow them whole. Where there isn’t, the less reclusive Atmorans take it back, boasting and clamouring. Little farms and homesteads, almost Nord themselves now. The fey and the woodwalkers return to their pacing, territories vast like feral beasts. Not even time will make them band together. 

The wolf roams the lands deep south beyond the pearlescent lake that even with the spring thaws does not gleam quite as bright as their glacial home. They run from the clamour and cloying until harsh mountains cut their path. For a while it is peaceful, and ever restless they endeavour to keep it thus with claws and teeth.

They have no word of their people who with conquering swords and shouts never returned from the east, but the Nords spread like a disease. One year people settle on the lake, then further deep where snaking mountain passes meet a pleasant rushing stream. The last children of Atmora wish more to run than to fight, and the wolf sheds not their pelt to scream their protests unto land and sky. Wordless, out of sight, they surrender the ground. 

The ever receding depths of the forest –crushed now by sullen hands not gleaming sheets of ice– remain a sanctuary not intruded upon, warnings of one too far line crossed written in blood and pain. Atmora’s lost children live long lives, but even they might not outlast the torrential unbroken tide of just a few trees more below the axe. 

Instead they live long enough to be found. The dun pup, hapless and toothless, anointing them with blackberry sup alike enough to blood.They let the boy name them 'Mara'. They let the boy call them 'she'. The boy speaks with hands more than words, and she learns fast like remembering a hazy half-dream, teaching him the language of beasts in trade.

The seasons slow for them, curled up on a bed of rust coloured needles in a yew grove, sharing jam and pies as rain platters overhead and the trees weep red blood. Warm summer storms pass over them unminded, turning the stone slippery and the loamy hillsides navigable, until they run cold and sleety, mist rolling down the forested mountain slopes. 

They sing at the stars and moons overhead, drifting lazily together in snow or mellowing summer heat. Around them the birds sing and the streams gurgle, and she hears the earth itself hum a contented lullaby. They roam between the village and the lake, smelling and tasting and running. He gets overwhelmed, and sometimes so does she, seeing this land through fresh eyes. 

She hunts them game, the boy perched silently on her shoulders. With him, she never hunts down the woodcutters and mushroom gatherers and intruders into her woods. She doubts he‘d mind, but her pup has to grow his own fangs before they can truly feast. He picks berries from between the brambles, staring silently as hands dart cleverly between the thorns that would cut her muzzle. They catch fish in nimble claws and marvel at the gleam of sun on scales. 

The townsfolk grow weary of them, their urge to roam a distant memory. Even she can bury her bitter longing for home now. For a while. 

One crisp spring, the boy leaves. She follows him to the edge of the mountains eternally draped in ice, where her woods break on sheer rocks. She knows he knows she’s there, an unspoken offer like all between them. Still, she dislikes the mountain, the dragon, and she will not abandon the wilderness she has carved herself in this overflowing land. He looks back once, hesitates too long, places a precious sweet before the steep incline of the mountain pass.  

He leaves. She stays. The seasons stumble on. 

Time is a vague notion, when not measured by the inexorable creep of ice. She tastes the change in the air, startled over a bloody meal. The earth sings of their approach, humming in delight at the dizzy of one and one, coarse crude notes intertwined into a simple haunting harmony. Soft vibrations of the forest floor, crunching of mud and leaf, the smell of furs and foreign lands and ferns snapping underfoot. Yet in her heart she knows. 

It is inadvisable for a child to travel alone in the deepest woods of Skyrim. But the pups have travelled far further and stranger, never alone. And they have grown up.

[lexusiswriting]

A love you deserve (Ricky Olson) - Part 9 of ?

Hi guys!

Hope you enjoy the story so far <3

Warnings: language.

Tags: @multifandomcrackhead, @nicelittlenightmares, @roll-tide-babe89, @skulliecadaver-blog, @21-century-tae, @melissa-anderson, @abiomens, @w743, @insanitywulf, @awkwardalex, @philomenie

Requests: OPEN.

____________________________________

Motionless was about to arrive. At first, I was completely fine, not having any kind of emotions, thinking it was just another band coming in to sign a record deal. But now, knowing they could enter my office any second, I was nervous.

The knock on the door was the one to get me back to reality.

“Come in!”

Chris came in first, and I was sure he knew from my smile that my emotions were skyrocketing. As they entered, they took a seat in front of me, and funny enough, Ricky was the last one. For a second, I didn’t recognize him, his hair being now short and completely unexpected. His blue eyes glued on mine for a couple of seconds, making sure I knew exactly who he was. After he took his spot, I tried to find my voice back.

“I’m glad to see you all here today, and I hope Chris told you the good news already.”

They all nodded, except for Ricky. He had a little smile on his face, his eyes analysing my every move.

“I already had an idea of what to offer you, but I looked at your older contract as well, just to be sure it’s a little bit better. Here is a copy for everyone. If something is not as you expected, please let me know.”

I didn’t make any exceptions just because Chris was my best friend. I’m always trying to give my bands the best, and yet I’m always questioning myself if it’s going to be enough for them. Chris looked at me with widened eyes, trying to find his words.

“Not as expected? I hope you’re joking now. I’ve never seen something better in my life.”

All of them agreed and I was happy to see their reactions. With me by their side, they were going to conquer the industry, I just knew it.

“Alright, if there is nothing you want to change, my receptionist will be waiting for you outside to sign the real contracts. And I hope in one week I can hear a little about your idea for the new album.”

I think Chris waited the entire time to give me a hug, which now he finally did. He said that I will love the song they’ve been working on lately and I couldn’t wait to hear it. They all got up, getting ready to leave, when I saw Ricky moved from his chair to sit on the one right in front of me. My eyes were searching for Chris for explanations, but they were already out of my office.

“Don’t worry, Lexus. I just want to talk to you and I told the guys I wanted to do it in private. If you don’t feel okay about it, I can leave whenever you want.”

I sat back at my desk, trying to find my pen, so I could distract myself somehow.

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?”

He smiled and I heard him sighing. I bet he prepared mentally for a hysterical Lexus who would call the guards to get him out of the building. But it was not the case. Not today, at least.

“It’s been a really long time, and I am aware of that. All I wanted to do from that Warped Tour was to apologize to you. But I’ve never had the chance. Now that we are going to work together, I had to be sure there were no hard feelings.”

That was a surprise. He seemed more mature now, knowing that younger Ricky could’ve never said something like that. When I realized this was going to be a calm conversation and not a fight, I put the pen away, looking into his eyes again.

“You didn’t have to apologize. As you said, it’s been years now. I do appreciate it though, and I’m glad we would be working together.”

For the moment, I thought this was going to be the end of the conversation. But Ricky had other plans.

“When I was making my plan of having this conversation with you, I told myself I would not get into any other subject. But I can’t help myself.”

“Well, I guess it’s going to be better if we will say now everything we have in our hearts. It will make our lives easier.”

“Lexus, I was so fucking stupid that night. Not only then, for the whole time, but especially on our last night. Every day I asked myself why I let you leave. That’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Apparently, someone had a lot to say. I tried to not have any physical reaction that he could see. The truth is that I missed him deeply, but I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing these details.

“Don’t blame yourself. We were both young and stupid, not knowing what we wanted in life or in a relationship. It’s happening all the time to a lot of people.”

“You don’t understand. I was in love with you, but I was too scared to say it. I’ve never felt this way for someone before, and I was afraid you would break my heart like no other.”

His words from that night came again in my mind. At that moment, he said he didn’t know if there was something for me in his heart and now, he is saying the complete opposite.

“I guess you were right when you said we can’t be together. Maybe it’s better things happened this way.”

“No! We would’ve been so happy together, Lexus. The only time you truly broke my heart was when you announced you were getting married to Corey. But I couldn’t blame you.”

I thought for a second about his words, while looking at the pile of documents that were on my left side. Something in me screamed at me to show him, but I was not sure if it was the right thing to do. He was confused when he saw me randomly looking for a specific document.

Ricky’s point of view

It wasn’t my plan to pour out my heart in front of her, but it just happened. My intention was not to make her feel bad in any way. All I wanted was to show her how much I loved her after all these years.

She was even more beautiful, if that was possible. Maybe happiness was her secret, something I wasn’t capable to give her.

I was waiting for her to say something. Anything at this point. She can say that she hates me for everything I did, or, if I was lucky, that there is something left in her heart from me. But she started to look for something out of nowhere.

After a couple of seconds, she gave me a printed document. I was confused, but I decided to read it. The first lines made me have mixed feelings, having no idea why she would show me that.

“You’re filing for divorce? Why?”

“Corey and I have been talking about this for months. Things are not that great between us anymore, and we have to put our daughter’s happiness first. Divorcing is the right thing to do. And actually, you’re the first person to hear about it.”

For a moment, I didn’t know if I was confused or shocked by the news. Maybe a little bit happy? I knew it was wrong to feel like this, but maybe I could still have a chance to make things right. It was weird that she wasn’t sad while talking about it like it was nothing.

My gaze moved to her left hand and to my surprise, there was no ring. She was telling the truth.