#absolutely irksome that i have to let someone have it because i have better things to do

[mimitheaardvark]

Social media really isn't for me tbh because with all the b.s. and drama and back and forth I've endured on here really don't mean shit (and makes me feel some kinda way) since I can't throw hands...

[asmrtist-brainrot]

Just had a thought about villain husband, what if maybe a few years down the line, he and his beloved are still close, obviously.

But say some high up Noble or even royal, beautiful, youthful, intelligent. They come onto the scene during some gathering of the kingdoms honestly believing that if they just have a few conversations with the listeners husband that he'd honestly replace his beloved like 🫰

And obviously villain knows that this person is eying him like a piece of meat through the night. He can ignore a mere irksome creature, cause his beloved is holding his arm and encouraging him to enjoy the sweets table and such

Ultimate spouse guy he's all for focusing on them as this party isn't supposed to be about working but celebration and his guards are around to keep an eye on things as well.

But whenever his beloved has to step away for a few minutes, of course this stranger makes their move, sliding over easily, laying their flirtations on rather heavily.

Villain is absolutely ready to just leave or kick them out just for being a nuisance but then they make some sort of demeaning remark towards his beloved and how they'll be a better match.

They reach out with intent to touch his arm and before he can tear them a new one for saying such things, his beloved is there, grabbing their outstretched hand in an iron grip that makes them wince.

Villain will readily admit seeing his beloved go off the way they did next will never leave his mind. He's blushing, darling did you mean to sound so possessive???

Smug bastard 10/10

Let his beloved get a lil protective as a ✨ treat ✨

Your brain man, I'm thriving.

He is much too devoted to Beloved to really focus on anyone trying to get into his good graces, he probably even thinks it's amusing if not insulting to think they could try and manipulate him.

Even being offended on his love's behalf that this cockroach thinks they could hold a candle to the beautiful creature he literally burned cities and killed for.

I'm sure at some point, someone suggested that he branch out and take on more people that can bare children - implying that he make himself a harem. He nearly decapitated them for their nerve and if this conversation was in front of his spouse, he'd have them flayed.

Villain is many things but a bad husband is not one.

The only reason this waste of air was allowed in his personal space was because they were weak. If his guards stepped in, they'd be a paper tiger in a storm.

But when his darling spouse returned with that glint in their eye, he'd be lying if the sight didn't make him weak in the knees.

He'd probably be all for the punishment they would consider, to disrespect his spouse was to disrespect him after all. Especially as a noble who clearly doesn't know their place that still sat under the foot of the royal family.

Villain could swoon if he could, enticed by the air around his love. Especially now as the little noble realized they were quite in over their head.

His love was forever diplomatic though, only considering forgiveness if the proud little brat prostrated themselves before them - apologize for being so tactless and rude.

But to his pleasure, Beloved didn't even consider forgiveness, waving their hand at a guard.

"Consider your family uninvited from further royal gatherings," They smiled like poison "we have no use for nobility that doesn't know their place."

They're about to protest, looking at Villain but are grabbed by the face by a particularly vengeful looking spouse. Gripping their face enough to leave bruises and wretch out a whine of pain.

"You should count your blessings that I don't strip you of your title."

They pale, freezing.

Beloved removed their hand and snapped their fingers, two armed guard steppin on either side of them.

"Escourt our guest off castle grounds," They move to slide their arms around their husband's neck and salt the wound by garnering his full attention with no effort "and don't be gentle".

People really just like to forget who Beloved is sometimes.

Delude themselves into thinking they were the soft, meek thing that was given to the now king... Just forgetting that it was their hand their father fell by.

~ Dari

[hanyusan]

two asian men duke it out on ice while callous onlookers sit by and rate their fighting moves

For years, I have been reluctant to comment on the whole Yuzuru vs. Nathan media subject. I possess a weak (figurative) heart and an anxious disposition, so it follows that I dislike conflict.

Then I realized that this is possibly the last time we will see the two compete on the same ice. And that makes me a bit sad.

I’ve concluded that over the years, what’s been most irksome about all the “YUZURU VS. NATHAN SHOWDOWN TO THE DEATH” headlines is that they’re some of the laziest writing I have ever borne witness to. For years, we’ve been reading the same thing. I’d venture a guess that they brainstormed all of these headlines back in 2015 and have been pulling from that hat for the last several years.

These journalists are still out here trying to convince everyone that there’s an intense rivalry going down between two chill dudes, one of whom is in a perpetual state of needing a bangs trim and the other whose peak fashion aesthetic is slapping Flamin’ Hot Cheetos on his Under Armour; and both of whom are in some kind of unspoken competition to out-compliment the other. Understandably, these two are not the easiest subject material to work with when it comes to crafting maximum drama. But how can the best topic someone thinks of be some “dethroning” fluff? How perfectly tame. Clickbait has evolved far beyond the media’s capabilities, and they’re not even trying to keep up anymore.

If they’re going to twist the narrative to that degree, then they should really commit. Go big or go home; or whatever it is the kids say nowadays. So for this fated free skate, I want to see creativity. I want to actually feel something read the news. I want to see headlines like, “Successful two-time gold digger and Ivy League dinosaur tamer assault one another with spinning foot knife martial arts.” Now, that is a headline that would incite me to click. Also would make an impressive article thumbnail, if I do say so myself.

All jokes aside (is it a joke though): everything about and surrounding this sport is a dumpster fire except for the athletes themselves. It saddens me that every single event becomes a issue of Yuzuru vs. Nathan when the root problem lies in the system and the media that capitalizes on it.

I’m not going to lie, when Nathan first started getting tied into the whole mess years ago, I fell victim to it. His skating was not my cup of tea, and I grew frustrated with his scores in comparison to Yuzuru’s. I had to consciously remind myself over and over that they are the performers; they are responsible for nothing aside from what they do on the ice. I stayed out of as much discourse as possible because I don’t like confrontation, and also because I knew that my anger would lead me to say something that I would regret.

Some amount of aging has left me in quite the state of apathy, where I am content watching pretty people defy gravity and less bothered about what happens outside of that. Not completely; I think that’s impossible, but it’s nice to be able to read an incendiary headline and find it absolutely hilarious. I laughed so hard reading the preview text for that article about “prince vs. king” or whatever that I'm pretty sure I have a six-pack now.

I’m not trying to say that everyone should stop getting angry over things that demand it. But especially on the internet, there is a fine line between anger and toxicity. Let’s not allow ourselves to be poisoned. Keep a clear mind. Have some cookies. Skating is first and foremost something that brings its athletes joy. Watching them should bring you joy, too.

I hope that, in spite of everything, every skater—including those who apparently exist aside from Yuzuru Hanyu and Nathan Chen? Wow, who knew—will give performances come Thursday that they themselves will be proud of. Scores and records are good. Heartfelt performances are better. Personal satisfaction is best.

[camileeon]

Hi! I have a fic idea!

Camilo x FTM reader

Reader is having a rough day with trans phones telling him he’s not a real boy, and just rude stuff. But Dolores overhears and tells Camilo what happens and he comforts us and reassures us?

Don’t feel pressured, only do it if you wanna/comfortable doing it! (P.S. Love your work, keep doin you!)

EDEN OF WILD FLOWERS

🍵- “they'll never love you like i can.”

🦋- FTM Reader x Camilo Madrigal

🍊- i could've done better with this one but i guess it's fine :') just a something for comfort for awhile >:) im also sorry because i did not proof read this, please point it out if you do notice something wrong :)) thank you! Please enjoy^^ (i also may or may not take a few days off for a break because i need time to think again for some fics and yes fr this time :>) @eyuunho

[•••]

“you're not a real boy! And you will never be one. You're not worth anyone's time.”

Hearing them cackle out teasing laughter rung in his ears and felt a pang in his heart, He was already having such a worse day and this too came to view. Why won't anything leave him alone today?

From toppling over a cart and spilling a few messes while fulfilling a few errands, Y/n was a little off and didn't feel too well that day so everything seemed to crumble and fall apart as soon as something were to be held under his grasp. It's as if lady luck or rather the world wasn't on his side that day it were to drive him insane at some point, but all the rude things that seemed to never get out of his head were his last and final straw.

It was so tiring just to hear other people yip yapping like stray dogs about how he'll never be a real boy and that he was a fake as well as being called names just drained the life out of him. Y/n didn't get to respond back at them, just eventually letting time run it's course, pleading that the day would end on a good not somehow.

Fortunately as encanto has it's frolics here and there, someone had heard his silent plea of help and had witnessed the whole situation by ear, none other being Dolores herself. She couldn't comprehend how excruciatingly irksome a few town's people were to someone who minded their own business but continued to poke their presence into other people's lives. The super hearing madrigal had rushed to find the shapeshifter doing his chores around casita, wanting to make sure y/n was alright

“Hermano, A few idiots have been messing with y/n and i don't they've been having a good day so far..” She says to the shapeshifter who almost dropped a dish he held in his hands, a worried expression claiming his face and rushed out of casita in less than a minute. Literally dropping everything so that he could get to him

“Cover for me hermana! I'll make it up to Mama later!”

He shouted out to his sister before putting his focus once more back in finding y/n, all his worried thoughts and questions just seemed to consume his head as every second went by.. If he was Y/n where wpuldbhe go in this situation, fortunately he remembered. There had been a stranded yard which fled with wild flowers and plants that had been untamed, never having the proper care for the lovely eden. Camilo remembered taking him there and Y/n absolutely loved it, locating it behind most of the forsaken townhouses and knew he'd most likely be there to clear his head.

His heart strummed a sad harmony as stinging tears rolled down his face with a sigh, overthinking about what he had done wrong to deserve any of this. Sitting down on a worn out bench as he admired all the overgrown flowers and vines that surrounded him and most of the miscellanious objects that had been thrown away, similar to how he had felt at that moment, useless and wasn't in place. Camilo found Y/n with his head in his hands, literally feeling his heart break at the tired sight of his significant other.

“I heard about what happened.. you know they're wrong amor..” He assured, taking a seat beside the other.

“I know.. but i feel so.. out of place. Do i even belong here..?” Y/n replied, fumbling with his fingers. Camilo slowly leaned forward to take his hands in his, making him look into his eyes.

“Yes you do belong here, you're worth everything i could ever think of. don't let anyone tell you who you're supposed to be, you're you for a reason after all.” He says, intertwining his fingers with y/n's as he continued.

“And if other people can't accept you for being who you are, that's their problem. I fell in love with you for being you. I would say the words i love you a billion times even if i have to or walk miles just to get to you. if i can't say it, I'd show it and I'm sure i already am.” His eyes lit up brightly as he spoke, taking him in a warm secure embrace. Their hearts synched beat by beat.

“They'll never love you like i can.”

TAGLIST:

@destinydrawssometimes

@camilolovesroxiie

@i-more-need-books

@aphrodicts-imagination

@s1mpystuff

@dai-tsukki-desu

@pepasfavorite

@kaxiaowow

@azrielxx

@l-e-m-o-n-g-a-y

@astroddon

@try-cry-why-try

@lolalee24

[thera-daydreams]

PLUS ONE

》 A TRESE TWOSHOT 《

[Maliksi x Reader]

📝 Summary: In which your beloved best friend snatches you from your apartment at dawn asking you to be his plus one for his cousin's wedding. Unbeknownst to the clueless you, everything is just going according to Maliksi's ultimate masterplan. With the help of friends and family, the Prince of the Tikbalang finally gets the girl he's been longing for. And oh, Señor Armanaz gets his dream daughter-in-law and the promise of grandchildren within the year.

📌 Warning: May contain some slight NSFW for spicy suggestiveness and cussing. No smut or anything super SPG—this girl can't write that for her life—but just be prepared. It's Maliksi we're talking about. We've got friends-to-lovers, obliviousness, pining, fluff, and a tikbalang simp. Figure it out. 😃

(word count: 7,454) ♥︎ Part Two: ?

》 AUTHOR'S NOTE 《

Not an Inday spinoff, but a lengthy oneshot in celebration of this blog getting 90 followers. Just ten more to 100, yay! Thank you so much for the love and support, everyone. I also promised that I'll be making this brainrot that @binibiningbabaylan and I have fangirled over a few days ago (find the original post here) when I finished the latest chapter of Inday. Here it is! 🥰

Before I forget, I was also inspired by the cute fic made by @crispybasil titled "Sunshowers" and the "Trese Boys As Things My Guy Friends Do" made by the amazing @smolla-than-a-bug (I bow down to your wonderful works in the Trese fandom). I definitely see Maliksi to be the type to go on spontaneous roadtrips and be the boyfriend to drive you around eveeeerywhere (while also driving you crazy). 🚘

There are also some songs mentioned throughout this work. You should probably listen to them while reading for the full experience. Ending was somewhat rushed but eh, I'm too exhausted and I've rewritten it too many times. Also, if someone makes some actual tikbalang smut, tag me please. Anyways, enjoy! 💕

The way it all started was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. It happened like a blur. Literally. One second, you were snoozing in your bed. The next? You had a seatbelt on in the shotgun seat of a sophisticated-looking car. Your brain didn't even get to process it yet.

"... So let me get this straight," you grumbled, still half-asleep from your sleep marathon. You just finished a hugely successful project at work yesterday, got promoted, and wanted to make up for the restless nights you spent overtime in the office. Of course you were irritated from being disturbed. You were on vacation leave for two entire weeks, originally planning to go into temporary isolation by deactivating your social media accounts and reserving a beach cabana for yourself in Batangas.

Well, turns out, you weren't going to Batangas anytime soon. All because your unreasonably spontaneous bestfriend of ten hectic years stole you from your apartment at 2AM. Was this considered kidnapping? Was this him just being more in touch with his tikbalang side, taking unsuspecting women in their sleep and leading them to their inevitable death? (He was going over the speed limit, so it was a valid thought.) Will wearing your shirt inside-out save you today? Lord, masyado ka pang pagod para mag-isip ngayon.

"Go on."

"You abducted picked me up in the middle of the night because you want me to be your plus one at your cousin's wedding in Tagaytay?"

"Yup. And technically, the venue is right on the outskirts of Cavite going to Tagaytay," he corrected you as a matter-of-factly.

"Same thing, whatever," you huffed tiredly. "Your cousin's wedding is at 6AM today. In a few hours. In four hours."

"Uh-huh."

You groaned exasperatedly, "Mal naman, eh! You didn't even let me bring anything. Could've at least given me a heads-up a few hours ago. I'm practically emptyhanded right now save for my phone! Sinungaling ka, you said this was just a normal midnight drive—not a freaking wedding!"

The Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang, son of the Great Stallion, heir to the Armanaz herd, and the Top Drag Racer of C-5 Expressway—if that was even one of his Game of Thrones-like titles—grinned as he continued driving beside you. He let you continue ranting in the passenger seat while he mulled over his ultimate masterplan that would change his entire life later on. He was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so all this wasn't his thing. But for you? He'll make plans, alright.

"Wala man lang akong dinalang masusuot o kahit konting makeup para maging presentable sa harapan ng buong pamilya mo," you exclaimed, in absolute despair. "Do you know how out of my league you are? Your rich-ass family might judge me—hell, your dad might see me as a hampaslupa if I show up there in my pambahay and tsinelas!"

"Psh, I'm not out of your league," Maliksi waved it off, smoothly turning a corner. "And calm down. We've known each other for a decade! My dad practically loves you as his own daughter. Heck, the entire family knows you and keeps telling me they want you adopted in already. Lolo Andres and Lola Perlita said they'd have the paperwork settled. You just need to sign them."

It would be even better (and easier) if you married into the family. To him, specifically (as if he'd let anyone else have you). God, he was already being so obvious in his advances, but you were just so damn oblivious whenever it came to romance. None of this needed to happen if you just got it through your thick skull that he was madly in love with you.

"That's not the point, idiot!" you slumped back into your seat, hopeless. "Do you think the bride and the groom will get offended? Shit, baka masumpaan ako kung magagalit sila, Mal. Mukha akong patay galing sa South Cemetery."

The long-haired tikbalang rolled his eyes, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Nothing's going to go wrong. Chill ka lang diyan. I've got everything under control, babe."

Babe. Yes, he even called you babe but you thought it was him being a himbo and a massive flirt. Now, it was his common term of endearment for you, but you still assumed it was him just being irksome to you and that you couldn't stop the man from saying it anymore. Thus, you let it be (the most obvious hint of his attraction to you, bestie).

"... Ugh, why didn't you ask Hannah or Amie to go with you?"

He just smiled knowingly, shrugging and making up an excuse, "Nagmamadali ako, eh. Hannah and Amie are also coming, but they already have the other tikbalang as dates."

"'Luh, ako pala ang backup choice mo?"

"Heh. Whatever you want to think."

Little did you know that you were always his first choice. Always. Even when he pursued Alexandra Trese many years ago, trying to convince himself you were just his best friend, it was always you. How did he come to that realization? Well, an international band he was a fan of released a song a couple years ago and he heard it being played in a club in BGC. The song title?

It Was Always You by Maroon 5.

Needless to say, after hearing the song and being unable to get it—get you—out of his mind at night, he stopped courting Alexandra. Unfortunately for him, that time, you'd started dating other men. Therefore, he was left on the sidelines... until your latest and most painful breakup, at least. That was five years ago. You still hadn't dated anyone since then, kind of traumatized from getting into another failed relationship like that.

In the present day, as if the fates were playing on you two, one of your favorite artists played on the radio. A very ironic song given the situation you two were in.

Best Friend by Rex Orange County.

Maliksi knew it was a favorite of yours. He knew it by the way your eyes lit up like a star brightening the twinkling night sky. Like the sun first rising in the morning at Apolaki's command. Like the moon extending its gentle rays from the magic of Mayari herself. If there was anything he wanted to ask of the old gods, it was you—everything else be damned.

"I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake," you half-sang and half-screamed happily, somewhat out-of-tune. "I can't wait to be your number oooooone! I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine—"

Maliksi glanced at you, not minding that his eardrums were probably getting microscopic ruptures from your aggressive singing. As much as he wanted to stare at you all day, he had to keep his eyes on the road. But the lyrics you were singing were wrong; the Prince of the Tikbalang was already yours from day one.

"Babe, McDo drive-through tayo for breakfast. Let me make it up to you. Gusto mo ng caramel sundae for your promotion gift? Sige. Ako bahala. Chicken nuggets din? Mabubusog ka ba niyan? I don't think they serve those this early..."

》》》

"Sandali lang!" you shouted out from inside an empty room. You'd just arrived at the venue—the Alta Veranda de Tibig in Silang, Cavite (practically the gateway to Tagaytay)—an hour or so ago. The hired makeup artist just left so that you could privately change into the outfit that had been bought specifically for you. Curse Mal and his ability to buy anything (perhaps anyone) he wanted. "Bwiset, Mal, you didn't tell me we'd be part of the damn entourage. We have to be walking the aisle in thirty minutes, simbako! You just love rushing me, don't you!?"

If only you were the one walking down the aisle today towards him.

When you exited the room, Maliksi couldn't help but let his jaw drop as he skimmed your figure, clad in the luxurious, silky satin blush midi dress he bought in one of those fancy stores in Makati yesterday. He imagined that it would look great on you, but now, seeing it on you in person... you looked divine (and frankly, he wanted to see it off your body to see what was underneath—but don't get too ahead of yourself, Mal). It was a whole 'nother level from his imagination. The deep cowl neckline and thin spaghetti straps showed your lovely collarbones... as well as a peek of your cleavage. His favorite and the best part of it all? It was backless, allowing him to gaze at the tempting curve of your spine.

He hadn't realized he had grown silent until you smiled and closed his mouth, tapping his chin.

"Lalangawin ang bibig mo, Mal," you laughed softly. Never had you seen him so speechless. You then flicked your hair back, ridiculously posing for him like you were on the cover of Vogue magazine (haba ng hair mo, gurl!). "Do I look that good? Char lang."

"... You look absolutely ravishing—I mean, uh, stunning. Hot. Yeah." That was all he could say. He mentally punched himself for not showering you with more suave compliments.

Still, your face brightened up, not knowing that the man in front of you just fell for you a thousand times harder, "Wow! Really? Damn. Ang galing talaga ng MUA na kinuha mo, ginawa akong artista. Give me their contact number later! May work event pa naman ako in two months. I'm shocked, it's like they made me rise from the dead! Even my eyebags are gone, Mal! How'd they do that?" Heck yeah, your confidence was boosted. He offered his arm to you like a gentleman, making you half-heartedly roll your eyes (you took it anyway). From holding it alone, you could tell that your best friend was a sinewy man (well, you knew that already after seeing his tikbalang form before—the little shit didn't even wear a loincloth like all his clanmates; your poor eyes were eternally scarred).

You looked him up and down. You wouldn't lie—Maliksi is and always has been an attractive man. Now? With his hair in a ponytail (pun not intended), definitely one of the hunkiest men you've ever known. "You're not looking too bad yourself, horsey."

"Ako pa!" He puffed his chest out in pride. You chuckled at his reaction.

"By the way, how do you even know my dress size and my shoe size?"

"Babe, I've known you too long. You know almost everything about me, I know everything about you."

You snorted at his confident tone, "'Di nga? You don't know every single thing about me, Mal. Assuming ka masyado."

"Alam ko nga anong cup size mo. Wala lang 'yang shoe and dress size."

You slapped his shoulder, cheeks quickly flushing red, "Huy, umayos ka! Walang hiyang tikbalang na 'to." With this guy as your best friend? You heard dirty jokes at least once a day. "Don't be inappropriate here!"

"What? It's only fair I know!" He looked down on you suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You already know I always go commando, so of course I know that your bra is a size—"

"Shhh! Baka marinig ka, 'nyeta."

"So? Let them hear. My best friend has a nice set of melons!" he shouted. You were grateful there was no one around. Hopefully.

"Oh my God..."

Your best friend chortled at how flustered you'd become. He led you to where some of his family was waiting, with a couple of his relatives already greeting you. You instantly and quite easily mingled with them, your worries of them not accepting you far from even true (they all knew how much their prince loved the innocent you).

"Kayo na talaga, pare?" one of his older tikbalang clanmates asked while you went away to be fawned over by his aunts.

Maliksi chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you from afar, "Heh. Hindi pa."

Another one of his clanmates—a younger one—laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "Talaga? That's cap, bro. You two are like a married couple already and you guys still aren't a thing?"

"Ilang taon na ba kayong magkakaibigan?" the older one asked him.

"Almost ten years," Maliksi responded, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as he remembered your moments together. He watched you converse with his female relatives (who adored you the moment Maliksi brought you to a family event many moons ago).

The two tikbalang snickered as they saw the look on the Great Stallion's heir.

"You're down bad," the younger one said, snapping a photo of his lovestruck kuya. "You've got it so bad for her, dudeparechong!"

"Balak mong ligawan anytime soon?" the older tikbalang inquired.

"Heh. Balak ko na ngang pakasalan. Kung pwede, ngayon."

They looked at Maliksi as if he was crazy. He was very much serious, though, even if there was a huge, lopsided smile on his face. The Prince of the Tikbalang raised a brow at them.

"What? Don't give me that look. Our ten years of being best friends is practically the courting and the dating stage already."

"Eh... you're right. Don't waste anymore time. Go and marry her today, dude. Suporta kami sa'yo, basta groomsmen kami sa kasal niyo, ha!"

"Ge. Without question."

Meanwhile, on your end with the ladies of the family, they started pestering you on your love life (like all typical Filipino aunties). Chismis everywhere.

"O, iha, single ka pa ba?"

"Kailan ka magpapakasal? Malapit ka nang pumasok sa thirties mo."

"Do you want kids? How many?"

"Are you and Maliksi a couple? You look good together! Kayo na, 'di ba?"

"Will you be getting married next? Are you engaged? When's the wedding? Invite niyo kami!"

Before you could get overwhelmed by their questions, Maliksi swept you off your feet to lead you to the entourage that was lining up outside the chapel area. Again, it happened like a blur. He laughed at the partially nauseated look on your face.

"You okay there?" he asked, grinning.

"Your family thinks we're together," you muttered quietly, not meeting his eyes. You weren't sure why you felt... tingly about their statements.

He tilted his head at you curiously, gently setting you down on your feet and helping you stand.

"Do you hate the idea?" It hurt him to ask you the question, but he wanted your thoughts on it. Perhaps doing this was a bad idea. Maliksi was competitive in many things, including wanting you to be his, but if you were so opposed to it, he would never force you into something you didn't want. He let go of your hand; you didn't even notice he'd been holding it until he let go. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Your wide-eyed gaze snapped back to look up at him, "No! No, it's not that! And... it's not bad." Your hand felt strangely empty now that his was gone. Biting your lip, you disclosed, "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mal. Don't ever think that."

With that, you shyly interlocked your arm with his, tearing your eyes from his to mask the growing warmth you felt spreading in your veins. You two didn't say anything else when the ushers let you walk down the beautiful, petal-covered aisle together.

The man beside you was starstruck. Hopeful. Maybe both of you did have a chance. Maybe somewhere in the depths of your soul, his feelings for you were being reciprocated. For the rest of the sacred ceremony in the gorgeous main pavilion, both of you relished in short, comfortable, and low conversations. He even cracked jokes every once in a while—really funny ones that made it challenging for you to you stifle your laughter.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Maliksi fervently prayed to Bathala that he'd experience the same opportunity he was seeing with you someday. One day.

Even while the sun was brightly out, the sky began showering down light rain onto the land. You were in awe as you looked out the window.

"Hala, totoo nga pala! Tignan mo!" you laughed, tugging Maliksi's suit sleeve, pointing at the window.

"Na ano?" he curiously inquired, not understanding what you were referring to.

"Na kapag may tikbalang na kinakasal, umuulan habang may araw pa," you replied, eyes filled with childlike mirth and wonder. A rainbow had even begun to form by the clouds. "Look, it's magical! Ang ganda pala ng view dito kasama ang old Spanish architecture. Timeless na timeless. It's so pretty, 'no? Picture tayo 'maya, Mal."

Unlike you, it wasn't the sky outside that the prince was looking at. Amidst the loud cheers for the newlywed couple and the bubbles the guests were blowing, his vision could only focus on how magnificent you looked while being amazed. You were his best view. (Ed from 90-Day Fiancé, kabahan ka na, may katapat ka sa pickup line mo.)

》》》

"Smile for the picture!"

You giggled as Maliksi was dragged into a photo-op with the bridesmaids and the important older wedding sponsors a few feet away (funnily, he looked a little constipated around them). All of a sudden, when he was heading back to your direction, you were roughly pushed into the said man's arms. When you turned around, there was nothing (except maybe a gust of wind that came out of nowhere).

"Ooh, gotcha. Careful," the tikbalang steadied you, strong hands holding your biceps. "Natapilok ka?"

"... Huh, hindi naman," you wondered suspiciously, looking around. "I think someone pushed me? Parang tinulak ako... but wala namang tao."

"Weird. Maybe it was just the wind."

It actually was. Really. Maliksi knew for a fact that it was those two taong hangin who were spying on you from the corner, trying to pair you up. He gave them a thumbs-up while your back was turned in the opposite direction. Hannah and Amie returned the thumbs-up before vanishing. Suddenly, the two wedding photographers had moved on from the bridesmaids and were right beside you.

"What a lovely couple you two are!" she praised. Before you could correct her, she held up the black contraption she held towards you two. "Pose for the camera, lovelies!"

And so you did, the photographer guiding you two on what to do. Maliksi wrapped his arm around your waist and you leaned on his side, looking sidewards to the camera with one leg cocked in front of the other. Her assistant, who was holding a polaroid camera, printed out two photos for you.

"Thank you," you told him, taking the photos from his hands then flicking them rapidly to make the images develop. You and Mal were about to walk to the reception area when the photographer stopped you, handing the male beside you a business card.

"If you two need a photographer or a videographer for your wedding, call me," she signaled to both of you before running to another guest, bringing her assistant with her.

You gawked, "Mal, did you just hear what she said?"

"Loud and clear." A grin was on his face. He seemed very pleased at what he heard.

"... How can she even tell if someone is married or not?"

Maliksi's free hand took your left hand, tapping the ring finger, "Nothing here."

"Ooooooh. I get it now." Your brows creased. "Huh. This is like the fifth time today the people here have mistaken us for a couple."

Maliksi shrugged, teasing you, "Who knows? Baka may potential tayo, babe."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he was hurriedly towing you to the reception venue. While he was doing that, you stared at the now-developed polaroid photos you were holding. Huh. Maybe you two did look like a couple.

"Come on, they're serving some snacks at the welcome reception area. Peach pie and mango float-flavored. Paborito mo, babe."

》》》

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. You were actually enjoying the event—the host was great, the food was great, the music was great. Everything was great... that was, until the games.

"Alright! Now that the bride's garter has been removed, let's have the bouquet and garter toss... starting with the females!" the host announced. "Dear bride, please stay here in front. And all single ladies—and by single I mean ready to mingle and are not married—please rise and stand here on the dance floor. Let's play matchmaker tonight, everyone!"

"Uy, single ladies daw," Maliksi nudged your side. "Sign mo na 'yan." You snorted like a pig.

"Nope, ayokong madamay sa bouquet toss," you whisper-yelled at your best friend. "Do you know how embarrassing that is?! Besides, they won't notice if I don't join! Special tactic ko 'yan sa weddings: pretending I'm not single. Katabi naman kita."

More women came to the front, making you feel assured that you didn't need to participate. The host was about to say something, when the bride interrupted to whisper something into his ear.

"Hala, halaaa! Sabi ko all single ladies, pero may isang single lady na nagtatago pa!" he announced, making you freeze. Please don't let it be you. "What's her name, beloved bride?"

"Y/N L/N." You nearly spat out your champagne. You? Did they just call out your name? How did they know?

"Oh fuck," you cursed quietly.

"'Di ka makakatakas dito, babe," Maliksi jabbed, making you stand up. "Tinatawag ka na."

"Baka may ibang Y/N L/N dito," you resisted, attempting to sit back down. "I can't do this, Mal."

"'Sus, ikaw pa. And it's just a symbolic ceremony!" he encouraged, as if he didn't have any underlying intentions. "I doubt the bouquet will go to you anyway."

Sheesh, what a big fat liar you are, tikbalang prince.

You expressed your dissatisfaction with the situation, "Bwiset, fine. I'll just... dodge it. Or evade it. God, I swear..." You calmed down, confident. "I'm not going to worry. I've never caught the bouquet at my own friends' weddings anyway."

When you were at the dance floor, Maliksi snickered, seeing the bride—his cousin—wink at him. After all, he had thoroughly bribed her earlier.

《《《

"It's about time you settled down with someone, Mal," the bride commented while he slipped her the newest Hermés designer bag filled with a bunch of jewelry (plus some bills) two hours ago, right before the reception began and while you were in the restroom freshening up. "Hehehe, this is why you're my favorite cousin."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Of course. I'll make sure she participates. I'll also try to throw it in her direction."

"Good. Thanks."

"You better invite me to your beach wedding. I can tell how much you love her."

"Not a problem. I'll even make you a sponsor."

The bride stared at her bouquet, already practicing how she was going to throw it, "Tito's going to thank me so much for ensuring that he's going to get grandkids soon, hihi."

》》》

Back to the present, on the other end of the room, Maliksi saw a familiar duo give him a sign that they were ready. Bingo. Time to execute the most important part of his plan.

《《《

"I don't care how you do it," he told the two wind elementals after he bribed the bride. "I've already instructed the bride on what she should do, pero siguraduhin niyo lang talagang lumipad sa kanya ang bouquet."

"Mmhmm," Amie flipped her hair, a hand on her cocked hip. "And what do we get in return, oh great Señorito Armanaz?"

"Sagot ko bar-hopping niyo for one month."

The two girls pretended to think about it, making Maliksi roll his eyes. He had to pull out the big guns, huh?

"Fine. Magbibigay ako ng cash deposit plus pwede niyong gamitin ang black card ko for a one-week shopping spree in Ortigas." There. Bullseye. That's what they liked.

"Deal!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Hannah let a cool gust of wind enter one of the nearby windows, testing out how they're going to do this. "Ano pa bang pinaplano mo for Y/N mamaya?"

Maliksi hummed, "Basta."

》》》

You tried your best to hide within the densest part of the group of women. The bride seemed to have her eyes on you, weirdly enough, and she looked almost feral wanting to throw her flowers into someone's face.

That someone being you. Most likely.

"Target locked on," you saw her mouth move. She positioned herself like she was about to throw a football at someone (ahem, you). Holy shit, was she talking to you? Miss ma'am, it was a bouquet toss not a bouquet throw. The bride seemed to notice this, and once more regained her elegant composure.

"3, 2, 1," the host counted down. "Go!"

Surprisingly, the bouquet flew very high into the air (it was a wonder it didn't get tangled in the ceiling decor), but quite a distance away from you. You grinned, knowing it was too far to even touch you. Squeezing through the crowd of women eagerly awaiting the bouquet, you went to return to your assigned table.

Ah, what a wonderful evening.

Sike!

Something painfully landed right into your face, leaves and flowers getting into your hair and mouth.

... Wait, leaves and flowers?

Before you could comprehend it, the bouquet dropped right into your arms. What kind of ungodly, inhuman force allowed this to even happen?

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our lucky girl for the night!" Everyone clapped, with some—those guests you knew—even cheering your name unbelievably loud. The host approached you, a glint in his eye which you couldn't understand. "Miss Y/N, kindly sit here while we await the lucky guy who catches the garter from the groom."

What just happened?

"All single gentlemen, please proceed to the dance floor. Remember, the man who gets the garter gets to slip it onto the lucky lady's leg later!"

Oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose. What you'd give to be back at home or to be in that resort in Batangas you'd planned on going to for a solo vacation.

"To make this even more exciting," the host stated, handing you a black blindfold. "Our lucky lady has to keep her eyes closed until her lucky man for the night captures the bride's garter! When the music plays, only then can she uncover her eyes."

See? Humiliating, just as you expected. Still, you wrapped the blindfold around your head (albeit hesitantly). You attempted to guess who it might be, thinking of all the tikbalang friends Maliksi had introduced to you back then whenever he invited you to his clan reunions.

"Groom, are you ready?" the host asked, microphone loud and clear.

"Ready na ready!"

"Single gentlemen, are you ready?!"

"Ready na ready! Awoo, awoo!" they loudly chorused, exactly mimicking Spartans about to engage in battle. You sweatdropped in the seat you were in. This was actually kind of scary. Maybe you felt a bit objectified.

"3, 2, 1, go!"

There was a brief moment of silence, which made you concerned. Ba't ang tahimik? Then, everyone erupted into roars and bravoes much louder than when you caught the bouquet—perhaps even louder by tenfold. What the heck was happening?!

The music played. Very raunchy, spicy, babymaking music. You expected it to be the typical Careless Whisper by George Michael or Pony by Ginuwine (corny songs which you could probably laugh at, at least), but no. Nuh-uh, this was probably worse. The DJ must be pretty young, the song of their choosing being a slowed, bass-boosted, sexier remix of Earned It by the Weeknd.

Ano 'to, bold? Fifty Shades of Grey? The hell was this?

Alright. This was embarrassing. Thank the heavens there were no children at this party. From the music alone and its implications, this was strictly for adults.

You removed your blindfold (that was okay now, right?) as the guests whistled playfully. You peeked one eye open reluctantly, then inwardly groaned. Oh, no. You should've expected it to be him of all people from how loud the reactions were. And all those yells from the crowd were from his family.

Son of a—

"Well, this has proven to be a very interesting arrangement!" the host proclaimed. "Our lucky man for tonight is none other than our great clan leader's heir, Maliksi Armanaz! Congratulations, sir! You get to slip the lacey little garter on Miss Y/N!"

The said very smug tikbalang stood a few feet away from the chair you were sitting on, smirking at you. His hair was no longer in that mesmerizing ponytail—instead, he'd tied it into a more sinfully attractive man-bun, loose strands framing his face and accentuating that sharp, angled jaw of his (say yes and thank you to Manny Jacinto's jawline, besties).

"Let's cheer him on in his new mission, everybody!" the host pushed. Was this that glint in his eye earlier? And was that a one thousand peso bill sticking out of his pocket?

The groomsmen, Mal's cousins and uncles whom you've met before, hollered words of encouragement to the tall man (who was, oddly enough, not one bit fazed). In fact, Maliksi seemed like he was famished as he stared you down.

You swallowed, feeling like you were going to get eaten (heh, say that again). Maliksi had shrugged off his dark suit blazer to the beat of the song (holy fuck, he also unclasped the suspenders attached to his pants right before your eyes—asdfghjkl). Were you prepared for this? No. Will you ever be prepared? No!

"Mr. Armanaz, before you begin," the host interrupted. "We have an additional challenge for you in this mission. Kaya mo ba? It was a request of the newlywed couple."

"What is it?"

"Use your teeth!" the bride and the groom cheerfully shouted, clapping with the other guests. Whatdidtheysaaaaay???

The cocky bastard didn't even hesitate, his smirk at you growing wider; those pearly whites of his on full display. Was it just you or were his canines a little sharper than usual?

"Anything for the newlyweds. Challenge accepted," he dashingly replied, winking at you. You sputtered indignantly. Pisteng yawa. Putangina. Putek. Pakshet. You swore you thought of every swear word in the book at that moment. What did that YouTube parody song about Filipino mythological creatures say again? About the tikbalang? Ah, yes. Half-macho dancer and half-stallion. Maybe the joke was true, especially when you saw what Maliksi did next.

He bit the shred of lace, loosening his necktie (bestie, you good there?), unbuttoning some top buttons, and rolling up the sleeves of his collared white undershirt up to his elbows (consequently showing off his toned, veiny forearms—those lucky bridesmaids behind him nearly fainted). Honestly, you felt like you were about to lose your mind from embarrassment. With how tantalizing your guy best friend was being? Let our response be: San Pedro, kunin mo na ako. Was he doing all this to tease you? To rile you up?

Because damn it all, it was working. In your ten years of knowing Maliksi Armanaz, withstanding all his daily dirty jokes and flirtatious attempts, never had you seen him like this. So... wolfish. Ravenous. Like he was a man that hadn't been fed in years.

He stalked closer towards you, falling to his knees in front of your legs. Your gown had a long slit that extended up to an inch or two below where your left leg began—your best friend was eyeing his target already, knowing where to place the garter. Normally, you would never even wear something as revealing as this gown. It just wasn't your type, but Maliksi was the one who bought this for you for this specific occasion, so you had no choice. It was this or your pantulog he stole you in just hours ago. At first, you were confident in the gown. Now? You felt too... naked.

Somehow, in the heat of it all, you'd muted out the noise of the venue. Maliksi teasingly lifted your foot up, fingertips slyly grazing the thin shoe straps around your left foot—his calculated touch leaving fire in its trail. Once the garter had been successfuly inserted past your high-heeled stilettos, the man kneeling in front of you kept his hands to himself. Despite the fact that now there was absolutely zero skin-to-skin contact between you and this man, your body felt hotter than it ever was before as he expertly slid the lacy bit of cloth up your ankle at an agonizingly slow pace.

Maliksi's warm eyes had turned dark, his pupils blown, a tinge of red in them—of his true beast—while he maintained striking eye contact with you, pulling the garter up your calf with his teeth. Smoothly tugging... tugging... tugging. Tangina, it was like he was undressing you with his eyes alone; like he was telepathically telling you to keep your eyes open.

To keep your eyes on him, where he was knelt inbetween your legs, his hands intentionally locked on his back. Did you ever imagine this? Him between your legs? Maybe. Once or twice. But you never thought about it seriously; Maliksi dated girls left and right in the past.

His lips... his lips were so close... so close to your leg that you could feel the heat of his breath along with the lace. Were you about to die? Perhaps you already did. Maybe you were in heaven. Up... up... up... snap!

Suddenly, he stopped, grinning up at you mischievously and letting the elastic bounce back to the skin of your left knee.

"I'm not going any further, don't worry, babe," he whispered, noting that your eyes had become misty and glazed over. Internally, he grew worried. "That's enough." Did he think it was from discomfort? From you being uncomfortable? Bitch, no. It was the exact opposite. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

You felt like your soul had left your body at that moment. Did you just have a heart attack? Was your blood pressure okay? Before you or Maliksi could stand, however, someone bellowed from the wedding sponsor tables.

"Higher! That's an order!"

Fucking hell, it was Maliksi's father who shouted. He wasn't in the huge tikbalang form you'd normally meet him in, but he was still very intimidating in his humanoid form, commanding attention and subservience wherever he went. You could tell where Maliksi got it from.

Instantly, the other guests—already half-drunk and wanting the spirit of partying to continue on—joined in.

"Higher! Higher!"

The host cheered, "You heard Señor Armanaz! Higher!"

Maliksi gave you a questioning look. Even if it was his father who spoke up, he still wouldn't do anything you didn't want. Well, you two made it this far; there was no point in getting embarrassed now. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. You probably couldn't erase the redness on your skin with how much you'd blushed from this night. It was as if the heat was tattooed onto your skin.

"Go on, Mal," you whispered to him, bending your torso down closer to his face, eyes half-lidded from want. "Finish what you started, babe."

With those sultry bedroom eyes he'd never once seen you show him before—plus you turning the tables with that familiar term of endearment, how could he refuse? Like a switch had been flipped inside him, he immediately complied, taking the frilly scrap of stretchy lace between his teeth once more, moving it further up to your thighs until where your high slit ended—centimeters below the warming juncture between your legs.

Your legs felt wobbly... boneless, as you stood up from the chair, the fabric of your gown cascading over where the lace sat securely on your upper left thigh. The party was still going strong even after you two finished the garter wearing tradition.

"'Atta boy! That's my son!" Señor Armanaz blazoned, standing up and raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers to the newlywed couple! May they last forever!"

You guys weren't the newlyweds, but it did sure feel like it. If the clan leader was hyped up, everyone was hyped up. Heck, the groom and the bride didn't mind one bit what had just transpired on their dance floor. In all the chaos, Maliksi took you out of the reception area and somewhere quieter. More private.

You would need to have a serious, urgent talk with your boy best friend.

》》》

You two silently sat on a stone bench in a gazebo somewhere in the reserved venue for the wedding, trying to cool down and get yourselves back together (at this point, you needed ice from that steamy, half-scandalous event you just went through). Here, there was no one else except for the chirping of crickets, the lush trees surrounding the area, and the golden fairy lights strewn all over the roof. Awkwardness was something you'd expected after what just happened, but somehow, you still felt comfort in this man's presence. For the past thirty minutes, both of you just stayed still, lost in your thoughts and reflecting.

"Mal?" you finally spoke up.

"... Hmm?"

"Ano tayo?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

Your fingers instinctively reached out for his, just like they always did when you were anxious. Sensing this, he grasped your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Soothingly. He massaged the skin of your fingers, distracting you from your nervousness. It seemed like both nothing and everything changed between both of you. The gesture was the same, but so different at the same time.

"Mahal mo ako." It was not a question. It was a statement. A truth—one that you'd been too blind to see before. One that you only discovered while you stared into each other's eyes in that party not as best friends. You realized with a jolt in your heart what he really felt for you, and now, what you really felt for him. In those thirty minutes of silence, you knew. You just knew.

"Yes. I do."

"... Just as a best friend?" you probed.

"..."

Finally, you gazed into his eyes, previously so dark and full of hunger. Now? Just reluctant. Vulnerable. Open. Unsure of what to do next.

Seems like you had to be the one to take initiative tonight. Taking out your phone, you opened your music app and pressed play on a certain song. Ikaw at Ako by Johnoy Danao. You removed your heels (which were starting to blister your ankles and toes), then pulled him up to stand.

"Dance with me," you murmured, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist. He was stiff. Tense. What was he to do when the woman he's been pining after for so long let him hold her? All his gallantry and ability to romance disappeared out the window the moment you let him touch you so intimately.

You two weren't even waltzing. Just swaying. Slowly, you leaned your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"... I love you," Maliksi admitted in the middle of it all, feeling like he was dreaming. Your head on his chest kept him grounded to reality, however. "More than anything in the universe. I fell for you ever since you patched me up when you were nineteen and I was a reckless drag racer who didn't have a purpose in life. 'Nung dinala mo ako pabalik sa Armanaz Tower on the verge of death. Simula noon, ikaw lang."

"I realized that," you smiled, reminiscing the old memory. You were just a broke college student that time, coming back to your dorm from making your group thesis at a classmate's house. Imagine your panic when you found a half-man, half-horse bleeding out by some bushes on the way home at night. Despite your fear and your little money (only enough to feed you for the week), you went out of your way to buy a first-aid kit at the nearest 7/11. It was scary, but you managed to mend the creature's wounds by the side of the road. When he was finally able to speak, turning fully human (which you admit, freaked you out initially), you arduously carried him back to his address—to his father and his clan, even if you had classes the very next morning. Because of your heroic deed of saving their precious heir, the tikbalang clan had become indebted to you: a teenage girl on the verge of a mental academic breakdown, just making her way through the cruel adult world. How old of a memory that was, you thought, yet you still recalled it in perfect detail. "Just a while ago."

"Ah." He swayed you gently.

"Lahat ng ito, plano mo?"

"... Yes," Maliksi fessed up. "Except for this part where we're here dancing in this belvedere. Wala sa plano ko. Gusto ko sanang magconfess doon sa may fountain para sweet, pero..."

You lifted your head off his chest, smiling at him with one brow raised, "You know, between both of us, you're supposed to be the spontaneous one. Planning isn't usually your thing."

"I know. It's a failure, huh?" Maliksi sighed.

"Nah." You shook your head, then suddenly locked lips with him. It was so fast and surprising he didn't even get the chance to return your first kiss. For once, you caught him off guard. You pecked him on the lips again. "It's not a failure."

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry for making you wait, Maliksi. Ten years. We're twenty-nine now, and only tonight do I realize how blind I've been. We've been going around in circles, wasting so much time. Ayoko nang mag-aksaya ng oras," you whispered guiltily against his lips. How could you have been so blind? Andaming nasayang na taon. Making up your mind, you told him, "Yes. Sige, I accept. I'll be your plus one."

The tikbalang was flustered and baffled from the kiss, as well as your revelation, "... But, you already are?"

"No, silly. I meant that I'll be your plus one for life. For as long as you'll have me," you laughed, now processing that you were currently dancing barefoot with your boy best friend and had just kissed him in a wedding you didn't even plan on going to. The universe had a mysterious way of doing things. "Guess I'm the spontaneous one now, huh?"

Maliksi was tongue-tied. "Seryoso ka ba? Is... Is this a marriage proposal?"

"Whatever you want it to be," you echoed his words back to him. "Best friend, plus one, girlfriend, wife—mmpf!"

He kissed you so hard your lips bruised. After an impromptu makeout session which was definitely more in character for Maliksi, you both pulled away, panting heavily in search for air, still desperate for passion. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a sweet, featherlight Eskimo kiss.

"You're missing one more title."

"Hm? What do you mean, Mal?"

"Love of my life." He kissed you again, this time lifting you off your feet and spinning you around (his sneaky right hand was resting on your bum, too, giving it a tight squeeze). You know in the Princess Diaries where the main character's foot just... pops whenever the prince charming kissed her? Yeah, that happened to you on that humid summer night. This was right. You two were meant to be together. Everything was falling into place.

The bungalow you reserved for your Batangas vacation leave ended up being the site of your very eventful honeymoon with the Prince of the Tikbalang (with his libido, it wasn't that difficult to continue where you'd left off in the garter toss; that scrap of lace came off your leg the same way it went on). Actually, nauna pa ang honeymoon sa actual wedding (it was definitely spontaneous). Right after your confession in that alcove, you two went to Maliksi's father to ask for his blessing (which he gladly gave, cackling and saying that it took you long enough) before you guys went driving off to Batangas that night. You and Mal indeed had lots and lots of fun in that resort (I'll let you imagine the rest). More beautiful memories were made from that point on—this time, not just as best friends.

All that and your small, intimate wedding occurred in early April. Just when you thought that it'd be impossible to fulfill Maliksi's life goal of having a baby within the year (nine months of pregnancy meant that the earliest you'd give birth would be January next year), the impossible happened.

Exactly thirty-two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, the Armanaz herd welcomed one prince and two new princesses into the world. Triplets who were instantly adored by everyone in the clan.

Señor Armanaz had never been happier, and so were you and your husband. Your best friend. The love of your life. Your forever plus one.

Maybe being spontaneous wasn't so bad after all.

Taglist: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @methehipster @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie

[maybanksslut]

Truth or Dare || s.b.

Pairing: Sirius black x reader

Requested: yes, by @welcome-here-in-my-world

Word count: 2k

Warnings: explicit language, enemies to lovers, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’d despised Sirius Black for as long as you could remember. It was no secret to anyone. You’d never been someone to hate people, but he, oh how he got on your nerves. Never had you met anyone as annoying and irksome as him.

Everything about him made your blood boil. His friends and their stupid pranks they always pulled on you. One day it was dying your hair a bright color, another they’d settle for spilling water all over you. Everything just to see that angered expression on your “cute little face” as Sirius always said.

You also despised his smirk. Oh, how you wished to just wipe it off his face! The way his lips curled up in a mischievous smile each time he’d made a stupid comment or pulled a dumb prank. It made you crazy in the worst way possible. Not to mention that glint in his eyes when he knew he’d got under your skin. You hated how he was able to anger you so easily.

Last, but not least, you hated his popularity. How every girl and boy were his possession, how they all would do anything for him. He had everyone wrapped around his finger and that made you feel threatened. He might have been attractive, but his personality was fucking disgusting.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Truth be told, what you hated most, was the absolutely awful crush you’d developed on the boy. You had no idea how, why, or when, but somehow you’d fallen for the boy you seemingly despised.

“Y/n?” Lily snapped her fingers in front of your face, bringing you back to reality.

“Huh?”

“I asked you if you were coming to the quidditch game tonight. ‘S Gryffindor against Slytherin”

“Oh,” you thought for a moment, before frowning. Gryffindor was playing, which meant Sirius would be there. Which also meant that you’d have to pretend you didn’t care about his stupid smile, and that was starting to get on your nerves. Lily was close enough to find out about the crush already, you needn’t make it easier for her. “I don’t think so, I’m really tired”

Lily just nodded in response, continuing to scribble something down in her notebook. You sighed. How long was this going to last? If the crush didn’t vanish soon, you would be sure Lily would sense something and confront you about it. And since no one was able to lie to Lily, you really didn’t want that to happen.

After a moment, you excused yourself, heading for your dorm. Unfortunately, fate didn’t want to let you off the hook that easily. You’d only walked a few steps before harshly colliding with someone’s chest, stumbling backward and dropping your bag.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, rubbing your forehead. You didn’t even bother looking up at the person who’d walked into you, as you already knew that chuckle too well.

“You should be careful not to fall for me, sweetheart,” Sirius laughed, bending down to pick up your books. A smirk was playing on his lips, and he looked quite pleased with himself for bumping into you.

“Right,” you scoffed. “You don’t have to worry about that. ‘S not gonna happen. Can I get my books now?”

“Sure,” he replied, raising them over his head instead of handing them over. You shot him a glare, jumping up to reach them. That was to no use, obviously, since he was taller than you.

You groaned, pushing him away and trying to annoy him, yet he only appeared even more amused, his smirk now a full grin, his pretty teeth showing. God, he was really pretty when he smiled... No! He was not pretty and he was not attractive, he was a prick and you didn’t like him.

Both tired and flustered by his behavior, you turned around to leave him. If he wanted the books, you’d let him have them. Better than anyone realizing you don’t hate him as much as you told everyone you did.

“Hey, wait,” surprised, you turned around to see Sirius jogging up to you.

Without a smirk on his face, he handed you your books. The moment his fingers touched yours, an electric wave shot through you, setting every particle in your body on fire, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe. You seemed to have got lost in his eyes, drowning in the stormy orbs. For a moment, it felt as if you had some sort of connection. A mutual feeling.

Then, he pulled away and the magic was gone, leaving nothing but two people that hated each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re having truth or dare in the common room later, you wanna come?”

Lily’s words make you sigh. Sure, you liked truth or dare, but with the whole Gryffindor house? Way too risky. You could accidentally spill your secret.

Perhaps you were worrying too much. Perhaps letting that dumb crush take over your life was foolish, it wasn’t that much of a big deal. Teens have crushes all the time, how is this any different? The truth was, you didn’t quite know why, but it felt different.

Not to mention that moment in the hall... god, you’d thought about his fingers grazing yours for the whole night. It didn’t exactly help that he was now sitting beside Lily, his gaze lingering on you and a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Yeah, y/n, you’d come,” he said. “There’s gonna be firewhiskey”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you snorted.

“Everyone’s an alcoholic in seventh year”

“Sure,” you turned to your red-headed friend. “I’ll come”

Lily grinned, clasping her hands together. She then left, muttering something about ‘having to prepare the party’, leaving you alone with no other than Sirius Black. You tried to eat your meal silently, keeping your eyes away from his face, but it was nearly impossible when he kept staring at you shamelessly.

You looked up, only to reveal Sirius with his head tilted. There was something in his expression that made him look like he thought you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. The two of you didn’t say a word, letting comfortable silence answer every question for you.

Even though you couldn’t really read him, there was something that told you this silence was more than silence. It was like an agreement between you. What you had agreed on? You weren’t sure, but it felt good. Freeing, almost. And you didn’t want to let it go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The music was sending vibrations through your whole body as it loudly flew out of the speakers. The whole common room was filled with students, there were bodies everywhere. People were dancing, screaming, and singing to celebrate Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin in quidditch.

Someone bumped into you, spilling their drink all over you. You were going to scold him, but the person was already gone. You scoffed to yourself, angrily stomping towards the table you’d previously seen Lily sit at. You were starting to regret coming here at all. Not only did you have to handle Sirius Black, but you also had to dodge all the drunk students that were swaying their bodies in every possible direction.

“This is why I hate parties” you muttered to yourself, spitting down on Lily’s left. She smiled, not even looking at you, bringing her drink up to her lips.

You followed her gaze, only to find her staring at James Potter. Not that you were surprised. The two of them had been pining for each other for god knows how long. You chuckled to yourself as Lily’s gaze met James’. You noticed he was hesitant about coming over when you were there as well, so you quickly fled the scene so they could have some alone time.

You found yourself a new spot, by the tray with firewhiskies, where you quietly drank the alcohol. It was freeing to feel the booze numb your senses and you almost forgot why you didn’t want to come here at all. Almost.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?”

“Piss off, Sirius”

“Ouch,” he jokingly grabbed his chest. “You’ve wounded me”

“Good,” you spat, getting ready to leave the whole party. Your mood was ruined, not because he seemingly annoyed you, but because Sirius had a very irksome way of making you feel things you shouldn’t feel.

He made you feel something for him.

“Leaving already?” He pouted, running a hand through his hair. “We haven’t even had the chance to play truth or dare”

“I don’t care”

“No, wait,” he almost pleaded. “Just one game. For me. Please?”

You really wanted to leave and forget this conversation ever happened, but with Sirius looking at you like that, it was impossible. You sighed in resignation, following your so-called enemy to the middle of the common room.

He was quick to silence everyone and make them sit in a circle on the floor. For some reason, it annoyed you how all the girls sent him flirty looks. Luckily, he didn’t return them, only sent you a small smile, which, completely against your will, turned your legs to jelly. If you weren’t already seated, you’d probably faint.

“Okay, everyone knows the rules, right? The only difference is this time I stole this from Slughorn,” he took out some sort of potion from his pocket. From the triumphant smirk on his face, you guessed it was a truth potion. And you weren’t wrong. “That’s right, folks, veritaserum. Now this game will be more honest than ever”

God, this was taking an awful turn. Yes, now the word truth had a completely different meaning. Before at least you could’ve lied about something you didn’t want to answer, but now? You were forced to actually reveal all your darkest secrets.

But no worries, right? There were at least fifty people here, surely you wouldn’t be chosen in the first few rounds. Right?

Wrong.

“Y/n, truth or dare?” You steered in shock at the bottle Sirius had just spun. How were you the first one to get chosen? Did really life hate you that much?

You could see he was amused. His eyes had that glint of mischief in them, and he was grinning widely. “Uh, dare”

No! No, no, no, what had you done? Yes, if you’d chosen truth, you’d have to tell someone a secret, but now Sirius, of all people, was the one to decide your fate! Oh, how you wished he’d have mercy and dare you to jump on one leg or braid someone’s hair.

But that was just wishful thinking and you knew it, just as you knew Sirius. And his mischievous smirk only made you more certain. He wasn’t going to go easy on you.

“I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in this room”

And that’s when you freaked out. Your hands were full of sweat and you hoped to his no one saw your heated up face. Your lower lip quivered and you were almost sure you’d start crying.

Surprisingly enough, your behavior didn’t go unnoticed by Sirius, whose smile had faded at your reaction. Instead, his eyes filled with worry and he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the common room. You vaguely heard some people complain, but Sirius ignored them. All he cared about was getting you out.

He stopped in the hall, turning to look at you.

“Okay,” he began. You opened your mouth to apologize, but he put a finger on your lips. “Shhh, you don’t have to say anything. It’s okay, I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to, y’know”

You were taken aback by his words. He didn’t seem much of an apologizing person. Perhaps he didn’t mean it? But his gaze told you that he wasn’t joking, not his time.

In the heat of the moment, you offered him a smile. “It’s okay. I just didn’t want to kiss you in front of everyone”

For once, you were the one to make him flustered and confused. He opened his mouth to say something, yet nothing came out. You... thought he was attractive? You, who he’d been so annoying too, like, forever? Realization spread across his face. Perhaps you didn’t hate him after all?

“You can kiss me now”

“Keep dreaming”

The smile you sent him made him feel weak and he could slowly, but surely feel himself falling for you. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew he’d do anything to get that kiss from you.

TAGLIST: @rorysreallyrandom @swanimagines @lxncelot @emmacata @i-cant-stfu @sirius-animagus @jupiiiter @captainshazamerica @iamninaanna @amortensie @theravenclawgal

FIC REVIEWERS: @amourtentiaa @slutforsalvatore @acosmis-t @iamninaanna @coffee--writes

[thehomothings]

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

[a-libra-writes]

Could you do 🌸💤 for Cersei Lannister please

sure! lets get some ladies up in these requests. im adding two more emojis bc they were also requested and I wanted all the Cersei in one place :>

🎭 Jealousy HC

Oh boy.

Cersei is fiercely jealous. There is no arguing this, and if you catch her in a good mood, she’ll admit it with a smirk. 

She has a generally jealous personality, but it’s much stronger when she’s in a relationship. It can border on possessiveness, but she does understand that as a woman, you have all sorts of irksome lords and knights clamoring for your attention. Luckily, she’s the queen, so she can take you by the arm and dismiss them with a smile, if she’s feeling generous.

If not, they’ll get a taste of the venom she’s so excellent at spitting... then it’s right back to a smug smile to you. You think she really likes driving men away from you. 

You noticed she only gets jealous of your female friends when they do something that she likes doing for you. Examples are your hair (“Is this what she calls a braid? Let me do it.”) or helping you dress (”She ties the laces too tight. Turn around, I’ll fix it.”)

Real talk, if you were friends with a handmaiden or lesser lady who was being too friendly for her tastes, she’ll put in a few words here and there to make the girl’s life miserable. You have a reputation as Cersei’s favorite, and any women trying to suck up to you to get to the queen are in for a rude awakening. 

💤 Napping HC

Honestly, Cersei doesn’t have the best sleeping habits. She really could benefit from a midday nap, considering how late she sleeps and early she wakes up, but good luck convincing her to do it. She thinks it would be an absolutely lazy thing to do, and she has so much to do!

But there are some days where you can tell she’s utterly exhausted, so you have to get a little creative.

When you two her intimate, she only sometimes dozes off afterward, and it’s not for that long. You know Cersei struggles to be so vulnerable, so she tries not to fall asleep, even if she’s clearly cozy and curled up in your bed. 

In the evening, when she’s more prone to staying awake late, you can cuddle and kiss and convince her to at least lie in bed with you. You noticed brushing her hair and massaging helps her fall asleep, even when she’s angry and wound up.

When she does have a catnap, she tends to curl up. She likes having lots of pillows, and curls her feet up in her long gown. If you’re with her, you carefully remove some of her hairpins so she can sleep better. She actually looks sweet, with her long hair tumbling over the pillows and an oddly peaceful expression on her face. She always looks peaceful when she’s sleeping.

She doesn’t mind if you fall into a nap in her private parlor or room. It’s a good thing - it means you aren’t with anyone else. She’ll snap at a servant to bring her extra pillows and blankets so you’re cozy. 

🌸Kissing HC

You learn she has a variety of kisses at her disposal. For one, she’s never given you a quick peck or sneaky kiss in the middle of a deserted hall. Her kisses are only for when you two are alone, and they’re meaningful. None of this light kiss business.

The exception is when you’re both in court, and a lord is being too forward. She hates that, you know it, or if a certain Lady she knows has eyes for you is being presumptuous. That’s when Cersei kisses your cheek, but it’s all she can get away with. Any more and she pushes the boundary of a Queen and her primary lady in waiting. She likes to do it when you aren’t expecting it.

Her default kisses are the passionate kind. This is because she has so much bottled up throughout the day, when you both are finally alone she just lets loose and has no shame in expressing what she wants. Cersei prefers to be the one grabbing you and bringing you to her, the one holding your face and biting your lips and neck - she likes to be the ‘dominant’ one. 

She isn’t always like that, though. When she’s feeling especially depressed or bitter, she wants to be the one kissed and held. 

She really loves using tongue and biting; when your lips are red from her actions and not your lipstick, she’s pleased. She especially likes it if you’re more of a shy type that gets flustered from all the attention.

She’s not willing to risk too much affection in halls and empty rooms, unless she’s positive it’s safe. When she takes you to Casterly Rock (because she will take you anywhere she has a whim to go), she’s more bold.

💋 Intimacy HC

She’s a woman who has used her sexuality since she was young, and she knows what she likes and wants. Truthfully, it was your appearance and body she noticed first. She wasn’t able to talk to you for some time, so she admired that before you two were able to meet properly. 

The first time you’re intimate with her, she goes straight to giving attention to the parts she likes the most. You can tease her about it, too; it’s so obvious what she likes based off the dresses she gives you, or the ways she suggests you do your hair or wear necklaces.

Cersei herself has always been admired for her hair and breasts, so she assumes that’s what you like, too. She’s surprised if that isn’t the case, and more surprised by how attentive a lover you can be. She’s … not used to that.

If you’re someone who puts her pleasure and needs first, she finds herself getting a little addicted to it. It’s a tossup if she wants to be in control, making you cry out and beg her for it, or if she wants you to take care of her completely. It’s rarely both in a single night: Someone has to be submissive, someone has to be dominant.

She changes her opinion on this the longer you’re together. The same with cuddling afterward - what’s that? She’s used to men saying the stupidest things, wanting the stupidest things, so if you just want to sit and enjoy her warmth, it takes time for her to accept it and be comfortable.

She loves leaving as many marks as she can - scratches on your back, hickeys on your neck and breasts and thighs. She loves it even more if you don’t cover it up completely and you have to sputter excuses to people about what happened. She’s fine with marks on herself, but she’ll always cover them up. Every day she’ll ask you to kiss it better and make it up to her until the bruise fades.

She potentially has a lot of stamina, but you know there are times when she’s exhausted and should sleep. Cersei hates being told that. If she wants to be with you, she’s getting it, damn it … Even if she falls asleep right after because she’s slept so horribly the whole week. That’s when you tuck her in and blow the candles out.

[danddymaro]

Taking things Slow | Steve Rogers x Reader

Could she really love a second time?

I’ve had this idea for so long. 

- Hints of Steve x Peggy, as well as bits of reader x (former lover).

Word Count : 2328

Taking Things Slow

The cold air’s embrace smoothened her as she stood outside on the balcony, gazing up at the star riddled sky, wondering if somewhere up there, there was a twinkle that looked down at her with fondness.

“Is it wrong?” She asked out loud, asking the stars for an answer.

“Should I be feeling this way?” She added, staring up at the glimmering orbs as they decorated the night,

“Would you forgive me?” She then uttered, smiling with melancholy as she let her heart speak, wanting to hear an answer back.

Attentive to the night, and much more the memories that came forward, she didn't realize that there was someone else that couldn’t sleep, having been intent to do just what she had, having his own questions in mind until he came across  her.

She was quick to turn at the sound of her name, the breathy utter making her crash back down, because the man that now stared at her was the very one that made her feel all of the dreaded guilt,

“Steve,” She said back, staring wide eyed at him, wondering just how they managed to always cross paths, even while she’d made it her mission to evade him at all costs.

“(F/n),” Steve said softly, stepping closer to her after the single utter of her name, doing so by moving slowly, almost like he was stepping over thin, cracking ice that would give in at any minute.

All the while, she looked at him with a wavering glare, her lips pressed together firmly, effectively stopping the bottom one from quivering as much as it wanted to, because she was sick and tired of crying, detesting how easy it was for her to break down, even after so long.

‘ You always find me.

you’re always there...

so by now, you have to know. 

You already know...don’t you?

Haven’t you had enough?’ She mused with the same irksome pain.

“So…” She started in a breathy tone, miserably trying to steady herself, “ What now?” she spoke quietly, sporting a crooked smile, forcibly drawing out a pretended, inconvincible expression of joy, because she didn't know what else to do.

she didn't know what to say, or even how to look at him anymore, and if that wasn’t bad enough, she didn't know how to feel about him.

- And that was the part that struck her worse.

Within the confinement of her chest, there was something there for him, something that felt like it was gradually invading more space until it was the only thing there.

She knew there was something there, yet, she wasn't sure just what to do with it.

There was an anchor chained to her heart, and the guilt she felt caused her to stay put, not ascending any higher than she should, especially with him.

Because she couldn't have fallen in love… not a second time.

She didn't want to believe it, because she'd had her first love already. she had her first story and though it wasn't finished, she didn't want to open another book.

She simply couldn't.

She refused to live happiness that she knew was supposed to be with someone else, no matter how lovely the promise seemed to be. 

She felt like a traitor, a disgusting cheater that was turning away from promises she had made with someone else, even if they weren’t there any longer.

‘Sometimes,’ (f/n) started, swallowing down largely, ‘ Sometimes, I don’t think of you anymore,’ She spoke silently to her lost love, hoping he’d forgive her for doing such a thing, because it contradicted every promise of love she’d uttered to him.

‘And it hurts so much...’

“- (f/n),” Steve said again, not saying anything else but that alone and it aggravated her to no end.

It bothered her that he said nothing more than her name, because, the way he said it, the manner in which he spoke to her, furthermore, everything about the man made her heart jump.

He made her feel happy even when she was supposed to feel guilty as though, somehow, what she was doing was right.

“ - I understand just how you feel,” he said gently,  “ I know more than anyone how hard it is, and to put it simply... I feel the same way about you.” He continued on, deciding to put an end to thier shared pain.

'NO...NO...NO...' Her head shook, and she pressed her teeth together harshly, grinding them against each other as she took a step back.

“ what do you know!” she questioned him, harsh pants resonating from her, angered by his words, because he couldn't possibly know what she felt. The words of sympathy didn’t easer her, and instead, frustrated her further.

‘You have no right,’ She thought icily, ‘Just who do you think you are?’ She went on.

“What do you know Steve?” she repeated, her voice cracking, the woman so close to tears she shook.

‘How could you ever understand?’ She asked herself.

As he looked at her, his face melted, but instead of growing down south it softened into a gentle melancholy and in his eyes, his beautiful crystallize drops, she could see something else, something that had decided to come out and tease her with their small glimmer, drawing her more towards him.

And the further she continued to gaze at them, she recognized the blue gloom.

Drawing her near was a surfacing of sadness, something that came with loss, and she recognized the sight, pairing it with a recollection of somber nights and true, heartfelt grief, because it was the same look she had the day ‘he’ had died.

It was the same look she wore when she was alone, staring at her haggard reflection, asking herself,

‘ why?’, furthermore wondering if there’d be a day when she could wear a true face of happiness that was meant to show her inner soul, and not please everybody else.

He quieted down, taking in a hearty breath before smiling, and though it was obviously forced, he continued with the expression.

His right hand then reached within his pant pocket to take hold of a small compass, holding it out to her to take, appreciating how tenderly she touched it because the single item meant a lot to him.

staring down at the old, worn equipment she was puzzled before she opened the thing, soon greeted by the picture of a woman in black and white, 

‘Who...who is this?’ She asked herself, gazing down at her image with interest, not recognizing the face.

“ Her name was Peggy Carter,” he said softly, saying the name in a loving manner that was dusted over with sorrow, it being the same way she mentioned her own past love, and at that the (h/c) haired young woman brought her eyes back up to the man, looking at him as though she were meeting him for the first time.

"it's been years... too many years since then, and even then, I still think of her.” he admitted. “ the time I spent frozen, it felt like sleep for me. it felt like a nap, really.

That’s what it was for me...just a pause in time. " he explained, " but while I was gone, time didn’t stop for everyone else.” he said before sighing, “ she remained here, and she lived her life. she had her children... her husband,” he said quietly, the last word being said with notable struggle, because it still pained him.

And by then (f/n) felt her gradually heart sink, her earlier words biting her back with vengeance, because she’d barked at him about how much he couldn’t possibly come to understand her pain, all while he had been living through the ache already, all while in silence.

‘Why did you never say anything?’ She wondered to herself, wondering just how he pulled through, having collected himself so much better than she did.

” - she lived that life without me and it's not like I blame her. I could never blame her because I will always love her.

Regardless of everything, I will always think of her, and I will always remember her that way,” he added. "Besides that, I'm happy she didn't wait. I'm grateful she moved on, finding happiness that lasted her much longer than the bit of joy we felt together during our time." He voiced out. 

“ she’s still around, but she doesn't remember me anymore, and every day that I go and see her now, I meet her once again, and it breaks my heart,” he confessed with a shuttered breath. 

“ it makes my heart ache because I'm too far past the time where I can sit down and I can talk to the Peggy that I knew.

The Peggy that lays in that bed belongs to someone else, and I hope that even if she forgets about me each and every day, she remembers everything she lived with her husband, who I hope gave her everything she deserved.

I'm years too late and I know that nothing can reverse time. And, yeah, I know that I shouldn't keep thinking about it.

I know that I shouldn't keep holding on to her in the way that I do, but it's hard not to,” he admitted.

“ it was hard not to think of her every time my heart bounced, because I instantly thought of her as a natural response, and then I’d  imagine her just as she was a long time ago, absolutely stunning.

Her perfect hair, her wonderful smile… her gorgeous eyes. Really, I could go on and on.” he said chuckling.

“ Everything about her was lovely.” He summed up,

“And her voice, I could hear it when I slept. I could hear it when it was quiet, and sometimes, I would catch hints of it when the wind blew, because, I always had her with me,” he said before taking a chance and stepping forward.

“I thought it was going to be that way forever," He confessed, “ And then I met you..."He told her, and as he said that, her heart stilled. 

" I met you, and slowly everything that reminded me of her began to shift and I found myself thinking of someone else besides her.

Believe me, I felt awful... I felt like I shouldn't be doing that, like I should always be thinking of her instead. Like, I should always hold on to Peggy, and that by doing otherwise, I was stepping on her memory in the most insulting way I could.” He declared.

“ I tried to distance myself from you, but then, I was just stuck thinking of you even more.

It all happened before I could stop it. 

By the time I realized what happened, I was too far gone to go back, and well, I don't know exactly how you feel about me, but I can tell you with certainty that what I feel for you is love.” he said to her, brazenly speaking, holding nothing back.

“(f/n), I'm in love with you and as much as it pains me, it also brightens me to a point that I actually feel happy, not just momentarily, but possibly permanently.

I've fallen in love with you and  every day that goes by, I feel like the feeling in my heart, that pounding in my chest grows.

it grows the more I'm with you and when any of us tries to pull back, it burns. it feels like something's being pulled in there to the point that the entire damn muscle is getting torn through the act.” He explained, perfectly describing to her the same feeling that eventually led her back to him.

" I know you're afraid. I know you're confused and I know you don't know what to do anymore because quite frankly, I don't know either. " He talked, running his hand through his blonde hair, his frustration showing with the action.

“- But I am certain that when tomorrow comes I want to be able to see you. I don't want to go forward without telling you this.

I don't want to continue on living without admitting to you that I have fallen so deeply in love with you that I can't let you go.” He confessed.

“ I won’t... “He stubbornly added. “ Because I don't want to spend a future lamenting over something else. I don't want to ever live through that again,” Steve said with certainty.

"So I’m taking the leap. 

- People don't always get these types of second chances and I feel lucky. I truly feel like down at the end of the line, it’s you and me. And I'll wait. I'll wait as long as it takes for you to accept it.” He said while looking at her with promise.

she looked at him, her eyes soaking with tears, soon falling down her face in two thin rivers,

‘ It’s love.’ She told herself, ‘It’s taken me so long to just admit it... but Steve...I...’

“I love you,” She breathed, “and It was almost at first sight,” She told him, letting the truth slip through. " I love you,” She said again,

 “- But...I'm not ready," she said shakenly, " I’m not ready Steve," she added, shaking her head.

‘I’m still not ready to do this,’ 

"- It takes time," he said with understanding . " And I don't see myself with anybody else but you, so I’ll wait for as long as it takes,” He admitted, and at that he held out his hand to her, giving her the time she needed.

Looking down at the warm, inviting palm she moved, holding onto it with desperation after all of the initial hesitance.

“ We can take things slow,” He told her, pulling her in and holding her dearly, and while it took her a moment, she melted, soon finding comfort in his body, living through the embrace with  what felt like the promise of happiness, as though the best was yet to come.

[cowboypossume]

At This Moment

so! this is inspired by this post by @theunmappedstar which means we need some credit baby !! so Bon Appetit

Summary: Fitz is a model, Keefe is his makeup artist, and after a big fight Keefe still has do his makeup because it’s too late to reschedule. 

Pairing: “platonic” keefitz 

Trigger Warnings: cursing, and let me know if there’s anything else

AO3 Link: here <3

Fitz had been a world famous model for years now. He could have gotten anybody to do his makeup, but he always insisted that Keefe did it. Keefe knew his work was good, sure, but he never understood why the world famous Fitz Vacker insisted that he did the the makeup for all of his shoots. Of course, Keefe would never turn down the chance to get Very Close to the model’s face and notice all of the little details on it. Like the splash of green hidden in the deep blue in his eyes, the tiny freckles right below his checks, the scar hidden on the boy’s hairline from acne, and Keefe’s favorite, the tiny smile that would appear when Fitz looked in the mirror when he finished the makeup look. Obviously he knew these things because it was his job to.

At this moment however, Keefe wished nothing more than the Fitz to not have assigned him to this shoot. He wished he didn’t have to stand in front of the door that he’d just closed and face the model he’d gotten into a huge fight with. Both of them were angry and said things they didn’t mean, which only fueled that anger. He wished that he didn’t have those few minutes alone to regret everything that he said. And now, his pride didn’t want to be alone with the model and apologize, although so much of him wanted to. He wished that he could just leave, but they couldn’t reschedule this shoot. They’d been planning this one for far too long and there were far too many other people involved. Besides, they’re both legally adults, so they can put aside their personal problems for a bit and just work, right?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Fitz angrily snapped.

Keefe gestured to the bag in his hands. “I have to do your makeup, remember?”

“Is there anyone else who can do it?”

“Look I don’t want to be here either but everyone who can is on set working and it’s too last minute for us to call in someone new. Besides, they already paid me.”

“Fine just do it quick.”

Keefe walked over to the dressing room mirror and started setting up. He’d done this before, a million times before, but at this moment it felt wrong. This didn’t feel like the warm environment the two of them normally created. They didn’t create the summer day kind of warm, though. The two of them seemed to share the kind of warm that resembles a hug from the person that you’ve hugged countless times before but gets better every time you’re together. Their warm environment felt comforting to the other with the stressful environment of a set. At this moment, there was no warmth or comfort. There was only the silence that filled the air between them with anticipation.

“Well, you know the drill.” Keefe said pulling out the final set of brushes. As Fitz sat in the chair, Keefe was reminded why he absolutely despised the model in front of him: he was the definition of the media’s version of perfect. He didn’t have bags, or acne, or anything that wasn’t good enough to go on a magazine cover. It made Keefe’s his job a hell of a lot easier, but it made Keefe despise him. How did someone manage look like royalty without any help? If Keefe was honest, the boy in front of him didn’t need anything to make him look like a movie star, but Fitz always wanted to cover up the freckles, so Keefe followed the request with concealer. Also, he needed to add some designs to fit the theme of this photoshoot, floral.

Wanting to avoid Fitz’s eye for as long as possible, Keefe started to sketch the outline carnations and gladioluses across his cheeks. As he gently held the model’s chin and cheek underneath his fingers, the stiffness of Fitz’s body reminded him of their first set. When they first met, it was one of Keefe’s first sets. He tried to break the silence with a joke, which lead to conversation. By the time Keefe finished the makeup, the two boys separated, finding themselves oddly excited for the next time they’d see each other. This moment, however, felt more irksome than that first meeting. Now the two of them were, well the two of them had grown up with each other. That first set they were both so young, and as they grew into themselves, the other person was there. They felt like they had a relationship, whether it was best friends, friends, or good colleagues, they trusted each other. They felt like they knew each other inside and out. Keefe got to see the man under the model, and Fitz got to see the makeup artist without the cover up.

Fitz slightly moved his head which lead to Keefe focusing on where the flowers sat on his face. Fitz had worked as a model long enough to move without messing up the makeup despite it still being a work in progress, and it still amazed Keefe every time. Keefe grabbed the paint that wouldn’t cause Fitz’s stupidly perfect face to break out and started to fill the carnations with a coffee cream white and the gladioluses with a shades of red and orange that would make a romantic movie’s sunset look dull in comparison.

Normally Keefe and Fitz would talk about nothing and everything during this time, but they weren’t. At this moment, Keefe was left alone with his thoughts which were just screaming ‘This Was Wrong’, and they weren’t lying. This wasn’t their normal, but Keefe didn’t know how to fix it. Could he? He wanted to. He wanted to fix the relationship with the only friend he had, but words typically failed him. He wasn’t good at words. He was charming with them, but he couldn’t say what he needed to. He couldn’t make his words serious, so relationships would normally fizzle out because of that.

Keefe’s negative thought spiral went to a screeching haunt when the nearly finished gladiolus in his hand was had a streak of a tear on it. A tear from crying? Wait it was a tear from crying. Why was Fitz crying?

“Wait, why the fuck are you crying?” The fear in Keefe’s voice made that question way more concerned than the angry tone he intended.

“This feels wrong.”

Keefe handed him a tissue. “Push this under your eyes and make the tears stop while we talk through this. Bloodshot eyes will ruin the photoshoot and you better not ruin the makeup. What feels wrong?”

“This” Fitz gestured between the two of them. “Us. Being mad with you feels wrong. Because I’m not mad at you. Or maybe I am? I just-. Right now my life is completely changing and not talking you just,,, feels wrong. Not just because it feels different, it,” Fitz paused to find a way to describe the way he felt. “Do you not feel it?”

Keefe walked over and kneeled next to Fitz and looked directly into the eyes that still looked amazing despite the fact they were full of tears but not yet covered with a layer of pink. He gently took the hand that Fitz wasn’t pressing away the tears with. “Of course I feel it, but now’s really not the time Fitzy. Come find me after the shoot, ok? I need to finish the flowers and start on the eyeliner and we only have 20 minutes until the other people need you.”

Fitz looked at himself in the mirror and the stupid tiny smile -that Keefe knew would ruin the lipstick Fitz would be wearing if this shoot needed it- appeared a little wider this time. 

“These are my favorite flowers.” He said, clearly wanting to touch all of them. There was a small gleam in his eyes that only showed up when he felt extremely happy. Keefe was the world famous Fitz Vacker’s makeup artist, it was his job to know the model’s face. They were friends, and Keefe didn’t need to ruin another friendship with something stupid.

So, Keefe grabbed a paintbrush as he said “I told you before Fitz, I have a really good memory, and I wouldn’t forget something about a friend.” He restarted the flowers and didn’t catch the disappointment in the model’s eyes at the lack of a nickname and the word ‘friend’.

[sol-luminosus]

Same verse as that of ‘Creep’. Happening first chronologically before they ended up on the hallway. Only that this is a Hananene version.

A look into Amane’s own point of view of love.

Title: Lego House

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

Pairing: Hananene

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T

Chapters: 1 (One-shot)

Summary: And out of all these things I’ve done, I will love you better now.

Yugi Amane was captivated.

It coiled and coiled and turned in the very expanse of his chest, gripping his heart so hard and so intently that he was positive his chest would burst into a thousand pieces at any given minute.

 Nene was gazing at him questioningly, tilting her head of glittering silver locks so a few strands would cascade and slightly obscure her face as it waterfalled and framed the edge of her cheek.

He’d resisted the urge to tuck the stray pieces at the back of her ear.

Just by a moment’s brave surge of will to control himself.

Amane simply answered her concerned expression and previous barrage of questions about his well-being with a gentle smile, hoping that his beguiling expression would be enough to ease the worries in her mind.

He could tell however, that his strained effort had failed, given by the way her brows had furrowed further in a mixture of what seemed to be annoyance and worry from having something clearly hidden from her.

Indeed, the eyes were windows to the soul.

His in that very moment, must have been filled with desperation and longing. Perhaps at least surely, only those two emotions had leaked out.

She couldn’t have seen it, he was positive.

He’d never let her see it.

The clear and vulnerable emotion of love he’d tried so hard to will down and forever entomb in the very depths of his heart. It screamed so deafeningly, almost numbing his senses at times and making him forget of the actuality of things.

That he was dead and Nene wasn’t.

That his future was long gone with his wishes to remain rooted to where he is now as the only thing he should cling to,

That he had let go of his dreams to fly to the moon a long time ago.

A few decades which oddly, seemed to span for as long as an entire lifetime.

That at the very least, he knew he had the power to alter Nene’s fate.

So that he won’t drag her to the same empty abyss that he had long accepted to be irrevocably submerged in until the day he’d received his judgement.

This journey to redemption was and his alone. It will and would have nothing to do with her.

For a moment, he was sure his heart had swayed. When she’d regarded him with those iron-willed gems for eyes expressing her desire to live her life the way she wanted with a lifespan that could barely be a fistful, Amane just couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her. She’d called out to him—reached out with those two hands clasped together as if in a fervent prayer.

The same position as she had back when she’d first summoned him in the bathroom stall.

And all the while, although it was her own wish that should have nothing to do with him, she’d undauntedly declared that she would no matter what, journey to the moon together with him.

He knew he’d seen them before. On that very night however, they’ve shone and glimmered much more blindingly than they’ve ever before. The stars in her eyes had enthralled and bewitched him so that at that moment, he was certain he’d forgotten about anything else for a split second.

That he wasn’t the infamous Honorable No. 7 called Hanako-san.

That he was simply a child burdened with a sacrifice far too heavy for him to carry than what his small shoulders could have handled.

That he was just Yugi Amane, a socially awkward teenager who was in pieces and had eyes which reflected an unsettling amount of wisdom for his age.

And she was just Yashiro Nene, a girl with her head up in the clouds in search for dreams of true love and a promising long life ahead.

But he’d only forgotten for a split second.

How he’d wished, that he could’ve told her with all the honesty and transparency that his resigned heart could offer, that he was content enough with seeing the entire universe in the depths of those two luminous, ruby eyes.

Those very eyes he’d come to love ever since he was just at the tender age of nine all those years ago in that festival.

“Hanako-kun, what’s with you today? You keep spacing out for no reason and there’s clearly something wrong. I’m not going to stop prying unless you tell me—“

The sudden boisterous noise of the bathroom door swinging open and slamming on the wooden wall had both of them jumping out from their positions.

“Oi, Hanako! This is bad. Nii-san is out on a rampage right now because the mokke are running wild in the student council office. He’s talking about ‘exterminating all spirits’. What if he goes after you during his crazy fit?”

The golden specks in Amane’s eyes had turned dark with mischief, hovering over to the loud intruder in the name of Kou with a teasing expression and fingers touching his lips in a bid of mockery.

“Oh, what’s this? You’re suddenly so worried about me? Could it be? Are you in love with me?”

The blonde haired boy had reddened a dusty shade of pink from both shock and embarrassment, before the bellow of his voice had come booming in a strong effort of denial. “I am not, you crazy apparition! Maybe my brother’s already tried smacking you before I came here that’s why there’s suddenly something wrong with your head. In the first place the one I love is sen—“

His sentence had been cut off none too curtly, with an audible slap of skin ringing through the four corners of the room from having a palm slammed flatly over Kou’s mouth, effectively silencing him down. The leader of the School Wonders could barely show any sense of sympathy for the exorcist’s angered protests from the evident pain of having his teeth graze and split the skin of his lips.

“Oh, look at the time. Shouldn’t we hurry over to this mokke massacre you were talking about?” Amane had animatedly declared, glancing over to the wrist of his free arm where a nonexistent watch was strapped.

Kou had struggled to wheel away the hand clasped so tightly over his face. If he’d had the sense to be as livid as his brother would be in situations like these, then he’d be absolutely convinced that Amane had actually tried to suffocate him just to get him to stop talking, with the sheer amount of pressure he’d used reminding him far too irksomely of wood glue.

“What are you saying? We haven’t been here for long. In the first place we should hurry up and think of a strategy firs—“

For the second time on that afternoon, Kou had found himself being stopped midway of his musings, only having to have realized then that Nene had been in the bathroom all along. His eyes had grown wide with startlement, before having the familiar creep of a blush climb its way back up to his face with the difference in shade ten times as strong compared to the previous flush of color he’d donned just minutes earlier.

His dimwitted self which entirely lacks self awareness had almost confessed to her indirectly and in the middle of a bathroom of all places. Nene had only stared at him with an exasperated expression, a combination of what was obviously that of displeasure from the two of them bickering nonsensically and the urgency of the situation which they were very, very clearly stalling at that moment.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right! Let’s get going already.” Kou had laughed nervously to himself, the embarrassment hiking further up in his throat with his voice clearly about two octaves higher than normal before speeding up and out first out of the bathroom.

“What the heck was that about? Is there something wrong with my face?”

“Other than still looking human and not resembling a radish yet, I think you’re perfectly fine.”

Nene had turned to him with a brief look of irritation, before harshly spearing him on the head with the sharp ends of her hair pins.

“Hmph, stupid Hanako-kun acting all weird and suddenly calling me a radish, again.” She’d grumbled in frustration under her breath, with an injured Amane cradling his head in his palm and having his complaints about Yashiro’s ruthlessness ignored to be whisked away by the wind.

In the midst of his half-heartedly hurt reverie, his thoughts had peddled back to Kou’s would-have-been confession, noting how easy it was for him for the words to flow and cascade from his mouth.

And he was certain that had he been not there and the setting at the very least, had been somewhere that wasn’t as peculiar and off-putting as a bathroom, then the blonde boy would have not hesitated. He could picture him perfectly in his head, the words which Amane had kept from spilling running freely with his heart completely exposed and in its rawest for her to have as her own if Nene would willingly accept.

The very thought of her responding and reciprocating his feelings had caused an unutterable amount of fear to brew in Amane’s chest.

For he who was nothing more but a sham that could merely falsify and imitate what little of his memories could correctly recall as ‘life’, Kou was the living, breathing counterpart to his lies—someone who actually had the ability within his reach to promise her happiness.

He knew, and frankly, he didn’t really need to be reminded.

It was never a competition from the beginning.

And Amane was neither a willing contender.

His eyes in the shade of a precious mineral had darted on her back, watching with a somber fondness as the slope of her slight shoulders further sagged from her dipped mood exclusively caused by him just minutes prior.

Amane’s stare had narrowed in a sentiment of strangled affection, one that he was absolutely terrified for anyone or anything to ever decrypt from him.

“Maybe just for a little while. If it means I can keep you, I can stay in love with you for a little while longer.” The words had gone out and died in a whisper, coherent but with every syllable surely indistinct enough for anyone other than himself to understand.

She’d whirled her head around in query, certain that she’d heard him speak but not quite catching his words as she’d been lost in her own embittered sighs and grievances over the grating spectral being.

Amane had simply smiled at her, that same tenderly lonely smile he’d given her earlier that day when they were in the bathroom.

And Nene had only felt the same sting of emotion she’d felt back then as well; puncturing and aching yet beckoning her to him at the same time.

Creep: (Same verse/Tsukanene version)

[lokidrabbles]

Tea Time II (Loki x Reader)

Part One

After eons, I’ve finally completed my second part of this! Thank you all for your past support!

Loki comes to visit the reader late at night to follow up on a certain promise (Gender Neutral Reader)

Nights became lonely in your small New York abode. At this point, you were not just expecting Loki’s fluctuating company, but you eagerly were waiting for his arrival after you had managed to follow through with what he had asked long ago.

Yes, it might have been stupid and a tad artless, but you took heavy consideration into creating a melody of chamomile, raspberry, vanilla and other carefully crafted flavors for the one Prince of Asgard. After many trials and failed taste tests, you achieved in concocting a flavorful drink to easily soothe the soul. You knew damn well Loki would criticize it to no end, commenting on how ‘bland’ it must taste. However, simply having him keep you company was a reward in itself.

You mentally smacked yourself. Pathetic. You were acting like a high schooler, overflowed with hormones and stricken with puppy love. You cursed at Loki from the beyond as well. His unexpected and prolonged absence caused you to grow wistful and yearning for his presence. In all honesty, it was only a few weeks. Yet, for the first time in a long time, you noticed how lonely you had actually been when he wasn’t around. With Loki there, exchanging banter and demeaning your ‘mortality’, at least you had some type of company.

You mentally smacked yourself again. Stop. Get a damn dog and get over it.

You figured he must have been sent on some assignment or mission. Or have traveled to another realm or planet. Probably far and long away from New York.

It couldn’t be helped.

---

No one should be woken up this way at 4:00 am.

A loud thundering crackle, loud enough to shake all of the homes and buildings in your block, jolted you awake, heart heavily pounding in fear. Bright, rainbow colored lights flashed from right outside your window, sending a loud ringing in your ears. You immediately covered them with the palm of your hands, eyes dashing back and forth in utter panic. What in the world-

The sudden halt of the otherworldly phenomena stopped with an lingering echo, and you swore you heard a faint thud right outside your door. Then, silence.

You could only hear your shallow breaths as you awaited for something.

A doorbell ring.

You remained seated in your bed, analyzing whether you were in the middle of a bad dream or if in fact, someone had just rung door bell in the dead of night.

The doorbell rang again, repeatedly, with much frustration in each ring. A strange feeling hit you. There was an insanely high hunch towards who was right at your front door, and your lips began to twitch at the notion.

You sprang and scurried over to your door, as hastily as someone who had just been woken up could. As you unlocked and opened your door, a familiar sight presented itself. Indeed, this must have been some dream.

“Good morning!”

There before you stood the infamous Asgardian prince, unrealistically chipper, waving his hand swiftly to offer a brief greeting.

A million thoughts ran in your head, mostly trying to process whether Loki was actually standing in front of you or whether you were still having an extremely lucid dream. You stood, mouth agape, unable to fully put together a sentence.

“What? Surprised to see me dear?” He said, smirk plastered on his face.

“Loki?” Loki!” Your eyes became large and wide, as if reality hit you just this split second. “Are you kidding me? You wanna wake up the whole damn neighborhood?”

“Ah, travel through the Bifrost is always a tad loud. Didn’t think it would cause that much ruckus.” He feigned innocence, probably knowing damn well it would cause you to be on your toes.

“What do you want? It’s very late.” You asked while rubbing your eyes.

“Why are you always so rude, aren’t you going to invite me in?” His arms were crossed while he tapped his foot irksomely.

“Oh, pardon me, I usually don’t have multidimensional teleportation bullshit things wake me up at 4 AM!” You whispered loudly.

“Well, aren’t you glad I woke you up early then?” His smug tugged at you gruesomely. Loki nonchalantly made his way into your doorway, taking in the scowl on your face with much satisfaction.

“What can I possibly do for you at this time of the night?” You retorted sardonically, locking your door behind you.

“Ah, just thought I’d had a quick stop to wind down before I have to return to report to that fool Stark. As much as it is assuring these Avengers aren’t going to throw me prison, its a bore having to be around them.”

Loki comically flopped himself onto your couch, kicking his legs up onto your coffee table in total comfort. Who’s being rude again?

“How tragic.” The sarcasm was deep in your response. “So instead of following through with your community service you wanna play hooky with a half-awake human.”

He wagged his finger towards you. “Not just that. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little promise to me.”

Of course you knew exactly what he was insinuating, but you weren’t willing to admit you had waited day after day once you had completed your stupid little tea project.

“What are you on about?” You feigned.

“Don’t jest with me (Y/N), I know you’ve prepared something for me.”

This was something new to you. In the number of times Loki had come to invade your privacy he never displayed this level of playfulness. His voice was sugary sweet and it traveled through the air and into your heart. Magic perhaps, or maybe he was just messing with you.

You sighed. “Give me a bit so I can boil some water. But after that, you need to let me sleep.”

“Oh, and some pastries or sweets would be nice as well.” He hummed, leaning on your sofa and placing his hands behind his head.

You felt your eyebrow twitch. “You want me to rub your feet as well?”

“That won’t be necessary at all dear. Perhaps till next time.”

You rubbed your temples, again, attempting to piece everything together and understanding just what the God demands of you. Firstly, because you were beyond irritated at his bold assumption you’d be waiting hand and foot for his arrival even in the dead of night. Secondly, because he assumed right.

“You literally traveled at light speed just to bother me I bet.” You muttered, making your way into your kitchen to just do exactly what he had expected.

---

You meticulously placed a small spoonful of the mixture of dry leaves in a strainer, plopping it accordingly in a teacup of steaming water. For a minute, you lost yourself watching the flavors seep out into the water, stuck on the thought of how Loki had literally just returned from outer space, possibly from another planet or realm.

And his first stop was here, your home.

You understood how vulnerable Earth had become, and how other worldly threat could literally happen at any point. You supposed part of the ‘responsibility’ Loki had on Earth was to ensure it, along with the other realms, were in balance and safe from harm. The details would still perplex you, but it was better to leave that to the actual super heroes.

However, the thought of Loki traveling far, far away to face danger and risk his life bummed you out completely. It sucked, but he had managed to become at least a little something to look forward to during these past months. The loneliness was becoming incredibly overrated, and a part of you felt Loki was just as lonely too.

“Someone in your thoughts?”

You slightly jumped as Loki intruded on your thought process.

“Uh, no. I’m just still half-asleep. No thanks to you.”

“Ah, I was actually thinking you had fallen asleep over here in your kitchen. You were taking a while.” He said as a matter of fact, seating himself in one of your kitchen chairs.

“You know after this, let’s just make a house rule to have no visits anytime after 10pm, hows that?” You grumbled, knowing your irritation only fueled him even further.

He chuckled. “Very well, you have my word.”

You set the tea steaming cup on your small serving tray, along with some expired graham crackers you managed to dig out from the back of your cupboard.

“M’lord.” You bowed absurdly, kneeling in front of the prince and offering him his second rate tea and stale crackers.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t appreciate the satire here. But thank you my loyal servant.”

The moment of truth. You sat across the table from him, watching closely, ready to expect the absolute worse to happen. You were actually a little proud of what you had developed for him, and it would have made your entire day (morning?) if he ended up enjoying it.

You twiddled your fingers under the table, watching the God take a gently sip of the warm drink. You inched in even closer, your eyesight focusing on any notable sign of disapproval on his face, maybe on his eyebrows or on his lips. You felt your heart beat slightly increase, the adrenaline waking you up.   What was this feeling? Anxiety. Dread. The worst of the worst would absolutely happen.

He looked up at you and almost spat out his tea. Not because it tasted horrible, in fact, it was quite good, but because you looked like a lunatic with your eyes wide open and hair frizzed up, and a look of extreme concentration even he couldn’t match. You looked ridiculous. It was hilarious, indeed.

He coughed, holding back his laughter. He could have almost choked and died, but was able to swallow before any other damage could be done.

“(Y/N), you can’t look at me like that.” You pouted, all the energy dropping from your face. “If you don’t like it you don’t gotta be mean about it.” You swore you were about to cry.

“No, no. It’s not that.” He said hesitantly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “It’s just you...look absolutely deranged watching my every move.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Oh, pardon me. I usually spruce up before I’m scared awake at 4 in the fucking morning.”

He wagged his finger at you. “No need to use that foul language. But yes, sprucing up would be nice.”

The mischievous and quick witted nature would always best you in some way.

“Whatever.”

Loki took another sip while you mused over the efficacy of having him around. “The tea is delicious, I give you that. Nothing compared to that dreadful stuff you gave me last time.”

You felt your insides start to burn up. There was an immense weight lifted from your shoulders, and you felt a great sensation of what was...happiness. This is what had unfortunately created a longing for Loki.

It wasn’t just about filling a void or filling a space so you wouldn’t feel lonely anymore. Plenty of others had presented themselves to you with prospects to start a relationship or something along those lines, but none like him. There was genuineness in these moments, in his voice,  and in these conversations. Sure, he was the God of Mischief and Lies, and this should have given you a sense of wariness with him, but you weren’t completely stupid about it. Loki was as interesting and as real as you would have wanted someone to be. Something like this, sharing tea at 4 in the morning in your sleeping gear, was a moment to cherish.

And he was unbelievably handsome as well.

You both spend a couple of minutes talking about tea flavors and such, comparing your favorite against his favorite and continuing to berate him for intruding in your home at an ungodly hour after spending weeks away without any sort of notice. Loki assured you there was not much to ponder about his travels across space and dimensions. He described it as a dull experience since he had to restrain himself from parting away with ‘protocols’ and such. However, he did go off on a tangent about Tony Stark and his hate for being referred to as ‘reindeer games.’ You admitted he looked quite adorable when he was visibly irked.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, now that you’‘re here.” You began. You assumed the feel of the room wouldn’t indicate anything more suggestive, but you were curious about it for a while.

“Hmm?” He arched an eyebrow, taking another quick sip of his cup.

“Seeing as you stop by at my home unwarranted for, a couple of times now, am I like, under surveillance by the Avengers or something now?”

This was actually an issue you wanted to avoid. Under no circumstances was it ever a good thing to have the Avengers interrogate you or put you in a witness protection program.

“Oh dear.” He muttered, a crooked smile forming on his face. “Is this of concern to you? I could stop if you wanted me to.” “Oh jeez! Am I in trouble?” You asked, genuinely concerned. The last thing you needed was Tony Stark and company on your butt.

Loki rolled his eyes. “No, they don’t have you under surveillance. I don’t believe they know you exist at this point, unless I were to say something on the matter.”

“That’s a relief.” You reply. “To be honest, that’s the only thing that has me on edge. I wouldn’t like to have to confront any of them.”

“Believe me, aside from the amazing super human abilities, there’s nothing particularly interesting about them. I only tolerate and put on a facade for my brother, but its quite a chore.”

“Well that ruins the expectations, huh?” You mused, and he shrugged. You both remained quiet for a minute or so, an unnerving question tugging at you until you budged. “Well, now that I got you here, why do you keep coming here?”

He looked up at you once again, his face expressionless and unnerving. You instantly regretted asking.

“I like coming here.” He stated simply. The look on your face suggested you were unconvinced however, and he continued. “Not a lot of  people particularly enjoy my company. This much should be obvious to you.” He replied, some seriousness in his voice.

“Hmm. Well, believe or not, I actually happen to enjoy your company despite the stress you put me through.”

This was true. You shamelessly admitted to yourself a long time ago. You’d never blatantly voice this out to him, but you realized Loki wasn’t stupid, and he probably knew very well you were attracted to him. What he thought of this however? You were terrified to even think about it.

Still, for him to keep showing up to simply drink your makeshift tea? There was a speck of hope within you that, he too, actually enjoyed your company as well.

“Is that so?” He asked devilishly. “Truly a mistake on your part then.”

You shrugged casually. “Maybe so, still haven’t been proven wrong either.”

Loki leaned his back towards the back of the chair, his arms crossed over his chest, and wicked smile cast over his lips.

“You might want to hold onto those words, human. Not wise on your part to act so comfortably around the God of Mischief.”

“Hmm. Maybe so.” You replied playfully. “Not wise on your part then to be hanging with a human.”

You weren’t exactly sure what you meant by this, but you wanted to beat him at his own wits somehow. He was right despite everything thought. It wasn’t wise on your part to be spending time with him in such an intimate setting.

Right?

“This is true. Yet, I happen to like you unlike most humans.”

Okay. This was an answer you we’re not expecting. Literal record scratch. And to your displeasure and Loki’s ego, you showed it naturally on your face. Cheeks bright red and lips quivering.

Loki’s eyes widened with a suggestive sparkle, teeth bared widely at the anticipation. You knew you had royally fucked up now.

“Oh! Now I see! Does this human perhaps have a fancy to me?”

Oh god. Oh fuck.

Oh dear lord.

You groaned loudly, burying your face into your hands knowing you weren’t capable of looking at him straight in his face anymore. Everything had been spread out openly.

“You need to stop, and leave right now. This isn’t fun anymore.” You muttered through your fingers.

Your ears caught a low chuckle coming from his chest. He had caught you, and there was very little chance of survival now.

“Oh, but it is very, very fun for me. I am just thrilled at the possibilities now, my dear (Y/N).”

You swore there must have been some type of spell he had cast on you. The mention of your name, with the enhancement of dear before it, simply dripped with some type of cruel teasing and seduction. And being a human as such, it felt horribly irresistible.

It made you feel like an absolute fool.

“Why would you even say something like that to me?” You whispered softly, a hint of resentment in your voice. You cursed at your heart for beginning to spasm out of control. You continued to hide your face in your hands, shutting your eyes tightly, wishing this was all still a very distressing dream. You heard shifting, the scraping sound of a chair moving across the linoleum, and the padding of footsteps coming towards you.

You felt long, slender fingers circle around your fists and then grip them softly. Loki’s hands felt cold, but welcoming at the same time. He tugged at them, urging you to pull your hands away from your sheepish face. You wanted to pull against him, hide in your shame forever, have him leave and never return from outer space. This was the best case scenario, but there wasn’t a way for you to avoid this in its entirety. You gave in however, and allowed his hands to pull yours away.

“Human, look at me.”

You opened your eyes, squinting at the brightness in your kitchen, and then fully focusing on him. He was there, his face only inches away from your own, close enough to feel the heat coming from yours. His deep eyes looked rightly into yours, and for the first time you noticed his eyes were in fact not blue, but a beautiful emerald green.

For a moment, you imagined your lips on his.

“Something tells me you’ve been battling with yourself about this matter.” His voice was low and soft.

Your eyes veered off to the side, refraining from looking at him again and resisting the temptation to say something foolish. “Maybe. Don’t flatter yourself.”

"Hmm?” He hummed quizzically. “I am quite flattered however. Usually it’s my brother who woos most of the Midgardian horde. Finally, someone has a more refined taste in men.”

“I can’t believe this is what you’re getting out of this.” You chuckled, slowly pulling your hands away from his. You figured you couldn’t continue hiding it for any longer, so might as well tread through it boldly.

“This can’t continue being unaddressed however. So naturally, I need to take care of this matter.” He mentioned, rubbing his chin in deep contemplation. “Say what-”

“Ah. Wait.” He interrupted, putting a finger on your mouth to shush you. “Hmm. Bare with me, this is new territory I’m stepping in. I don’t want to, uh, how do you say, ruin the moment?”

You smacked his hand away. “Hey seriously, don’t play this game with me if you’re taking it as a joke. That’s just cruel.”

You didn’t need this, for Loki to take this so non-nonchalantly and play you for an idiot. What a terrible way to take advantage of your vulnerable position.

He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Why would I take this as a joke? You know just because I am mischievous like the texts say, doesn’t mean I can’t comprehend matters like this.”

“Because.” You paused, holding back the wave of dread hitting you. “I know...there’s like...no chance.”

There it was. The cruel reality.

Loki, prince of Asgard was a God. He has lived for over a thousand years, traveled a myriad of realms and worlds, encountered incredible foes and adversaries. Loki, master of magic and combat, trickster and genius. Loki, no men were like him. And no human could ever reach towards him.

“What in the Nine Realms are you on about?”

You sighed. “You know what I mean. And for real this time, I think you should leave.” And never ever come back.

You heard a disapproving tsk come from him, but you knew yourself better than to continue hoping for the unimaginable. It wasn’t you being a mope or giving up easily, but just being realistic and safe in the manner. Maybe you could continue as friends in some way, which would give you enough time to bury away any unwarranted feelings. Loki was trouble, and in a whole other playing field.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” You began to pull yourself upwards from the chair, oblivious to the large, gold and horned helm flying straight down on your head.

THUNK

You jolted back down, almost losing balance from the chair. You turned immediately upwards, and your arms and hands jolted up to feel the object now placed on your head. It was heavy, made of metal,cold, and there were two very familiar protruding horns coming out the front side. This was unmistakably...

“Jesus Chri- what is this!” You screeched.

Loki crossed his arms, a very amused look appearing all over his face. “My helm of course. You are borrowing it.”

You shot him a rather nasty look. “Come again?”

“You heard me. Since you want me to leave, I will. But since you’re borrowing this, just know I’ll need to come back for it.”

You took a moment yet again to put all the words together and process what came out of his mouth. Your head wobbled however, the weight of the helm preventing you from forming a concise thought pattern. “Uh...fine.”

You took off the golden helm, placed it on the table and guided him towards the door. You averted your gaze as much as you could, holding against any little temptation to  say or do something completely thoughtless and stupid. The thought remained in the air despite this, and there wasn’t anything definitive answer about what had been discovered. Loki knew you really liked him now, and he would more than likely milk it as much as he could. Was this reciprocated however? Who knew.

“Thank you again for the hospitality. Please do take care of my helm for me, it holds some sentimentality.” He placed his hand over his chest, causing you to roll your eyes far into your head.

“I can’t promise anything.” You retorted, opening your door and motioned outwards. “Now, please leave so I can wallow in misery alone.”

“It wasn’t all that bad, don’t be dramatic.”

“Easy for you to say, your feelings weren’t entirely exposed today.” There was bitterness in your voice. Not towards him, but towards yourself. There must have been a better way to have handled this, and yet, this was bound to end with a sour taste in your mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupi-

The same slender, cold hands holding your wrists earlier now cupped your face tenderly, and they pulled you upwards and close towards the pair of pale and thin lips you had been admiring from afar the entirety of the time. Desperately, you pushed against Loki, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer to you. Your lips were severely hungry and they became too excited, asking for more. You both exchanged exasperated kisses back and forth for what seemed like eternity, until he halted and hesitantly pulled away.

“Not so eagerly yet.” He said lowly in huffs. His eyes were glued to yours, which had become watery and hazy.  “Savor it for a bit more. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

A whine escaped your mouth. “Don’t stop.”

He chuckled and savored the moment for himself. “If I don’t stop, I won’t be able to control myself. Like I said, I don’t want to ruin it.”

You bit your lip, wanting to give in fully into the experience, but you listened instead. He was right. You both would be moving too quickly without looking at the situation from afar. You slowly released your grasp around him, edging backwards to ensure you wouldn’t jump all over him involuntarily. Maybe it would have been better if he had never kissed you at all.

“What now?” You asked.

“You’ll wait until I return, and perhaps we’ll talk about this to clarify some things.” He placed his hand on your cheek, squeezing it gently. He felt you lean into it and slowly pulled his hand back, leaving you wanting even more.

“You’re going to be away for weeks again.” You complained. He smirked. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of answering that.”

He flicked your forehead. “Stupid human. I won’t be gone for too long, I promise.”

And for the first time throughout the whole night, you beamed. A smile formed over your face, as authentic as Loki could ever imagine it to be. One could have argued you both complicated things even further by taking it to this extent. There would always be some negative implications with forming a relationship with a super, or in this case, a being from another world. But this was shoved far into the back of your head, and Loki’s as well. For now, it was all about enjoying the present and whatever time you both could forge together. You felt happy with Loki, and he began to feel a new sense purpose within him.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Dreaming Like Fools

Soulmates meet in dreams and they don’t always come when you want them, but they come right when you need them. 

Michael’s all sold on Odette but Odette has too much going on to be concerned with love quite yet. 

This one is for @5-secondsofcolor​ because without you, I don’t think I would’ve come back to this fic. Happy Birthday, love!!!

Enjoy my masterlist

***No one has my permission to repost with fic, including translations to any other site. © be-ready-when-i-say-go 2020***

CW: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Anxiety. Deals with major health concerns and major surgery. 

She’s falling, breathless, and unsure if her flailing limbs are actually helping her. This beats the running, though, from a shadowy figure. She couldn’t make out what it was, if it was someone in particular. But Odette will take the falling instead of the running. Running meant she had to make choices. Falling just means whatever happens happens and there’s not a thing to be done about it. Running means if she gets caught it’s her fault. Falling is just the grace of physics and a little bit of luck.

Miraculously, she lands on a park bench, in a part of town just up the road from her apartment. Across from her on the other side of the paved asphalt, as the echoes of runners coming and going filter around, is a man in a beanie. Part of his dirty blonde hair is casted over one eye. Neither one of them have words at first. Just gazing. They’re apart, but close enough that she takes is his green eyes and soft grin.

This is not happening to her. She remembers all the stories. The way her parents gushed about their first encounter. The awe and wonder they felt, how they knew they were soulmates for each other. Odette doesn’t buy the hype. Soulmates do not meet in dreams. It is such a ludicrous idea. No one could ever just shut their eyes and suddenly be faced to face with their soulmate. It would never work, she thinks. There would always be some mismatch or that they were falling in love with the idea of love, but not necessarily the full person in front of them.

The soulmate thing makes it all too easy and that makes her hesitant. Would this ever really work? Were people just so desperate to fit in that when it happened they let the delusion suck them in?

“I-uh, guess we’re soulmates?” he starts. He tugs at the end of sleeves, curling the excess fabric around his hands.

“I-I guess.” She can’t quite meet his eyes again. Unsure if this is actually happening to her or not. Her gut doesn’t flutter. Her heart isn’t racing. Everything people said would happen isn’t and she’s sure it’s just her subconscious playing tricks on her.

“What’s your name?”

“Odette. You?”

“Pretty name,” his grin is soft. “And I’m Michael.”

“Thanks.” There’s a lull in conversation. She’s never been great at the small talk and would always rather hide under a rock than deal with platitudes.

Michael just watches her, the way she keeps her gaze slightly averted, flicking back to him every so often. His palms are sweating beneath the fabric. He gets the nerves, the uncertainty of the whole ordeal. There’s no warning, no preview screen that counts down from ten. Michael is slightly positive he’s hallucinating too. Having gotten no sleep the night before and fitfully sleeping tonight, he wants to believe he’s making the whole thing up. But even if he is, it’s a nice dream to have, much better than the panic and anxiety that normally plagues him.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I-I’m not the greatest at talking. I just never know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” Michael offers. “Why don’t we start with something easy.”

Odette looks up. “Okay.”

His eyes twinkle as he tucks his legs underneath himself. As he ponders the subject to bring up, she takes another look at him. His bottom lip is so plump as he tucks it under his teeth. And for a second, she almost can’t believe the thought crossed her mind and she can feel her cheeks warming. “Do you think pineapple belongs on pizza?”

Michael has to laugh at the way her eyes widen, a rich dark brown color that contrasts to the amber hue of her skin. Her hair falls in ringlets around her head, some strands a light brown, others a honey gold. “It absolutely does not belong on pizza,” she retorts, her wide nose wrinkling at the thought.

Michael covers his chest with his hand. “Ouch, you wound me.”

“You’re kidding me?” Her laughter circles around and Michael closes his eyes just to let the sound settle into his ears with no further distractions. “That’s disgusting.”

“It is not. Have you ever had pineapple on pizza?”

“No, why would I ruin the savory of my pepperoni and sausage with the acidity of pineapple?” Odette is immensely grateful for the topic. It’s not anything about her, it’s nothing about all the shit that’s falling apart in her life. She can handle this.

“Pineapple is acidic, yes, but there’s a zest. Nothing quite like the little kick of sour to really make you savor all the rest of it the pizza.”

She shakes her head, curls gently brushing along her face. “You’re an absolute madman.”

Michael can’t help but grin, watching her. “There are many things I’ve been called in my life, a madman isn’t one of them.”

“I’m happy to be the first.” Though it starts out softly, she can hear the irksome buzzing of her alarm clock. “Sorry,” she offers, feeling herself pulled from the bench. Her arms are rising, the bench starts to fall out beneath her.

“Don’t be. It was nice to meet you, Odette.”

“Nice to meet you too, Michael.” He gives a small wave, watching as the last of the park around them filters out of existence. Her body starts to flicker too. Her wave in return is short and when Odette blinks, she’s staring up at the white of her ceiling. She can hear the creaking steps of her upstairs neighbor. She can hear the piercing cries of the baby across from her too. Music thumps against her windows. It’s just freshly seven in the morning and she knows that her day is full already.

It takes all her might to pull out of bed and Odette blinks again, watching herself in the full length mirror. It’s clear with the streaks of sunlight that in the few days since she last cleaned it, dust would always find its way back to the glass surface. With a huff, she pushes off the bed and pads softly into the kitchen. She can hear the clinking of pots. “Momma if you don’t sit down,” she grumbles.

“I am not the child here,” her mother retorts. Odette only stares. There is a ghostlike hue taking over her mother’s complexion. They look more like twins than mother and daughter, but right now as her mother grips onto the back of the kitchen chairs, it’s clear that no matter age, something is still very wrong.

“Just go to Urgent Care, please, Momma,” Odette urges. She hurries into the kitchen, to aid her mother in settling down in the creaky wooden chair. It’s losing its paint, the mint hue cracking and showing the wooden brown roots.

“I’m fine,” her mother retorts, fingers pressing into her temples. “It’s just the lights.”

“You can’t go to work like this.” Odette knows she’s been out of work for the week because of the migraine but it isn’t improving. Now, the addition of how faint her mother looks. Odette worries. Waiting too much longer for something to happen is only going to cause more damage in the long run.

“I’ve been out of work a week. Who’s gonna pay rent?”

It’s in moments like this that Odette wished she weren’t the only child. That someone else was there to bear the brunt of her mother’s wrath. As her mother shouts into the air about bills to be paid, and grocery to get, Odette silently flips over the pancakes. There is nothing to be said. Nothing that will soothe her mother’s anger, not even the hums of acknowledgement that always threaten to scratch over her voice.

As the eggs fluff under the constant scrape of the fork, Odette is shocked that there’s not more anger. There’s usually a whole breakfast full of her mother’s sadness. Turning her gaze, she spies her mother, head hanging on her neck towards her chest. “I’m sorry, baby,” her mother mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

Odette assembles the pancakes and eggs, along with her mother’s morning smoothie in front of her. She presses a kiss to her mother’s forehead. Her lips can’t form the phrase, ‘It’s okay’ or even ‘I understand.’ Instead, she prepares her own plate and eats it near the sink, leaning up against the knobs of the cabinets and into the counter. “You shouldn’t go to work not until you go see a doctor. You’re not getting any better.”

“Someone has to take care of us,” her mother objects softly.

“Like my two jobs don’t mean shit, huh?”

Her mother’s glare is sharp and fierce as it lands on Odette. Odette meets the gaze with a blink. She knows she’s playing with fire. She knows that they are on the verge of breaking down. The walls of their life have been beaten in a storm breeze and they are rattling but the both of them try to keep up appearances. But she’s tired, tired of always tip toeing around. “Watch your language around me.”

There’s still nothing in the way of an apology, no sympathetic downturn of her eyes. No averted gaze. Just the continued blank look and pouty lips as Odette polishes off the last of her pancakes. She wonders if it’s going to take her mother dropping dead too for things to finally click. If she ever wanted to know where she got the stubbornness from, the proof was surely looking her in the face.

Odette washes her plate, waiting for the clink of her mother’s dishes against the counter. “If I go to Urgent Care, they’re gonna send me home. Tell me to rest.”

“Or they might be able to tell you what is going on. Or they refer you to a clinic.”

“And then we’re swimming in medical bills.”

“Then we’re just swimming,” Odette replies. When she turns, her mother’s plate is clear thankfully. So she picks it up, dumping it into the soapy water. “Swimming is better than you in continuous pain, Momma.”

It’s a losing battle. And it always will be, if the last year and a half of Odette and her mother butting heads is any indication. Odette finishes cleaning the kitchen, stacking dishes in the rack to dry while they’re gone for the day. It’s as she pulls the plug on the drain, watching it all swirl down that Odette wonders if one more push, one more attempt to speak reason with her mother is worth it. She never quite gets the chance before the front door opens. “Love you. Have a great day,” her mother calls.

“Love you too.” The door closes, the soft clink of keys on the ring shakes as the lock turns.

Her mother shouts from the other side of the door, “Turn down the goddamn music!” Odette strongly believes it’s not heard over the crooning vocals of Luther Vandross of a thousand kisses never being too much.

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

Michael doesn’t want to call himself a dreamer. Though his track record has proven otherwise. It’s the only way for him to take off in this band, to drop everything and lean into the naivety of youth. But Michael doesn’t really want to call himself a dreamer, though the entirety of his day is spent trying to reconjure Odette. The soft curl of her lips when she smiled. While he was a little hurt at her hard fast stance against pineapple on pizza, he wanted to hear more about the way she viewed the world. From the very brief interaction, Michael was sure she was chalked full of interesting perspectives.

And he really does not want to call himself a dreamer. But it’s obvious as he gets dressed and makes the drive to the studio that maybe his head is a little in the clouds. Normally, there’s not much thought into his attire, but for the briefest of moments he wonders if the all black and baggy attire would turn her off. Does she like more vibrant colors? The thought doesn’t linger long before he realizes he has to get out the door if he’s going to make it on time. L.A. traffic is unforgiving and the last thing he needs is to be late again this week.

“Someone got laid last night.” That’s the first thing out of Ashton’s mouth upon seeing Michael.

Normally, Michael would smirk, maybe even laugh but hold the details close to his chest. At least for the moment anyway. But all Michael can do at the moment is blush, biting at his lip to attempt to suppress the smile. It's futile and the grin cracks, lifting his cheeks and reaching his eyes. “So, I’m like, eighty percent sure my soulmate was revealed to me last night.”

The boys cheer, gently patting him on his back. “Tell us about the lucky one,” Calum encourages, his arm slung around Michael’s shoulders. In an endearing and slightly subverted way, Michael feels like the younger brother under his older brother’s wing. But it’s nice for just a moment to know that no matter what that support is still there.

“I really don’t know a lot. We only met briefly before she had to go. Just her name. And that she does not like pineapple on pizza.” Michael’s not sure how, but he wishes he could convey the way her nose scrunched up at the thought, the disgust that curled her lips down into a frown. The words escape him just at the thought of Odette’s face.

“Gonna be love sick for a while,” Luke teases. He’s been down this road before. Ashton has too. Both of them have made it seem easy and though for them, it worked out well that both their soulmates live in the area.

Michael and Calum had a running joke that they were the late bloomers in all matters of love. Not that they hadn’t attempted to speed the progress along. Both of them have a treasure trove of stories of relationships and dates that all wound up going nowhere fast. But the two of them were sticking it out for the long haul on being the last two in the group to get their love lives straightened out. Soulmates were said to be revealed when the people needed them. Not just when they wanted love. The cosmos always had a formula, always knew what was coming ahead.

“Sorry to leave ya hanging, mate.” Michael gives a small sympathetic smile. Their day’s a little slow to start, as Luke clutches his first cup of tea for the day.

Calum shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He makes note not to remark on how he doesn’t remember many of his dreams anyway. He liked to think there was a chance he had run into his soulmate but just didn’t remember. Now he would be quested with finding them again, the old fashion way. It is something he tried to find solace in, albeit it is dark and morbid.

“Have you made plans yet to meet her?”

“No, not yet.” The group of them walk down to their booth. Luke and Ashton are huddled together chatting away about something, sounds like it’s about the voice notes that Luke has on his phone. “It was actually kind of a short encounter. By the time I was able to get like two sentences out of her, her alarm went off.”

“There’s always next time, mate,” Calum encourages. He nudges Michael’s shoulder again, a sly grin lifting his cheeks.

Michael’s slight laughter comes out in a squeal and with a twinge of indignation. “That’s that look for!”

“Just happy for you; that’s all.”

“That is not the look of someone happy for someone else. But if you say so.”

“What’s her name?”

“Odette.”

There’s a thoughtful pause as Calum nods, repeating the name aloud. “Definitely not a name I’ve heard before. But judging by the way your cheeks are red, you’re smitten already.”

“Am not!” Michael retorts. He knew he could feel the heat in his cheeks and he knew that even though his drive wasn’t terribly long, he passed the time wondering how much of a fight Odette would put up about who controls music. If she’d scramble to eat breakfast in the car as she went about her day, or did she plan enough time in the morning so enjoy it and not rush. Sure, this was all insane to think about, but Michael couldn’t risk anyone else knowing that he did.

Though, there was no real risk at all. Not with the guys. Luke had shared more about his love life and the challenges when he first found his soulmate. Ashton had always been a little reserved about that, but wasn’t opposed to dropping advice whenever someone needed it. So that always left Michael and Calum wondering, maybe even conjuring up more than what was really to be expected. However, that did not stop and could not stop Michael from envisioning the little things with Odette.

Calum’s laughter isn’t loud but the flickering silence of his choked inhales between his giggly exhales alerts Michael that maybe he is not as good as he wanted to be about hiding just how far down the rabbit hole he was going. Things are going to be rough for the next few days, Michael can already tell.

Micheal’s not sure how he finds it so easy to sleep. The normal battle to sleep consists of the fatigue weighing down his eyes but his mind usually finds something to cling onto. Whether it be conscious or subscious, it always lies with him, chattering in his ears. But tonight, tonight is wholly different. Michael climbs into bed, his Netflix already loaded up with anything to attempt to silence the stress. But as he curls up in his sheets, arms cradling one pillow to his head and chest, his eyes manage to flutter. He’s not even ten minutes into the show and everything about sleep is calling out to him.

He’s not sure at first what is happening. There’s a faint roar of a crowd, just a generalized cheering. And soon it comes in closer to his ears. The area around him is mostly dark with a flickering of light. Should he go towards it? There has to be something said about him walking towards the light. And it’s not completely favorable to him either. But maybe just on the other side there’s something. So his feet carry him while his mind tells him he maybe should turn around now before he gets too far down and can’t get back out.

As the light washes over him, he finds himself in a crowd. The faces aren’t too familiar to him. They bustle by without actually touching him. As if he was not actually real standing there. He’s not sure what he’s meant to be doing here, but he carries on, upstream through the throngs of people. And there, just a head is a gate. He can see patches of green, hear the rattle of basketballs bouncing off backboards.

Michael pushes his way up, holding onto the metal of the gate to keep him stronger than the current and when he steps through, it all falls away. It’s just him. In the park. The same benches from before are off to his left and he wanders over. What will he and Odette discuss tonight? Maybe he should ask if she likes hot sauce on her eggs? Or if sugar belongs in spaghetti?

Michael settles in, legs tucked up underneath of him. Every creak of the gate has him lifting his head. At first it’s just the wind. And sooner rather than later, Michael knows he’s willing the door to creak. He wants to hear it so he does hear it. But there never is anyone. There never is a body that floats in to join him that night.

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

Her mother laughs, before turning her head to look at Odette. The intercom comes on again, another droning voice that’s attempting to convey the urgency of the message without causing a ruckus in the middle of the hospital. Odette’s beginning to hate the sound of the machine tracking her mother’s heartbeat. “Maybe I should’ve listened to you.”

Odette wants to say something. Anything. Instead, she stares at the white floor, watching as harsh fluorescent lights reflect off it into her irises. When the call came in at the front end of the store, with several folks in line and Odette trying to clear them out as her supervisor tried to explain to a customer that the return policy was firmly in place, it almost went unanswered. But the assistant store manager had finally come to help her front end supervisor and answered the ringing phone. It forced one of the floor associates to come up and ring while Odette took her call. Leaving in the middle of a customer tirade and a forever growing line would’ve originally scared Odette. It would’ve made her worried that she wouldn’t have a job.

However, after a few years, and now being the only family her mother has left, the last thing she thought about was her job. The first thing she hoped for was that there were no cops on the road to catch her speeding. During the entire drive, her blood thumped in her veins. She felt the ones in her neck vibrating. The only thing she thought: Not her too. She could not lose her mother, not now. Not after just losing her father. She wouldn’t have it. Even if the universe was trying to kill her slowly, she would fight back. Thankfully, when she arrived at her mother’s job at the grocery store not too far from her department store, her mother was still conscious. But barely able to really walk or stand for any extended period of time.

“You have to say something. Not even swearing at your mother.”

“What do you want me to say? I told you so?”

“Something, I just want you to say something.”

But Odette had nothing to say. Truth be told, she is more worried that this could’ve been the end of the mother. The doctors ran some test, counted her hemoglobin. They told Odette, outside with the flimsy curtain between her and her mother, that it’s a miracle her mother was still alive. She had lost nearly two-thirds of the blood in her body. That her mother’s period hadn’t stopped. They’d have to do some ultrasounds too, to see what exactly was going on. The hospital would try to contact her OB/GYN in the morning to confer with them. None of the doctors were sure how her mother managed to get through any amount of time during her shift or how her mother wasn’t unconscious when she brought her in. But yet, her mother was still, against all the odds as conscious as ever.

Maybe, in a twisted way, her mother being unconscious would’ve hopefully scared her mother some more. Right now, they are in hour two of the noted four for the blood to be brought to the hospital. Because this one is so small, they don’t keep things like blood on site and had to order it to be delivered. Once they got all the bags, it would be another six hours before the transfusion would be over.

“It’s bad when you’re quiet,” her mother continues. “I mean, you’ve always been a quiet girl. But you’re too quiet right now.”

“I told you to go to the doctors sooner. But Dad was right. You’d be stubborn until they put you into the ground too.”

“There it is. There’s the little firecracker I raised up.”

Odette slides down even further into the chair. Her stomach growls and she swears it’s at her back, attempting to take in her spine and nerves as nutrients. But she can’t leave her mother. She has no one else to call to even sneak her a snack. There’s a vending machine. She noticed it when she was trying not to panic as they rushed her mother into a room. “Do you want a snack?”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

Odette tiptoes out into the hallway, bouncing the change in her hands. Nurses breeze past her. There is more for them to worry about. More people behind curtains and in rooms that cling to threads of hope. That’s the only thing around her right now, threads of hope. And maybe the fraying strings of her work jeans at her thighs. That’s less of a worry though. At the front of the machine, she glances over the bright packages. There’s Oreos. And honeybuns. None of it will be filling, but at this moment, she needs something to get her through the night, allow her to keep her head on straight.

As Odette rubs her fingers clear of Oreo crumbs, she wonders just how vicious blood must be, as it slugs down the tubes and into her mother’s IV. The bags are a little shadowy, as if trying to hide their contents but not fully committing to it. She doesn��t check her phone for the time. Her eyelids tell her it’s probably too early in the morning of the next day. She can feel them wanting to shut on her, but she keeps them open. She’ll have to call her job. Tell them she won’t be able to come in for the next couple of days.

“Sleep. We’re gonna be here all night anyway.”

“Cookie?” Odette offers, trying to swallow down the bite to tell her mother that she can’t sleep, she shouldn’t sleep. The last time Odette took her eyes off her mother, they wound up in a hospital bed.

“Why not?” She raises a hand as Odette leans up, extending the bag to her mother’s waiting fingers.

The room swells again, more doctors, more machines and Odette slips out of the way, tries to bury herself in the corner for the time being. Now she wishes the heartbeats were louder as the doctor explains, “Your uterus looks what would be the size of someone carrying at three to four months. Which is not good at all. With the way you’ve talked about your cycle and flow, I’m going to have to say a partial hysterectomy is your only option at this point. There are flash procedures but I don’t think they’d be effective at this stage. Not if you’re losing blood like this. Have you had issues with your cycle before?”

“Nothing that seemed too bad. Flow was getting heavier, I noticed. I wasn’t sure what it was. But I don’t--”

Odette steps in, resting a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “This is about your life.” Her mother will riot, complaining about how their insurance probably won’t cover nearly enough for the surgery. Her mother nods.

Odette feels herself slipping, head falling on her neck. The doctor left and her mother held her peace, thankfully about the surgery. There are no more Oreos to share. There are no more silences to hold. Just her mother in the bed. Odette in the chair, head sliding on her neck. And it’s the drop, when the sliding is finished and there’s nothing left to catch her head, so it drops--that’s what wakes her. The mostly still see through bag of blood is still hanging, still letting gravity pull it down and travel up the IV. A nurse shuffles into the room, taking vitals, her voice low but somehow a bit more chipper for it to be whatever time it is. Odette finally looks at her phone. It’s nearly 6 am.

She’s not sure how much she’s actually slept. It feels like nothing at all. It could be because she kept waking, kept cracking open her eyes to verify it was all just a bad dream. But bad dreams don’t beep like this in real life. They don’t leave her phone at less than twenty percent left in the charge. The doctor comes back in again. “You’ll be hearing from us tomorrow, about a date and time for your surgery. It’s marked as an emergency because we need you sooner rather than later.”

It’s only in the car, when Odette slides into the driver seat after getting her mother settled, that her mother raises hell. “How are we supposed to work this out? How? How?”

The tears come. She can hear them in her mother’s voice. She can feel them stinging her own eyes. But she has the road to watch out for. She has traffic lights to stop at. There are no times for tears. The drive’s somewhere between silent and painfully full of noise. Just white noise, the kind of noise that doesn’t need to be sounded out but it’s buzzing just below the surface. Odette white knuckles her steering wheel, trying to keep her mother’s tears and her own worries from climbing up her throat. At least, not right now.

Her mother is slow as she ascends the stairs of their apartment complex. And she barely gets through a shower before Odette tucks her into her sheets. And only then, when the door to the apartment is closed does Odette let the vicious sob through her chest. It’s not fair, it’s not fair. It’s just not fucking fair. She lost one parent. She cannot lose another one. Her neighbors may bitch but she doesn’t care. Her mother needs the rest. She needs the release. So Odette doubles over in front of their apartment, heaving into the creaky wood, and somewhere in the prickle of the tears and sticky mess of snot she thinks she didn’t even get to see Michael. Not that she slept that long or that deeply. Not that she wanted to rely on him, not that she really thought he was real. But a part of her wanted that too, wanted a glimmer of hope to hold onto.

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

“I don’t like this,” Michael says, hooking his teeth into his nonexistent thumb nail. “Was she real even at all?”

“Look, the girls are on it. She was real,” Calum returns. Michael paces in front of him. The sun is high. The afternoon is warm, but not unbearable thankfully. It’s been five days since the last time Michael saw Odette. Calum’s doing his best to keep Michael preoccupied. It’s hard because at every pause, even if it’s between trying on shoes, or while Michael contemplates which headset he should get or while the console countdown for their new match, Michael ponders Odette. If she’s okay, if she was real. The what if’s keep getting grander, more involved, more terrifying in some ways. It reached a point where Calum begged Luke and Ashton’s girls to do some digging, see if any Odette’s matching Michael’s description popped up anywhere.

Granted, their investigations only began fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t have a last name so Calum’s sure it’s a lot of eliminating grandmothers and aunts from Instagram, Twitter, and FaceBook. “You’re going to wear a whole in my concrete. And I really didn’t think that would be possible,” Calum returns, waving for Michael to take a seat. Even if it’s only for three seconds before he pops back up again.

“I’m sorry. I’m probably bugging the shit out of you with this.” The cushion gives enough but the weaved wicker supports Michael’s back as he leans into it.

“You’ve bugged me about way less.”

“Do you think--”

“No,” Calum answers, already knowing the question before it’s finished. “You’re not crazy. You’re just concerned.”

“I mean, like, just a little bit right? For panicking like this. I mean, maybe she’s not even my soulmate. She hasn’t shown up again since then.”

“I hate to break it to ya, mate. But we’ve all got lives. They get a little bonkers. Maybe she’s just tied up right now.”

“I hope they find something. I think I could literally go insane, right about now. If I haven’t gone insane already.”

There’s nothing Calum can say that will make Michael understand that part of his concern is rational. A portion of that concern just shows that Michael cares. Instead Calum offers more distractions. Rounds of Rocket League while they wait for their lunch to arrive and attempt not to look at their phones for any signs of life from the girls about any signs of Odette. It works for the time being but Michael’s worry holds down his shoulders. He curls up on Calum’s couch, an arm wrapped around Duke’s body, the other under his head, and tries not to think about if he fell asleep right now if he’d run into Odette again.

“I’m only allowing the dog cuddles now. But any other time, I’d fight,” Calum teases, lifting his heels to the edge of the coffee table. Their boxes of take out have been trashed already but the bottles and cans still linger on the wood. Their last match didn’t end spectacularly, but they were only down by one goal. Maybe the edge of Rocket League has run its course. “FIFA?”

Michael shrugs, not moving from his fetal position. His feet pressing into the arm of the couch. His head a cushion away from Calum-- it’s how he managed to scope up Duke. Calum says nothing, arms folded in front of his chest. Michael takes his fingers from Duke’s fur and pushes up. His phone rests near his bottle of water. “Don’t you dare,” Calum retorts.

“Just, like not even for Twitter?”

“If you go to Twitter, you’re going to go to the group chat. If you go there and there’s nothing there, you’re gonna be even sadder. I know you.”

Michael doesn’t want to admit that Calum is right but he knows he can’t win in a fight either. So he falls back into the cushion. “I’m just gonna take a nap then. Since I apparently can’t do anything else.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Even though they laugh into the quiet hum of Calum’s house, Calum still worries. It’s the middle of the day. They have no clue what she does for work, so if she's sleeping now or not is really a shot in the dark. His own phone hasn’t chimed with signs of anything from the group chat. He can’t tell Michael to never sleep, to never shut his eyes if he manages to get proper and good rest, knowing how much sleep evades Michael on a normal basis. Maybe it’s irrational to hope for Michael to find her in his dreams right now. It’s really all they have. It’s all Michael has. So even if it’s crazy, Calum watches Michael for a second with the briefest prayer to the universe that Michael finds her on the other side just for peace of mind.

There’s no crowd for Michael this time. He spots the metal gates. He hears the creaks of the backboard, the bounce of basketballs on the concrete and he struts right towards it. He can see his bright pink sneakers in his peripheral vision under his body, carrying him towards the grass and concrete and wooden benches. This is how it’s gone for the last five days. Him walking right up the gates, settling onto the park bench and just...waiting. He waits with knees bouncing, and dragging his hands over his face.

But this time, as he nears, he spies the ringlet curls. The dark brown hair. Her amber skin. “Odette,” he whispers.

There’s no way she should’ve heard it. But her head snaps up and he can see her red eyes. He jogs over, sliding onto the bench next to her, taking her hands into his. “I tried pineapple on pizza,” she confesses. Her voice is hoarse and he wants to ask what happened, where she’s been. But he’s more shocked that she’s right in front of him, that she remembered their first conversation. “I still stand firm that it does not belong on pizza. But it’s good on pizza. There’s a huge difference.”

Besides himself, Michael chuckles. “You can fight me. It does belong on pizza. It has a rightful spot amongst, cheese, veggie and pepperoni pizzas.”

“There’s a reason that speciality pizzas exist.” She unravels his hold of his right hand, but threads her fingers through his left one. “I guess this is a real thing.”

“I absolutely lost my shit not seeing you for five days. Is everything okay?”

There’s a simple headshake, her hair bouncing with the movement. “No.” It’s just one word. But it falls from her lips in a whisper and she doesn’t look up at him. Her broken voice hits Michael in his chest. It almost feels like someone’s reached into his body and snatched his lungs from him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he returns, waiting for his brain to figure out the next step. Does he comfort her? And if he does, how?

“I just want a break,” she says, lifting her head and looking out, where the empty bench is across from them. “I just want a goddamn break.”

“Where are you right now? I could come by, drop you off some food if you want. Or whatever you need.”

“It’s okay. Thanks, though.” She just sits, silently watching out. Her fingers brush over his and Michael tries not to think how perfect her palm feels against his. He tries not to think too much how she kind of slides into him, the way she presses into his side.

“You sure? I wouldn’t mind.” Yeah, and he wouldn’t mind maybe seeing her in person, just so he could lay his real eyes on hers and know without a shadow of any doubt that she was real.

“I appreciate it.” Silence settles around them as they lean into each other, hands and fingers intertwined. Michael’s not sure what to say, what he can do. So he just sits, holding her hand. Maybe it’ll be their thing. Like no matter how bad it gets, no matter what’s going on in the world all they have to do is just reach out and take each other’s hand.

Michael wouldn’t be able to tell anyone one the silence breaks and when he’s left that park bench and finally finds himself face first into Duke’s fur again. When his eyes open, though it’s bleary, he can see the TV flashing, players running across the field. Calum’s up a goal. He hums, before pushing himself up, head falling into the back cushions. “Ah, he lives. I was worried there for a second.”

“Shockingly,” Michael replies with a small tuft of laughter. “I saw Odette.”

Calum glances away from the screen, to see the half smile on Michael’s face but it’s quickly clouded yet again with concern. “How is she?”

“Not good. We just sat there really.” Michael runs a hand over his face, partially to wake himself up. In part to hide and even suppress the hot flash of worry that rises on his cheeks.

“She tell you what’s wrong?”

Michael is quiet. Duke’s paws as he climbs down the sofa and over the hardwood floor to his water and the clicking of the controller under Calum’s thumbs and fingers are the only real sound for a moment. Michael exhales. “No, she didn’t tell me anything.”

Calum knows that tone, the frustration that bleeds into it. “The girls have posted what they found in the groupchat.”

Michael surges forward. His bottle of water, only a fourth full, wobbles at the weight slammed into the table. Michael, holding himself up mostly by his elbows, unlocks his phone and finds the thread. Your girl hides herself pretty well. But here’s what we found. The next few texts are links: one to Instagram and the other to a FaceBook page.

“She is real,” he sighs, after the page loads. Calum pauses his game, taking a gander at Michael’s phone too. The pages are private, but the profile picture is very clearly Odette to Michael. There’s no doubt about it.

***********

I hope you don’t think this is too strange. I just wanted to reach out. Let you know that if you need anything at all, someone just to sit with IRL I’ll be there. Take care.

Odette saw the message the second it came in, while sitting alone in the waiting area on the second floor of the hospital. Her mother’s overnight sitting between her feet. Michael. She wasn’t even shocked that he managed to find her on social media. Anyone with half an hour to kill could do it. But this message makes things even more real. It’s not just some guy that appeared out of nowhere in her dreams. It was a guy in a band. A successful one, she would give him that. But a band, with enough traction that would just cause her more panic than good. If she allowed herself just two seconds, if she let her think about what could be, she knew it would have it’s own challenges. She’d have to navigate the limelight, the prying eyes. She doesn’t like anyone in her business as it is

Timing is terrible, she concludes. Even if she wanted to pursue anything with Michael, she still had her mother’s health in near shambles and that would take precedence over everything else. The message sits behind the locked phone and two swipes and a tap. It’s been six hours now. Her mother now settled into her room. She’s woken up once or twice, mostly with a soft hum, but nothing major to say. Odettee sits curled up in the chair, watching the machines, the TV above their heads plays the news.

I appreciate it Michael. Everything’s kind of crumbled right now. I’m sorry if I’m hard to reach. Thanks again.

Her phone doesn’t even sit face down for longer than a few seconds before it shakes again. Another message. I understand. Just want to help. His icon pops up again with another message beneath it. I know it sounds crazy but I just really care. I’ll do whatever I can.

She closes her eyes, tears stirring behind her eyes. It’s not even Michael’s message. It’s the goddamn hospital. Her father in surgery, her mother in the ER, her mother in surgery. She hates this place. It makes her stomach twist up. She always thinks she’s going to be sick when she catches a whiff of stale sterilization and white walls. She hates it here. She hates her mother having to be here. She hates that her father took his last breaths but they couldn’t be there. They couldn’t comfort him.

And there’s no one else. There’s no one else to take her place. There’s no one else to take this burden from her. “Don’t cry.”

Odette wipes her face with the backs of her wrist. “Rest, Momma. You need it.”

Her mother hums, turning her head into the pillow again and within a few seconds, she can tell sleep has overtaken her. Her mother’s face is not her own. The carbon dioxide is still bloating her mother’s cheeks. It was needed to increase visibility but now Odette’s sure if she were to take a finger and poke a cheek, her face would just deflate. Her mother would just flatten and disappear into the sheets.

She covers her face with her hands. She enjoyed sitting with Michael. He didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t press her. But she didn’t have time for love. She didn’t want to become her mother. If her father was still alive, her mother wouldn’t have thought twice about going to the doctor’s sooner. Odette didn’t understand. Her mother was stubborn. When things looked like they could get worse, when everyone else was warning to just cut ties, her mother would hunker down and see things all the way through, even if it was to a bitter end. However, when it came to her father, there was hardly a fight. If her father said jump, her mother hardly asked how high before pushing her body up into the air. They were somewhere between individual people and magnets. One of them was never too far without the other.

Now her mother is just running herself down. Taking more and more shifts at work. Hardly sleeping. Hardly paying attention to her health. If Odette didn’t know her mother better, she could’ve almost thought that she was doing it on purpose. Of course, there were easy excuses to cast blame on: they still had expenses from her father to take care of, rent to pay, Odette’s student loans. She hadn’t even gotten the break she thought she would with her art degree.

With one less income coming into the house, her father hadn’t retired yet and while his insurance policy covered most of the funeral expenses, it just seemed to be a sinking ship. And Odette wouldn’t let herself get off one and into another one. She wouldn’t let herself be so dependent on someone. At the end of the day, she still had to be able to take care of herself if something went wrong. She doesn’t want to turn into her mother. It seemed so cliche. Everyone fears turning out like their parents. But to lose oneself, to become so intertwined with one other person that the thought of losing them seemed far worse than death honestly scared Odette.

But there’s Michael. There is Michael, creeping into her thoughts whenever she thinks her boat might actually hit rock bottom. She’ll admit it’s nice. She doesn’t have to worry about anything. She doesn’t have to be her mother’s only provider for those quiet moments. He just wants to help, but there was no way he really wanted to get involved with her and her mess. Not when he could have the pick of the litter. Not when no doubt had his own crazy life to handle, though. Michael would be better off on his own ship. Not with her adding weight to it.

She doesn’t see Michael that night. She hadn’t really expected too with how fitful her sleep is. Every hour or so she wakes, checking that her mother is still there, that she hadn’t slept through any emergency. When the doctor’s come in the morning, it’s all smiles. They clear her mother.

“You look tired,” her mother comments. “Have you been sleeping?”

“No.”

“You need to sleep.”

Odette laughs dryly-one tuft of laughter-, pausing as the traffic clears before crossing the intersection and starting north towards their apartment. “I know.”

“Rest once we get home. I’ll fix us baked ziti.”

“That goes against every instruction the doctors gave you.”

“I’m fine now.”

“You’re getting home and you’re lying down.”

“Who’s the parent here?”

“Right now, it doesn’t matter. You’re still recovering, Momma.” It feels like talking to a toddler. Her mother doesn’t want to give up the control that she has. But if she doesn’t listen, it’ll cause more problems than before.

The first two days go well. Her mother does make light jokes of Odette’s cooking but they both know Odette learned from her. Odette stares at her ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off, wondering if she should just see how Michael is doing. The mornings are really the only part of the day she has to herself. At night, when her head hits the pillow, she thinks too much about everything going wrong. Sleep’s always kind of evaded her, but now, it feels tenfold.

Take care. Michael sends it with almost every message. They finally exchanged numbers. He must mean it well, must mean it like, don’t forget about yourself. But Odette’s only swimming and swimming and sometimes she is sinking. She’s not sure when she can take care of herself. But she likes to escape from her real life bullshit by drawing. She’s started taking commissions since she’s been out of work for a week and will be out for at least another one. And sometimes, she lets herself daydream about Michael. Not often and not for long. Because there is always food to cook, dishes to clean, bills to hide from her mother.

There’s a clatter. The distinct sound of metal hitting the floor and filling their house with the tinny and high sounds. Odette flies out of her bed, heart racing. Please let her be okay, Odette chants to herself, throwing open her door and not bothering with putting on pants. And there, in the kitchen, is her mother standing at the sink with a pan on the floor. “Momma.” It’s a warning, soft and a small part of the disappointment dripping into the word.

“Don’t Momma me. Just pick it up please.”

“You have to take it easy.” The pan is returned to the sink, awaiting another scrub.

“I just wanted pancakes, that’s all.”

“I can make you as many pancakes as you want, you know.”

“I’m not old! I’m perfectly capable!” The kitchen echoes with the frustrated shouts of her mother.

Odette, still facing the sink, wishes she could just disappear. “Momma, I’m not saying you’re not.”

“Then just let me make myself pancakes!”

“The doctors told you you’d have to take it easy for a few days. Just relax and I’ll make them.”

“Making pancakes is not going to kill me.”

“No, but you hemorrhaging will. You bleeding out at work or making yourself some fucking pancakes in your kitchen will if you don’t just sit down for a second!” Odette pushes off the counter, facing her mother. The tears are blurring her vision and if she weren’t such a goddamn angry crier, she’d be able to seethe. She could show her mother just how fed up she is. “I don’t know what you want. Do you want kill yourself? Is that what you’re trying to do? Do you miss Dad? What is it?”

The two women stare at each other. Odette feels her arms shaking. Her stomach trembles. She doesn’t know what else to do to help her mother. “He’s just gone,” her mother sobs. It’s the first time outside of the funeral that her mother’s cried in front of her. “That morning I was kissing him, telling him to have a great day and that night he was just gone.”

“He is,” she agrees. “It’s not fair. But Momma, I need you.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Odette knows this is the moment to attempt to console her mother. But what can she say? What can she do? The only thing Odette knows to do is walk over, wrap her arm around her mother and walk them both to the couch. It’s almost unreal. How both of them are just so lost. Maybe it was naive to think her mother would have all the answers. That her own mother wasn’t grieving just like her.

At the stove, Odette dares not a tear to fall into the batter. As the batter cooks, bubbles appearing all throughout, Odette knows she has to get out. She has to have a break. But God, she can’t go too far. She plates the pancakes, even tops it off with a cup of tea for her mother and then puts it onto a tray. Her mother gives her a soft thanks but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she continues on to her room, finding her phone.

“Hey, what’s up?” Michael answers.

“Shit, sorry,” she returns. It’s barely seven in the morning and it was only the gravel in his voice that reminds her that not everyone has the early morning routine that she does.

“No, no, it’s okay. Is everything okay?”

“I should let you sleep.” What Odette hadn’t anticipated was the relief that settled in her chest at the sound of his voice. Since they’ve started talking more readily, they see each other less in their dreams. But it still happens occasionally, especially if Odette hides for a couple days. As if it’s life’s way of reminding her that she will always be pulled towards this person, she’ll never be able to escape them. And sometimes she didn’t mind that fact, but other times it scared her.

“Did you need something?”

An escape. Ten minutes in another universe to let her know if this really was all worth it. “I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that, you know? World’s not going to explode just because you call me early enough to hear the rooster call.” His laughter floats in through the phone a small bit of a squeal, mostly coated in the still gruff grip of hours of not being used during the night.

“It’s not that early. Early, yes. But I didn’t, like, call at five in the morning.”

“There it is,” Michael hums. “The Odie I know.”

“Odie?” Her chest tightens just a little. No one’s called her that since her father. She hadn’t even thought about that nickname since her father’s car accident and death.

“Do you not like it?

“My dad used to call me that. I haven’t heard that nickname in almost two years.” She can hear her own voice cracking. The tears are slipping down her cheeks. “I don’t mind it.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like you’re crying. And I just, I don’t want to make you upset.”

“It’s-it’s okay. Just a lot going on.” Odette works the tears back down, fights to keep her tone even. How many more tears could she cry?

“We can go get breakfast, if you want?”

Her sigh creates a crackle through the receiver. She still hasn’t told him. Still hasn’t let him in fully. She didn’t want to lose herself. But maybe sitting on her bedroom floor, in just a t-shirt and panties, crying her eyes out for who knows how many times in the last two and half weeks, isn’t exactly having herself either. “I can’t go for long. My mom just had surgery and I’m the only one she has.”

“I’ll bring it to you and your mum then. How does that sound?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I probably don't even live anywhere near you. I don’t want you to go so far out.”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter. Sounds like you’ve had a stressful couple of weeks. Please let me help.”

Odette inhales. “Make it lunch and you’ve got a deal.”

“Just give me your address and I’ll be at your door at 12:30.”

“It’s not, the greatest. Where I’m at. I’m sorry.”

“Just send your address and I’ll see you at 12:30.”

Michael texted her at 11, asking what they wanted and ever since then, Odette’s been sitting at the kitchen table. Her mother’s watches TV but Odette will always be able to tell when her mother’s eyes flick from the Netflix playing some romantic comedy to her. They’ve yet to have words outside of discussing lunch. “You look like you’re about to be in trouble,” her mother calls. The neighbors above them stomp about.

It’s then, as Odette finally casts her glance at her mother, that she wonders if she should share the truth about Michael. Would that hurt her mother more? Would her mother think that she’s leaving her too? “It’s nothing,” Odette says, looking down at her phone. It’s just after 12:10, so Odette stands. “I’m just gonna be outside.”

She takes the stairs down to the door and then settles on the curb. The concrete is warm against her thighs. Her old volleyball shorts do nothing to protect her legs from the loose gravel and dirt. Her slides are loose on her feet and she sits, watching the parking lot as cars she knows all too well slide in and out. While Odette truly wished to get the hell out, she didn’t want her mother to think she would up and abandon her.

But she couldn’t stay here forever. She has to go at some point. She has her entire life to live still.

It’s Michael. It has to be because she doesn’t know anyone else to roll up in the white Tesla. Suddenly her hands are a little shaky. As she stands, she quickly wipes her hands on her thighs, crossing the parking lot to him pulling into the visitor spot. Odette only gets as far as the trunk before the door opens and Michael steps out. She can’t lie about it now. She can’t pretend when her heart nearly stops at the sight of him. Real. In front of her. She half jogs the few feet between them.

His arms open, to let her in, a grin on his face. “Hey.”

Odette tucks herself into his chest. “Hi.”

She smells like honey and flowers. Michael would’ve never guessed that combo. But it feels right. It crawls up his nostrils and settles into his chest. He feels almost like he’s at home. Michael fully encases her body into his arms. “Nice to finally meet you. In person,” he laughs gently into her ear.

Odette can’t say anything. She didn’t think Michael was real for a second. But now he’s here and he drove from god knows where to her. “Thanks,” she exhales, her voice shaky. “It means a lot.”

“Of course, Odette. I’d do anything.”

Odette leads Michael up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes mixing in with the thumping music bleeding out from a number of apartment doors and with the laughter that swells from behind closed doors. At her front door, she stops and turns to Michael. “I apologize now for whatever my mom says.”

Michael nods. She works her bottom lip underneath her teeth. “It’s okay.”

Nodding, Odette cracks open the door and her mother is not on the couch. “Fuck,” she whispers, rushing to set the bag in her hand on the table. “Momma!”

Her panic tone pierces Michael’s ear. “In here!” The response comes from deep in the house and Odette scurries deeper into the apartment, pausing at a door right near the start of the hallway.

She hovers outside the door. “Everything okay?”

“Girl, I’m not dead.”

Michael watches from the edge of the open living room space, drink tray still in his hand. “The food’s here,” Odette relays. Her voice is softer and she’s slow to push away from the door. The weight settles on her face and when she walks back to the kitchen table, Michael sees it all. All the nights she probably hasn’t slept.

“What else do you need?” he asks. “And please don’t bullshit me.”

Odette scrubs over her face, collapsing into the chair. “We’ll be okay.”

“What do I have to do?” Michael finally places the drinks down. “I just want to help.” He takes her hand, kneeling in front of her. “Just want to help.”

“Odette hasn’t mentioned you before.”

Michael looks up and for a moment, he wants to laugh. Say that they’re playing a cruel joke on him. But when he looks back to Odette and then to her mother, he knows it’s no trick. They are practically twins. He ought to be used to it, with the way Calum and his mother look so much alike. But it’s always a shock, it appears.

“Michael, this is my mom. Mom, this is Michael.”

Michael stands, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown.”

Odette watches, praying to the high heavens her mother doesn’t say anything slick about the lack of Odette’s warning. Instead, her mother shakes his hand. “Thanks for getting us lunch. It’s very sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome. And please, if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out. Odette has my number.” He bows, a quick dip of his head. “I hope you have a speedy recovery, Mrs. Brown.”

Odette walks him to the door. Michael takes a quick hold of her waist, for one last hug. “Please call me, okay? If you need anything, want anything. Doesn’t matter, call me.”

She nods. “I will.” The door shuts after Michael slips through it and as the bag crinkles to her mother’s hands, Odette rests her head into the wooden door. Michael is actually real and more handsome in person than she ever thought. And why had she been so scared before? Why had she kept Michael at arm’s length? He was sweet. He listened. He cared.

“So, who’s the guy? A friend?” Her mother’s tone drips with the playful tease.

Fixing to keep the smile of her face, Odette spins, back pressed into the door. “Yeah, um, just a friend. My-” It happens. Even if her mother tries to deny it, Odette still sees the slight falter to her smile. There it is. Her mother being in the way. And Odette wonders for just a split second, if it was on purpose. “Just a good friend,” Odette corrects.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, sweetheart.”

“Momma--”

“Eat. The food’s no good cold.” They eat with only the sounds of the TV playing in the background as their only source of conversation happening.

**********

I’m sorry. The last line in Odette’s text. An apology about missing their facetime call, after saying that she picked up a double at work. Michael gets it. Though her mother’s been able to return to work, Odette’s been carrying the brunt of pulling in the bulk of income. They’re not terribly behind, but they are just scraping by. The tensions are rising. The last time Michael called before Odette could even get out a word to him, her mother was shouting in the back.

Michael stares down at his phone. I’m coming to get you on your next day off. We can just go to a cafe or something and talk. Anything you want. Just want you to take care of yourself too. He waits. He shouldn’t expect a response so soon but then he sees the bubbles pop up.

Okay.

What no fight? Not gonna make me wrestle you out of your apartment, throw clothes and walk you out the door?

No fight, it seems when the text message sits for five minutes. And then ten without a response.

Odette’s already standing outside of the apartment complex when Michael pulls in. Her shoulders are covered in a tattered denim jacket. He can’t tell if it’s age or purpose that’s caused the holes. She’s quick to jump off the curb. There’s barely enough time for the car to stop completely before she’s opening the passenger side door. She sniffles, just once, wiping at her cheeks and secures the belt. “I don’t care where we go, just away from here, please.”

Michael suspects a fight with her mother. They seem to be happening more frequently. Michael tries to think of a place nearby, though he doesn’t know the area at all, and is interrupted by the guttural scream from Odette. One moment she’s quiet and the next her sweltering scream fills the car and probably can be heard from anyone on the outside too. Michael doesn’t say anything, just makes sure there’s no traffic and after about a minute she falls into the seat.

“Sorry.”

“You gotta let it out somehow.” Putting the car into gear, Michael continues forward until he’s able to find a spot to pull in, then back out off and then heads for the road. “My place is an hour out and maybe we can just hang out in my backyard. Just get you away from everything for a little bit.”

“I’d like that.” She’s silent for the first part of the drive, minus the few times she unsticks her thighs from the leather of his seats. “Thick thighs save fries but right now they’re not doing me many favors,” she laughs, mostly to herself pulling her thighs up again and readjusting.

“Sorry.”

“No need. I didn’t think these shorts would ride up this much.”

“The plus: easy to clean,” Michael jokes, glancing out of the corner of his eye to her. She smiles for a second, mostly a smirk and shakes her head.

“With this white leather, I don’t think anyone would dare think to make a spill.” They fall silent again. Much less tense than before. Odette, against all better judgement, turns to face Michael. She watches the earrings that dangle and catch the sunlight. His bottom lip is slightly bigger than the top lip. His head bops ever so slightly to the song playing over the radio. She knows about the band. Michael has talked her through countless hours in the morning about crazy touring stories. But yet, she hasn’t really shared much about herself.

“Sometimes I wonder if my dad was still alive if I could’ve left by now. If I could’ve found my break with designing.”

Michael, braking at a red light, takes her hand. “I’m sorry. That has to be rough.”

Odette nods, eyes tearing up. Traffic threads through before them. People turning, people continuing straight down the road to their left. “I hate working retail. But it’s the only thing around that I know I can get steady hours. I was going to try and move out by now. But then Momma got sick. She hardly takes care of herself since Dad died. She’s only got me and if I live, I fear she’d just let herself crumble. I don’t want her to think there’s nothing left for her.”

A couple cars honk. Michael looks up to the green light and sighs before continuing on. He keeps his hand locked around Odette’s. As tires glide, Odette squeezes at Michael’s hand. “I’m scared. I don’t want to break her heart. And if I let you in more, what happens? Do I lose myself?”

“Or maybe you find yourself. Maybe this is your story and if you fuck up, you just fuck up. In the end, if you stay, you’re probably breaking your own heart more.”

Odette sniffles, taking her free and clearing the tears. More well, more tears fall behind them. “Maybe, maybe I am.”

Michael pulls into the driveway of his house. Bringing the back of her hand to his lips, he grins. “How are you at video games?”

“I’m terrible at them,” she answers, voice wavering.

“Perfect.”

“Get back here, Michael!” Odette shoves him, still spinning out from the red shell that was thrown. He can only laugh, still holding onto the gas as his character crosses the finish line. Odette yelps as she’s hit with the flame from an NPC’s fire plant. “This is so unfair!”

She crosses the finish line in eighth. From the coffee table, her phone buzzes again. Another call, they both can tell by the way the shaking is consistent and long. It’s the sixth call since they got to his house. Who knows how many times she ignored the calls while she was in the car?

“You gonna answer that?”

“When I get first place, I will.” When she glances over to Michael, she can see the slight concern in his eyes. “I thought we were getting better, my mom and I. I thought that we would make progress. But she knows. I never said you were my soulmate and I didn’t have to. She knew.”

“We can do Moo Moo Meadows. It’s a chill map.”

“Oh, the cow is so cute! Please don’t utterly destroy me on this map again.” She looks up from underneath her lashes, a pout on her pinky and pouty lips. Michael’s not breathing. It all left him in a blink. “What’s that look for?”

Shaking his head, Michael turns back to the TV. Now’s not the time to be wondering how she’d taste on his tongue. “Nothing, nothing.”

Her fingers are soft on his chin, nails scratching just a little at his beard. Michael falls into the touch and turns to her. “No, what was that look for?”

“It’s not appropriate right now.” He doesn’t miss the drop of her gaze to his lips. Maybe it is appropriate. Now seems as a good tune as any.

“Try me.”

He leans in, slowly, centimeters at a time until their noses brush. Odette tilts her head and their lips brush. Just for a moment and Michael pushes in for a deeper kiss. Inhales that are sharp and lips that are almost bruising for something more. Odette pushes up into Michael, hand resting on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat.

“I still have to kick your ass in MarioKart,” she teases, pulling back just enough to speak.

Michael, hands now kneading at her waist, his remote fallen to the coffee table. He can only smell her hair, her lotion, only Odette. “If you think that you can beat me, you’re insane.”

“Then call me insane.” Her exhale is shaky and her fingers still clutch the soft black t-shirt.

“Okay, Miss Insane,” Michael laughs before they share one more kiss.

Perched on the kitchen island, Odette watches as Michael slides the omelette onto the plate. They placed a bet, the loser had to cook. With the winning combination of a Bullet Bill and three red shells, she managed to overtake Michael in fourth to finish third in the last race. He still placed higher than her overall in the tournament. With her breakfast for dinner handed over, she grins. “Thanks.”

“Bets are bets. I’m just still so shocked that you beat me!”

“It was only the one lap though.”

“Hey, no,” Michael interrupts her bite, lifting her chin. “None of that. One lap is still pretty crazy considering I am the King of video games.”

Odette snickers. “Yeah, okay, King.” Michael takes the fork, cutting a piece off. “Hey! That’s my victory omelette!”

“It was my hard work!”

Feeding Michael another piece, she smirks. “All you had to do was ask, you know?”

Michael grins around his bite, standing between her legs. He could get used to it. If he let his mind wander and he didn’t think too hard about the challenges of her home life. He could get used to her just being around, playing video games with him. Hanging out late at night, watching the stars maybe if they couldn’t sleep. “Stay the night with me?”

Odette sighs, setting the plate down next to her. She can’t stay the night. That’s too much too fast. But she can tell Michael is gone, hook, line and sinker. She couldn’t give in fully. Not right now. Sure that could be a thing that would ruin her and this, but for right now, until she figured out what to do with her mother, she can’t give in just yet. “I have work in the morning. And I doubt you want to be up at 5 in the morning trying to get me back across town.” It’s not a lie either. She does have work in the morning, but she has mid shift not the opening shift. Either way she should get home tonight.

“Of course, of course, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be. There’s still the rest of today. We can hangout. Do whatever. Do nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

********

“It doesn’t matter, okay, Michael. It’s okay.” Odette reaches in the dark for her jacket. Her keys are in the pocket. She knows because she remembers leaving them in the pocket, thinking she’d retrieve them in the morning. Sleep is still trying to shut her eyes but the panic in Michael’s voice shoots adrenaline through her veins. His sentences barely come out coherent, attempting to apologize for waking her in the middle of the night. “It’s okay. I’m on my way, okay? I’m on my way. Stay on the line with me. Can you do that? Can you stay on the line with me?”

“Ye-yeah.”

“Good.” Finally with her jacket in her grasps and the slides on, she tiptoes down the hallway. The front door creaks open. Of course everything is louder in the night and it sounds like she could wake the whole neighborhood. But even if she did, she doesn’t care. Not if it means getting to Michael. In her car, she fumbles to get her keys straight. “Do you need me to pick up anything?” Her phone rests on the popsocket holder attached to her air vent.

“No.”

“Okay. Just stay on the line with me, baby.” The entire ride Odette keeps a tight knuckled grip, trying to think of everything under the moonlight to keep Michael’s thoughts occupied. She tells about her failed adventures in dancing, at least with classical ballet. She talks about trying to convince her parents into letting her have a dog. But that never flew. Pets were just too expensive. They were like having children and her parents couldn’t afford that. “If I could have a dog,” she continues, “I just would never stop adopting. Or fostering. I would just constantly need a new dog in the house. I could never be the crazy cat lady. I’m allergic.”

Her rant continues as she listens for Michael’s soft exhales or hums to let her know he was still listening. Was this letting Michael in? Or had she already let him in and this was just hte first time she was noticing it? Because her heart would never be at rest until she laid eyes on Michael and saw that he was okay, or as okay as he could be for the anxiety that was wreaking havoc on his brain. Maybe that was the thing about soulmates, maybe you didn’t really have to let them in. They had the key already.

At his house, she scurries up to the front door. Phone still carrying the time of the entire 45 minute drive. “I’m outside.” In the dark, she’s not sure she could find the spare key and return in without leaving it obvious. So she waits, praying and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

By the time Michael gets the door, he all but falls into her arms. She pushes to get into the door, closing it behind them. They only make it as far as the couch. Michael curls up into her chest, body still shaking and the tears still hot as they fall onto her chest. She didn’t even change out of the camisole, merely threw on leggings and the jacket before climbing into her car. “What’s going on? What do you need?” Odette asks. Her nails trail over his scalp.

“It’s just...hard,” Michael sighs. “I can’t shut off my brain right now. Some days it’s easier. But now it’s just hard. It’s like I can’t trust myself. I don’t trust myself.”

She hums. “I’m sorry, Michael.” They stay on the couch. Michael curls up in her side, and she keeps her hands trailing, up and down his back, humming. She’s never considered herself a singer, having only sang in the church choir as a young child. But that’s all and it only lasted for a few years. But she keeps humming, keeps filling the air until she knows Michael has fallen asleep.

Michael wakes first. His limbs feel like they’ve almost been detached in a couple places. But when he cranes his neck and sees Odette, he gasps. Her hair is wrapped in a scarf, the brown curls pooling at the top of her head. He can’t even imagine the time of day it is. It’s bright from the windows though. “Odie,” he starts softly. His voice is hoarse. His chest aches just a little. He remembers when the thoughts first started racing, all he could think to do was call her. “Odie,” he tries again.

She hums, arms tightening for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Let’s go to the bed. It’s probably more comfy.”

She nods, slowly pushing up. Her jacket is still on. She didn’t have a thought about it once she saw Michael. Now, it falls to the arm of the couch before she follows him down the hallway. In his bed, she pulls him back into her, kissing his forehead. “I’m always here, you know?”

He nods. “Thank you.”

When he wakes again, he can hear a hushed voice. Odette’s not in bed with him. “He needed me, Momma.” It goes silent and Michael shuffles down the hallway. “I’m not--I’m--Listen to me! He needed me. And that’s final. I did what I had to do. I can’t bring Dad back, okay? I can’t bring him back. I can’t make things better. But if Michael needs me, I would fly over the fucking moon. It doesn’t matter what he needed or what I would have to do, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But frankly, I’m 24, Momma. I’m an adult. I have to live my own life.”

Michael can see her, pinching her nose. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty. He just needed someone to talk to, to help him calm down. Odette spins, her jaw dropping when she spies Michael. She hangs up the phone, striding from the living room. “No, no, I know that look.” She runs her hand up his chest, bare without a shirt.

“I don’t like you fighting with your mom.”

“Mom and I are always going to fight. But if you need me, it doesn’t matter. You call me. Dead of the night, middle of the evening, crack of fucking dawn. You call me, okay?” Michael can only nod, taking her hands into his. “I can cook if you want. Or we can order in. I’ll let you win in Mario Kart, yeah?”

“Oh, you will not let me win in anything. It’s I who let you win.”

“You sure about that? Sounds like a lot of talk but I don’t see nothing backing that up.”

Michael glances across the way, to the clock. It’s nearly ten. Too early to call in for lunch just yet. “Two tournaments before we get food. We’ll see who comes out on top.”

It’s no question as Odette settles down that Michael will win both. But she’s happy to see him like his old self for the most part. He still settles in super close to her and when they wait, with the TV just playing for the food to arrive, he curls up in her side again. She knows the storm hasn’t left completely but they’ve caught the eye of it. They’re settled for the moment being and she’s happy for it.

Odette returns, only after making Michael promise to call her for literally even the smallest thing, to her mother sitting at their kitchen table. Hanging up on her mother wasn’t the smartest choice. But Michael didn’t need to hear her arguing not when he had his own anxiety and issues causing him turmoil.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me like that again,” her mother seethes, finger tapping on the wooden table to emphasize her point. “You let me know where you’re going!”

“Michael needed me. I’m sorry.”

“Just leaving out in the middle of the night. What if something happened? What if you got in a car accident? I would’ve never known. I can’t-” the emotion chokes her mother for a moment. “I can’t lose you too.”

“Don’t make this my responsibility. Don’t become the saint now when you literally almost took my head off because you didn’t want to follow doctor’s orders after your surgery. Momma, in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been at each other’s throats for the last six months. Every time we turn around, you’re on me. You’re ranting about bills and keeping afloat. I am sick of being your punching bag. You’re really going to lose me. I can’t bring Dad back and I can’t stay under your wing forever.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Her mother stands, crosses their living room. “If you go, there’s no one else.”

“Momma, I’m always gonna be there. But I can’t. I can’t stay here. Michael was right. It may break your heart to see me go, but can I keep breaking mine? I love you, Momma. I do. But I’m suffocating.”

Odette doesn’t know when her mother will accept that. Doesn’t know when that will finally make sense to her mother. But at this moment, it’s a relief to get it off her chest. To finally stop tiptoeing this subject. This apartment is just too small for the both of them. Odette can’t fix her mother and herself at the same time. She is not a miracle worker.

But after leaving her mother standing in that living room that Odette knows she has got to change her life around. She has to move out. Find her own place. Start somewhere fresh and new. She’s started to get more commission work, mostly help with logos. Occasionally, she gets asked to help build the work for a website. Odette knows with everything that’s been going on, she hasn’t necessarily given as much time as was needed for this craft. But maybe now, maybe now things can start looking up.

*********

Micheal glances over his shoulder, fingers still working over the frets, not fully playing anything. Mostly just going over the progression before they lay down the track. Odette’s snickering, attempting to keep her laughter from bubbling. But it’s always going to fail. She’s always going to give into the life of her laugh. Calum’s phone is tilted towards her and not before long, she’s giving in. Her head falls back into the cushion, hands clapping together. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she wheezes, singling Calum out.

Michael only watches as Calum joins in, attempting to cover up his laughter with his own hands. “I-I had to,” Calum huffs out.

“Send that to me, please.”

“What are the hyenas on about?” Ashton jokes entering the room again. Calum only lifts the phone in return and now Michael can see it’s a picture of him and Calum, in their school uniforms attempting to act cool. It’s grainy now, upon comparison of the cameras on phones in this time compared then when it was taken. How Calum still had it, Michael’s not sure.

Rolling his chair closer, Michael attempts to take Calum’s phone. “You’re giving her trade secrets, mates!”

Calum’s quicker, ducking the phone back. “Nah, she’s allowed to get dirt on you, man.”

“It’s not that bad,” Odette attempts to recover. Tears are still pouring from her eyes. But she wipes at them and stands up from the couch.

Michael pouts as she walks over. “I’m sure you have plenty of shitty and uncool selfies too.”

“Yeah, and pictures my parents took of me buttass naked in the tub too.”

Michael snorts. Odette stands behind him, arms wrapped close around his upper chest. “What were our parents thinking?”

“They weren’t.” She punctuates the sentence with a kiss to his cheek. “But you’re still cute. Even in the dorky selfie. And Calum did kind of incriminate himself too.”

“Hey! I was adorable then!” Calum calls out.

“Sure, sure,” Odette says, directing her attention to Calum, “But that pose. The emo fringe that wasn’t fully a fringe.”

“Look, I didn’t become a fashion icon overnight. It’s hard work,” he retorts.

“Keep working,” Odette returns, snickering as the room explodes into a chorus of ‘oh’s.

Michael looks up at her, the disbelief but admiration dripping from his fromgaze. “I still have to work with him you know.”

“Alright, alright. That’s okay. I like your spunk though. Keep her around, Michael.”

It’s later than they anticipated by the time they leave the studio, which isn’t too off course for them. But Odette seemed ready to pass out nearly eight in the evening. Michael finds it endearing when he offers to end the night early but she refuses, saying that she didn’t want to interrupt their work. But now she’s curled up on the sofa, under Michael’s jacket to keep warm. Having not brought a heavy enough jacket to withstand the air conditioning of the studio.

“Baby, c’mon. Let’s go home.”

She snaps awake, even at the gentle touch of Michael’s hand. “Hmm?”

“I’m taking us home, so we can cuddle and sleep.”

“I want a milkshake.”

Michael laughs at the sleepy confession but nods. “We’ll get some tomorrow, yeah?”

Odette nods, keeping herself awake enough to follow behind Michael. Taking the week off feels nice. She doesn’t have to worry about anything else. She’s still working on commissions and has managed to pull some more steady weight income wise that way. She’s yet to move out. But she takes more time to hang out with Michael. Mostly at his house. Occasionally they go out, catch movies. It feels normal now for them.

As they slide under the sheets, Michael pulls her in close, arm slung over her waist. “Coming in tomorrow with me?”

“Need to work,” she returns, nose and exhales brushing over his chest. Michael kisses her forehead, allowing the steady rise and fall of her chest to guide him. But he doesn’t fall asleep, not immediately. He lays there.

“We should adopt a dog. Maybe two. And it’s gonna be awesome.”

“I vote two,” Odette returns after a long moment.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“So are you!”

**********

“You know what’s lame?” Michael asks, flinging his arms around Odette’s shoulder. Her screen is zoomed in on the corner of something. The edge is rounded and he can’t see the preview of the full image. He assumes it’s new work for a client. Work has come more steadily for her after working with an up-and-coming band. Michael happened to run into them on Instagram and they made a post about needing some help on the team. He forwarded the information to Odette and things took off from there.

“What’s lame?”

“I don’t see you in my dreams anymore.”

“You see me practically every day now!” Odette counters, setting her pen down and cranking her neck up. She moved in three months ago. It’s been interesting to say the least. But they have a good routine. Odette works part time at one of the local boutiques and still does work for design.

“Yeah, and like that’s definitely a dream in and of itself. But I don’t know, I miss talking to you in my subconscious.”

“You’re so weird,” Odette chuckles. Soulmates only communicated via dreams when real world communication hadn’t occurred for an extended period of time after they first met in person. When Michael leaves for tour, she expects he’ll crop back up. He’ll find her again at that park bench.

“That’s just a fact. But still, there was something about them. Maybe it’s because I thought you were the best thing since sliced bread, but they were kind of amazing.”

“That was the cusp of my life falling into the sewer.”

“But you found me there, so it wasn’t all that bad.”

She laughs, nodding her head and nudges his hold to slacken. She spins the barstool around. “I thought people who talked about their soulmates were fools. Like no one falls in love like that. Not through a dream and certainly not all at once. I mean, it just sounded so unrealistic.”

“Certainly not you, of course. But I’ll admit to being in the camp for falling in love all at once.” Odette rolls her eyes. “What can I say? You’re drop dead gorgeous. You know how to dish it out just as hot as anyone gives you hot shit. It was a recipe for love.”

“No, certainly not me. But I’m glad it was you in my dreams. No one else would’ve gotten me to eat pineapple on pizza that’s for damn sure.”

Michael laughs. “Maybe that’s what we get for dinner, yeah? To reminisce?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“That won’t spoil your appetite for your dinner with your mom tomorrow will it?”Michael knows about the long standing pizza dates. They were hard to get started. Odette unsure if her mother was going to attempt to guilt her into coming back home. But after the first couple, things smoothed out. Odette wonders if her mother still felt haunted, even in sleep.

If no matter what her mother did or believed, she would always know that her husband was gone and not her subconscious would always try to bring him back. But it would never work. Her mother would never have peace. That scared Odette, if she was honest. Though she figured, there had to be something. There had to be some safeguard if that one of the soulmates died the dreams would stop, that her mother would stop reaching out for her father. And maybe there was, but there’s no safeguard on those memories. There would be nothing to stop her mother from dreaming for her husband, of all the times they shared before he died.

She hadn’t asked her mother yet those questions. But just imagining that allowed her to understand her mother better. She still hurts, still looks at her mother and feels that same uneasiness, like at any turn she could set her mother off. But she imagines it cannot be easy for her mother either.

Odette, finally blinks, staring back at Michael. Finally reconnecting back to their conversation from before. “Pizza is a food group. It must be had at least twice a week.”

He giggles, fingers tapping away at the screen for their order. “You know I think I might have to run that by the FDA before fully subscribing to it.”

“No need.”

“And why not?”

“Because I am the FDA and I just said it.”

“I take back what I said about not seeing you in dreams being lame. I’m glad to get at least 6 hours break from you.” Micheal scurries down the hallway once her gaze narrows. The dogs chase down after him, unsure of what’s happening but wanting in on the action.

“Just for that,” she hollers, “I’m not saving you the last slice of pizza!”

“You wouldn’t dare?”

“Try me.”

[james1390]

Mentioning Online is the Best Way of Getting Steroids

Each certifiable weight lifter once in his calling concentrates on the business at hand in his life when he sees whether to use steroids or not. When he delivers this request to himself, and if the fitting reaction is positive, there goes the accompanying request: Where do I get them, where do I buy steroids?

Course back there wasn't a ton of choice - you'd go to the best individual in the rec focus and, after some chatter, ask with respect to whether he can get you a couple and ask intensely. Nowadays it is somewhat exceptional. Since the public authority is getting stricter and the disciplines are high people will not offer steroids to complete outcasts by virtue of fear of police. For comparable reasons people - potential customers - don't dare asking meeting steroids that much in light of everything. Luckily there came another choice - Internet Sales.

From the start Internet wasn't treated with much respect by weight lifters, it was for sure exceptionally ignored. Let's face it, most muscle head weren't really captivated by a geeky virtual association used fundamentally by geeks. Muscle heads basically weren't geeks. Gradually things changed, in any case, as people comprehended that by using Internet, they can without a doubt talk with others from wherever the world. Athletes, also, comprehended that they can show up at much a greater number of people over the Internet than they may reach in the rec focus, and all of these people shared their considerations, experience, best cycles, bungles... Additionally, they could do that from the constraint of their homes, and with complete lack of clarity Winstrol for sale.

Regularly, as more people started sharing their contemplations, people moreover recognized they could ask others where to procure anabolic steroids. Additionally, they were told; finally, there would be sources offering their things to others. Thusly a consistently expanding number of people started mentioning steroids by and by the net. Tragically, likewise as soon, lawbreakers recognized they could essentially ensure they would offer steroids to a normal customer, anyway would just stop responding after they would get the money. These indicated scalawags cut down real Internet steroids bargains and genuinely cut down people's trust in online sources.

It is often asked as to why might anyone need to mastermind online at any rate - if you demand from someone in the activity community you can survey the things - apparently at any rate - on the spot; you don't send money to cloud individuals without knowing whether you will anytime see it again; if the stuff is fake, you for the most part acknowledge whom to approach... These are through and through superb disputes for using known sources, those found in the activity place, yet they are simply satisfactory when one certainly knows the source or is introduced by a moderate. At the point when, on the other hand, an energetic muscle head with no affiliations needs to buy gear directly he is confronted with irksome request. Whom do I ask; would he say he is strong; will he speak with others about me; will I be viewed as an addict in case he talks? Ridiculous late couple of years, because the laws got altogether stricter, there is reliably a request if that other individual is police. Likewise, whether or not one will disregard that a potential source may not. These are huge requests and to various people anonymity is a higher need a couple of dollars they may free to a scalawag.

Of course it is understood that on the Internet you are dark. Exactly when you represent a request on a public steroid board, something like which is better, Sustanon or Deca, no one will hammer you about using steroids. Whether or not anyone would have to, it is confined to that open board or assembling. At the point when you pick you wish to mastermind on the web, all you really give out is your area. This information again is taken care of on some specialist on the Internet, and hard to access for outcasts. Right when you pay for an online solicitation, you never need to give out any data about what absolutely you pay for. Some further evolved online sources a lot offer Credit Card portion, so it only a couple ticks and some making and you're done. Clearly electronic mentioning isn't wonderful: you are never sure when you will get the things you mentioned as post normally requires huge venture; and you are once in a while sure if you will get them using any and all means. This last issue, nevertheless, can be evaded if you do some investigation ahead of time and spotlight on some key principles for evaluating steroid sources (an alternate article to continue in a matter of moments ;))

So we can see that online steroid mentioning has more sure sides than negative, and honestly is more straightforward and better than looking for a source in a rec focus (with no previous affiliations). Regardless of the way that it is far from astounding it has the advantage of mystery and complete deniability despite law. Likewise, as such it is the best choice for anyone endeavoring to get steroids.

[seyaryminamoto]

I always think about this before sleeping at night: OZAI AND URSA COULD BE ATLA SUPREME CANON SHIP IF SHE DIDN'T CHEAT ON HIM I mean they are doing well (and treating zuko well) before he reads that damn letter

x’D well, before sleeping at night I always think about future scenes of my stories I look forward to writing, but to each their own (?)

Frankly, canon-wise I don’t know what to make of Urzai anymore. Gladiator!Urzai is based on my early understanding of their relationship as was presented in Zuko Alone, but then the comics took a whole different direction to explore their story and it went against pretty much everything I’d expected from these two. It’s probably the most unpleasant take on Urzai, despite it’s far from the most depressing, actually? Had they cared about each other to some degree, their story would have been soooo very complicated, and Ursa’s actions would feel much more like a sacrifice than they do, lending a much more tragic feeling to her tale. But alas, that’s not what we were given...

In any case, Ikem obviously poses an irksome problem in any positive canon!Urzai interpretations. His character is vital to The Search because he’s Ursa’s initial source of misery upon being stuck with marrying Ozai, but he hasn’t had a significant role at all in the comics beyond this. Whatever happens next, I highly doubt that he will be more important in future installments. Removing him from the story altogether could do away with Ozai’s completely exaggerated behavior over Ikem, and he’d probably look a little less unhinged and freakish than he does because most of his paranoia over Ursa seems to stem from the awareness that she once loved someone else. Granted, the letter she writes doesn’t help one bit, but he sends Vachir to kill Ikem after YEARS of doing nothing? Which implies he just... obsessed silently with the letter for that long and didn’t act on it until Zuko was older? 

There’s even inconsistencies in Ozai’s erratic, jealous man behavior that I don’t think I’ve pointed out before and I don’t know if anyone else did:  

Part 1:

Part 3:

Like... let’s try out all the interpretations of this particular situation: say the wedding wasn’t immediate, they had to prepare for a while: why would he need spies to track down her “every move” before marrying her if they took Ursa to  the Capital on the very day they went to Hira’a, and Ikem was left behind in the village? He wouldn’t need “spies” for it, he would merely need maids to inform him of her every move, like the one who intercepts the letters. I highly doubt that woman qualifies for the title of spy...? :’D

Then, the other possibility... is that Ozai found Ursa on his own, and kept her under surveilance BEFORE Azulon found her? Does THAT make any sense? O_o Or did Azulon find Ursa, tell Ozai, Ozai sent his spies to keep watch on her and only after a few months of being sure she hadn’t fucked Ikem did Ozai and Azulon travel to the village? :’D

... Yeah, weird plot contrivances, what else is new...

Anyways, I think it’s fair to say that Ikem was only thrown into the mix to give Ursa a dramatic reason to despise Ozai since day one. So... would they have been fine if she hadn’t “cheated”? Well, for starters I don’t think she cheated while she was living in the Palace, canon-wise, she only does after Ozai forces her to leave (and I won’t argue that it counts as cheating after she leaves, because they’re technically still married, despite they’re clearly 100% estranged and give zero shits about each other, according to the comics). But going by how this relationship was characterized, I’ve always thought the comics were insisting on presenting an absolutely miserable and unhappy Ursa, who only pretended otherwise for Zuko’s benefit. Yeah, the letter made things worse for their family, but even then, that your husband keeps tabs on everything you do, including the letters you’re sending back to the family you’re no longer allowed to meet, isn’t exactly a sign of healthy relationships. Again, it’s all done to show how bad and toxic Ozai is, and why Ursa has every right to get out of this relationship. Everything is unpleasant and straight-forward.

Obviously, in contrast, Zuko Alone presents a picture of Urzai that allows a thousand possible interpretations. I have no doubts there’s some people who actually think they were in love, then there’s others who think they hated each other’s guts. I’ve even seen fics based on the premise that Ursa was actually in love with Iroh all along and had an affair with him behind Ozai’s back :’DDDD therefore... it can go all sorts of ways. There’s no end to the possible interpretations of what Ursa and Ozai’s story could have been like, but sadly, the comics didn’t offer much that would allow a positive interpretation of canon!Urzai, as far as I can tell.

So, while Urzai definitely had potential to be the coolest possible ATLA version of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth? The very starting point of the comics, when retelling Ursa’s story, establishes pretty strongly that this isn’t the story of a Macbeth and his Lady Macbeth, but the story of a woman who was roped into marrying a toxic man against her will. Hence... it’s not merely because she cheated or because of the letter or because of Ursa’s actions, it’s because the whole backstory the comics created for them blatantly ruled out the possibility for Ursa and Ozai to be as twisted and interesting as some of us hoped they would be.

If you wish their canon relationship were any better, I’ll just say outright that the key factor to make a more palatable version of Urzai would entail removing Ikem from the picture, and that means The Search would have to be written completely differently... and at this point in time, I don’t think canon will backtrack on that at all. Soooo... I’d say go read as many Urzai fics as you can, because fortunately there’s quite a few. There are countless missed opportunities by canon, there’s no arguing with that... so I feel you, and I share your pain. But we can always find refuge in stories, because ultimately, ATLA is just a story too :’D so, look for stories with interpretations of Urzai you can agree with, and then you’ll be much happier in life, I hope!

(Or, you know, imagine such stories before sleeping at night :’DDD then you’ll be just like me x’D)

[agentdagonet]

Someday Surprise

read it here on AO3

‘Oi, Merlin!’

‘Yes, Eggsy?’ Merlin held his head in his hands, rubbed at his temples as he waited for whatever banal question Eggsy had decided was worth bothering him about now. Ten years had done nothing to break the boy’s (for he would always be a boy to him) ridiculousness.

‘When were you gonna tell me you ‘n Harry are immortal?’  Merlin’s head snapped up and his hands came down so quickly the keyboard was damaged from the impact. Eggsy was propped casually against a sofa, the door was closed and locked, and he raised an eyebrow in response to Merlin’s shock. ‘Well?’

‘I should probably ask what gave you that idea.’

‘Probably, but then I’d pull out,’ Eggsy drew from behind his back a photo album, a garishly coloured thing that hadn’t been touched in at least a decade, ‘this, and point out all the dates.’ Eggsy flipped it open to a random page, ‘America somewhere, 1808 (you couldn’t be arsed to remember where?); Australia, 1900; Belize, 1750- and, somehow, you don’ look any different. Except maybe your hair, but I figure that’s easy enough to fuck with...’

Each comment had Merlin sinking further into his chair. This is what happened when someone was allowed limitless access to their home- they found things that should have remained hidden. That had managed to be hidden for several hundred years, like collections of portraits and photographs that documented their travels.

‘And I assume you’ve come to a conclusion of your own?’

‘See, thing is, I thought I’d done, yeah? Thought I’d figured this shit out years ago,’ How long had Eggsy known about the book?  ‘But it didn’t match up. So I’m here, askin’ you to make sense of it.’ Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and huffed a breath before he tapped the edge of his glasses several times and turned away.

‘Hamish, are you entirely aware of what time it is in Singapore-’ Harry complained through a yawn that was heard but unseen through the glasses.

‘He knows, Harry.’ It was typed out, utilising a feature that Merlin had only put into place for people outside of himself. He hated trying to focus at two layers of sight- to both see what he was doing in the real world and what he was typing into the glass barely a handful of centimetres from his face.

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Eggsy knows. Found the book.’

‘Well, shit.’

‘I’m still here, bruv.’ Eggsy interrupted dryly, like Harry commenting on their target’s poor choice of interior design. Like Merlin had added on ‘with no parachute’ while he had been in training nearly ten years ago, now.

‘Give us a moment, lad- we’ve never had to tell this story before.’ That seemed to assuage him, and Eggsy allowed himself to slide from the arm of the sofa down to sit on it proper. The book was still open on his lap, and from the corner of his eye Merlin could see him turning pages idly.

‘Put your glasses on, Eggsy.’ Merlin sighed, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh at him. ‘Stop your laughing.’

‘I told you that book would bite us in the arse someday, but no you needed to have a record-’

‘There’s only so much space in the human brain, Harry, how else are we supposed to keep track-’

‘Boys, boys, ain’t no need to argue about shit- I just wanna know. I been with you ages, I fuckin’ live in your house, and you lot’ve got more makeup stashed about than one of them internet models. Wouldn’ it be easier not to have to lie all the fuckin’ time?’ Eggsy jumped in, having somehow managed to tap into their line- which would normally be something to worry about but at the moment was at the bottom of Merlin’s list of cares.

‘I don’t remember how long ago it was- a millenia, I think?- I stopped for a drink of water on the way back home. Brought as much as I could carry home- I’d often forget to get water from the well, while working. I’ve always been a man of science, though what I was interested in was called magic at the time, and I had a task ahead of me that many people of the time thought impossible.’ Merlin began, and Eggsy closed the book. ‘I managed it-’

‘Of course you did,’ Eggsy interrupted, grin on his face, and as irksome as the interruption was the grin set Merlin at ease. It, more than anything, let Merlin know that this wasn’t going to end poorly, with the loss of Eggsy from their lives- it would just be… complicated… for a time.

‘I managed it but it was a lot of trial and error. I’d been throwing things together at random, tested things on some animals I’d trapped in the forest, eventually tasting one thing before inhaling fumes from another- as much a mad scientist as you could imagine- before getting the combination right. I delivered my creation and some supplies to the person I thought most likely to succeed in the idea we lot had crafted together, and went home to wait.’

‘When I got back,’ Harry jumped in, ‘months later, I confronted Merlin in his chambers. Demanded to know what devil he’d sold his soul to to see our mission completed, shoved him into a wall with a blade-’

‘I think he gets it-’

‘And until I saw the absolute confusion in his face I’d no idea that he’d had no idea-’

‘It was entirely an accident-’

‘Easy t’see you’ve never told this story before cos I got no idea what’s going on. You’re usually better at givin’ the facts, Merlin.’

‘Well it’s not every day you have to tell someone that you accidentally made King Arthur immortal.’ He snapped, ears red in a strange mix of embarrassment and fury, accompanied by Harry’s howling laughter at Eggsy’s face. Eggsy’d jumped as if electrocuted, sending the book to the floor and accidentally kicking it with a twitching foot so hard that it slammed into the leg of a nearby table, which caused a mug to fall and shatter.

It was the sort of thing film sets contrived to make the audience laugh in an otherwise tense moment- and, in this, Harry was the audience of one. Eggsy’s jaw dropped and Merlin growled to himself and cleaned the mess before turning back to the computer screen he’d been focusing on before Eggsy’s intrusion. Not truly seeing it, just pretending while he tried to pull himself together.

‘You’re tryin’ to tell me that you,’ Eggsy pointed at Merlin, ‘made some shit that accidentally made King Arthur immortal and then fuck knows how much later ended up here where the whole place is themed for King bloody Arthur?’ Eggsy was laughing, having snapped from shock to acceptance in a fraction of a moment, obviously only half speaking to Merlin as Harry’s laughter renewed itself for a moment. Merlin pulled a flask from his desk and poured the contents into a glass before setting it on the table before Eggsy.

‘Not quite, Eggsy,’ Harry breathed, seeming to understand Merlin’s continued silence as a cue to take the story over. ‘You see, I can’t even remember what the elixir was that Merlin sent me off with that day, that journey, so long before there were any real consequences and all we had was a collection of ideas. But, I do remember the traveler’s flask he’d passed to me, filled with water that tasted of sunlight.’ Harry sent a message to Merlin’s lenses, a simply understood ?????, but Merlin ignored him.

‘Not sure I get what you’re saying, Haz.’

‘The water, Eggsy,’ Harry said softly, whether from lack of breath of an attempt to make the facts easier to swallow he couldn’t tell, ‘it wasn’t anything Merlin had concocted, it was the water he’d brought back from the spring. Neither of us had any idea until I lost my temper with him when I got back. I’d pulled a dagger to try and scare Merlin into explaining the devilry he’d managed, and miscalculated-’ I’m not even THERE you arsehole another chat bubble appeared, and Merlin ignored that one as well before feigning outrage.

‘Miscalculated?! You stabbed me in the neck because you tripped-’

‘And nothing happened when the blade pierced his flesh. There was no blood; in fact Merlin didn’t quite know what had happened at first and continued to babble on as if nothing was amiss. Meanwhile I was so frozen in terror I couldn’t breathe which I then discovered I had no need to. Which is an odd thing to adjust to-’

‘You don’t have to breathe?’

‘Let me finish, Eggsy- we’ve spent the years since trying to solve the mystery of the spring- luckily Kingsman has near limitless resources- and the pair of us have made it our business to be masters of illusion in whatever technology develops. Yes,’ Harry interrupted Eggsy’s attempt to speak, ‘that means makeup. And every other kind of theatrical illusion that can be translated to the modern day- manipulating clothing so that others’ gaze is where you intend it to be and nowhere else.’

‘That is sick.’

‘There’s more than one reason to make a covert agency’s cover a tailor’s shop- both historically an excellent place to obtain information surreptitiously and a useful skill to hone when one must be covert.’

‘Which brings me to my next point- how long ago did you find the book, Eggsy? You never let on that something wasn’t sitting right with you.’

‘When I moved in; you shits didn’t so much as make space for me as drag me in like a fuckin’ sarlacc and expect me to make myself at home. Which I did-’ Eggsy panicked to add, seeing the hurt bloom on Merlin’s face at his statement, ‘don’t get me wrong I love that you didn’ even think about it, that you thought I’d fit that seamlessly into your home, but I started explorin’ and you got loads of weird shit hidden about. I thought it was a gag gift at first but it was too good, y’get me? But figured you lot’d tell me when you felt ready- didn’ realise I’d have to prise it from you myself.’

‘We’ve never had someone we wanted to tell before, Eggsy, if this spectacular shitshow doesn’t make that clear.’ Merlin spoke up for the first time in a long while, having finally pulled himself and his decision together. ‘But we were always going to tell you, once we figured out how. We didn’t even have to tell each other, this is literally uncharted territory, but,’ Merlin shook his head and met Eggsy’s gaze evenly, ‘that doesn’t make it undesired.

‘For your average person, a moment like this would have a fancy dinner, some romantic shite and a ring,’ Eggsy didn’t look away from Merlin, didn’t dare to blink, but it was easy to see the moisture welling in his eyes. Even if he was being a bit misleading, the intent here was the same. You’re here, Arthur- here we are, and here he is Merlin sent back, and he could hear Harry’s huff of laughter.

‘What Merlin’s trying to tell you, Eggsy, is that we have no intention of letting you get away from us. We’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of our lives with you.’ Harry whispered, and Eggsy couldn’t stop a tear from escaping though he wiped it away quickly.

‘Don’t you mean the rest of my life?’ His jaw was clenched, and Merlin could see the sad smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. The heartbreak he was causing himself.

‘We do a lot for the world; we risk the things we know others can’t, and we have been glad to do it and are glad to keep doing so- but we’ve allowed ourselves to suffer. We’ve distanced ourselves and made shite choices and we hadn’t even noticed how far we’d fallen from the path until you.

‘So no, Eggsy, we don’t mean the rest of your life-’ Merlin leant forward and pushed the glass across the tabletop, ‘we mean the rest of ours.’ 

Eggsy looked down, seemingly noticing the glass on the tabletop for the first time, and gasped. One hand pressed to his lips while the other twitched in his lap, as if Eggsy was holding himself back from taking it, and Merlin forgot to breathe.

‘... Are you sure?’ Eggsy whispered, having finally pulled his hand from his face as he searched Merlin’s eyes imploringly. As if there was something else mysterious and unseen happening at this moment. As if the rug was going to be pulled from beneath him if he lifted the glass from the table.

‘I can’t claim it will be easy, lad- and there’s no way to undo it. In a few hundred years if we argue, if we break, you’ll have to continue on. Perhaps we’ll find each other again, but maybe not.’

‘You two broke before?’

‘A couple dozen times, easily, but we took a few years apart and came back stronger for it, in the end. But, Eggsy, you’ll have to grow used to seeing the things you care for disappear, or change beyond recognition. It could break you, even if we don’t fall apart.’ Harry whispered, and Merlin watched as Eggsy swallowed heavily, eyes still on the glass, before he reached past it and pulled one of Merlin’s hands forward.

‘You think we can make it, Merthur?’ Eggsy looked up at him from between his lashes, tongue poking out and a cheeky grin breaking through.

‘Who?’

‘Y’know, Merthur, one of them couple names. Merlin and Arthur. Shove a bit of his and a bit of yours in there to get somethin’ new. D’you really think we can make it? Me ‘n you?’

‘Have you ever known me to make a decision without being certain of the outcome?’

‘No, but I still got to ask, yeah? This is big, this ain’t like movin’ in together, or a marriage, even; this is big. And, yeah, it’s gonna be heartbreakin’ at first- havin’ to watch everything go on without me- but,’ Eggsy squeezed Merlin’s hand and rubbed a thumb across his knuckles before he pulled away, ‘I’ve never done shite cos it was easy.’ As if he’d never hesitated in the first place, Eggsy threw back the glass of water with a smile that outshone the full moon on a cloudless sky.

‘Y’know, never thought about it before but Harry- Arthur- was right.’ Eggsy said a moment after, staring at the now-empty glass as he licked his lips.

‘About what?’

‘It does taste like sunlight.’