#actually i understood some words so i was pleasantly surprised

[immajustvibehere]

Touch Starved Arthur x fem!touchy Reader (Part 2)

Pairing: hh!Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader (fluffly)

Part1 here!

summary: Arthur takes you and Jack out camping for two nights. Both of you have to battle your feelings for each other until you finally....

warnings: one bed trope, fluff, domestic bliss

6000 words

In the manner of Arthur’s approach, you knew he was up to something. His big hands rested on his gun belt, his expression was casual. His attempt to appear relaxed was almost perfect. You weren’t fooled so easily, though. By the smug grin that started to appear on your face as Arthur came closer, he understood that you had sensed his unease from a mile away. Your intuition was exceptional, and Arthur silently cursed himself for his own transparency. And suddenly, there were his subtle tells…the scratching of his neck, the scrunching of his nose, the restlessness of his fingers caressing the leather of the belt.

"Hey, what's up?", you asked and propped your head up with your elbow resting on the table.

"Uhm...I have a proposition to make", Arthur awkwardly sat down at the table. Thankfully, barely anyone else was around to witness this encounter. The sun hadn’t risen yet and people were only slowly crawling out of their beds. In fact, Arthur still saw the remnants of sleep in your features but the steaming mug of coffee in front of you suggested that you were diligently combating it.

"I'm all ears."

Arthur couldn’t help but detect the playful undertone in your voice. You had grown more comfortable around each other the last few days and weeks and some banter and teasing were commonplace by now, particularly in the presence of others. But when you found yourselves alone, which hadn’t really happened since last time, you’d feel like there was a more genuine connection and care for each other than either of you would normally let on.

"Ya can say no if ya don't want to but-...well, I already talked to Abigail. She said she was fine with it", Arthur started. You had no clue what he was on about, but he pressed on, "I suggested we take out Jack for a night or two. The boy needs to see something aside this patch of land and I thought...if you would wanna tag along? You know, I was fine fishing with him but I'm not sure if I'd be any good at the other stuff."

"Yes, of course", you immediately replied. Arthur wasn't sure why he had expected a rejection or a dismissal that he was stupid to suggest such a thing. You actually looked pleasantly surprised about the idea.

You smiled: "It's not just Jack, you know? I haven't left camp since we moved here, so I'll get to see some of the country too!"

"Okay, sure", Arthur said, still somewhat in surprise about what you had just agreed to. But his surprise soon gave way to a sense of anticipation, especially when he noticed enthusiasm. He couldn’t supress a warm chuckle, evidently relieved that everything had worked out.

You briefly discussed the logistics, and Arthur settled on a plan: a night between Dewberry Creek and Ringneck Creek for the first stop, followed by, if Jack was up for it, a night in a room at the Rhodes Saloon.

The following day, you were all packed up. Your horse carried a rolled-up tent, large enough to accommodate the three of you. Jack rode with Arthur, he was the experienced rider after all and would be much greater use in keeping the child from sliding off the horse. It was a fine day, the morning sun was veiled behind some clouds, offering a respite from the usual stifling heat. Rain wasn’t to be expected, the clouds looked like they would clear sooner or later.

For the ride, Jack was dead silent for ten minutes at a time but then asked any question he could come up with. Arthur appreciated your willingness to respond, particularly when faced with Jack’s more challenging inquiries that needed to be tailored for a child’s understanding. Arthur was outright impressed at your skill in addressing his questions, and kept silent, even if Jack wanted his view on something specifically.

It was a smooth ride. Once you had passed the first creek you kept looking for an ideal spot to build your camp. You watched happily how Arthur pretended to discuss the area with Jack, granting him the final say in where to put up the tent. Arthur was responsible for the tent while you went off with Jack to look for firewood. When you returned, the tent had been putt up and Arthur had already gotten out the fishing gear.

"Are we fishing again?", Jack asked with curiously.

"Well, we gotta eat something", Arthur answered.

"But fishing's boring!" Jack said back and Arthur chuckled warmly. The last time he took the boy fishing, it was anything but uneventful, though he understood that a four-year-old wasn't so keen on standing still and waiting.

You squatted in front of Jack: "Why don't you take your toys with you to the water? You can play and Arthur and I'll do the boring waiting."

"Mh, okay."

You walked over to Ringneck Creek. Arthur settled on the same spot he had been to while fishing with Javier a while back. It had a good overlook of the place, so Jack could play in the distance, while still being in eye- and earshot. You and Arthur sat down next to each other, not saying anything and prepping the fishing rod. Even when there were no words exchanges, both of you felt comfortable in each other’s presence. Arthur felt your eyes on him as he pierced a tiny bit of cheese through the hook and handed the rod to you.

“The fish get cheese for lunch? That’s mighty fine, don’t you think?”, you joked.

“This cheese? It has been mouldy for days now. It won’t do us any good. But for fish? The stinker, the better”, Arthur explained and added in a mumble, “Or so I’ve heard…”

You both threw out your line and before you quipped: “So you keep your mouldy cheese in your satchel with the rest of your food?”

Arthur watched the rings expanding around his line, then swallowed quickly before looking you in the eye. Not very convinced he answered: “No…?”

He had expected a lesson on proper food hygiene, but you only grinned cheekily: “Glad I took care of food for this trip. But you really shouldn’t do that, you know? Next time you leave camp for more than a day, I’ll pack you something.”

“Ya don’t have to do that, really”, Arthur replied out of politeness, but the idea of you walking up to him with a sandwich to take on his journeys sent tingles to his chest.

“Mh. I insist”, you said, “I’ll have to take care of you if your stomach goes mad, so I’d rather prevent that. Not that I wouldn’t like to take care of you. Don’t you never keep an injury or sickness a secret in front of me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am”, Arthur said, “You sound like Miss Grimshaw, it’s good yer away from camp for a while”, Arthur joked. Deep down, he knew that you didn’t want to control him, but that you sincerely cared for his well-being. Something Arthur couldn’t quite understand. Of course, he would do the same for you – but that’s different because he had already figured out that he liked your attention more than anyone else. No, that he liked you more than anyone else. Arthur got a little lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t yet entirely sure about his feelings for you. Mainly because he wasn’t sure how you felt. You were so kind and caring for everyone in the gang, he sadly doubted that he was anything special.

“I missed spending some time with you. Sorry that it’s so hard to sneak away from camp”, you said after a while, bringing Arthur back to reality.

“Doesn’t matter”, Arthur mumbled. He was embarrassed that he felt his cheeks getting warm, “We got away now, didn’t we? I feel almost bad that I take up so much of yer time.”

“Please don’t”, you laughed, looking at the man next to you with a smile.

“I think I saw Sean shed a tear when he heard that you’d be away from camp for two days”, Arthur mentioned.

“Yeah. I think he’s sweet on me”, you said so casually, that Arthur was caught off guard, staring at you in disbelieve.

Arthur cleared his throat before he slowly said: “I thought he and Karen…?”

“Well, Karen is good for one thing”, you said with an ambiguous smile, not meaning serious offence with those words, “I’m good for another.”

From the distance, you heard Jack calling for ‘uncle Arthur’. Arthur sighed with a smile and handed you his finishing rod.

“Yer okay to watch that?”, he asked.

“Sure, go ahead”, you encouraged him.

Jack wanted Arthur’s help to balance on a dead tree. It was wholesome to see how Arthur helped him up on the trunk and then held his hand so he would have an easier time balancing. Then the boy would sit on Arthur’s shoulders and break a smooth looking branch from a tree, using it to play swords fighting with Arthur. You knew that Arthur was gentle with Jack and compared to some men in the gang, even to John if you were honest, he was doing a great job. Still, you hadn’t dreamt that he'd be ready to take on a whole swords fight, pretending to get stabbed when Jack’s twig poked his leg. You noticed Arthur’s stolen glances in your direction. It was as if he wanted to make sure you were watching, though you didn’t have the impression that he only played along to impress you. Arthur seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

“Caught anything yet?”, Arthur’s voice woke you up from your daydreams when he walked up to you after a while.

“No…”, you answered and admitted, “I was a little distracted.”

“Ain’t blamin’ ya. We gave you a hell of a show”, Arthur said and took his spot next to you again. Luckily, a few fish bit later on and by the time you walked back to your tent, a fire could be built and the fish were grilled. A lot of time had passed, and the sun was already low in the sky. Jack demanded to be read to from his favourite book. After you had read a few pages and Jack had settled in to listen to some more, you handed the book to Arthur. He had been busy with stoking the fire and cleaning the grit, so he was a little caught off guard by the action.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”, he asked.

“Read to the boy”, you answered with a grin.

“Why can’t you?”, Arthur asked, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“My throat is starting to feel sore”, you lied so obviously, that even Jack could have seen through it, “besides; I want someone to read to me too.”

Arthur considered the situation for a moment before giving in. The last time he read a book to someone…well, he wasn’t sure. Was it to Jamie when he was still a little boy or to Isaac? Did he ever even read out to Isaac? Arthur was prompted into opening the book when you suddenly snuggled up to him. But that alone made him lose his voice for a moment, so he had to collect himself before starting to read.

You loved how raspy Arthur’s voice would get when he was nervous, but it soon smoothed out and he had barely read for ten minutes when you had to stop him, because Jack had fallen asleep.

“’s barely even dark…”, Arthur commented after he had carried the boy to his bedroll in the tent.

“He did have an eventful day”, you said, and Arthur had to agree. The bottle of whiskey Arthur had brought was soon opened up and half was gone by the time you could make out the first stars in the sky. A lot of your conversation was just recollecting the day or commenting on happenings on the last few days, but after some silence, Arthur started a new conversation.

"Maybe, if ya told me what the other men ask you to do, I'd feel less a fool for asking ya fer something", Arthur suggested. The undertone of his voice revealed curiosity, but he had tried to keep that intent hidden. You were surprised that he remembered what you had talked about the last time it was just the two of us.

"You're unbelievable!", you exclaimed and giggled so light-heartedly. Arthur's heart melted when he saw the crinkles around your eyes. "You just want the gang's gossip!", you accused him.

"No! I'm just sayin'", Arthur shrugged with a smile, "It would really help a lot."

You looked at him, his blue-greenish eyes staring right back at you. You were an avid eye-contact holder, it was required for your role in the gang. But no pair of eyes ever compared to Arthur's. It was his turn to catch your gaze wandering to his lips, he also noticed how your eyes fluttered, when they looked up again, and then briefly away, as if you considered something.

"Fine. I'll tell you some. But I won't tell you who asked me for what."

"Sure."

"Mhhh...it's not the craziest stuff, if you’re expecting that. Most men like when I play with their hair. Or head scratches. I told you I was good at them! Someone likes it when I feed them. Like...you know...we go pick some berries and I feed them. It can be really,...domestic, I suppose. But then it becomes a lot of fun because we try to throw the berries into each other mouths, trying to catch them. It’s great..."

You got slightly embarrassed. When you spend time with other men from the gang, you always tried to give them an experience that made them happy. Some of it was oddly intimate. It didn't bother you much, but now, speaking about it with Arthur, you somehow started to worry that you'd be worth less in his eyes. Just because you have done those things with his friends. It wasn't like you slept with them. No, none, with very few exceptional instances, have ever been inappropriate.

You were silent for a while, those thoughts taking over quickly. And yet, what should it matter? It’s just Arthur, it was okay if he knew that side of you.

You sighed deeply, still finding Arthur’s eyes glued to your lips.

"Some of them like to show off to me. It's real stupid stuff. Like 'look how quick I can draw' or 'check out this piece of wood I whittled'. I suppose these are just things they are mildly proud at...but embarrassed to show someone. I...like that, though. It's really cute and reveals something about the person. There is always something to praise or enjoy about it. And they really appreciate it."

Arthur stared into the fire, nodding his head slowly.

After a while, he started with: "I ehrm-..." Then he pulled out his journal.

"It's nothing special either...", he flipped through some pages, only to reveal a double-sided sketch of Clemen's Point. A beautiful sketch, well-observed with depth and detail. You knew Arthur kept a journal – you never knew he drew in it! And from all the sketches the other men had ever shown you, most of them could have been done better by Jack, this was honestly impressive.

"Arthur-"

"I know, 's silly", and he was about to close the journal when you snatched it out of his hand and placed it in your lap. Not daring to flip the page but studying the sketch in front of you.

"Are you kidding? It's fucking amazing."

When Arthur looked at you in disbelieve, you doubled down: "Fuck you, man. I can't even pick out things I like to praise because the whole damn thing's just-!"

"Yer teasing me..."

"Am not! When someone shows me a drawing, I often have to guess, like ‘Oh, that’s a nice bison you drew.’ And then they correct me and go like ‘It’s supposed to be a dog.’ and we have a good laugh about it…but this…Is that Dutch's horse?", you asked, pointing at the little white stallion. Arthur confirmed it. You started to point at things, accurately identifying what it was. John's tent, the chicken coop, even the figure in the distance, that only was a vague outline of a person, you identified as if you had been there when it was drawn.

"You have more drawings in there?", you asked.

"Sure. But- wait", he took the journal back, carefully skipping the pages where he had sketched you, which had happened suspiciously often recently, and only showing you the landscapes and animals. You never expected that Arthur had an eye for things like that. A doe was captured perfectly in its shy manner. A funny looking cabin, a crooked tree. For all those things, Arthur stopped and took his time to draw them. It was stunning. You felt like he had given you a better idea of what sort of a man he actually is. To say you liked that version of him, was an understatement and you started to realise this with every sketch of ducks or fish he presented to you.

"When you find someone, someone you really like. And start a family...you could draw and sell those pictures, you know?"

Arthur was shocked. Firstly, why you knew about his wish to start a family, and secondly, that you suggested his drawings are nearly good enough for anyone to pay money for.

"Y/n", Arthur lamented, almost with a painful voice. As if you were that naive girl that had no idea about how life works. That there could never be a family for him, never a different life than shooting and robbing to get to some money.

"Have you ever painted? Like with colour and a paintbrush?", you interrupted.

"Ain't worth it. I'd be no good with colour. And it's too expensive."

"When's your birthday?", you asked out of the blue. You were determined. If you had to work your ass off for it or drop to your knees in front of Miss Grimshaw, you'd get this man a paintbrush.

"No", Arthur said firmly.

"Come on!", you quipped.

"Stop it. It's just a stupid thing I do to pass some time it ain't-"

"But I love them!", you interrupted, "I really do. Every single one you showed me."

"Clearly, something ain’t right in your head then", Arthur joked and put his journal away.

"You are a charming man, Mr. Morgan," you teased back, bumping into his shoulder.

As if your words had confirmed Arthur's accusation, he comically tapped your forehead with his index finger: "Really messed up, aren't you?"

"Why?", you said, switching gears and skilfully capturing Arthur's finger that had went for another tap. It took both of your hands to open Arthur's hand, not that he resisted, but his hands were huge. And with your guidance, Arthur's hand cupped your cheek. "Is it because I like to spend time with you? Do you think one has to be mad to enjoy that? Because if you do think that...I have to give you ten reasons why you are wrong."

Arthur barely listened to your words. His senses were hyper focused on his hand which was touching your cheek. Warm and soft. Not smooth like a perfect hide, but skin isn't perfect. Hell, his hand must be mighty uncomfortable. It was calloused, beaten up, scarred. There was no rational reason why you would snuggle your face into it like it was a pillow you readied for a night's sleep.

With pleasure you watched how often he blinked, how flustered he became, how his hand twitched in excitement under your touch. As careful as you were some butterfly, Arthur’s thumb dared to caress your cheek. The movement was so small, it was like he didn’t even want you to notice that you he had dared to do that. Somehow, this rough and hardened outlaw was a real sensitive guy. A sensitive guy who made your stomach flutter.

"I'll head to bed and join Jack, you coming too?", you asked, guiding Arthur's hand into your lap and holding in lightly with your two hands.

"Imma...t-take care of the fire a little longer", Arthur answered with coarse voice, his throat entirely dried up.

"M'kay", you smiled and stood up without letting go of Arthur's hand. Halfway in the process of standing up you halted, pressing a light kiss on Arthur's cheek and whispered good night, before finally letting go and walking off to the tent.

Though you were exhausted, it was tricky to sleep. You listened to Arthur who was still attending the fire, walking up and down, whispering to the horses and occasionally took a swig from the bottle. Jack slept at the side of the tent, you had taken the spot in the middle. No matter how long it felt until sleep finally took over, Arthur crawled into the tent ten minutes later, only to find out that you had messed with the sleeping set-up. It wasn’t the way he had arranged it, namely, a very inequal distribution of blankets and ‘pillows’ (rolled-up jackets or other garments). Arthur had planned to spend the night without a blanket, so you and Jack had two. But you had given up one of yours, which neatly waited on Arthur’s bedroll for him.

“She ain’t gonna make this easy for me”, Arthur thought, before lying down.

-

“Uncle Arthur!”, Jack squatted next to the man who was still fast asleep. Well, until the boy started to shake him with all his might, though it barely rattled the man.

“Aunt y/n told me to wake you”, Jack smiled innocently. Arthur was trying to grasp the situation. For a fleeting moment, he thought there was danger nearby. Then he had been confused about why Jack was there. Only slowly, as Jack left the tent and the rays of sunshine hit his face, he remembered that he had went out camping with you and the boy. And clearly, he had overslept.

Arthur crawled out of the tent and stood up with a groan, stretching his tired limbs. The smell of coffee had reached his nose before he looked down to see Jack walking towards him, a half-filled cup in his hands.

“For you”, he exclaimed. Arthur took the mug and mumbled his thanks, looking up a little to finally lay eyes on you. The fire was on, the percolator boiling with water, and he saw that you were in the process of readying a little pan for some eggs you had apparently taken from camp.

“Good morning”, you said with a big smile.

“Sorry I overslept…”, Arthur grumbled, sitting down by the fire.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you could catch up on some sleep.”

Breakfast was nice. You scrambled some eggs, garmented them with herbs you had collected earlier and re-filled Arthur’s mug. Jack was happy after eating a few bites and then playing with his toys in the distance. Arthur and you discussed the rest of the day and decided you would take your time, see if Jack was up for a ride and a stroll through Rhodes and spending another night at the Saloon.

Later, Jack helped you with washing the dishes at the creek. You managed to talk him into throwing a wet rag at Arthur, which he answered by throwing the rag back at you. This started a game of dogde or catch the rag. You laughed a lot. By mid-day you were on your horses, carefully navigating the shadows to escape the relentless sun. After one very slow hour of riding, with breaks whenever Jack discovered something interesting on the ground that needed further investigation, you arrived in Rhodes. After restocking on groceries, you made your way to the saloon, finding it relatively quiet and peaceful still.

“Can I help you, folks?”, the bartender asked, leaning on the counter.

“A room, please”, Arthur stated briefly. The bartender considered you for a moment, his eyes wandered from Arthur to you and finally your hand that rested protectively on Jack’s shoulder.

“We have a special deal for families. Spacious room, enough beds and a discount on a bath”, the bartender explained, opening the ledger where he kept track of which rooms were taken.

“Sounds great!”, you chimed in happily before Arthur could do as much as open his mouth.

“There you go. Walk up the stairs behind there, first door on the right”, the bartender handed you the keys, “Just let me know when you want the water heated up.”

“Will do, thanks!”, you answered. Your free arm was quickly intertwined with Arthur, who was taken by surprise. He stiffened a little but walked off with you and Jack rather convincingly.

“Whoa! This bed is huge!”, exclaimed Jack when you walked into the room.

“Ain’t for you though, little man”, Arthur chuckled. The room was equipped with a bed that was big enough to fit a couple and a toddler, but there was still a children-sized one in the corner. Arthur noticed how your arm slipped away from his as you entered the room, dropping some of your luggage onto the floor.

“Luxurious, isn’t it?”, you smiled. It was definitely better than the rooms you’d get in Valentine and probably even cleaner than the other ones the saloon had to offer. Jack was settling in, testing how bouncy his mattress was and unpacking his toys while Arthur walked up to you, clearing his throat.

“Yer fine with sharin’ a bed?”, he asked.

You raised an eyebrow: “We shared a tent last night, and that was a much tighter fit, wouldn’t you say so?”

“I guess…”, Arthur felt a little helpless. Sharing a bed felt more domestic and intimate than sharing the same tent. Also, Jack wouldn’t be all snuggled up to you, but in his own bed at some distance. Frankly, Arthur was excited. You watched his frown, not quite sure if its origin was because of discomfort or simple nervosity.

“Are you okay with that? I could bring my bedroll and-“, you wanted to suggest, but Arthur was quick to interrupt you: “I just didn’t know if you were fine with it. I don’t want ya to feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about me”, you smiled, “I’ll go down and ask for a bath. Abigail will be glad I we bring the boy back cleaner than he was before.”

Arthur was alone in the room for nearly an hour, before you and Jack appeared with damp hair, smelling of soap. It was decided that Arthur would also make use of the warmed-up water, and as he went off to the bathroom, you and Jack set your plan in motion.

By the time Arthur returned he was met with a sight that initially puzzled him. The two of you had transformed the little corner with Jack’s bed using the limited resources available to you, creating a makeshift fort out of pillows and blankets. Jack’s small bed had been turned into a cozy cave of sorts, sheltered from the outside world to the point where you needed a lantern to read a book within.

Arthur didn’t even see you at first, he only heard Jack’s bubbly giggle and you shushing him. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to play along and pretend that he didn’t know where you were…like some sort of hide-and-seek. But he decided against it, instead sighing happily, and sitting down on the big bed.

“I can hear ya, ya know?”, he said gently.

“No you can’t!”, Jack said back.

“Should have built it bigger, doesn’t look like I’ll fit underneath there”, Arthur commented. Now, you peeked out. Arthur saw how you opened a mouth, but something stopped you for a moment. His hair was wet and slicked back. He hadn’t even bothered putting on his shirt, but instead only wore his pants and union suit underneath. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to button it all the way up. It hugged his muscles perfectly. You knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected THIS.

“Shouldn’t have grown so big then”, you finally said, a fine blush on your cheeks.

As the evening advanced, you had read several chapters to Jack, lulling him into slumber. You then quietly slipped into the bed beside Arthur. After some casual conversation which both of you skilfully and awkwardly used to get closer to each other, Arthur asked something that had been on his mind for a while: "What do you get out of it? All the nurturing and caring for everyone in the gang? Has any one of them ever done right by you?"

"Well...I have a place to stay and sleep. I don't have to worry too much about earning money. And I like making others happy."

Arthur didn't like that. A place to sleep and food, he felt like, shouldn't be things you had to earn by listening to the complaints of others all the time.

"All you get is hearing the troubles of some dirty, foolish outlaws. Ain’t really a life, is it?"

"Some make me happy too", you admitted, quietly. You realised how Arthur tensed up slightly.

"I get to know y'all. Don't you think that's a privilege? For a woman my age? Others can't simply walk around in the street, offer some hand-holding a listenin' and expect this to pay for their meals."

"You want to do this for the rest if your life?", Arthur asked. You scanned his body, focusing on the dark hair that grew on his chest.

"No", you whispered, and gently, you put your hand on his chest. You felt his heart, no, you saw how it beat, the skin of his chest swiftly moving in an up and down movement.

Arthur...was different than the others. You didn't know if it was that there was an actual difference, or if it just felt differently. But the way he treated you, the way he held you...it was so gentle. Like it was touch meant for a lifetime. The others were slightly more prudish, because they knew they had a couple of hours with you and maybe they'd be shot and die the next day. Somehow...not Arthur. When he pulled you closer into a hug, it was always the same, as if it was a welcome back, a coming home. There was no holding onto it, because he sorts of knew you would always be there. And you wanted it to be like that too. Because you, as tricky it was to admit, had feelings for this man.

Now it was you who caught Arthur staring, staring at the unsure movements your lips made as you searched for something to say. Maybe to explain what this all meant to you.

"Do you think it's ridiculous, what I do?", you asked. You wanted to know Arthur's opinion, truly.

"What? No."

"Really?"

"Hell, we'd be a bunch of degenerates if ya didn't keep us together. Yer ignoring Micah. For good reasons, I gotta say, and look what a slimy no-good he is. We'd be all like that if it wasn't for you", Arthur said. There was humour in his voice, but he meant what he had said. You smiled slightly.

"I wish I had come to you earlier", Arthur said.

"We are making up for the lost time, aren't we?", you said and leaned into him. The gesture seemed so familiar that Arthur wrapped his arms around you with barely any thought. Arthur watched your fingers as they trailed through his hair on his chest, never resting somewhere for long but tracing lines from his collar bones to where his beard started on his neck.

“Do you mind?”, you whispered, your fingers resting on a button of his suit.

Arthur subtly shook his head and watched how you unbuttoned one button after another. You had him slip out of the sleeves so the suit could be pulled further down, now exposing his entire abdomen to you.

There was no way he could hide his hitched breath. Your touch tickled pleasantly as your fingers explored his skin. He was enjoying those careful attentions, you'd trace around bruises and old scars, Arthur was focused on how it felt differently, the abused flesh and the scar tissue that had lost sensitivity. He noticed, either for the first time ever, or he had forgotten in the meantime, how ticklish he was on his side, under the ribs. He had no urge to laugh, but his body reacted to your touch differently, squirming when your skin brushed over his. Arthur noticed that you took a liking to those reactions, because he felt the corner of your mouth, which was pressed into his arm as you leaned into him, curl into a smile.

It was quiet. Sometimes the yells of a bar fight could be heard or someone hammering on the piano, but that aside, it was only Jack's silent snores that disturbed the peace.

"Arthur?", you whispered and sat up.

"Mhm?", Arthur looked sleepy. It wasn't even that late yet, but something about the situation was making him sleepy in the best way. You said nothing more. You only put your hand on his cheek, briefly caressing his stubble.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?", you asked.

For a few moments, Arthur's mind went completely blank. He only breathed a shaky "Yeah" and your lips brushed his already.

Instantly, Arthur's hands pulled you in closer. You were close, lips brushing, breathing each other's air. It was all you needed, before both of you finally pressed into each other.

You knew Arthur was gentle, but this sort of tenderness took even you by surprise. And Arthur- well, he was pretty sure he was dreaming. When was the last time he had kissed a woman? No, when was the last time he kissed a woman and felt like his heart was about to explode in his chest. He had craved this ever since the night you spent together. And by the way your hands wandered to his hair, fingers running through his strands, he knew you had wanted it just as much.

It was a soft kiss and both of you looked sort of surprised when it had ended. Arthur sat up slightly and pulled you on his lap, which earned him a happy grin. You started to pepper the man in front of you with kisses. Super light, as if a breeze was brushing his forehead, his cheek, his nose, under his ear, the corner of his lips. You had lost count, stirred on by a blushing Arthur underneath you.

"D-don't ya think that's enough?", Arthur said, kind of trying to dodge your kisses, but not really.

"Nope. You deserve this!", you said, but when you headed for his nose, Arthur managed to turn it into a proper kiss again.

Then you sank on his chest, lying on top of him with his arms wrapped around you.

For Arthur, this was a weird feeling at first. But he loved how your weight pressed him down into the mattress and how your hands always found a piece of his body to caress and tickle. He was embarrassed about how dry his mouth and throat became again, all of a sudden. He was convinced you realized how often he had to swallow and how hesitant he still was to move his hands any further down than the small of your back. Though if you noticed, you were very understanding. You clearly heard his heart hammering in his chest and waited patiently for it to calm down before speaking again.

"Can I tell you something silly?”, you said, lost in thoughts.

"Sure"

"I liked it when the bartender referred to us as family."

"Me too", and his hold on you became ever so tighter.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

@eyelovie @t3rritorial-piss1ngs @daenerysluvrr @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @tem60 @freshoutthewomb2 @itswormtrain @ineedyoubadly @lea-khena @anawkwardartistandgamer @pheesupremacy @tahitiansiguesss @c2ss1e @alyxhasonsocks @kagemaruzest69 @agaritas @lonesome-ranger @joelmillers-gf

[chukys-mouthguard]

broken memories - pt. 2

sequel to kinda tempting

3k words | loosely proof read

genre: fluff/angst

featuring: mat barzal x female reader x matt rempe

warnings: mentions of loss of pregnancy

previous chapter

It had been a month since you had broken the news to Matt about your baby. He was temporarily living with Jonathan Quick as he continued his offseason training to prepare for camp. The two of you kept in touch, often checking in on one another as you both navigated the stages of grieving.

You still talked on the phone at least twice a week, things remaining very cordial between you, which you appreciated. Never wanting to lose Matt entirely, hoping that you could remain friends despite everything.

Mat Barzal on the other hand, wasn’t being much of a friend as he’d yet to return any of your texts. Including your text you’d sent the night of the fight with Matt when he packed his things and left.

While you understood he was engaged and happy with someone else, he did promise that you could still reach out to him whenever you needed. Yet maybe that was simply a meaningless comment of comfort at the time, not something that held any true intent behind it.

You had finally started to feel like your normal self, getting fully back into work and preparing for the upcoming season. The organization pleasantly surprised you as they did not intend to fire you despite your relationship with Rempe, of course now that wouldn’t pose a problem. But you were happy that you could stay with the organization after you had become so sure this would be where you stayed for the foreseeable future should you and Matt have had your baby to raise.

Checking the time you had a little over an hour left in your work day, figuring you’d use the time to go get some footage of the recent renovations of the locker room to start making a few posts for the socials.

As you exited the elevator your phone was buzzing in your pocket, an image of Rempe brightly filling the screen. A smirk found its way across your lips at the sight of the photo. It was after his debut stadium series game, his eye black slightly smeared as he flashed a goofy smile at the camera. You’d never forget the excitement surrounding that day, but more importantly meeting Matthew.

“Hello Matthew Rempe, how can I help you?”

He chuckled at your sing-song tone as he greeted you. “I am actually getting in the car, just leaving training. But, I realized I need some stuff from the apartment, well your apartment. Can I swing by?”

Heading into the Rangers locker room you pulled your work phone from your pocket, snagging some photos and a few videos to ensure you had plenty of content to use in editing.

“Um, yeah sure. I’m finishing up here at MSG within the hour, then I’ll be heading home. I would say I can be there in like an hour or so? If that works for you?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably hit traffic on my way so that would be fine. I’ll see you soon!”

“Sounds good, see you in a bit.”

-

Dropping your bag on the island you headed down the hall to throw on some comfy clothes, which ended up being some shorts and a Rangers t-shirt that Matthew had left behind. You figured this wasn’t an item he was in need of so he wouldn’t mind you wearing it.

Before you could even get fully settled in from work there was a knock at your door.

“Matthew Rempe, what in the world is this?”

You eyed the boy as he carried in a box of food, setting it on the island as he wrapped you in a quick hug.

“Well, I knew you probably hadn’t eaten dinner yet. And it could be like old times, when we’d get our favorite takeout place for dinner.”

You smiled at the gesture, thinking back to how Matt’s diet surely took a turn throughout your pregnancy once the craving for Chinese food kicked in. Weekly Matt found himself bringing home whatever dish it was you craved, but he never once complained. Well, that is except for when you ended up with a better fortune in your cookie than he did.

“You really didn’t have to do this, I could’ve just made some leftovers or something.”

He shot you a playful smile as he held up the container of steamed dumplings.

“Really? You’d pass on dumplings for leftovers?”

You licked your lips as you stole the container from his hand, moving around to the other side of the island as you pulled out some plates and silverware. Passing some to Matt so he could serve up his food before the two of you found your familiar spots on the floor at your coffee table.

“So, how are you doing? Everything good?”

Nodding your head you reached for a napkin, wiping your mouth before you answered him.

“Yeah, starting to feel like my normal self again. It was a little rocky there for a bit. But, I’m starting to feel good. Able to make it through the workday without crying, which is a big plus. How about you?”

He also nodded, adjusting how he sat on the floor as he rested back on his hands.

“Yeah, same here. I mean, I still have my moments where I do the why me sort of spiel. But I would say I’ve gotten past a lot of the frustration and anger I felt for a while. And training has been freaking amazing, I’m so excited for camp. I’ve been working so hard, the boys are really impressed.”

The smile on his face as he told you about his offseason training schedule warmed your heart. A smile formed on your lips as you saw how excited he was, talking about some of the different workouts he’s pushed himself through. Matt was like a kid in a candy story as he talked about the upcoming season. He’d already come such a long way from the rookie you met at the stadium series.

“I’m really proud of you Matt, and I can tell you’ve been working hard. I can see it for sure!”

“Oh, so you were checking me out eh? The biceps are looking pretty good if I do say so myself.”

He shot you a wink as he flexed his bicep for you, making you roll your eyes playfully as you reached over to steal a bite of his sesame chicken.

“Seriously? Some things just never change I guess.”

He slightly chucked as you shrugged your shoulders. Stealing Matt’s food was always something you’d do after telling him you didn’t like his order. Which would always lead to a silly argument once you’d stolen almost half of his chicken from his plate. Leaving him with mostly rice and veggies, which were obviously not the reason for him ordering the dish. But he never complained, always happy as long as you were.

That was something you’d always appreciated about Matt. He was selfless, always willing to sacrifice anything for you, to put himself in difficult positions for you. But you always felt like you couldn’t give him the same, your heart being pulled in the opposite direction for a guy who clearly had moved on from you like it was nothing.

You hated that you’d hurt Matt, of course losing your baby wasn’t anything you’d ever done intentionally. But to know he still felt as though it was never him in your heart, that you were solely with him for your daughter and not because you liked him enough on his own, it hurt. Because maybe you were both wrong, maybe somehow things could have worked. Had your relationship not began the way it did, if you had simply walked away once you knew Mat had cheated. Maybe you two could've had a happy ending, rather than him moving out with you both left to pick up the pieces separately.

“Y/n!”

Snapping from your thoughts you looked up at Matt, his hand holding out two fortune cookies.

“You pick first, remember?”

It was always tradition for you to pick your cookie first, Matt’s rules. He said that your intuition was better than his, and most of the time your fortunes did suit each of you perfectly.

Taking the cookie on the right you playfully smiled, the two of you ripping open the packages as you each cracked open the cookies. Pulling out the small piece of paper, you read your fortune to yourself, biting your lip as you looked at Matt, seeing him already looking back at you in anticipation. He could see the tears welling in your eyes, immediately moving to your side to comfort you. His arms holding you tight as you cried, trying to pull yourself together as this wasn’t supposed to be a night for the two of you to be sad.

“What did it say?”

You took a deep breath as you sat up, wiping your tears as you read the message out loud.

“If you want the rainbow, you have to tolerate the rain.”

You softly chuckled, now realizing it seemed silly to cry over such a cliche message. But as you looked up at Matt he was fighting his own tears, sniffling as he tried to pull himself together.

“I think that was exactly what you needed to hear right now. Like I’ve always said, your intuition is a hell of a lot better than mine.”

He gave you a smile as he stood up, collecting the dishes and taking them into the sink as he began to clean them off. You then tossed the throw pillows back onto your couch before joining him. Taking a seat on the counter as you watched him dry the dishes before placing them back in the cabinet.

“Well what about you?”

He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he turned to look at you, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter.

“What about me?”

“Your fortune!”

“Ohhh, let’s see, where did I put it?”

Typical Matt. He’d always put his fortune on the table, or in his pocket, the most random places thinking he’d lost it only to find it twenty minutes later.

“Here it is!”

Stuck to the bottom of his sock, that was a new one.

He playfully cleared his throat as he read from the tiny paper.

“A lifetime of happiness is in front of you.”

His eyes flashed up to meet yours, the words ringing in your ears and making your heart skip a beat. Though surely Matt didn’t see it that way, probably interpreting the fortune to be an overall meaning of the future, not literally right in front of him.

He simply shrugged as he placed the dish towel back onto the counter, “guess I’m gonna have to wait for happiness I guess. Unless, right in front of me.”

Looking down he stared at the sink, then flashed his eyes to you.

“This, washing dishes. It’s my future. Is this a sign that camp isn’t gonna go well for me?”

You rolled your eyes, practically falling off the counter at his god awful joke. Searching the apartment for your phone as he continued on, trying his best to make you laugh, which you always appreciated.

Looking at the screen you saw a multitude of text messages, all from none other than Mat. You’d immediately set your phone down, rejoining Matthew in the kitchen as you had no desire to talk to Barzal. It had been a month since you saw him, and you were not in the business of being friends only when it was convenient for him.

“Well, this has really been great, for the both of us I think. But, I gotta grab my stuff and head out. I’ve got an early training session tomorrow.”

Playfully you frowned at him as he headed to your previously shared bedroom, pulling a few things from the closet as he tossed them into a duffle bag he’d brought. Then he moved to the bathroom, and finally ended up in the living room grabbing a few books from the shelf.

“If you ever wanted to come over, not just when you need to grab some of your stuff, you can do that too you know?”

Matt softly smiled at you, appreciating the fact that you were open to still hanging out with him despite everything that happened. He felt awful for the way he left things, for accusing you of not necessarily having feelings for him or ever seeing yourself with him. It was pretty harsh when he thought back on it. And he wished things could’ve played out differently. But to even get an open invite from you to spend time together after the things he’d said, he felt that was a step in the right direction.

“I know that now, and I will definitely keep that in mind.”

He wrapped you in a hug before heading out the door, out of habit kissing your head before awkwardly apologizing. To which you’d told him you didn’t mind, it still felt so normal for him to do so. He promised to text you once he got home, but told you not to wait up as he might hit traffic on his drive and you need your rest for work in the morning. He truly did know you way too well.

Heading back into the living room you heard your phone buzzing on the coffee table. A photo of you and Mat Barzal filling the screen, one you’d apparently never changed after your breakup.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um, is everything okay?”

You scoffed at his somewhat annoyed tone as you took a seat on the couch, pulling a throw blanket over your legs as you spat back at him.

“Like you care? It’s been a month since I saw you and this is the first I’ve heard from you. What about the five other days I’ve tried reaching out? You didn’t care until now?”

He sighed on his end of the call, realizing he’d come off wrong, trying to apologize and start over as he explained himself.

“Well, you’re right. I should’ve responded sooner. But, Ava was in town, I couldn’t have her seeing me talking to you. But, I mean I texted you back now. You’re the one ignoring me now.”

He playfully chuckled, though you were not amused, Mat always thinking he could use charm to move past any wrongdoing.

“First of all, what good does texting me now do if I reached out weeks ago? Maybe I needed you then. And second of all, I wasn’t ignoring you. I was busy. Matt came over to grab some of his things and he brought dinner.”

Mat’s line of the phone went silent, eventually you’d heard him take a deep breath before he spoke.

“So, the guy packs up his things and walks out on you, but suddenly you’re hanging out and having dinner together? Are you two broken up or not?”

His tone was annoyed and angry, though you weren’t sure why considering he was happily engaged, which you didn’t think you needed to remind him of but clearly he’d forgotten.

“Last time I checked, you’re happy with Ava. So why do you care so much? I’m not allowed to have dinner with him? He and I were literally going to have a child, you think that everything between him and I just goes away overnight because I’m no longer pregnant?”

You found yourself laughing, the conversation seeming silly to you. There was no need for you to explain yourself to him, but part of you felt like you owed him something. After all, you did the same thing right back to him that he’d done to you.

“There was never anything between you two! Stop trying to pretend like there was. I get it okay, I fucked up. I should have never cheated on you. Do I think it gave you the right to do the same to me, no. But I could see how I pushed you into the arms of someone else. What I won’t let you do, is try to tell me that even for a second there was something between you and him. He got you pregnant after one night, and you two had to be together for your baby. That’s not love, that’s nothing close to what we had. So don’t you dare try to say it’s anything similar.”

You tried not to take his words personally, knowing they were coming from a place of hurt as he’d clearly not gotten over everything that happened. Rather just tried to mask it all by jumping into an engagement he clearly wasn’t satisfied with. But you weren’t going to just accept the things he said, letting him act as if there were never any feelings felt between you and Matthew.

“Mat, you have never once been in the same room as us. You’ve not been around Matt and I, you don’t know the feelings that are there. You don’t know how we feel towards one another, so you can’t tell me how I feel or how I don’t.”

“How you feel? So what, you still supposedly like this guy? After he packed his shit and walked out on you during one of the hardest moments of your life, you still have fucking feelings for someone like that? You’d want to be with the guy after all this?”

“Well I stayed with you during your shitty moments didn’t I?”

The comment was harsh, but you didn’t care. Mat always thought he could do no wrong, that the way he spoke was justified, and you were sick of him trying to make you feel bad, regardless if you’d hurt him or not.

“Why do you fucking care so much Mat? Must I remind you, you’re engaged! You chose her! So why could you possibly care so much if I still have feelings for Matt or would consider trying to do things the right way with him?”

The line went silent, and it felt as if minutes had passed before Mat finally confessed to you why’d he become so frustrated with you admitting you might truly have feelings for Rempe after all.

“Because I called off my engagement.”

[thefrogdalorian]

Sanctuary

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: It's one of those days when your emotions threaten to overwhelm you. Despite the horrible day you're having, you try your best to keep it together. A feat you manage, until a certain Mandalorian arrives home and takes you into his arms. Word Count: 1.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety/panic attack ✯ Author's Note: Seeing these gifs the other day broke something in my brain and this little fic was the result. I hope this gets you through a day when you really need a hug from Din Djarin 💕 ✯ My Masterlist ✯

On the days when your stomach churned and you were too upset to vocalise the war that waged within yourself, you were grateful to have someone in your life who seemed to know exactly what you needed. There was no doubt that Din understood you better than you understood yourself. It was unsurprising, given how meticulous and attentive he was in everything he turned his hand to.

You had been in each other's lives for some time, yet you still found yourself pleasantly surprised each time he shared such care towards you. You never doubted Din's kind heart once you got to know him, but you were nonetheless astonished by the multitudes he contained. It was astounding how tender and caring the man, who had gained such a fearsome reputation throughout the galaxy as a ruthless bounty hunter, actually was beneath his cold, hard beskar. 

It was early in the morning when Din had left through the door and your stomach tied itself into knots as you heard his heavy footprints gradually fade into the distance. The sound indicated that you were now alone with your thoughts. Throughout the day, you had pushed your emotions to the deepest depths inside yourself. You had been trying to kid yourself, in his absence, that you could survive the day without breaking down. You told yourself over and over that if you could just make it until Din returned and then put on a brave face when he walked through the door, you would have survived the day without dissolving into pieces. The last thing you wanted was for Din to see how upset you were. The fear that you were weighing him down with your troubles or somehow holding him back from achieving greater things was omnipresent. Even though he had never given you a reason to fear such a thing, you were constantly terrified of being seen as a burden to him.

The familiar heavy footsteps grew louder; their rhythmic, even quality indicated they could belong to only one man. You took a deep breath and attempted to steady your racing heart, preparing yourself to keep it together upon Din's return.

The second you saw his figure in the doorway, you knew it was a lost cause. At the sight of the familiar outline of beskar shining in the entryway, you immediately knew that there was no way that you would be able to maintain your composure. You stood up immediately, rising off the chair you had been sitting on as you waited for him, to greet the man who owned your heart entirely. Instead of racing towards him as usual, you found yourself suddenly overcome with apprehension. Your steps faltered with uncertainty as you walked towards him on shaky legs, feeling your ability to stay strong evaporate just from laying eyes upon him. 

Din held his arms out to you without hesitation, beckoning you to come close to him.

“Come here, cyare,” Din whispered as you stepped into his orbit, his voice gravelly, “Let me hold you.”

As you closed the distance between you and Din to rest your head in the crook of his neck, you caught a glimpse of his mudhorn pauldron, glinting despite the low light of the cabin. Despite how terrible you felt, the ghost of a smile passed across your lips as you noticed the signet was so distinctively Din. Stepping into his arms felt like you were returning to safety. To your home.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck and nuzzled into his rough cowl, enjoying his familiar scent. It was musky and masculine, but not overbearing. You detected a faint hint of perspiration mixed with the floral scent you knew lingered on his skin thanks to the bottle of liquid he lathered across his tan skin in the 'fresher each morning. Din’s chestplate was firm against your body. Initially, you recoiled at the slight chill from the beskar, discernible even through your layers of clothing. Once you had adjusted to the temperature and new sensation, though, you felt nothing but warmth when you were in his arms.

As Din held you close and his hands rubbed comforting circles into your back with one strong arm holding you tightly around the waist, you appreciated the way your bodies fit together. It was as you were admiring how you seemed to be made for each other that you noticed how Din had wrapped his cape around your shoulders to further cocoon you into him. As though he was protecting you from all of the hurt that lingered outside of the sanctuary of his arms. From whatever was troubling you. There was no intense questioning, no expectations for answers. Only safety, love and understanding from a man who wanted to help you through your very worst days.

Something about nuzzling into Din’s neck and the care he had taken to raise your spirits rendered you speechless. You were overcome with emotion, powerless to stop the tears which started falling down your cheeks. At first, it was a solitary droplet, but then you couldn’t help yourself as more and more tears slipped from your eyes. 

At the first sound of your sniffles, Din pulled away from you. You felt your stomach drop in panic, momentarily afraid that you had upset him somehow. You looked up at him and felt the embarrassment settle somewhere low in your stomach, a physical symptom of the mortification you felt at your outburst. Then came the shame. You were dismayed that you had lost control of your emotions in such a way. Evidence of your loss of composure was evident in the reflection of your face in his helmet. You watched as your expression grew increasingly more distraught and felt your chest heaving as the panic rose within you, upset at your emotional state.

Fortunately, Din was nothing but understanding and caring. Before your thoughts could spiral anywhere darker, he began to use his soft leather gloves against your cheeks to dry the tears that were burning hot trails down your skin. It distracted you from your anguish, his tender touch providing instant comfort.

You relished the contact and melted into his embrace. Between his hand that lingered on your cheek, while the other rubbed your back and ensured his cape still swaddled you, your mood was instantly calmer. Din brought you back into his shoulder and returned his hands to your back, rubbing up and down as he held you close. You wrapped your arms around his waist, relishing the small contact you gained with the warmth of his flesh between the hard plates of his beskar. You stayed like that for a few more minutes, feeling your anguish dissipate with each second that Din held you.

Eventually, your breathing evened out and returned to a less frantic pace. Sensing that his embrace had had the intended effect on your fragile emotional state, Din pulled away once again and brought his hands to cup your jaw gently.

“How are you feeling now?” he rasped as he stroked your cheeks with his gloved thumbs. 

“Being in your arms always makes me feel better,” you smiled.

“I’d hold you for the rest of my days if you only asked me to, cyare,” Din vowed with a nod of his helmet. 

You smiled then, enjoying the way your face lit up with a smile and how your eyes had regained their sparkle thanks to the tight embrace of your attentive Mandalorian; your sanctuary.

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

Part Five

Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Check part 6 here 🆕

Check part 4 here.

a/n: Hii, I hope you enjoy this part as well, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list 🫶🏻

if you have any ideas of details you want me to include please let me know and don't hesitate to share your critics it helps me a lot to better my writings <3

Music recommendation ♪ : SKZ- Taste ( Yes I am a Stay ♡ )

You shook your hand with Nanami's. Smiling softly at him.

“I see your wife is now playing your game..Gojo?” Said Mei Mei wearing an amused expression,

only earning a glare in return from the man sitting in front of her.

“Come on, don't tell me Nanami triggered your jealousy and protectiveness over your wife” she added.

“Im.Not.Jealous!! And.Shes.Not.A.Real.Wife” he whispered in an angry low tone.

“Hm then why are you so upset about it?” she asked sipping water from her cup.

Gojo leaned in and said, “because I want everyone to treat her poorly, everyone to belittle her and this guys over here shouldn't interfere or try to defend her like the gentleman he is– that's why I'm pissed...my plan is to make her life a living nightmare, and it shouldn't be ruined by anyone, especially Nanamin.. Understood now?”

“Understood” she simply said, looking forward for all the drama that she'll soon witness.

She was relieved that he wasn't jealous, Mei Mei desired Gojo since high school days, and him falling for you; his wife, is something Mei Mei won't allow.

......

“How long have you been teaching here? I haven't seen you around” he asked.

“Um– today is my first day actually” you replied with a hint of awkwardness.

“Oh I see!! good luck then I'm sure you'll do great” he encouraged,

“T-thank you” you stammered ,pleasantly surprised, a warm genuine smile graced your face.

Nanami is indeed respectful and considerate quite the opposite of some other dick that you're stuck with.

“Excuse me for my random question, but what Jujutsu technique do you possess?” he questioned completely oblivious of your situation.

You swallowed with difficulty, rocking your legs under the table in embarrassment. But why would you hide who you really are?

“I–I don't have any Jujutsu energy my situation is kind of complicated so...” you replied,

trying your best to hide your discomfort from his sudden question, especially knowing that your husband is sitting at the table next you and any vulnerability will cost you your dignity and pride.

“Oh I understand! but I'm sure you're skilled with weapon use. It doesn't matter if you have a curse energy or not what matters is the braveness you carry within you” he said and smiled,

he smiled for the very first time in years taking both Gojo and Mei Mei by surprise.

“Nanami smiling? if I knew he had such an attractive smile he would have been one of my preys” thought Mei Mei to herself.

The tables turned, and now it's Gojo's turn to sit and watch your cute interaction with his colleague. Having known Nanami for years, Gojo was already familiar with the way he treats women with ultimate politeness but in Gojo's eyes you weren't deservant of such treatment, he hates you and wanted everyone around to do the same, to turn against you until you feel excluded, until you give up on your job and the small circle you've built in two days. His goal is to make you experience once again the sense of isolation you've grown up with, and Nanami encouraging you was the first step to hinder his goals. That's why Nanami shouldn't get close to you.

...

It was the very first time you witnessed someone acknowledging your skills, someone comforting you and understanding that it's okay to not be a sorcerer. His genuine words touched your heart.

Uncertain how to respond a shy smile formed on your lips, his compliment felt like a gentle breeze that lifted up your spirit, making you forget about all the hate you have dealt with for years.

As the school bell chimed, signaling the break's conclusion, you rose to head to your next teaching assignment for the second years.

“It was nice talking to you, Nanami,”you said gently, keeping eye contact, which he acknowledged without breaking.

“Looking forward to our next meeting...after you” he said, stepping aside to let you walk ahead.

....

“Nanamin!!”

“Yeah Gojo what do you want?” Nanami replied with a sigh, irritated, since Gojo used to annoy him a lot before.

“Nothing much... but maybe next time, acknowledge my presence before chatting with her so casually.”

“Huh? she was sitting alone, and you were with Mei Mei. so what's your point? cuz i couldn't get it yet!”

“Listen, Nanamin, don't waste your time with her. She's–”

“Why would you say that? It's not like I'm trying to steal your wife or something!” Nanami interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“I'd appreciate it if you don't talk to her again”

“She's a mature woman with free will. You don't get to decide who she talks to.. Excuse me now” Nanami asserted, and the walked away.

– Time Skip Night Time –

“Aah, what a day” you sighed, yawning as you began drying off, still wrapped in your towel.

The warm bath washed away the fatigue from a long day of teaching. Smiling at the memory of Nanami's words, recollecting his warm smile. Suddenly interrupted by a voice.

“I see you're happy?” came a voice that caught you off guard, disrupting your thoughts.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?”

“This is my house, or did you forget?”

A blush colored your cheeks as you realized being clad only in a towel that barely covered the length of your thighs, and his focused intense gaze didn't make things any easier.

“Watcha smiling at? don't tell me you're having those lovey-dovey moments where you have a burst of energy, kicking your feet in the air because you developed a crush on someone? is it Nanami?”

“What if it is? are you jealous? I thought you had plans to spend the night with Mei Mei. What brings you here anyway?”

“Oh, you gave yourself away... eavesdropping to my chat earlier?”

“Nah, wasn't really interested in what you said. You were just loud for some reason” you retorted.

“Getting more bratty by each day?” he remarked, taking a step closer as you instinctively took a step back.

“What do you want?” you asked, panic brewing inside, wild thoughts racing through your mind.

“Nothing.. Why do you seem uncomfortable? Is it because I'm getting this close to you? Is it because my fingers are now tracing your skin?” he teased, his fingers leaving a trail of delicate goosebumps on your exposed arm.

“Satoru!” you warned, air hitched in your throat..

“Is it because no one will be able to hear you scream, in this house of thick walls?”

“Satoru get away and- stop it with your g-games” you stuttered as he tarped you between his chest and the wall. He could hear your heart pounding out of your chest.

“What if I dont? what would you do? stop me?” he challenged.

You tried to walk past him, but he was faster, he pushed you on the king sized bed, and crawled on top of you, making you disappear under his giant figure.

“What? I thought you wanted this from the beginning, I thought you wanted me inside of you huh? You wanted to make this marriage real dont you? so why are you fighting it back now?” he said calmly,

He held your hands above your head to stop you from pushing him and hitting his chest.

“SATORU GET OFF OF ME..I DON'T WANT THAT AND YOU KNOW IT”

tears gathered in your eyes, you didn't want your first time to be like this, hell no, it scared the shit out of you, and wanted nothing more than breaking free from his grasp.

“Are you crying now babygirl? I thought you were braver than this..”

“IM NOT CRYING...GET OFF OF ME NOW” you yelled and used your legs to push him away.

Suddenly, he paused and then started laughing hysterically,

“Y-you should have *laugh* seen the scared look on your face...that was hilarious” he continued on laughing,

and you were sat on the bed, fixing your towel looking at him in utter confusion. “w-what the hell?” you whispered.

He paused inhaling, “See how weak you are, unable to protect yourself..” he started, looking at you with dismissive glance.

”I.am.not.weak.”

“I could have broke you if I wanted to, I'm just not interested in fucking a nobody like you..” he spitted each word was thrown at you like daggers.

You swallowed your pain, choking on the tears that you've never allowed to stream.

“You won't.. and I'm not interested in even looking at some arrogant, power digger, empty shell of man like you” you fought back

“Empty shell of a man” echoed in his ears, the thing that he's always avoided, his emptiness, the void that he thought he covered with his strength, you cracked it. How did you even know?

“Why are you silent now Satoru? did I strike a sensitive nerve?”

“I am the strongest, meaningless words coming from a meaningless person won't affect me” he replied, eyes piercing through you..

“Enough with the strongest!! is it your only resort to defend yourself? to prove yourself? You're not special Gojo Satoru, people out there are also worth it, are also strong and talented , you're not better than them not better than anyone, yo–”

“In all the heavens and the earth, I Alone Am the honoured one..do you understand?” he spoke slowly yet with harsh tone..

a tone that sent shivers down your spine. You looked at him silently, his face inches away from yours, looking into each others eyes, his blue eyes; an ocean, a canva of hidden struggles.

If looks could kill, you'd be already sent to heaven.

“Do.You.Understand?” he repeated.

But all what you could do is stare,

“Say.It” he yelled

“no” you started “...in all heavens and the earth, I alone the one you can't control, Satoru” you added twisting his words, and used them against him.

.....

Satoru let out a short, mirthless laugh, the flicker of offense evident in his blue eyes poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue– but it's Gojo Satoru, he would never give you the satisfaction of actually breaking his ego, so what else he could do except flipping the topics.

“From now on I'll be sleeping here. Couch or the other room, your call, but this is my bed” he declared, breaking the silence after thinking he would really break you, from how intense the atmosphere was.

“If I were you, I'd find another spot. But if you stick here, you better sleep with one eye open” he added warning, taking off his shirt to reveal his toned back.

You swiftly gathered your belongings, exiting the room as he began unbuckling his belt.

.....

Sitting in the next room, knees to your chest, tears flowed silently. making sure the door was locked, you couldn't deny he had given you a scare. It was his plan all along, to frighten you, to make you feel vulnerable, proving he could easily assert dominance.

“I hate this. I hate you, Satoru.”

Taglist ✨:

@smolbeanzzz @eolivy @sanriosatoru @khaleesihavilliard @kiki17483 @ryumurin @tqd4455 @bookswillfindyouaway @kunikuzushisbeloved @numblytemporary @black-swan-blog27 @saiyara05 @sukunasleftkneecap @soulofendlessbook @haitanibros0007 @goldenjoyboyy @certainduckanchor @lorako123

@shervinss

@twitabread

@f1uveryysblog @sleepyyammy @allofffmypeaches @myloveforharrystylesneverenough

@olivianyx @inlovewithlondonn @wisepotato404 @butterskyy

[gunnrblze]

Roommate!Hesh

Hello friends. This is my first actual lil piece of writing I’m posting (in this fandom, on this account lol). I’m debating turning it into a full fledged fic, so if you’re intrigued by that I’d love to know! Not to abase myself or anything, but my writing is quite mid lmfao, I just enjoy my silly thoughts n ideas so here you go :)

•1k+ words, SFW, could possibly be read as some slight stalker-ish behavior if you squint, but nothing actually dark like that! The man is just down bad :(

You weren’t exactly sold on living with a stranger yet. Especially not some army guy, but you had little choice.

Desperately needing a roommate after moving to Santa Monica, a friend mentioning a friend of theirs who has a brother. A brother who happens to be looking for a roommate too.

You trusted your friends judgement enough to pursue the recommendation. Figuring that living with a special forces soldier could either be pleasantly uneventful, or a dumpster fire, based on what you knew of the type.

But David, or Hesh as everyone reportedly calls him, was decent. Clean, respectful, kind when he toured you around the apartment. The near boyish charm that laced itself between his heavy presence may have caught your attention.

But a fling, especially with a new roommate, was not what you needed.

Your room was smaller than his, but having gotten to the apartment second to him, you understood first come first served. You just enjoyed the in-unit washer and dryer and stainless steel appliances, if you were being honest.

The apprehension you had, the hang ups of starting a new chapter, moving in with someone you only just met through a friend of a friend, started to dissipate sooner than anticipated. Instead filled in by a dull surprise.

Hesh worked pretty often, but even when he wasn’t around, it’s as if he were still there.

His section of chores always finished, some of yours even started or done completely for you. You asked him about it after divvying up the household responsibilities, making sure you weren’t confused.

But he insisted it was “no biggie”, he’d just found himself taking the trash out on his way to work. Tidying the kitchen up after he got home in the middle of the night and cooked himself an impossibly late dinner.

Said dinner he left in the fridge the next morning, a sticky note on top explaining that you should finish it up so it doesn’t go bad.

Leftovers usually kept for days though, didn’t they?

His boots by the front door, the smell of his aftershave somehow lingering everywhere throughout the apartment, his hat left in the bathroom and the goddamned coasters that he insisted be used around the living room.

When he wasn’t there, it felt like he was. A ghost permeating the walls. His broad frame, tall and wide, voice deep, green eyes that somehow always landed on you when he was near. They weren’t quite unsettling eyes, they were penetrating. As if he could see what lie inside you, too.

But when he was there, it felt almost arresting. Interrupting. You barely knew him, only lived with him for a few weeks.

But you weren’t sure whether you could tell if it even felt that way anymore.

Anything he bought, you were free to use or eat. Was he just that nice? Your old roommates wouldn’t let you touch their things with a 10 foot pole. But what was his seemed to be yours in a way, too.

You chalked it up to him being an eldest child. But you weren’t merely being treated like a younger sibling.

Your Netflix subscription ended and you didnt want to spend the money to renew it, but it didn’t matter because Hesh had Netflix too. Which meant you had it.

Hesh had every kind of household tool one could need in his toolbox, which meant that you had them now too.

Except you couldn’t use them. Because he’d fix whatever you needed. Hang up any picture frame of yours on your wall as you started to decorate your space. And you merely let him, somehow unable to insist that you could indeed, handle it.

It was only natural when he’d asked if you wanted breakfast one morning, explaining that he made too much food. Too much of your favorite food. Or when he not so subtly watched how you made your tea, filing it away in his brain so he could bring you a cup one day when you were sick in bed.

And then some cough drops. And soup. And cold medicine.

Maybe you felt a bit like a guest at a bed and breakfast, or maybe he was just raised decently.

When the washing machine broke, he took a look at it before you could even bring it up to him, was he listening to you in the laundry room? Hard to say. Fixed it so you could do your loads of laundry.

But not before letting you borrow a t-shirt of his, since all your clothes were dirty, of course. You’d obviously have to wash the one you had on, too.

You thought you were surely screwed when your car broke down outside of work one day. But when you texted Hesh and asked if he knew of a good mechanic. he was, naturally, already in the area just running errands.

So he took a look at your car while you stood to the side and watched. Making a point not to watch his biceps flex around the ring of his t-shirt sleeve, or the way he brushed the sweat off his forehead.

Surely you were paying attention to his explanation of the drive belt in your car being too wore out, and not the way his fatigues stretched over the meat of his thighs.

Why was he in his work uniform if he was just running errands? You didn’t think about it very much.

Your job had been stressing you so much, and it appeared something like second nature for him to wrap you into a hug, rubbing his hand up and down your back, murmuring things that seemed too dulcet for a roommate of hardly even a month to soothe you with. Even though it helped.

He was always there, his magnetism suffocating. But not in the way that two hands might feel around your neck. But in the way the sunshine feels beating down on you. The way you feel tipsy before feeling fully drunk, charged but blissful.

Pleasantly inescapable.

You didn’t really stop to fully question his comforts though, not when he made you a cup of tea and put a movie on in the living room, sitting a bit too close to you.

Not that you minded of course, considering you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

And what kind of roommate would he be if he didn’t pick you up and tote you off to your bedroom? He knew you were half awake, and you knew he knew, but it didn’t matter.

With one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your back, your face that didn’t need to be pressed to his chest, it just didn’t matter.

Because what kind of roommate would he be if he didn’t lay you in your bed and cover you up, setting your alarms on your phone so you’d wake up the following morning?

How did he know your passcode? How did he know exactly what alarms you set?

It didn’t really matter to you after he kissed your head goodnight.

[wooahaeproductions]

You Found Me

Lee Seokmin (DK) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship au

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of food, absolutely tooth rotting fluff

Rating: PG-13

A/N: This is for svthub’s Cupid For You collab

Surprise twinnie! @the-boy-meets-evil I was your cupid 😈 I had sooo much fun sending you asks and writing things in a way that I wouldn’t normally so you wouldn’t think it was me. I also was so happy to write this for you. I hope you like it! Special thanks to my dear daughter @starlitmark for looking this over and confirming that it achieved what I intended (and then some)🥺 ~Bee

Your eyes fluttered open as sunlight warmed the bed. You rolled over, expecting to find Seokmin on the other side of you, but to your surprise, his space was empty. Instead, you found a yellow heart-shaped note on his pillow with the words ‘open me’ on the front.

You laughed a little. Your boyfriend was always coming up with different romantic gestures. You slowly unfolded the heart and smoothed out the paper enough to read what he had written.

Good morning, love,

Happy Valentine’s Day! I’ve prepared a scavenger hunt of sorts for you. Each place will have a note for you explaining the next place and why I chose the place you are at. But first things first, go downstairs, and you will find breakfast that I made for you (hopefully, it doesn’t taste bad). I’ll be waiting for you at the very last place. I love you!

~ Your Sunshine

You were a little excited about this. He hadn’t planned anything of this magnitude in the 3 years you had been together. Stretching, you flipped the covers off as you contemplated what clothes would be best to wear for a scavenger hunt. You settled on jeans and a short-sleeved shirt and would grab a sweater on the way out in case you got cold.

After getting ready, you made your way downstairs to the kitchen. You found yourself smiling as you looked at the several dishes Seokmin had set out on the kitchen island and you had absolutely no doubt that Mingyu either helped him with it or made some of them all together.

The aroma of coffee tickled your nose the further into the kitchen you got and you found he had made you a pot of coffee as well, leaving your favorite mug out for you. Next to the mug was another folded-up heart. This one instructed you to wait until you were done eating to open it.

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and grabbed a plate, eager to eat the breakfast he must have spent so much time making. Most of the dishes were simple, but one or two were a little more complicated and you knew Mingyu must have helped with those. You put a little of each dish on your plate and sat down on one of the stools at the edge of the island to eat. You wished Seokmin was here to enjoy it with you, but you understood how much work a scavenger hunt was and took in the slow, quiet morning.

A little while later, you were draining the last bit of your coffee, wondering what Seokmin had in store for you next. You put your plate and mug in the dishwasher and put leftovers away in the fridge. They would no doubt be yummy later, too. Sitting down once again, you opened the second heart note.

Hi love,

Did you enjoy breakfast? I hope it was good, and I’m sure you figured out I had help for the harder items haha. I’m not sure you knew this, but I actually knew who you were before Seungkwan set us up on that blind date and was pleasantly surprised when I saw it was you (obviously). Below are the coordinates of the place where I saw you and noticed you first. When you get there, let the front desk know who you are, and they will give you the next note.

The place he saw you first? What did that mean? You put the coordinates into your phone as you contemplated what he could have possibly meant and cocked your head at the location that came up. You had spent a lot of time there during your early college days and also right about the time that you were set up on the blind date. You were definitely curious.

You walked into the familiar record shop and cafe where you spent much of your college time studying. The shop was always warm, had good coffee, and played the best music. When you took breaks from your nose being in a book, you would browse the records at the back of the room to see if something caught your eye.

You were surprised that nothing about the place had changed, except for the workers, but you knew they employed mostly college students looking for some extra cash. You felt a little awkward going up to the desk at the front and asking about a random note. However, you did it anyway.

“Can I help you?” The boy at the counter asked.

“Hi, I know this sounds weird, but my name is Y/N. Someone left a note here for me?” You cringed at how uneasy you sounded.

“Oh! Yeah, I have it here,” he confirmed and picked up the purple paper from the counter behind him, “I must admit, this is the first time I’ve ever helped with a scavenger hunt. That boyfriend of yours seems very inventive.”

You took the folded paper with a laugh. “He is.” You turned around and walked to a spot out of the way, and you opened the purple heart.

My angel,

I bet you have no clue why I brought you here, but I want you to go sit at the table you always used to sit at when you were here.

You paused for a moment and looked around the little shop. It was pretty quiet, and you were lucky enough that your spot was empty. You made your way to the tiny table tucked in the corner at the end of the record shelves, sitting in the big leather chair before you continued reading.

Now, look directly across from you. Do you see the couch near the window? One day, I came to study and sat on that couch. While taking a break from studying, I decided to look around the shop, and the most beautiful person caught my eye. I came again the next, hoping to see that beautiful person again. I came week after week, noticing all the cute little quirks you had, and found myself slowly falling in love with you.

Then, when it was you at the blind date Seungkwan set up, I knew it was fate. Which brings me to telling you your next location: the park where we had our blind date and where you asked me to be your boyfriend. You’ll go and ride a bike like we did that day, and your next note will be with the attendant when you return the bicycle.

Have fun!

Luckily, the park was not far from the record shop, and it didn’t take you long to walk there. It was a little brisk out, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. You walked through the center of the park, past grassy hills perfect for picnics. You passed the very bench under a large maple tree, where you had sat waiting for the man who was your blind date. You remembered how nervous you were, but somehow, it had all disappeared when Seokmin had arrived, and your eyes met his.

Everything had felt so natural with him that entire date. Any apprehension you would have normally had toward someone you just met didn’t exist, and you didn’t feel the need to be on your best behavior. You felt like you could be nothing less than yourself with him. That’s why you were so bold as to ask him to be your boyfriend at the end of the date. You didn’t want to miss any opportunity with him. And he had happily accepted.

You made your way to the far end of the park, where the bicycle rentals were located. You talked to the attendant and obtained a key to unlock one of the bikes on the rack. When you and Seokmin were here, you had rented a couple’s bicycle. You giggled as you once again thought back to that day. You had wrapped your arms around his waist one time when he peddled extra fast and could feel his surprised intake of breath, could practically see the warmth spreading across his cheeks. It was adorable. He was adorable.

You pulled the bike out to the sidewalk and got on. You decided to ride it along the west side of the park, where the river banked up against it. You peddled around, enjoying the light breeze that blew through your hair. It may have been February, but it was unseasonably warm, and the wind only had a light chill to it. You could hear the sounds of children playing in the grass as you passed, and the earthy smell of the river tickled your nose. It was a very relaxing bike ride.

After making a full circle around the park, you brought the bicycle back to its home. You locked it back up against the rack, then went back to the attendant to return the key and obtain your next letter. The attendant smiled when she exchanged the key for the folded heart, this one bright red.

Hi sweetheart,

This is your last letter on this scavenger hunt. I hope you enjoyed reminiscing about our beginning. I sure did when I was preparing everything for you. I had many memories in mind for the next location: our first kiss, our first fight, when we decided to move in together. However, I decided that the final location should be somewhere completely new. A new memory for us to make.

So, I turned the GPS from my phone on, and it will tell you where I am. Come and find me. I’ll see you soon.

~Always, Seokmin

You had to take the bus this time. While you lived near the sea, you didn’t live close enough to it without taking some sort of transportation to get there. Seokmin’s GPS had indicated he was somewhere just off the boardwalk. You walked along it, getting closer and closer to his location dot and the scent of seawater getting stronger. You accidentally passed it slightly and stopped to look around when you noticed a man standing on the beach with his back to you.

You walked down a set of steps coming from the boardwalk into the sand, and Seokmin turned around upon hearing you approach. “You found me,” he said, a wide smile stretching across his face and lighting his eyes up. He walked to meet you, handing you the bouquet of colorful lilies he held. Taking your free hand, he led you to a blanket that was set up a few feet away.

He led you to sit down and took his seat next to you, hands never letting go of yours. You set the flowers down on the edge of the blanket and sat in a contented silence with Seokmin for a little while. You watched the ocean waves crash in the distance, sea foam forming at the edges as he played with your fingers.

Finally, he spoke into the comfortable silence, “I may have noticed you first, but you made me feel completely seen. You immediately saw how hard I work and the care I put into everything. You found me.” Seokmin said, his brown eyes piercing into yours and that ever-sparkling smile on his face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” he said.

Your grin matched his. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you, my Sun,” you said back and leaned in to kiss him. Your favorite feeling of warmth engulfed you as your lips pressed lightly against his. He moved his against yours languidly, making the moment slow in time.

Eventually, he pulled away to say, “I love you too,” just as oranges and pinks from the sunset started painting parts of the sky. You thought back to the letter from the record shop and decided that fate most certainly had its plans back then and helped you find each other.

©️wooahaeproductions

All works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works.

[hyperesthesias]

Ramblin' Man and Other Sob Stories: The Tale of a Ghoul's Doomed Love Life.

RATING: MATURE words: 15,141. warnings: canon-typical violence, drug-use and addiction, language, mild sexual content, death of a partner, terminal illness, canon-compliant.

SUMMARY: A private conversation with Goodneighbor's Mayor John Hancock, in which he details how he found and lost the love of his life, and how he became a Ghoul.

author's notes: for the sake of this story, this piece utilizes the scrapped plot-point of Fahrenheit being Hancock's daughter.

song recommendations: Whiskey Sunrise by Chris Stapleton; Too Sweet by Hozier; Just Pretend by Bad Omens; Cleopatra by The Lumineers; Ramblin' Man by Allman Brothers Band.

AO3 LINK

I’m not known as a quiet kind of guy. I have the tendency to run my mouth. Ballsy, maybe. Impulsive, sure. I’d like to consider myself intuitive. People who know me – or who used to know me – wouldn’t exactly consider me smart, either. Hell, that’s what piqued my interest in Mentats in the first place. When I get an idea, I don’t easily let it go – something that can be a benefit, or a detriment, depending on how pessimistic you are. I consider myself a realist. Not something that’s often tied to intuition. Most realists I know are just pessimists in disguise. I prefer to see things the way they are: fucked, but not beyond recognition. Everything except for my face, maybe. But I only have myself to blame, there.

I wasn’t always this good looking. I was, actually, by all accounts, good looking at one point in time. At least, I liked to think so. Couldn’t seem to get many ladies to agree with me – they all seemed to focus on my brother. Never understood what they saw in the guy. But then again, we all have different faces we present to different people. Different people can bring out different aspects of ourselves, sometimes even things we didn’t know what we were capable of. That’s not always a good thing. But it’s not always a bad thing, either. Sometimes we can be pleasantly surprised with ourselves.

I know what you might be thinking – a guy like me, that’s not too hard, right? All jokes aside, sometimes it’s nice to know you’re still capable of something good. Especially when all else around you seems to be sinking into depravity and injustice by the minute. 

I felt good once. Not high – not ecstatic. Not altered. I felt good. The feeling was organic, it came from within me. Not manufactured. I felt…like a decent person. Which isn’t easy in a place like this. It’s a feeling I’ll never be able to replicate. Doesn’t matter how many chems I get my hands on, I would never even try to replicate it – it was a feeling unto itself. Something that could never come from a bottle of Jet. Trying to recreate it with drugs, feels like a sin of some kind. 

I’m not opposed to a bit of transgression, but even writing about it – about that woman…I can’t do it justice. Can’t do her any justice. Even though I’ve tried. It’s all I’ve wanted to do.

The only way I can describe it? The picture on a postcard. Something so idyllic, something so far out of reach – so idealized. It sounds kitschy, it feels kitschy. You know it’s a painting, you know it’s not really as pretty in real life, you know all that beauty only exists somewhere in an idealized past. But you can’t look away. You can’t look away. And you’re holding the stupid thing with as much care as you can – making sure the edges don’t fray, that the painting doesn’t fade. It represents something better, bigger than yourself: the way the sunset ought to be, the way it was all those hundreds of years ago. You don’t want to look away. And in the action of preservation, of preserving something beautiful, you find you’ve become a better person.

I know that doesn’t really make sense.

No one’s ever described me as pithy.

I tried to keep things good, I tried to preserve what I could. But nothing stays clean in this wasteland for long. 

Wren was a breath of fresh air in a town where chems were the cleanest thing to inhale. She owned a well in the furthest corner of Goodneighbor – it was the cleanest water you could get for miles. It was only advertised through word of mouth, and Wren didn’t run her mouth to many people. Anyone who knew about the well, knew about Wren – but not everyone who knew Wren knew about the well. She was there before Vic and his boys, she was there after. She didn’t age – not in the same way as a Ghoul, but like something else entirely. She was a Smooth-Skin, and by all accounts she looked human. As the years went by, I thought maybe she was a Synth, and I finally found the courage to ask her as much. She only laughed, and asked if I was implying she was stiff in bed. I never did find out what she was, exactly. Or if she knew of some drug that kept her looking fine – and if I could take a hit off her, as if maybe it would fix me. I figured it must’ve been something in the water. It was the sweetest water I’ve ever tasted.

People used to say water doesn’t have a taste – but, really, it’s the pollution that socks you right in the mouth. That metallic twinge, that thick feeling of oil and rust, the tingle of radiation. But after enough chem use, you start to lose your sense of taste. Really, I think it’s for the better. 

I met Wren before I became what I am now. She knew me since I was a wild and reckless youth – now I’m a wild and reckless wrong-side-of-forty. There were loads of roads into Goodneighbor, the home of good medicinals, if you knew where to look, and if you didn’t mind taking the back alleys. I wandered into a waterway system one night, that’s how I found the well. The passageway I entered was part of a water filtration system Wren came up with herself; I wound up wading runoff water, looking for the other end of the tunnel. Couldn’t find the light.

Instead, I found myself at the long end of a double barreled shotgun, staring at a bleak and brainless future if I didn’t come up with a good reason for trespassing, as she said. I fell head over heels for her the minute I laid eyes on her – both literally and figuratively. I was scrambling on the wet ground, pleading for my life. I must’ve looked as pathetic as I felt, because she had mercy on me. She put away the sawed-off and took me round to her cabin on her patch of land. Later, she told me she let me off the hook because she recognized me from her club – The Bird’s Nest; she said she knew me as the scrawny baby-faced kid trying to live his best life, one Mentat after the next. All I picked up from that later exchange was that she thought I was cute.

The Bird’s Nest club was on the outskirts of Goodneighbor. It was a classy joint, almost as exclusive as Wren’s well. The only way in was through private invitation. I got in in the first place by piggy backing off another acquaintance’s invitation, something that wasn’t exactly looked well upon. She told me she didn’t take kindly to intruders – at her well, or at her club, and as punishment for my intrusions, she said she’d find a use for me. She indentured me to servitude; I had more fun things in mind, but I worked off my crimes with janitorial service. I was instructed to clean the waste waterway, the very one she found me in; it took several days, but I scrubbed it top to bottom. After that, she had me clean The Bird’s Nest – ceiling to floor. I preferred the waterway. You don’t wanna know what kind of shit you can find on the floors of a nightclub.

Wren was as shrewd as she was beautiful. I eventually learned she distilled her own spirits with the water from her well. It made for a dedicated clientele, who couldn’t go back to any other sludge after tasting her whiskey – pure and crisp. Burned in all the right ways. Her competitors in the area all thought she was dealing something on the side; she was poaching customers left and right with the quality of her handiwork. They figured she had to be into something else to keep her retention numbers up so high. But it wasn’t drugs. Not at first, anyway. It was just…her. It wasn’t just her water that made people want to stay. It was her. She made you feel like you were the most important person on Earth, like you two had known each other since the beginning of Time. Like when you walked through her doors, you were coming home. Friendliness isn’t exactly common in the Commonwealth. Or anywhere around here, for that matter. I think people just wanted to feel…wanted. That’s how you felt with Wren.

I was there one day, mopping the floors, when three men came to her club, uninvited. Wren was behind the bar, with a shotgun under the counter. She greeted them as she would have anyone else: she was calm, quiet, she had this unassuming smile – could be used to disarm anyone, but it just as easily hid her own intentions. They demanded she pay them protection money. 

“Why?” she asked. “I can protect myself just fine.”

They all looked at each other like grinning idiots. They stood there laughing at her. But Wren didn’t budge. She was leaned on the bar, with a rag in one hand, glancing at each of them – just waiting for them to make the first move.

“You want to keep this place in operation,” they said, “you’ll keep the boss happy.”

“I don’t answer to your boss,” she said. “I’m an…independent contractor. I take care of myself.”

I stayed a healthy distance away from the impending conflict. The air was rife with that frenetic energy, that electric charge you can feel right before a fight. I wasn’t always so keen to shoot first and ask questions later. That was a skill I learned over time.

“We’ll take care of you and this shack of yours if you don’t hand over the money.” The three men all drew their weapons and started squaring their shoulders.

I can still remember the way her face looked as she stared them down: almost serene, unmoving. Like she wasn’t bothered by these brutes coming into her place, threatening to kill her and burn her place to the ground. She took the rifle out from underneath the bar and set it in front of her. “One of you will make it out of here alive. I’ll let you decide amongst yourselves who you would like it to be.”

I took that as my cue to duck behind something sturdy. 

All I remember after that is the sound of bullets flying and landing in soft flesh. Bodies hit the wood floors, and I could feel their weight reverberate through the planks from my hiding spot, behind a wall at the far corner of the club. Glass shattered, and I heard running footsteps – and for a minute I was worried Wren left me behind with those thugs; but, what did I matter to her anyway? She wouldn’t put her life on the line for me, a thief and a trespasser.

When the gunfire sounded like it died down, I risked looking over the wall and saw the last man standing giving Wren a beat down. Her rifle wound up across the room, it was closer to me than it was to her. He had one hand around her throat, and the other pulling on her hair. She had one arm trying to loosen his grip around her throat, and her other hand shoved into his face, digging her nails into his ugly mug. I panicked – didn’t know what to do. The worst thing I could do was get myself got in the process of trying to help. The smartest thing I could think of was tossing the shotgun back to her.

She kicked the butt of the rifle upwards with a flick of her foot, and caught it – whacking the guy over the head. It left a mark – he stumbled just enough for her to pry free from his grip. The minute she got her footing back, she shot the bastard square in the shoulder. Blood spattered onto her as he was blasted back at the force of the shotgun pellets. He scrambled as quick as he could, and flew out the door before she could fire off another shot.

The minute he was gone, Wren collapsed to the floor, shotgun at her side, her hand around her throat. I took the chance and came out of my hiding place, not sure if the woman was going to keel on the spot. She was covered in blood, could barely breathe. I offered to patch her up, but she told me, as best she could with a hoarse voice, that none of the blood was hers. All she asked me for was a cup of water. It was the least I could do, I figured.

I did as she said: grabbed a glass from behind the bar, and filled it with that crisp, clean water. I knelt beside her and helped her drink it, she had trouble moving her neck – but I noticed, there wasn’t a single bruise on it, where that thug’s hand would’ve been. 

After she finished every last drop in the glass, she turned to me, and told me my debt was paid.

“I spared your life,” she said, “and you saved mine. Consider us even.” Her voice still wasn’t quite what it was before the attack, but her breath was coming back to her, and she looked and sounded as though she’d only been involved in a minor scuffle. “Thank you,” she said, and she tried looking me in the eye, but I couldn’t hold it.

I looked around at the two remaining bodies of those attackers, and felt more of a coward than I did when I first landed in Goodneighbor for good, after Diamond City. The guilt was worse than the crash after a bottle of Jet. That was my first up-close and personal encounter with Vic’s boys. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do jack shit,” I scoffed. “I coulda done more.”

“You have no loyalty to me,” she said. “The fact that you felt obligated to help, someone to whom you owed a debt, says more about your character than what you might or might not have done in the idealized version of yourself.” She swallowed, her hand massaging her neck, but still I couldn’t see even the trace of a bruise left behind.

I didn’t allow myself to feel the weight of her words – the guilt of Diamond City, of all those Ghouls, displaced, dead, or worse, was still too fresh in my mind. And at that time of day, I was still too sober to let myself feel anything at all. She stood, and I sat there, suddenly realizing I would have to mop the floor all over again.

She told me I didn’t have to stay there anymore, my debt was paid, I no longer had any obligation to her or to The Bird’s Nest. I told her I didn’t have anywhere else to go – which was the truth as a drifter, of course, but it was also my own way of sticking around as long as I could. The Bird’s Nest was the first place where I felt like I had a place. Wren bartered my services as a janitor for room and board. I slept in a repurposed broom closet in the back of the building, and even with living there, Wren was somehow always up and at ‘em earlier than me. 

There was a separate, locked room on the opposite side of the building where I stayed. I could hear her tinkering away in there from sun-up to the second the club doors opened. Whenever she left the room, even for a moment, she locked the door behind her. The only key was on her person at all times; she kept it inside her…unmentionables. What? A guy like me, I’m allowed a look at a rack like that. On occasion. 

I began to wonder if the rumors were true, if Wren was selling something other than spirits to keep her clients happy. Something harder, something that lasted longer than whiskey, and that was maybe purer than Jet. It was part of my own selfish reason I was interested in staying as long as I did. That, and, I…I started to feel things for Wren. Things I’d never felt with anyone else. She was everything I wasn’t: beautiful, smart, brave. Being close to her made me feel that maybe I could be those things, too, by osmosis. But I figured a woman like that, she’d never give me a second look. I was used to it – being passed over, mostly invisible. It was my brother who got most of the love, the attention, the good shit in life. Maybe that’s why I like talking so much: I’m an attention seeker at heart.

But I didn’t seek out her attention, I knew there wasn’t a shot between us. I knew what I was, besides a coward: a junkie. She knew it, too. But she never treated me any different. She knew the kind of shit that went down on the club floor – the chems that passed hands, the laced smokes, the patrons huddled in the corners, looking for something extra to take the edge off. Wren was never a fool. Which is exactly why I knew nothing could happen between us.

Vic visited her personally a week later. I wasn’t on the floor when he came by; I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to, around Wren’s secret backroom, when I heard the commotion. She was laughing at him. She had this beautiful laugh, elegant, like something out of an old film. But this laugh was different, it wasn’t something I’d heard from her before, it was sardonic, callous. Like she was making fun of him. Didn’t exactly seem like the smartest move from my vantage point – but who was I to point fingers? I didn’t have the stones enough to help her, either way.

I still remember the sound of his palm hitting her cheek. Her head whipped with the force of his slap. She held a hand to her face for only a second, before she brushed her hair away, and set her eyes on him again. She still had that laugh on her, though, even when he told her to wipe that smile off her face.

“Even if I was in the business of recreational remedies, I wouldn’t give you a dime, Vic. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my operation.”

“Then you won’t be surprised when accidents start to happen,” he said. “But if I were to have the funding, I might be able to prevent these so-said accidents before they happen..”

“Don’t try to extort me, Vic. It’s not a language you speak well. You wanna know what I hear instead? Cowardice. I hear a man who gets off on watching others suffer. I hear a child’s tantrum – a child who has never felt in-control a day in his life. I’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive, Vic. I’ll be here long after you’re dead. I’ve seen men like you come and go. It’s never pretty. If I were you, I’d be more concerned about your own accidents.”

“You threatening me?”

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen enough to know men like you never last long.”

First time I heard her say that, I couldn’t help but wonder who’d be stupid enough to go up against a guy like Vic. Well, we all know how that turned out. Guess ‘stupid’ wasn’t far off.

She let him live. He walked out of The Bird’s Nest without a scratch. Same couldn’t be said for Wren, she was still rubbing the side of her face. From where I stood around the backroom, I couldn’t see a mark on her, though. But that being said, I was too preoccupied with the guilt of trying to catch a glimpse of what was behind that secret door of hers while she wasn’t looking. I went behind her back, literally, trying to see what I could see through the cracks of the door, trying to see if she was hiding anything interesting – interesting to me, anyway, in the way of chems. All I could make out were these silver pots and glass vials. Looked enough like a chem lab to me, though there wasn’t much to go on. Could have just as easily been part of her distillery.

I decided to get away from the backroom door before she found me, and I’d have to half-ass explain myself. I walked onto the floor, instead, and inquired about her encounter.

“He won’t give up,” she said. She was wringing her hands through her bar rag, she looked nervous. I’d never seen Wren nervous up ‘til then.

“What’re you gonna do?” It’s not like I had any heroic ideas at that point.

“Do what I’ve always done. Keep my head down. I won’t be picking any fights with Vic,” she said. “But I’ll finish them if he sends them my way.”

“Sounds like he isn’t giving you much of a choice.”

“That’s what he wants you to think.” She looked at me as she said it. Like she wanted me to really hear it. “That’s what he thrives on.” She threw the towel over her shoulder, and placed a finger along my jaw, guiding me to meet her eyes. “You always have a choice, John.”

That was part of the problem, really. I always had a choice. A choice for good, a choice for evil – evil’s a little dramatic, but no one would call a Jet addiction rational, either. My parents didn’t expect much out of me. Not that there was much to aspire to around here. My brother was always the rising star. The Golden Child. It was my choice to leave them. It was my choice to pick up a bottle of Jet for the first time. It was my choice to spy on Wren, even after all she’d done for me. 

It was my choice to shoot up one night at The Bird’s Nest. All I wanted was to forget – just for a minute, just for a second. Forget the guilt. Forget the fear. Forget the man I was, who I wanted to be – who I knew I could never be. Just forget it all. Just for a minute. 

It was a minute too long. I overdosed. Flat on the floor, fresh out of dignity. 

It’s ironic, really. I used to do anything and everything I could to forget. Now I’m a regular card holder at the Memory Den. Doing anything and everything I can to remember. To relive. Wren, and everything about her.

She found me on the floor, I guess. That’s what she told me. The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed, still unsure what planet I was on. I think I might’ve thrown up on her. But if I did, she never said anything about it.

I just remember the sound of her voice as she said my name: “John…” It was a sigh, it was familiar. It was disappointment. Or, at least, that’s what I thought. 

She was wiping my face with a wet towel, I pushed her hand away. “I don’t want your pity.”

“If I pitied you, you wouldn’t be here. Pity is passive. It does nothing.” She dipped the cloth into a basin of her water and passed it along my face again. “I’m worried, John. There is a difference.”

“I don’t need anyone else’s disappointment. I got enough of it back home.”

“I never said I was disappointed in you. In fact, I’m rather impressed by you.”

I scoffed, and almost pushed her away again, but my arms barely had any strength left in ‘em. “You got the wrong guy.”

“You’re John McDonough, aren’t you? Brother of the Diamond City mayor. I heard what you did for those who were displaced. The children among them. I don’t imagine it was easy to go against the word of your own brother. Although, I’m curious as to why it was he who pursued a career in politics, and not you. You graduated at the top of your class – beating out your brother’s own academic records.”

“If this is a polite way of asking what the hell happened to me, consider me still insulted.”

She only smiled and shook her head; she pressed the bowl of water to my mouth and helped me drink from it. “Not at all. I mean only to say I am impressed. Both by your compassion and discernment.”

“Yeah, well. No one’s ever accused me of being a genius. That’s what the Mentats are for.”

She thought it was funny. “Mentats enhance what’s already there. It doesn’t come from nothing.”

No one ever gave a fuck enough about me to listen, to appreciate, to just…let me be me. I swear, it was a better high than anything I could find in a bottle. “How’d you know who I am, anyhow?”

“It’s my job to know who I let into my establishment. With whom I work. It’s how I’ve survived this long. Knowing who’s who.”

“That why you’re so confident you can wait out Vic and his boys?”

“Partly,” she shrugged, and poured a tablespoon of something white and powdered into the rest of the water in the bowl. She had me drink it; it was bitter and fizzy, but it settled my stomach. “That, and I know men like him never operate long without making enemies. If it isn’t one of his own men who turns on him, it will be someone else he shouldn’t have crossed.”

“You have a lot of faith in other people.”

“I have faith in what I see.” She looked at me as she said it. Like she wanted to know I heard it.

That time I didn’t look away. That time I heard it. I felt it.

After that, she had me working more closely with her, like a personal assistant. She didn’t demand I get clean. She didn’t expect me to be anything other than what I was, who I was. She treated me with respect, like I was an intelligent creature, like I had a brain. It wasn’t something I was used to. But it was good exercise intellectually. A part of me felt like I was living up to whatever potential I might’ve left behind in Diamond City. The only two rules she laid down: don’t get shitfaced on the clock, and don’t go into the locked backroom. Easy enough.

But we always want things we can’t have, don’t we?

She trusted me. She didn’t have to say it. But she did anyway.

She was in her office, tired, more tired than a night’s sleep could fix. A hand on her head, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular; I came in through the door to tell her I’d finished restocking the bar, when I saw her. I didn’t say anything, I just stood there, wondering if she even noticed me. 

I called out to her, but she didn’t hear me, so I took the chance of walking in without permission. The towel over my shoulder, I came beside her, hoping she’d see me out of the corner of her eye. I wasn’t exactly keen on being on the wrong side of her sawed off again. 

“Wren?” I said again.

That time, she jumped, and lucky for me, she realized who was talking to her before she pulled the gun strapped to the underside of her desk. “John…” She exhaled and rubbed her face. “I didn’t hear you, forgive me.”

“It’s alright,” I tried not to sound as worried as I was. “Got something on your mind? You look preoccupied.”

She looked at me with this fatigued smile, and shook her head. “Trying not to think of my failures. Seems to be all I can think about when I close my eyes.”

“You’re talking to the expert of failure,” I said, hoping to see her laugh. “Though I don’t imagine you’d be partial to my preferred coping mechanisms.”

“Maybe you’d be surprised,” she raised a brow. 

I leaned my hip on her desk, arms crossed. “Oh yeah?”

“You’re not the first person in the Commonwealth to use a crutch – to deal with all the shit we see day to day.” She sat back in her chair as she looked at me. “You won’t be the last. All we can do is make sure people don’t suffer needlessly.”

The way she said it, it was like she knew something I didn’t. I got to thinking maybe it had something to do with that secret room of hers. Maybe she was cooking up a drug capable of keeping its user sane. A seemingly impossible feat, but by that point, I was convinced Wren was capable of anything – anything good especially. “You got an idea on how?”

She took a deep breath in and shook her head once. “Making sure people know they have somewhere they can go. That they have a friend. If they need it.” She paused, her eyes looking at nothing in particular again. She looked washed out, like something was eating her from the inside. Like the air passed right through her, leaving her a ghost. It was terrible. Then something crossed her face, like she thought of something that unsettled her, and she turned to me: “You know I’m your friend, don’t you, John?” She asked as though she were afraid I would say no.

I knelt down. “I know. I know that. Hell, you’re the only real friend I think I’ve ever had. You’ve never had an unkind word to say about me, and everyday I work to earn that.” She looked at me, and there was a sadness in her that I don’t think I’ve seen in anyone else – a grief that was too cruel for someone like her. “You know…You know that I’m a friend, too, right? Friends are hard to come by. I want to be your friend. Despite myself.”

She put her hand on my face, and ran it through my hair. There wasn’t an ounce of harm in her. She just smiled at me and nodded. “I know.”

I wanted to tell her then and there that there wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for her – but both of us would’ve known it was a lie. The best I could do was steal a kiss on her hand. Her skin was soft, and while mine wasn’t exactly as good-looking as it is now, at that time I only had a few scorch marks; I was still weathered from the harsh winds and Sun. Her skin felt as if it’d never been touched by the radiation. Like a feather – Like I could kiss it all over, and it would never leave a mark. I wanted to do all that and more, but I settled for a stolen kiss, instead. 

Wren was supposedly older than Vic, himself, which would’ve made her older than me, and any of my family and friends – save for the Ghouls who were around since before the War. I couldn’t make sense of it, she was beautiful, youthful, and not a day over gorgeous. But I learned a long time ago, the less you know, the less you’re liable for, so I didn’t ask questions that I thought were above my paygrade: my pay being room and board. I enjoyed not being homeless, and besides it’s impolite to ask a woman her age, you know.

She recruited my help on something important, she said, it was something no one else was supposed to know about. At first I thought I might finally get a look inside that secret room, but regardless of how curious I was about those vats and vials, nothing could have prepared me for what she showed me, instead. There was a room behind the The Bird’s Nest that was dug into the ground; it was covered in tarps and mud walls, with a crooked skylight window built into the dirt. Turns out it was a greenhouse. Wren had a garden of bright flowers – they were all kinds of pink, yellow, white, some all of those colors at once, with big green leaves, and long pollen-y things in the flowers. It was like something out of a picture book. I’d never seen anything like it, especially up close, in person.

She needed me to help prune and harvest some of the green shoots. I told her I didn’t want to fuck it up, that she shouldn’t have let me in her greenhouse, I was bad luck. All she said was that I wasn’t getting out of work that easy. She put a pair of scissors and gloves in my hand, told me where to snip, and to get to work.

Wren went around the greenhouse collecting what she could, picking the shoots she wanted, and putting them into her apron. The whole thing was surreal. I had to check to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But sure enough, it was real – all of it. She had this white ribbon in her hair, it was pulled back, out of her face. The way the sunlight came in through the skylight, it made her look like some kind of saint. I was damn near ready to believe it, too.

We worked til my shirt was soaked from sweat. It was fucking hot in that greenhouse, the air was thick, and it felt like I was drowning in the humidity. I never thought I’d be ungrateful for water, in any form, but I guess too much of anything ought to kill you. She led me back inside The Bird’s Nest and told me to leave whatever I’d collected by her locked room.

I did as she said, and waited, out of sight, hoping to see into the room when she went in to work. When she dragged the baskets of plants inside, I could see a better set up of what looked to be a laboratory of some sort, and little empty vials waiting to be filled. I was sure that she was brewing something good – something better than anything you could find on the street. Between the plant crop, and her admitting to her own using habits, paired with the fresh needle marks on her arms, I was convinced she was going to flood the market with something sweet. Maybe even push Vic out of Goodneighbor with the profits. It seemed like a good plan, in my mind. But I knew better than to ask. I didn’t want to spook her, I didn’t want to ruin my chances of having first taste of whatever she was cooking. I decided to wait it out, see if she would offer me any as a reward for good behavior.

It wasn’t all selfish, though. And it wasn’t all one-sided. That’s what scared me the most. As the months went by, she would call me for errands that didn’t need doing, for advice she already thought of. She told me, really, it was just because she needed an excuse to talk to me. 

“You don’t need to make an excuse, baby. I know I’m easy to talk to.”

She just laughed. I liked making her laugh. It was the one thing I was good at.

(Farrah, skip to page thirteen.) When she first kissed me I thought I’d taken too much the night before, that I was still dealing with the hallucinogenic consequences. I thought maybe I’d imagined her – that the past eight months were actually a dream that’d gone by in the blink of an eye, that I’d wake up in the gutter of some back alley where I belonged. Then she kissed me again. And I knew my mind couldn’t make up anything that good. It had to be real.

I was worried I’d contaminate her. I was worried all my bad luck, all my failures, my past – all of it, would somehow change her for the worse. I didn’t want that. She deserved better than that. Than me.

Didn’t stop me from sleeping with her, though.

That’s how Farrah happened. Fahrenheit, she calls herself now. But her mother named her Farrah. 

Wren made the first move. I wouldn’t have dared. She was classy about it, she was always the romantic type. She didn’t use other people for her own advantage. When she asked something, she meant it – especially in private matters. She needed to know I wasn’t inebriated, that I wasn’t acting out of clouded judgment, that she wasn’t taking advantage of me. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded if she did, but she wasn’t that kind of person.

I did everything I could to show her just how grateful I was. How much she meant to me. Night and day, anytime she called, I was there when she needed me – for anything at all. I wasn’t her commodity, but I was just that eager. Didn’t matter who knew, wasn’t anything they could do about it. I was hers, and I wore it like a badge.

She was gentle with me. She didn’t need to be, but she was. It wasn’t just sex. It was something else entirely. A kind of high I can never chase down again. Vulnerable – my purest, realest self. That kind of elevation you can’t get anywhere else other than with the person you’re meant to be with. I think those months might’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been, and probably will ever be. 

Of course, I have a knack for ruining good things.

Wren got us something special one night – a little butterfly shaped pill, meant to be shared by two; you broke it in half down the middle, and held one wing under your tongue. It was meant to incite an erotic experience, capable of bringing people together in a way they’d never been before. 

Goddamn, did it work. Best sex of my life.

It was like a piece of myself fused with her. I could almost feel it, somewhere in my chest. The deeper I kissed her, the deeper I was inside her, the more I felt myself tethered to her. The world changed, and everything seemed brighter – it was pitch black, middle of the night, but the room felt as bright as day. Every scrape of her nails into my back felt hot, like sunlight. I couldn’t feel an ounce of pain if I wanted to.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, full of ecstasy. She glowed, bright colors – like the flowers in her greenhouse. She was all the colors of a sunset, as sweet as fruit, and made up of all the sounds a goddess would make. She had her legs wrapped around me all night long, barely let me breathe. I loved the way she looked when she enjoyed herself – especially when I was causin’ it.

(It’s safe now, Farrah. Mostly.) I woke up earlier than her, the Sun wasn’t even up yet. I laid there in her bed, still coming down from the night before. I could feel the heaviness of a crash coming on, and I wasn’t keen on being her downer in the morning. I had the mind to dip into my own supply of whatever was in my stash; I knew I had some MedX in my other room, and I figured I could slip away while she slept, and come back before she woke up for another few hours’ sleep. 

I managed to get out of bed without waking her, and I was almost out the door. I was almost out the door. I should have…just walked out the door. I should have just…

You ever have a memory, and remembering it is like watching it happen in slow motion all over again? And all you want to do is yell at yourself to do the opposite of whatever it was you did? 

Her clothes were on the floor. But the key to that room…it was just sitting there on her night stand. It was too easy. She was out, completely — I’d worn her out good. It was like I was watching myself from the third-person while I did it. I couldn’t stop myself. There wasn’t really any reason, other than morbid curiosity and the not-so-subtle hopefulness that I’d find something worth doping up on. I’d be in and out of there without her knowing, no harm, no foul.

The key fit perfectly, and the door opened with a shove. There were silver, pressurized vats, and some kind of glass distillation process set up. All of it was working, going, even though she wasn’t there to supervise it. I began to think maybe I had been wrong, that it wasn’t some new kind of chem, but that the plants were add-ins to her whiskey. But at the end of the distillery, the glass tubes were collecting droplets of something dark red – almost a rust color — into a vial. It wasn’t a quarter full.

There was a small refrigerator next to this whole set up, and I looked inside thinking maybe she had a bottle of something good I could nip. Turned out, it was only more vials – three of ‘em – and two bags with dates written on them, three months apart, the earliest one being only a couple weeks ago. I grabbed one of the vials and twisted it open; she already had three, and more were on the way, supposedly. It was worth at least a taste. The smell was…odd. Pungent – like iron and compost. Wasn’t exactly appetizing. But wasn’t exactly a deterrent, either. I’d had worse. 

The taste was just as bad – it almost had a soft grainy-ness to it, like soft silt. It left a tang in the mouth, and it went down harsh. Whatever it was supposed to do, just the act of drinking it was starting to kill my vibe. It was only then I started to realize maybe I shouldn’t have been doing what I was doing. The shame was setting in, and I was starting to panic, realizing I didn’t know what to do with the empty vial. I didn’t know how to get rid of it without Wren finding out it was me who took it. 

I had to get back to the room. Return the key, lie back down, and hope that whatever I’d just swallowed wasn’t going to kill me in the next twenty minutes. 

But it was already too late.

I turned around, and Wren was standing there. 

I’ll never forget the look on her face. I knew, in that moment, everything everyone had ever said about me was true: worthless, stupid, selfish junkie.

“What have you done?” The sound of her voice, the betrayal in it, the horror – I can’t get it out of my head.

There was nothing I could say, there was nothing in my head other than regret. “Wren…”

She was starting to cry. I’d never seen her cry before. She grabbed the vial out of my hand, and checked the refrigerator. “It takes me a whole year to make just one – one of these vials! I give my life to make them! I give of my own body – my own blood!” She lifted the sleeve of her robe and showed me the needle marks. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she cried. “You’ve just drank my own blood!” She threw the vial at me and it shattered on a wall behind me. She grabbed the bags from the refrigerator and held them up to me. “My blood!” She sobbed, and checked the distillery, making sure I hadn’t fucked anything else up. 

I was starting to feel sick. I couldn’t tell if it was from whatever it was I’d just taken, or if it was because I couldn’t handle the idea that I’d vaporized the greatest relationship I’d ever had, and would ever have. I couldn’t hold it down, and I started to heave, my body wanted to spit it back out.

“Out! Get out!” she yelled at me, and pushed me out the door just as I threw it up. “It wasn’t meant for you anyway! All it will make you is sick and ill. A year of my life, in one bottle – to give to others who need it. Who need it more than me!” She pounded her fist on her chest, on her heart. “People who rely on me, John! Men, women. Children! The very ones you saved – they rely on me. On what you’ve just wasted,” she was practically shaking with anger as she looked at me and the vomit on the floor. “The only hope Ghouls might have for normalcy.”

I was trying to get back on my feet, still not sure if anything else was going to come back up – my head was spinning and my throat burned. At that point, I wasn’t completely comprehending what she was saying, and at first I thought she meant I was going to turn into a Ghoul. Turns out that didn’t happen until later. What she meant, instead, was something impossible: a cure for ghoulification. I didn’t understand at the time. 

I didn’t understand a lot of things.

“I’ll work it off,” I said, trying to keep my stomach from flipping. “I’ll work – A year, a year you said?” I spit something on the floor as I finally got to my knees. “I’ll work…–”

The way she looked at me…with anger and disgust. I deserved it. And more. But nothing hurt more than when she turned her face away from me. “There is nothing you can do to fix this.”

I begged her, on my knees, practically grasping the hem of her robe for her mercy. “Please – I’ll work – I’ll work it off. I’ll work the seasons. I’ll do anything. I’ll do…”

She still didn’t look at me. But I could tell her anger had turned into something else: heartbreak. “I don’t want you to.” She cried. “I want you to leave.”

I sat there, begging whatever higher power there was out in the universe for all of this to be a dream. A nightmare. That I would wake up next to her, in her bed; that it’d be morning, that I’d get to hold her, that it’d be us and nothing else. So many times before, I’d been the one to leave when things got rough. The one time I wanted to stay, the one time I wanted to make it right, instead…I couldn’t.

I didn’t know at the time that she was in the family way, otherwise there would have been nothing she could have said, nothing she could have done to get rid of me. I would have found a way to stay. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself. Who knows the reality of things. Promises we make to ourselves tend to be the flimsiest. But I like to think even I couldn’t stoop that low.

Again, I was a drifter. I began to wonder if that was all there was for me. I started to believe it. That there was nothing else – just alleyways and gutter beds. Vic’s boys were becoming bolder, terrorizing the population every chance they could get, trying to keep them in line: target practice in their own personal games of lethal darts. The only thing that kept me going was the hope of feeling okay again. The next high, the next score – those moments, ephemeral, transient, where I felt like a person again. I thought I was at my lowest. I didn’t think there was any way for me to feel any worse than I did. 

With every high, the lows got worse. The crashes, the lulls – they were mind numbing, and not in the fun way. I felt like a living, breathing sack of shit. Even the reflections of myself in the gutter puddles were too much to look at. The thought of myself made my skin crawl, and every waking moment was a struggle to get to the next waking moment. 

That’s when I came across a chem-maker at the border of Goodneighbor, he had a laboratory on the outskirts of a travel route towards Diamond City. He was a Ghoul, made shit for the hell of it, because he liked to. He used to be a chemist, apparently, but I was too strung out to listen to his life story. He offered me his cheap shit, but the usual orders of Jet and Mentats weren’t doing it for me anymore. I needed something else – something that would change…me. Who I was. If I could find that, then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad from there on out. Famous last words.

He offered me a bottle of Day Tripper, and my face must’ve done the talking on how annoyed I was because the old guy got offended.

“You don’t get it,” I said. “I don’t want to just see a different world. I want to be different. In the world.”

He looked at me, like he pitied me, and he shook his head. “I don’t got anything that can help you there, kid. Ain’t nothing that can change you, but you. But I got things that can make life a little more worthwhile in the meantime.” He tried to push the Day Tripper on me again.

He went on and on, and my mind started to wander. I noticed a bottle on a shelf behind him that looked similar to Wren’s stuff: it was a little glass vial, filled with a rust colored liquid. “What’s that?” I pointed.

He immediately shut me down. “No – you don’t want that. That’ll change you in all the wrong ways. Not the kind you’re looking for.”

“Where’d you get it?” I thought maybe Wren sold some of her stuff to dealers around Goodneighbor, hoping it would get to the right hands. Didn’t sound like her style, though.

He told me it was a relic from some old time religion that wasn’t around anymore. It was meant to turn people into Ghouls, on purpose. It was used as some kind of transformation ritual, rumored to have hallucinogenic properties. I looked at the guy talking to me, a Ghoul himself, and thought it didn’t sound so bad. He looked pretty much as bad as I felt. It was just more visible. He kept talking, but I was wondering what I would look like – what it would be like to look in a puddle and see someone else for a change. Someone with a different face. Someone who I deserved to see. 

“I’ll take it.”

“I’m not selling it to you, kid,” he scoffed.

I wasn’t exactly flush with caps, but there was one thing I had – it was the only thing that meant anything to me. I thought it might help the chemist, too. Inside my jacket’s inner pocket was a plastic bag, filled with a pressed flower. It was a flower from Wren’s garden, a closed blossom. I took it, before I shot everything to hell, half because I was fascinated with the thing, and half because I wanted a piece of her close to me. But looking at it, debating whether or not to barter it for the vial, I decided I wanted to put the past behind me. I wanted to let her go. For her sake, really. That maybe, on some level, if I was still holding onto her, I was still bringing her down – even from a distance. 

I gave him the flower, and he gave me the vial. I didn’t say anything else. 

The liquid had a similar texture – silty, left a residue on the tongue. The taste was way worse, though. I almost threw that up, too. But I managed to keep it down, managed to ride out the first few minutes of discomfort until the high kicked in. 

It was the weirdest, most incredible thing I’d ever experienced: It felt like dying in slow motion. Saying it that way sounds bad, but it was beautiful. I felt invincible – like I was transcendent of any plane of existence. Like nothing could hurt me – Like I had a purpose, a meaning. The world felt like it should, how I imagined it might’ve in its most perfect form: lush, green, sublime. Nothing could bring me down. It lasted longer than anything else I’d ever taken: three days. One hit. And on the third day, I woke up a different person.

The ghoulification didn’t happen overnight. It was subtle. It started with the color of my skin – marbley and patchy; then like spoiled Cram. Wounds opened, skin split, things sagged on me that I didn’t think could sag. By the first week, I was in a lot of pain. I managed to get my hands on some MedX and it helped keep me sane enough to get through to the second week. By that time, things on me were breaking down; my eyes were the first things to change. That was weird. I’d had blue eyes before. Seeing them turn black all over – that was a trip. 

Week three came around, and I was starting to have regrets. I got what I wanted: looking in the mirror was an experience in itself. I was a completely different person. But one wrong move and my nose dislodged. I had to rip the rest off, myself. You’d have thought I’d lost a fight to a leprotic armadillo. This was no longer the solution I thought it was.

It’d been six months since I’d left Wren, and I was praying to any and every god I could think of that she would have mercy on me again. Just one more time. That maybe this time I could take one of her vials for the right reason. The cosmic irony wasn’t lost on me that the very thing of hers I’d squandered, was what I needed. I didn’t care what I’d have to do to make things right with her. I set out to The Bird’s Nest, hoping to grovel. Hoping to ask for forgiveness. Hoping, maybe, she still loved me. The way I still loved her.

It was gone. All of it.

The only thing left of The Bird’s Nest was its still smoldering wood skeleton. I ran into the wreckage, terrified I’d find Wren’s body, or what might’ve been left of her. I didn’t find anyone, there were no remains of anyone in the debris, as far as I could tell. All that was left in her bedroom was a half-burnt photograph, it’d only survived from being tucked under her mattress. It was a photograph of us, taken by some hot-shot from her club; we were in the background, talking. It was a passing moment, made immortal. I’ve kept it ever since. The next thing I did was look for that locked room of hers, hoping to find a vial of Ghoul-cure that might’ve survived. I managed to find one, but it’d been broken, probably exploded in the fire. I licked whatever droplets I could from it, though. The rest of her equipment was totaled. Nothing survived. 

Her greenhouse was torched, too. Every plant razed to the ground, burnt to a crisp. 

I walked to the well, hoping to at least slake some thirst. But the drink I scooped into my mouth was bitter – sour. Tasted like chemical. The water’d been tainted.

It was Vic. I knew it in my bones. 

I’d never felt more powerless.

There was no way of finding where she went, where she escaped to. If she had another hide-out somewhere, I didn’t know about it. If Vic took her, there was no way I would’ve been able to get her back – at that point. The one thing in my life that I loved, and that loved me back…was gone. 

I was back on the street after that. There wasn’t much left for me. Other than survive. And watch my transformation progress.

It was a couple months after that when Vic’s boys went on a particularly bad tirade. People were getting sick of the bullshit Vic was letting loose on the streets. People were broke, and the broker they were, the fewer places they had to go – especially when Vic started to try his hand at buying real estate from already destitute homeowners. People were dying. They were getting tired of being hunted for sport. 

Vic’s boys liked the thrill of the hunt – The Most Dangerous Game, as it were. They were goons, sure, but they were sick. Twisted. With how many people were displaced, hiding places were getting scarce. I knew of a utility access point with room enough for two, maybe three people tops, if you all squeezed together.

A group of drifters were looking for a place to hide as Vic’s boys were approaching. I was already in the access point, about to close the door when I saw them frantically looking for a place to hide. They didn’t see me, but I was about to wave them over, when I saw the tyrants’ shadows around the corner. I froze. I debated what to do – I could call them over, and risk them exposing my hiding spot. Or I could just stay still. Close the door. 

There were three slits in the metal door that I could see out of when I closed it. That’s when I saw one of the drifters try and take a stand against Vic’s boys. He was done for the minute he opened his mouth. But he told it straight – that people were fed up with their terror tactics. He was dead the second they slammed his head into the ground, blood and brain matter everywhere. But they just kept going. They just kept going…

…And I just sat there, inside that little closet, praying they didn’t hear me crying, praying I wouldn’t be next, all until the beating stopped. His blood was on the access door when I finally opened it.

Everyone has their breaking point. That was mine. I went on a bender, trying to erase everything I’d witnessed from my memory – trying to get the stink of the catastrophic fire at The Bird’s Nest out of my nonexistent nose. Whatever it was, however much of whatever it was, it didn’t matter, it went down the hatch or up the vein. I just wanted the pain to stop. Tale as old as time.

I’m sure you’ve heard the legend from there. I’m a legendary kind of guy. I like to think I make a statement. Woke up in front of Hancock’s duds, and suddenly realized there was a way out – there was a way to be that different person. All it would take was a little bloodshed, and a whole lot of charisma. 

I might’ve still been high as hell, because I don’t know where I got the confidence, but I started organizing the revolution right away. The weapons, the people – it was all on the down-low, but it was getting done. I felt like a different person, especially with the clothes, especially not being able to recognize a shred of myself in the mirror. I think it helped. But the Ghoul-chemist was right, all that change had to come from within; it was just given a good drug-induced push.

Even when I wanted to back out, I realized I was in too deep already. I had the weapons, I had the people looking to me for guidance. I thought of Wren’s words: ‘Making sure people know they have somewhere they can go. That they have a friend. If they need it.’ Those people were relying on me, like people were relying on Wren. And I thought maybe, just maybe, by leading these people, by following through with them, I would be able right my wrongs with her on some cosmic level. 

And as I wrapped that rope around his neck, as I threw Vic off the balcony – as I listened to his neck snap, and the cheering of the people gathered there, I hoped maybe she could feel those amends made from wherever she was.

One of the first private matters I attended to as newly appointed mayor was trying to find Wren. I knew about Nick Valentine’s reputation from Diamond City, and I recruited his help. I told him it was a passive thing, not to dedicate loads of time and effort into it, though he’d still be compensated handsomely. I figured I was one of the last people she wanted to see – if she was still alive. I wanted to give her as much space as possible, but I was still hoping he’d come across her at some point.

Four years went by, and every update from Nick was the same: not a thing on the radar. Eventually, I asked him to consider expanding his search to possible grave sites. I didn’t want to be a pessimist, but like I said before – I’m a realist. And the reality was, Wren’s chances weren’t looking good. She had a talent for keeping her head down, but she also had a knack for making friends. If she was out there, if she was doing alright, she was still helping people. It’s who she was. The fact that Nick couldn’t come across a single person who owed her a favor was a singular sign pointing to the worst possible outcome.

Then, one day, Nick came to my office with news. He looked rattled – and that isn’t a pun. 

He said there was a girl who needed to see me. I didn’t think much of it at first. I’m the mayor, plenty of people say they need to see me on a daily basis. 

But he said this was different.

“She came to my office, looking to hire me,” he said. “She’s a kid, John. I don’t know a whole lot about human development, but she’s about yea high,” he motioned to just below his chest. “Didn’t have the caps to hire me if she wanted to, but I asked her what the job was, and if I agreed, it’d be on the house.”

I shrugged, legs up on my desk, most of my attention paid to the pen in my hand. “So you got a heart a’ gold, what’s this got to do with me?”

“She said she was looking for a McDonough. That’s why she was in Diamond City. She thought she was looking for the Mayor McDonough. Turns out she got the wrong mayor. She was looking for John McDonough.”

I was surprised to say the least, but still confused. “Did she say what she wanted?”

His face may be plastic, but you hang around him long enough you can tell when he’s nervous. “She said she had a message for you. It’s all she said for a while – she’s a real tight lipped kid. Was determined to only talk to you. But I told her without knowing what the message was about, and from whom, I wasn’t going to hand her over to my friend that easy.”

“Aw, that’s cute – You call me your friend to your clients.”

“She said the message is from Wren Huichol. She said she wants to see you.”

“What?” I sat up straight and stood, every other thought left my head. “Way to bury the lead, Nick.”

“I don’t think that could be considered the lead. Comparatively, at least. And there’s a reason I’m burying it.” 

“Spit it out, rust bucket – what’s the matter with you?”

“John, the girl is her daughter.”

My whole body went numb, my ears were deaf and ringing at the same time. I shook my head. “That’s not right. Wren didn’t have kids.” The height that Nick pointed to would’ve made her at least ten years old. “She didn’t have kids.”

“She told me to give you this, as proof.” He pulled something from his coat and handed it to me.

It was a flower. It was dried and pressed, all pretty – well taken care of. It was the kind Wren grew in her greenhouse. It felt like the heaviest thing in the world sitting in my hand. I didn’t know what to believe about the kid, but I knew that if Wren went out of her way to find me, to give me proof – then whatever was going on with her was serious. “Where’s the kid?”

“She’s outside.” 

Nick brought the girl into my office, then waited for me outside the Old State House.

The girl looked around ten years old. She had hair like her mother’s, and that same immovable and unreadable expression. Except the kid looked more stern than her mother. Whoever she was, and whatever she’d seen, it couldn’t have been easy, I thought. She looked like she’d been through hell, and she was still so young.

She didn’t waste any time, got right to the point: “Are you John McDonough?”

But there was something about her eyes, something about the way they looked. I knew them anywhere. I’d tried so hard to forget ‘em. They were mine. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Farrah,” she said. “My mother sent me to find you.”

“She sent you…” It didn’t make sense. “Why? Why send a kid? Why not come herself?”

“She can’t. She’s sick. She sent me to find John McDonough, she said that I would be safe with him. With you. She says she trusted you. That she trusted you to do the right thing.”

The words hit like a rock, and I leaned my back on the edge of the desk to steady myself. “Did she…say anything else?” I knew this girl was my kid, I knew it in my bones. But none of it made sense. Wren and I met only five years ago; any child of mine should have been no older than that.

“She told me that John McDonough is my father. Is that you?”

I managed a nervous laugh, everything in me wanting to bolt. But I stayed put, even if my head was turned away from her. “I – I don’t know, kid, I think you got the wrong guy.”

“I don’t think so.” She kept looking at me, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. I wouldn’t be too calm if I found out my old man was a Ghoul. But she didn’t exactly seem fazed, either. If anything, she just looked tired. Exhausted. Poor kid seemed numb.

I took a deep breath, and got my head together before I crouched down to her level. Those eyes were mine, alright. I recognized the apathy. “How old are you?”

“Five.”

“You’re tall for your age. Well spoken. Why aren’t you like other five year olds? You go through a lot of growth spurts?”

“Mama says it’s because we’re different. That we’re special. But without the water she says she doesn’t know if I’ll be special anymore. She’s sick because she doesn’t have the water.”

“Are you sick, too?”

She shook her head.

“Alright,” my hands went down my face. I was barely keeping it together, but I didn’t want to flip out in front of the kid. “Alright, Farrah. Let’s get you cleaned up, let’s get you something to eat.”

That was the first time she looked her age. Her eyes got all big and watery, and she shook her head again. “I don’t want to leave Mama there by herself.”

I felt the same way she looked: devastated. “Me neither, kid. We’re not gonna leave her there. But I’m guessing you haven’t gotten a lot of food, or a lot of sleep, am I right? She’d want you to get all fuelled up before we go back for her. C’mon,” I stood up and gave her my hand. “You ain’t gonna be alone anymore.”

We headed out the next day – me, Farrah, and Nick. He didn’t have to come, but after I told him the rest of the story, he said he wanted to be moral support. The guy’s too soft for his own gears. It took us a few days to get to Wren’s place: a hideout somewhere between Goodneighbor and Diamond City, the kind of place that isn’t on a map. After Vic’s attack on The Bird’s Nest that’s where she must’ve gone, where she must’ve had Farrah, too. I was kicking myself for not trying harder to find her at the time. But at the very least, Vic was gone now. 

Then again, so was her well. 

Farrah led us inside the house, it was dug into the ground, like her greenhouse. It made the whole thing much cooler, which was a welcome relief from the Sun. I was half expecting to be met with the untimely smell of a body, or some other horror – and I was trying to get Farrah to let me scout the place first, but she’s always been as stubborn as her mother. 

It was only right then, right at that moment, when I stepped inside, when Farrah called out for her mother, that I panicked. I didn’t know what to say to her, I didn’t know how to face her – I looked different than the last time we saw each other. I thought maybe she’d take one look at me and say ‘Nope! Sorry. I’ll get Farrah to someone else who isn’t such a volatile freak.’

But I should’ve known Wren better than that.

I walked into her room just as Farrah told her she’d found me. They were hugging so tight, I thought they’d squeeze the life out of each other. 

“I missed you so much,” I heard Wren tell her, “but I didn’t mean for you to come back – you were supposed to stay there when you found him.”

“I’m a bad influence,” I said. Stupid way to introduce myself, especially after all those years. But it definitely wasn’t wrong.

She looked at me, and it was like all those years apart had just been minutes. She was just as beautiful as I remembered, but she looked sick. She looked like I had been right to be worried. She was thinner. Her cheeks were hollow, and she had dark circles around her eyes. She looked weak, which was never a word I’d used to describe Wren.

“John…” The way she said my name, it was the same. Like she knew me better than I knew myself. 

I took that as my cue to approach her, and she told Farrah to wait in the living room; Nick was there preoccupying himself, he volunteered himself to keep an eye on her while we talked. 

Wren tried to stand, but I told her not to. I sat on the edge of her bed, and kept to myself. I couldn’t look her in the eye. After everything, after all that time of thinking what I might say to her if I ever saw her again, dreaming of her, of holding her again. All I could do was sit there, waiting. Like a dog at her feet.

“You got a new look,” she said.

Took me a minute to realize she was teasing me. But eventually we both scoffed out a laugh. “You like it? I think it gives me a nice vintage feel.”

She laughed, and she sounded the same. Just tired. Made me worried.

“How are you holding up?” I asked. I reached for her without thinking. I gravitated towards her, my hand against her face.

And she didn’t pull away. She stayed there, in my hand. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it, John.”

I tried to brush it away, tried to pretend all those fears weren’t real. “You’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna get you back to the city. You’ll be alright there.”

She just shook her head. “I’m not gonna make it.” She looked up at me, and her eyes were wet, but her body was too tired to cry.

She told me without the water from her well, she was on a one-way track to the ultimate final destination. There was nothing that could stop it, nothing except for that well water. She’d had an emergency supply at her hide-out, about three years’ worth; she managed to stretch it as far as she possibly could between both her and Farrah. But she ran out last year, giving the last of it to the kid. She didn’t know why Farrah seemed fine, by all accounts her fate should’ve been the same. But she figured it was because of whatever wasteland genes I might’ve passed on. Gave her resistance to the radiation, or just made her more…normal. Wren was different, I didn’t fully understand how.

“Promise me you’ll take care of her,” she begged me, squeezing my hand. “Promise me you won’t let anything happen to her.”

“That was never a question.”

We sat there in silence for a while. Between life and death, there wasn’t much that felt significant enough to talk about. But I didn’t let her go. I kept holding her hand as long as she let me. 

“I tried…I tried to find you,” I said.

“I looked for you, too.” 

“If only I’d tried harder, sooner –”

She shook her head against the pillow behind her. “There was nothing you could’ve done, John. Vic came armed to the teeth. It was all I could do to get everyone out. To get myself out, with Farrah. She was just an infant then.”

Imagining Wren alone, with an infant – my infant – having to escape a warzone, it made me want to kill Vic all over again. This time, drawn and quartered through the city. “You don’t ever have to worry about Vic again. He’s gone.”

“I heard,” she smiled, weaker than before. “Took me a long time to figure out it was you.”

“Wasn’t exactly my usual M.O. of hiding my tail between my legs, I know. I just got so sick of it, Wren. So sick of it.”

“You’re a hero.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m barely a mayor. I like the hands-off technique of letting people do what they want.”

“After everything this town went through with Vic, I think that’s just what the people need.”

“You’ve always had faith in me.” The thought occurred to me of governing Goodneighbor without her. I’d been doing it for three years, there wasn’t any reason to think it’d be difficult otherwise. But it suddenly felt like too much. “You’ve gotta come back with me, Wren,” I said again. “I got a doctor there, I’ve got people there. I’ve got people now, Wren. They’ll fix you up. Hell, they can check Farrah – make sure she’s right.” She just shook her head, trying to let me down easy. “C’mon – don’t give up on me now.”

“I’m not giving up, John. I just know when I’ve lost.”

I felt powerless. As powerless as I did when thought I lost her before. “I just got you back.”

She touched my face. I looked different than when she touched me all those years ago. But it still felt just as good. Like home. “You’ll have me again. Someday.” She shook her head again, and tried to look better than she felt: “But I don’t want to think about ‘someday’ right now. I only want to think about right now. About you. About Farrah. Let me, John. Let me.”

I couldn’t tell her no. I asked her to tell me about the kid, instead. Tell me everything I needed to know – everything about her, about the memories that made them both laugh. About what I could do best for her as a father. She didn’t ask me to be anyone other than who I was. She never did. All she asked me was to think of Farrah first, before I did anything stupid. She was a smart kid, she said, she wouldn’t tolerate any of my bullshit. With her as her mother, I told her, I didn’t expect anything less.

She got tired, and I left the room to let her rest. Farrah was still in the living room with Nick, playing chess with him at the table. She was hustling people even then. I’ve always been proud of her. When I walked out of her mother’s room, she got up and took my place by her side. She never left her alone. I sat with Nick, feeling more vulnerable that I was willing to admit.

I told him mostly everything. I told him that Wren wasn’t coming back with us. I told him I didn’t know what I’d do without her. I told him if he wanted to leave, I wouldn’t blame him. 

He wasn’t going anywhere, he said. He was going to see this through with me. 

“Because I’m your client?” I scoffed.

“Because you’re my friend.”

I realized right then that people liked me. I went from being a nothing and a nobody – a radroach in the gutter — to someone people wanted to like. I was consciously aware of it, of course, but I don’t think it really hit me until then. I had friends, just like I told Wren. People who actually cared. It was weird.

Nick was going to offer me the couch to sleep on, but Wren said she wanted both me and Farrah next to her while she slept. I think a part of her was worried she’d go sometime during the night. No one wants to be alone when it happens. I didn’t blame her. I was just surprised she wanted me so close to her. I think a part of me came up with this whole story in my head about how she felt about what happened between us, that I forgot it might not have been completely accurate. I’d used it to self-flagellate for so long, I was learning on the fly how to accept that she still wanted me.

We stayed there for a little over a week. Farrah, her mother, and I got to talk. For once in my life, I felt something like normalcy. None of us talked about what was coming, we just enjoyed the ‘right now’, like Wren wanted. She and I enjoyed it together a whole hell of a lot more when we were alone, though. A couple times, in fact. Who was I to deny a dying woman’s request? 

A part of me thought that she was going to stand up one day and agree to come with me to Goodneighbor. That suddenly she wouldn’t be so sick anymore. That it was just a bad case of exhaustion, and that I was just what the doctor ordered. That me being there would somehow cure all her ails. She looked like she was getting better, anyway. She even made it to the living room, ate dinner with us at the table. 

Then the next morning, she could barely sit up, barely talk.

She asked me for some MedX. “I know you have some,” she said; I could barely hear her. “I saw it in your coat.”

“I have trouble sleeping.”

“John…please.”

I didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did she. There wasn’t anything left to say. She was ready. I had to be.

I made sure Farrah wasn’t around when I gave her the first hit. She started to look like she got some relief. I thought maybe that’s all she needed. Something to even her out. I thought maybe she’d sleep it off for a bit, and then be ready to get up and at ‘em in a few hours. Denial is always a double-edged sword. Gives you some relief for a while, but you always wind up paying for it later.

After a few minutes, she looked at me, and I knew it wasn’t enough. I never was.

“Just a little more…please.”

We both knew what would happen. I didn’t fight her on it.

I grabbed a second syringe, and ripped the cap off with my teeth, trying to keep my thoughts busy on finding a good vein. I tried not to think about what I was actually doing. I was doing what she asked. That’s all I ever wanted to do.

She trusted me. More than I deserved. I’ve always tried to live up to it. 

Wren started to get more relief after the second hit. Her face relaxed, and her breathing started to slow, it wasn’t anxious anymore.

I put a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, baby.”

She whispered to me she wanted Farrah with her, with me. I called in the kid, and she crawled into her mother’s arms. They both fell asleep. I was on the other side of her, watching them. I guess all things considered, I’ve gotten pretty lucky. I didn’t get a lot of time with Wren, but then again, some people never find someone to love in the first place. If there is some big, grand scheme of things, I’m glad it put us together. At least for a little while.

Nick dug the grave while I wasn’t looking. I actually don’t know what I would’ve done without him there. I’m used to being alone. As much as I’ve skipped out on everyone in my life, I’m just as used to people skipping out on me. But he was there. The whole time. I owe that guy a lot.

We stayed as long as Farrah needed to after we buried Wren. 

The trip back to Goodneighbor was a long one. I had never been more exhausted in my life when we finally got back to the State House. I didn’t have a place set up for Farrah yet, so I let her take my bed. I couldn’t sleep anyway. I spent the night looking out at the sky.

The following week, I tried to get back into the swing of things. Putting the past behind me – running. It wasn’t doing me much good, but I liked to pretend it did. I was in my office, trying to split my attention between balancing my ledger and consoling Farrah. I started to get frustrated, and the last thing I wanted to do was lash out at the kid. So I came up with a compromise: I taught her how to cook the books.

I pulled her onto my lap, and went over money math with her. Wren was right, she was a sharp kid – sharper than most at that age. But like all kids, she started to get bored. She was more interested in the way I looked. I started to think maybe she hadn’t seen many Ghouls while hiding out with her mom.

She touched my face, trying to make sense of it. “Why do you look different?” Kids have such a way with words.

“I’m a Ghoul,” I said. 

“How come I don’t look like you, too?”

“You do,” I said. “I didn’t always look like this, y’know. No one’s born a Ghoul. You gotta turn into one.”

“How?”

“Lots of radiation. That’s not gonna happen to you anytime soon, kid. Don’t worry.”

She was still touching my face. She had this stern, careful way of looking at things, like she was thinking. Always thinking. I guess she was trying to imagine what I used to look like.

“Here,” I said, and put her down. “I’m pretty sure I got a picture around here somewhere.” I rifled through my desk for a few minutes. There weren’t many personal effects, besides the occasional smoke box and bullet cartridge, but in the false bottom of the very last drawer, I’d put the old photograph of Wren and me for safe keeping. “Here,” I handed it to her, and pointed. “That’s your mom – and that’s me.”

She looked at the photo, then at me – real scpetical. Like I was pulling one over on her. All I could do was laugh. 

“That’s me, kid. A long time ago.” I pointed again. “See, you and I got the same color eyes. My eyes used to be blue.”

She stared at it for a long time, and sat down on the floor. 

“You can keep it.”

She looked up at me – she suddenly looked her age again: small, fragile.

I put a hand on her head, and let her lean on my leg. I kept working. Still running.

Despite everything – despite myself, really – I think Farrah, or Fahrenheit as she calls herself, turned out alright. No one could know who she was, how we were related, how she was different. It’d make her an easy target, and it would give me an exploitable weakness. I may not be the best politician, but I do know one thing about politics: no one is safe, and no one is off-limits. As far as anyone knew, she was just some orphan kid who was the mayor’s runner. It kept her out of trouble for the most part. But kids are curious critters, they get into things and places they shouldn’t. 

A few years after her mother’s death, Farrah got reckless. She got in with a dangerous crowd. She was the youngest among them, and they were always trying to get her to prove herself. I’m not saying I don’t understand the impulse – I, of all people, have no room to talk – but I made her mother a promise: that I’d look out for her.

Imagine my panic when I couldn’t find her all day, and into the night. I was sweating my head off, trying to figure out where she could’ve gone. I didn’t think she and I got along that terribly, that she’d wanna run away. But all I could imagine was the worst. I had half the mind to call up Nick and ask him to track her down, when I saw her so-called ‘friends’ wandering around the streets without her.

I don’t like to wield my diplomatic power, but when it comes to making sure my people are safe, my kid is safe, it’s personal. Whether they know she’s my blood, or not. I was open to the idea that maybe they weren’t involved at all, that maybe Farrah went off on her own. That is, until I talked with the head of this little crew, myself. I saw Vic in his eyes, and my hands itched to strangle the life out of him. I knew he was responsible for whatever happened to her, wherever she was. 

I dragged him into the Old State House, and laid down the law personally. Busted a kneecap, broke a few fingers, until he gave up their sick plan. These goons lured her out to a guarded junkyard and left her there. I threw him out of the State House and out of the city completely. Him and his whole crew. 

I got to the junkyard after sunset, and was held up by the owner, until he saw it was the mayor at the other end of his shotgun. I told him I was looking for a kid who’d come by earlier; she might’ve been with a group, she might’ve been alone. He knew who I was talking about. He pointed to the sign at the gate:

‘Trespassers will be shot.’

I bolted into the yard, barely thinking, looking for her. There was a clearing in the distance, and that’s where I found her: gaping hole straight through the chest. 

It was the worst moment of my life. There were no thoughts in my head, just…blinding white pain. I held her there for I don’t know how long. It was like the world had ended. Nothing else existed. I’d failed. I’d failed Farrah, I’d failed Wren, myself.

Then she gasped in my arms, and I nearly dropped her in shock – now I may be a user, but I’ve never used that much Jet, enough to bring back the dead. But it wasn’t a hallucination. Farrah was alive, the hole in her chest was mending itself somehow. I didn’t question it, all I did was get her home. By all accounts, she was fine. Got the wind knocked out of her, and felt sick for a few days while things healed up, but she was alright. She’s got the scars to prove she survived.

Kid’s got nine lives. Every damn day I’m worried she’s gonna lose ‘em all. She’s had a few close calls since then, but always comes back kickin’. I half wanted her to be my bodyguard so that I can keep an eye on her. But I know it’s the other way around, too. She looks out for me. Not all fathers can say that about their kids.

I don’t know how long Farrah’s gonna live. A century and a half, like her mother, or a few decades short of a hundred, like any other human. All I know is, I got a long life ahead of me. I don’t mind it. If I live half as long as Wren, I hope to do half as much good as she did. That’s all I want, really: to do good, and have a good time doing it. Sounds more simple than it is, but it’s worth the effort.

I’m still waiting for that ‘someday’ that Wren talked about. But I figure I oughtta fill the time before then, give her a good story when the day comes. Nothing beats a good story. I’m sure she’s got loads for me, too. I’m lookin’ forward to hearing ‘em.

For now, my time is filled with taking care of the people who need most: the misfits and underdogs of the Commonwealth. That, and making sure Fahrenheit doesn’t get herself killed too often — or losing my own head in the process. Not until I go feral, anyway. But that’s a story for another time. A long while from now. Hopefully.

I have a purpose again. It’s what everyone wants: to matter, to be seen, and to be important to people who give a shit. If I had to do it all over again, I would – I’d fix a few mistakes, I’d do a few things I should’ve done, avoid a few things I shouldn’t have done, and made more room for better things. But if I had to do it all again, if I could meet Wren all over again, if we could’ve had the time we did and more – hell yeah, I would. All of it. In a heartbeat.

[fandom-rants]

What’s your opinion about Tony taking Peter along with him to the airport? Of course he did NOT force him or blackmail him, people are literally making shit up to make Tony look bad (because that’s literally all they have, just words without facts) but just in general what do you think?

The way i see it, this is a good, supposed to be safe mission  preparation first mission for him, but people saying he was bad for doing this to peter.

What do you think?

I mean, storyline-wise, it's pretty forced. The MCU high-ups were like, "Spider-Man makes money; let's get him in there!" So. What can you do.

From within, I liked how we were already well past his origin story, and I loved the dynamic between two Nerdy Boys, I thought the thing about Aunt May being young was weird but fine, since I love getting away from tropes and the 'sweet grandma' trope has been beaten to death. I loved Spider-Man as he was written and acted because he was the quintessential silly nerd weirdo who got crazy excited over stuff and nerded out about weaponry and superheroes and everything.

I liked how Tony was explicitly stated to order Peter to stay back and just web them up. I like how both of them were still playing around a little bit; the "Underoos!" thing made it clear Tony wanted Steve to knock it off but never expected a real fight. Even after having Spider-Man take Steve's shield, he still didn't instigate a battle; he just wanted to use Spider-Man as a tool for de-escalation. I was pleasantly surprised, at the time, by Steve being the one to push for a battle, and for his side to end up going WAY too far over and over again, because it proved his imperfections, which I love to see in my superheroes. (I of course abhorred the backtracking in later movies.)

Overall, I thought Tony noticing Peter made sense, since Tony's been leading the Avengers in all but name since the start, no matter what anyone says about Steve, and it makes sense for Tony to be on the lookout for others like himself and the team. It also makes sense that Tony sat on this after learning who Peter was until he found he needed someone to help him get his friends back before the United States government killed them. I wasn't fond of the sudden trip to Germany, but I understood the need for speed and, with the information given about Tony's original plan, I realize he was backed against a wall and making a tough choice.

I loved how, when everything got bad as hell, Tony stopped everything and ran to Peter to order him to stand down and stay out of the fight; I loved how scared he'd been when he'd gotten to Peter's side, because the kid had been in real danger thanks to Steve's team and could have gotten hurt far worse. It is telling to me that Steve was the one to injure Peter, even after learning how young Peter was (there's no way Peter's voice was the voice of an adult, ffs), yet Steve did not ensure Peter was okay. Tony did. Tony was the one to check if the kid was all right and then ensure he stayed out of the increasingly escalating battle.

If the rest of the MCU movies hadn't come out and I hadn't been forced by a bunch of brats on the Internet to endure some of the dumbest bullshit the MCU fandom writes about how sweet angel Steve Rogers did no wrong and evil devil Tony Stark wrought the world asunder, I would actually say that I loved Civil War, for all its faults. Because Steve wanted to be a hero, Tony kept trying to hold everything together, and neither of them did a perfect job but Tony did well and Steve did horribly, and it was about time we got some character depth on Captain America and got to see Tony's merits as a leader, too.

And then. You know. The rest of the movies, and the fandom, and now I want to burn the world to ashes every time someone even mentions MCU Steve Rogers or Civil War to me.

[siriusbeingserious]

DETENTION WITH DOLORES

Hermione had agreed to meet her at the Come and Go room for their third date. They'd started going out a few weeks ago, and Ginny was happy to say that she had been on some pretty romantic dates that even Harry and Cho were jealous about (and we all know how much of a disaster that was).

Ginny wanted to get there early but someone with black robes, a beaky nose and greasy hair had decided to keep the Gryffindors in for ten extra minutes because she had spoken out of turn. But any other Gryffindor would have too, if they'd heard what Summerby said about Harry.

She used to fancy Harry, then started going out with other boys in her third year (Hermione's advice). She went out with Michael Corner from Ravenclaw, but he was too much of a bad loser, so she dumped him. After Michael came Dean Thomas, a boy in Harry's dorm, but he was too insensitive and just couldn't handle a serious relationship. So she broke up with him too, several times.

Then she started noticing just how intensely pretty Hermione Granger really is. She started feeling flustered around Hermione, her ignorance about the whole thing making it worse. After talking to Harry, she finally decided to confess her feelings and take the reaction for what it was.

Unexpectedly but pleasantly, Hermione was completely supportive about Ginny's attraction to girls as well as boys. She was, admittedly, a bit speechless and open-mouthed when Ginny confessed exactly which girl she fancied. Then, to Ginny's surprise, Hermione kissed her fiercely. She kissed back, if it was possible, even more fiercely.

And now here they were.

Hermione probably worried and slightly annoyed about her lateness. Ginny tearing through the corridors as fast as her legs could take her (which was quite fast). When she finally arrived at the agreed meeting place, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

'Damn,' Ginny cursed.

She must've gone back to the dorm room. And so Ginny started the miserable trip up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. But as she reached the fifth flight of stairs, she bumped into someone with curly brown hair. The girl turned, her eyes flashing dangerously.

'Where in God's sake were you?' Hermione hissed at the redhead, grabbing her arm and positively dragging her downstairs.

'I'm sorry, Snape just kept us in because I did something I shouldn't have,' Ginny explained in such a hurry she was positive her girlfriend hadn't understood one word.

Hermione just sighed. 'Sometimes I wonder whether or not I should do something about you.'

'Do something about … do you think something's wrong with me, 'Mione?' asked Ginny, slightly offended.

'Of course not,' said Hermione absently. 'I just meant that maybe you shouldn't be so much like Harry, you know, not knowing when to hold your tongue. Be more like Fred and George. Actually, completely forget I said that - just be more like Ron. Minus the cowardice.'

That had Ginny sniggering.

They walked back to the Room of Requirement in tense silence. Ginny sensed the slight disappointment Hermione was feeling and became slightly downcast. She knew that Hermione was right. Harry acted like that around Umbridge and look where that got him. In detention, doing who-knows-what. She made a mental note not to speak out of turn, no matter how unfair the circumstances are. That was gonna be hard.

'Ginny?'

'Hmm?' Ginny responded.

'You will think about controlling what you say, won't you? I mean, I know how it feels to be bullied by Snape, believe me. But I've never said something that got me in any serious punishment.'

Ginny shuffled her feet uncomfortably and stared at the ground. 'I understand.'

'I'm not angry, Gin-Gin,' Hermione said soothingly. 'I'm just worried about you.'

'Yeah, I know,' said Ginny, still downcast. 'I'll behave. Promise.'

'I love you, Ginny. You know that, right?'

'Only hear it about fifty times a day, I must have missed it,' she teased.

And then Hermione's lips were on hers - Hermione's sweet lips, tasting of chocolate. Ginny wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's neck, one hand straying into the brunette's hair. Hermione pressed her left knee up into Ginny's crotch, earning a small moan from the redhead. Ginny wanted to scream as Hermione's knee did illegal things to her core, but she was focused on making as little sound as possible.

Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't satisfied with the sounds her ginger girlfriend was making (or trying not to make). She decided to take the make-out session up a notch by sneaking a hand into Ginny's shirt and teasing her breast through the lacy fabric of her bra. This caused new mewls of pleasure to escape the ginger girl's mouth, and caused a new warmth to pool between Hermione's legs.

Hermione pulled away and started sucking on the exposed, sensitive flesh of Ginny's neck, causing the adorable whimpers that escaped the redhead's mouth to become noticeably louder. Hermione smirked and sucked harder, determined to leave a hickey. She had minor qualms about the possibilities of Filch skulking around the area but dismissed them as highly unlikely.

Involuntary gasps of pleasure were escaping the youngest Weasley's mouth as Hermione's lips tormented her body in the most passionate way. Ginny was getting incredibly wet, wetter than she'd ever gotten watching stimulating scenes on Hermione's phone at The Burrow. And thinking about those obscene images was not so much helping her arousal ebb away as much as making it even more unbearable. She'd never thought she'd want anyone as desperately as she wanted Hermione now.

Hermione loved how Ginny was letting her guard down, gradual though the process was. It was also increasing her arousal to know by the dampening spot in the middle of Ginny's legs that her ginger girlfriend was aroused as well, perhaps even more so. And the feeling of Ginny grinding against her thigh in a desperate, hormone-driven attempt to satisfy her hungry, perverse desires was only clouding her vision and judgement.

Hermione's lips claimed Ginny's suddenly, catching the redhead off guard and making her arousal start rising to its peak. Hermione brushed her tongue against Ginny's bottom lip, requesting for permission to invade her girlfriend's wet, warm mouth. Ginny parted her lips immediately, beginning a very hot battle as their tongues danced and wrestled with each other.

Ginny pushed her girlfriend away long enough to say, 'There are so many places I want your tongue right now, Granger,' before Hermione's lips were on hers again, their tongues brushing against each other's. Ginny savored the sweet taste that was her girlfriend as she continued grinding against Hermione's thigh desperately, thinking all the while, Good Lord, Hermione. Please, please, please, PLEASE have mercy and screw me. Screw me so hard I can't walk without my legs giving out. Make this hormonal torture end. Please.

'WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING?' shrieked a sickeningly sweet, girlish voice that both of them recognized - with a rising sense of alarm and terror - as Dolores Jane Umbridge's.

They jumped apart and looked around at her. She was staring at the two with an expression of the utmost disgust and shock. They didn't linger on that for long, being used to getting the same look from a couple of students since they came out.

'What do you think you're doing?' she repeated, in a lower and more dangerous voice.

'Making out,' said Ginny simply.

Hermione shot her a dirty look that made her feel slightly ashamed. That was the promise gone out the window.

'To my office,' said Umbridge, her gaze jumping from one to the other.

'No,' Hermione said defiantly.

Ginny looked at her like she'd grown another head. 'Did you just say -'

'Yeah, I said "No",' Hermione said clearly. 'We are not doing anything wrong.'

'I wouldn't say that, Miss Granger.' Umbridge had an annoying habit of remembering the names of people who annoy her. 'You and Miss Weasley here' - well, well. It seemed like Ginny was in her list of troublemakers too - 'have committed an abomination.'

'Displaying affection in public isn't breaking the rules,' Hermione said defiantly.

'Be that as it may, and it isn't, you still deserve to be punished.'

Ginny bit her lip to prevent herself from hurling a string of choice insults at the toad-faced Ministry official. You're an abomination, you homophobic prick. Luckily for her, she kept those words to herself and walked quietly after Hermione, who was following Umbridge to her office.

Umbridge made the mistake of arranging for Hermione to sit right next to her girlfriend. She handed both of them identical quills. Due to Harry's ranting, both girls knew exactly what the quills did, and said nothing as the parchment scrolls were placed in front of them.

'Do you have any questions, girls?' asked Umbridge sweetly.

Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other for a split-second, then shook their heads.

'Are you sure?'

They nodded.

'Very well, then. I want you to write "I must not commit abominations".'

'How many times?' Ginny said grudgingly.

'As many as it takes, Miss Weasley.'

As soon as Ginny put quill to parchment so that she could write the first word, she hissed in pain. Hermione shot her a look that clearly stated, Don't make another sound. Regretting her outburst, Ginny bit her lip and stared down at the red "ink" on the parchment.

Umbridge's voice rang out clearly as she said, 'Is there a problem?'

Without looking up, Ginny shook her head. The stinging pain built, making her bite her lip harder, but she refused to give in. She wrote the sentence one, two, three times. An invisible scalpel was cutting into her skin, making the cuts deeper with every letter. After writing the sentence for the fiftieth time, biting her lip a little harder each new beginning (she had been counting), she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Hermione. Think of Hermione. She and you under the tree near the lake. She and you in the Room of Requirement. Your first kiss. Your first make-out. Your first …

Hermione's hand snaked over her left leg and up her skirt. Ginny refrained from inhaling sharply as her girlfriend's fingers started playing with her already-dampening folds. She sneaked a pleading look in Hermione's direction, but the brunette wasn’t even looking her way; she had the same pained expression Ginny herself had abandoned a few seconds ago and replaced with pleasant surprise. She was completely focused on the parchment … but then how did one explain what was happening under the desk? And was that a smirk playing at Hermione's lips?

Ginny, who was good at hiding her feelings, masked her face in a look of suppressed agony and frustration, a look that was mirrored by the brunette sitting right next to her. She started writing the sentence for the fifty-first time, ignoring the strong metallic taste in her mouth. She almost dropped the quill, though, when a sudden intensely hot and ecstatic pleasure rippled through her whole body, making her almost - almost - drop the quill. She shot Hermione a warning look, but her girlfriend didn't even seem to be looking at her. Ginny looked closely, and confirmed that Hermione really was smirking, though it was so discreet you had to be looking for the smirk to notice.

Focus, Ginny.

She wrote the condescending sentence again, not knowing how long it'd been since she'd been out on the Quidditch field. Feeling relieved at finally finding a decent distraction, she seized on the subject of Quidditch eagerly and spent about twenty minutes thinking about their next game.

A soft moan escaped her lips as her girlfriend's index finger entered her. How she could get Hermione to stop without telling her, she didn't know. And she wasn't sure she wanted the brunette to stop.

Hermione, who had jerked off countless times and had almost incomparable expertise in how to pleasure a woman, started hitting Ginny's pleasure points, smirking every time she heard that adorable suppressed moan escape the redhead's mouth, unheard by the toad-faced professor sitting at the desk.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised at her girlfriend's tightness. She moved her finger slowly in and out of the younger girl, marveling at the way Umbridge remained deaf to Ginny's cries of pleasure, despite their steadily increasing volume.

Ginny inhaled sharply whenever Hermione's finger lightly touched a particularly sensitive spot inside her, and would be screaming in pleasure whenever the brunette roughly pressed into a sweet spot if it wasn't for the possibility of Umbridge overhearing.

'Yes,' Ginny hissed, her eyes unfocused as she tried in vain to concentrate on the scroll of parchment in front of her. 'Yes, Hermione, yes … oh fuck, that feels so good, yes … fuck, my love, keep going, just like that, oh God, yes … shit, shit, shit, fuck … bloody hell yes, my love, keep going … I'm so bloody close, so close, just keep going just like that, FUCK!'

The last word was screamed out as Ginny arched her back, the orgasm overwhelming her, ripping through her body. She fell back down onto the seat, panting, sweating like she'd been out on the pitch all day for three straight days.

Then Umbridge looked up. 'What is going on?'

Without her girlfriend noticing it, Hermione had pulled her finger out of the redhead's core and was now seductively sucking it, keeping her eyes on the redhead beside her. Ginny felt the orgasm ebb away, leaving her in a state of relaxed ecstasy and bliss.

She answered for them both. 'Nothing, Professor.'

Umbridge glared at them both, then smiled as she looked down at Ginny's left and Hermione's right hand, which were bleeding profusely. Ginny had almost forgotten the throbbing agony when she was being fingered by her girlfriend, but winced as it came back in an almost unbearable surge.

'You may go now,' said Umbridge.

The two girls got up slowly, put the pieces of parchment away, and walked out of the room. Once they were certain that they were out of earshot, Ginny exploded with anger and righteous indignancy.

'I hate her!' she exclaimed. 'I thought I hated Snape, but now I think he comes in second.'

'I know,' Hermione said. 'I hate her too. But, to be honest, it wasn't all bad, was it?'

She winked at the younger girl, who looked confused for a second, then grinned, a blush creeping up her cheeks. They headed towards the stairs to Gryffindor Tower and started climbing slowly, because neither was in a big hurry to get to the dormitories.

'Never thought we'd have our first time in detention, let alone a detention with Umbridge,' Ginny laughed. 'Incomparable.'

'I saw how miserable you were. I had to do something.'

'You have quite a lot of confidence nowadays. Are you sure you aren't some impostor posing as my amazing girlfriend?'

'It took me all my courage to do that, and now you're calling me an impostor?' exclaimed Hermione, mock-angry. 'The nerve of some girls.'

'But damn -' Ginny winced '- this hurts like mad.'

'Essence of Murtlap will do the trick, trust me.'

Ginny said the password lazily and the portrait swung aside. They clambered through it and collapsed into the armchairs closest to the fire.

'Can't believe I had detention with a literal toad, today,' sighed Ginny.

'But it wasn't all bad, eh, Gin-Gin?'

'You can say that again.'

FIN.

[staliamazing]

tag game TEHEH

name: sarah !!!! c'est moi

age: twenty, to be twenty-one soon-ish. i am planning a party. will i go through with it? who's to say.

star sign: taurus sun, capricorn rising, gemini moon. i have beef with geminis so the last one deeply upsets me.

first language: english

second language: je parle français !!

i was near fluent and have my B2 but don't practice anymore. i am considering getting back into it because i feel i need more hobbies and highly regret throwing out all my textbooks and notes. (that's a whole other story i LOVED school and threw out all my damn notes and stuff?!?!? sarah you dumb dumb)

favorite lip product: that lush lip scrub! i've lost my peppermint tub but anticipate it turning up when i least expect it. my lips always has excess skin peeling off for some reason so its great to feel exfoliated!

the best food dish you can make without a recipe? um. pizza bread! pizza, pizza sauce, cheese. eat up friends!

if you drink tea, what kind? none, get away from me. SOMETIMES lipton peach iced tea but only if im at mad mex.

if you drink coffee, what roast do you usually get? see last answer. i get the jitters.

favorite thing to watch on youtube right now: THE BALD AND THE BEAUTIFUL. i;ve been watching upwards of two episodes every night in bed.

favorite thing to watch on youtube in 2012: for sure mormon family vloggers. pick a channel i probably watched them. i have no fucking clue why!

favorite item of clothing right now: new graphic tee! the alice oseman x everpress collab with this gorg patchwork design and all little queer and trans doodles over it! the proceeds went to LGBTQIA+ refugees <3 i fucking love graphic tees holy shit

favorite item of clothing in 2012: some form of graphic leggings im certain.

fandom -

three movies you recommend: the half of it on netflix - watched recently and was confused but pleasantly surprised

your favorite concert: either one i went to with my gf! they were both great experiences even though i was shitting myself before both because i have a lot of sound and crowd sensitiivities ( # actually autistic). i loved being in the pit for ATL despite not knowing any songs and i like how you can feel the music inside you.

have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion? no i've actually followed someone because i love getting mad <3 over time i have grown to really respect them and where their views come from which im proud of because i can be a bit close-minded.

the best tv show you watched last year: i watch a lot of shows! recently though i watched euphoria and understood the hype. couldn't rewatch though. it felt like a disservice to the shock factor i feel like the show really feeds off.

do you have a fancasting you just can’t let go of? don't pay much attention to fancasts!

a ship you’ve abandoned: im so sorry amy and rory from doctor who... i legit met them too. it just doesnt hit the same and im glad they divorced. amy was too swept up in the doctor and rory is a damn sweetheart who honestly deserves better. ALSO maya and lucas from girl meets world - bit random honestly why did they do that. lucas and riley from day one. maya and zay!

on a scale of 1-10 how willing are you to share your ao3 history? 7? depends on who to! anyone on here sure. not real people they'd be like "what do you mean you like fics where that little thug man wears short skirts" they just wouldnt UNDERSTAND

what fandom do you wish was bigger? tori spring fandom! maybe it is and i just dont know but.

do you have a fandom tattoo? yah, the fandom of my high school english teacher! most of my tats are literary inspired and specifically books i read in school for the curriculum.

my others are - phoebe bridgers related

gf related (she tattooed me) (fave fandom) (she's the best)

has a finale ever ruined a show for you? definitely i just can't remember which lmao im sorry

have you…

swam in an ocean? yep! swam is a strong word though. i've been in and bobbed up and down! i usually run from the tide.

been vegan/vegetarian? both! at different times. it was very much part of my friend and family culture growing up.

gone skinny dipping? yes, in my exs best friends dads girlfriends dead uncles pool :) honestly 10/10 swimming with clothes on is so random? i think its so beautiful how people look under the blue wavy water of the pool.

gone skiing? no i am scared of the snow since learning about crevasses in year 4 and almost falling off a ski lift at a very young age. i do love the cold and the ski lodge episode of gmw though.

thanks for the tag @iansw0rld, these are fun :)

[misscrawfords]

Hello, fanfic writer question, please. 1, 2, 9, 13, 40, 44, 58, 91. There were so many good ones! Thank you

I'm sorry for the delay in answering this! It was Easter and then I've been on holiday...

do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

I never start writing unless I know the ending of the story. Like how the conclusions to essays should reflect the introduction, the ending of a story needs to be in the mind of the author from the beginning. But there might be quite a lot of wilderness in the middle I'm not sure about!

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

Actually, that doesn't really happen to me a lot. Stories unfurl and sometimes develop in cool ways when I think of a new bit of plot or development, but the characters don't really do this... I guess a kind of example was with my teenage HP next generation sequel where after writing it for quite a long time I realised one of the main characters was gay and this made so much sense! It wasn't relevant in any way to the plot but I felt I understood Xanthia so much better and it wasn't something I consciously plotted out.

9 - already answered

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

Back when I wrote Downton fic, my collaboration with Claire (@orangeshipper) was such a lovely experience. We were just so in tune with each other in terms of what we wanted to convey about Matthew and Mary and it helped us both develop our writing skills a lot. And we became proper IRL friends too. I can't really imagine having a writing partner like that again.

40. best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

Ooh, I don't know about anything specific but I always loved the comments that a fellow M/M shipper EOlivet left on my fic. We ended up kind of falling out but I was always sorry about that - she gave the best feedback! And @wah-pah also writes amazing reviews and I always feel incredibly grateful if she reads what I've written.

44. any writing advice you want to share?

Uhhhhh I'm not sure I, a person who hasn't written in ages, can give anyone any advice! But I guess I would say that writing has to be what you want to do and whatever you do is okay. I've wasted my emotions and my energy feeling competitive about my writing which is stupid when writers should support each other, and I've also felt jealous of people who seem able to write all the time on top of other lives or who are able to prioritise it or manage to write 1000 words a day or whatever. We all have different lives. Right now, my life doesn't admit of me pursuing writing seriously. It's the wrong point. I do hope at some point that will change but it's okay that I am prioritising other things at the moment. So I guess my advice would be to take it easy and not beat yourself up if you're not writing as much as you want to or how you want to - and definitely don't compare yourself to others!

58. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

Golly, no idea. I'm sorry! It's been so long...

91. how has your writing style changed over the years?

Tricky. I'd like to think it's improved but honestly I'm not sure it has. I think I peaked when I was doing my masters degree, now over 10 years ago. I was so immersed in reading and the analysis of fiction I was really conscious of how I was writing. I wrote Consolation Prize and a lot of University Challenge then. I think I've got better at writing stories set in the modern era since then and perhaps developed more of a style. But tbqh I think I was a better writer ten years ago and I find that really depressing and it puts me off writing again. :(

[oletusfragments]

💌 to Joseph Desaulniers:

hello photographer! I am contacting you through this letter because it is difficult for me to speak to you in person.

first of all let me apologize for wasting your time reading this. you can answer it or not, you can burn it or ignore it.

everything around him makes me very nervous, you know? from the smallest of your gestures to the words that come out of you are really important to me, the way you sometimes look or act mesmerizes me.

sometimes my mind is clouded and I don't know how to act, I would like to describe how much I love your photos and what they convey to me, the way my emotions react when you say or do certain things, their beauty or charming attitudes but not I know how to express myself with words.

That is why I would like to express these things with actions. Could you like to hear me sing? maybe I could show you some paintings? Sometimes I feel like giving you those flowers that you like or flowers that make me think of you

Anyway, I'm beating around the bush and this whole thing is getting really embarrassing. I just felt the need to vent a bit about this even though I didn't do it right.

—Len

(This time if I could do it right?)

Joseph Desaulnier has received your letter!

He is skilled and handsome indeed. That is something he acknowledges but to hear it from you, it gives a much more swell feeling.

Joseph started photography for the sole purpose of preserving something. He dislikes erosion and he sees it as a threat to all living. That is why he seeks to maintain it—for eternity.

He's glad that you see his work much more than a picture for display. Everyone is too scared of him to say or think about it like that, actually.

The photographer is pleasantly surprised of your offer. He doesn't know how special he could be for you but to say you want to sing or paint for him, even give flowers to him, who is he to reject? You've been so lovely to him. Of course he'd accept. It's only right to reciprocate the affection, yes?

You don't have to worry if you did things right. To him, you are absolutely perfect.

— Joseph replied to your letter!

Dear Len,

You are too good for me. Just what have I done to deserve you? I feel like the luckiest man alive to have someone like you.

I've had a lot of admirers in the past. But you're the only one who's ever understood me better than anyone.

I would love to watch you showcase your talents for me. I want to see you shine. You don't need to give the flowers. Rather, wait for me to give you yours. I take it that we'll be meeting later then?

– Joseph Desaulnier

[ yes you did it right :D ]

[papiliotao]

luz de mi vida!! mi cielo!!

hi :D

i just had to write a letter about you too because the last one?? was so?? cute?? wholesome?? NICE??? it had me blushing so much because when i read it, first thing in the morning, i wasn’t expecting it at all and it was so AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

ahem

you’re literally so sweet, let’s put that out there first of all. you send me so many ideas and drabbles to me, especially the latter whenever i’m not feeling my best, and that means so much to me, rei. like you didn’t have to at all, and yet you did and i cherish each and every little thing you send my way. thank you so much.

also!! you’re so cute!! end of story!!

i felt like i mentioned this before but i always love waking up to one of you asks because from there on it makes my morning; it could be a love letter, just you checking in, a meme, and so on, and it always makes me smile like an idiot.

did i mention that you’re cute? no? well then, rei, you’re cute!!

i don’t even know what you’re talking about when you’re saying i’m the sunshine here - that’s you. you’re literally so warm and always nice to be around, you make me so happy as much as anyone else you talk to too. i always admired you for that, and i still pretty much do. you’re the one who’s a joy to be around, you’re the one who makes everyone else smile!

alright, how do i put this in words?

rei, thank you for making my time on here really precious to me. i was happy enough posting my works here and happy enough that it got the attention that it had, but talking to you made these last months even better!! always something to look forward to, at the very least, whenever i open up this app to draft an idea or reread some fics i liked. with every idea we shared, every greeting, it always made me feel a bit happier knowing that i have a moot like you. also hope that i get to send in more letters like these too! so i’m sorry if this a bit lacking right now; other than writing, putting my thoughts into words is harder than it is.

sincerely,

your beloved and awesome future spouse <3

p.s. you’re really cute

okay now that i’m alive again and feeling less loopy, i’m here to answer this :D

first of all, i’m glad you enjoyed the last letter!! that means i’ll need to send more heehee

also i LOVE sending drabbles to you!! for some reason, i actually feel motivated to write, and i’m just happy there’s something i can do to cheer you up. it’s funny because i never expected to care so much about anyone i met on tumblr dot com, but over the past few months, i’ve made a lot of cool friends, and you’re one of them <3

and janjfnff my asks make you smile aksnidjcn dissolving!!! disintegrating!!! disappearing!!! turning into dust!!! knowing that you enjoy talking to me honestly just made my whole day, and i’ll be sure to get better with sending/replying to asks sometime soon

ANYWAY NO UNO REVERSE CARD YOU’RE THE SUNSHINE AND I THINK YOU’RE 100% ABSOKUTEKY ADORAVLE AND WHOLESOME AND KIND AND SWEET AND CUTE AND AJNSJSJFJDNF

as for the last bit, i’m glad i can say that i feel the same way! i mentioned this before, but i really didn’t expect to actually become friends with anyone on tumblr, and i was very pleasantly surprised when i met you. you give the best responses to my asks (whether they’re brainrots, memes, or just me randomly dropping in to say hello), and i feel like i can speak my mind without seeming weird when i’m in your inbox hehe. i don’t really have many friends irl who are into fanfics (and even less that are into genshin fanfics), so it really means a lot to me that i can find people with similar interests here. i guess you make me feel understood in a weird way.

ALSO YOUR LETTER WAS NOT LACKING IN WRITING IT WAS AMAZING, AND PROBABLY ONE OF THE NICEST THINGS I’VE EVER READ ABOUT ME KSJDIDJFN

[pazodetrasalba]

Sparkling Unicorn Princess

Dear Caroline:

A couple of days ago I finished HPMOR, which I have decided to include as a 'Carolingian' book even if you have never written a review of it or a post about it in your tumblr (there are some that quote it, paraphrase it or hint at rereadings by you). This brings to mind other books I expect you to have read but can find no explicit reference to, like The Precipice, Superintelligence, Doing Good Better or The Scout Mindset.

The book has grown on me. I found the first chapters a tad boring, and had the overall feeling that the whole book was a self-professed nerd trap, with an intentionally flattering depiction of its protagonists as ubersmart kids whom their parents and schools have very little to teach them, and who should step aside and let the younglings achieve World Optimization, and with a Yudkowskian agenda of getting you interested in his pet peeves for saving the world. But even with all that taken into account, it was rather a nice and instructive read. I can appreciate Yudkowsky's popularity as a writer after this.

I am pretty convinced that you have patterned yourself on his Hermione to no small degree, too, and I can appreciate the paralellisms, even if right now you are more of a fallen Hermione. But there's hope, at least in me, that you've be reborn from your ashes like the Phoenix.

I made a short review of Eliezer's book. I'll be including it in the lines below as a conclusion to this post:

This is a VERY long book, so I'd like to start with a short appraisal, and then comment some relevant aspects.

Overall, this is a very interesting read, modulo you being interested in: 1) the Harry Potter world (and fanfics!) 2) Rationalism - detecting human thought biases, rational decision-making, optimization, AI dangers

Okay, let's begin with size: the book is humongous. I read a digital version, so a rough estimate of its over 600k words is War and Peace (shorter, actually) or the Bible. It is divided into 123 (relatively) small chapters.

You can find detailed summaries of the plot elsewhere -or in other reviews- but very succinctly: this is an alternative Harry Potter universe in which Harry was raised up in an academic family and learnt the basics of science and rationality by the age of 11. The story more or less parallels that of the first volume of the Harry Potter series (The Philosopher's Stone), as Harry's first year of school and his dealings with the figures that mostly appear in that book, but with a completely different twist.

In many ways, it is quite a didactic book, as I suspect the author's main intention in writing it was creating a 'light' introduction to Rationalism and its key ideas, and particularly focused for young, intellectually achieving and/or outstanding nerds, as a way of attracting them to the cause. It is a 'nerd trap' in the best sense of the term, and has proved enormously successful in this regard. The main protagonists are 11-12 year-olds who are vastly more intelligent and rational than all the adults, and who therefore manage to save and improve the world much better than their elders ever could.

I was pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable it is to read, although I am probably biased because I am a nerd myself (not a young one, though) and am interested in a lot of the 'didactic' stuff it furthers. I was not much interested in the original Harry Potter saga (watched the movies, haven't read any of the books). It stands pretty well on its own, I feel, but there are many references and intertextualities that really need slots of knowledge of the inspiration material to be understood and appreciated well (conversely, as I said, you can get that from the movies, and particularly the first one). I had never imagined a priori that I would be reading a fanfiction (and even less a +2000 page one), but this book deserves it, and is in that regard as unusual and weird (again, in a good way) as its author.

To conclude: this is an instructive and enjoyable read, which I recommend if you share any of the interests mentioned at the beginning (any of the two will suffice). Bear in mind its huge size, and that it will take you months to read it. The first chapters (the author mentions it himself in a note) can be pretty slow-going. The book, it is important also to say, can be downloaded for free or read online -in fact, I don't think it is easy to actually buy a print copy.

[lonelypond]

Pick Me Up, Ch. 1: Open The Door

NicoMaki, Love Live, 3K, 1/?

Summary: Eli hires a car service for superstar singer Nico Ni. Nico is pleasantly surprised by the driver. Heiress Maki Nishikino finds a new way to avoid her responsibilities.

Open The Door

NICO NI MOBBED AS SHE HEADS TO MIDNIGHT SHOWING MAKI NISHIKINO DROPS OUT. HERMIT HEIRESS A NO SHOW AT HER EXHIBIT

Nico glanced at her phone. She would try to duck out the back door but too many staff were rushing in and out of the kitchen. Eli had texted her the car would be outside to take her to the midnight showing of her concert film. Nico just had to get through the crowd at the door without taking her usual time to pose for snaps, snippets and signatures. Her most passionate fans would be at the midnight showing.

Phone buzzed. Nico glanced down. Eli message.

E: Are you in the car yet?

And then another message buzzed in, from an unknown number.

"She can't wait to see you up close. Always watching her Nico Ni."

The third person POV made it even scarier. Nico shivered, pausing to screenshot, forward the text to Eli, and block the number. There'd been too many of those creeper messages recently. Nico inhaled. She was just going to make a run for it.

No crowd had gathered outside, Nico was free once she broke through a clingy cluster of fans at the bar. She glanced down the street. There was a sleek black luxury sedan, the driver leaning back, unprofessionally lounging against the hood, white shirt untucked, tuxedo jacket short, long legs stretched out, hands in pocket, cigarette pants with the slightest slit above the ankle, designer heels, and curly red hair with a tilted cap barely containing it. Nico almost whistled. Eli had definitely found the right kind of car service for Nico if that was the driver they sent.

Nico hurried to the back door, hesitating. The woman raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, lovely lavender eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Open Nico's door. The crowd'll be following me."

The other eyebrow raised.

"Hurry up. What's Nico paying you for? Looking prettier than Nico?"

That got some action. An almost smile and the driver straightened up, pushing up her sleeves. Much taller than Nico. Darn heels. Nico hated them on everyone but her.

"Sorry Miss." The voice was a mint's worth of money and a hive's worth of honey. Frisson. Nico understood that word now as the hairs on the back of her neck actually shivered. The driver leaned over, Nico catching a whiff of expensive floral perfume. Nico wondered how much she was paying for this car service if this was their livery.

Nico grabbed the driver's forearm as she reached for the door, "You're trained in self defense, right?"

A hesitation, "Sure."

"Good. Stick next to Nico when we get there. The creepy text messages keep coming."

Suddenly Nico had the full attention of dreamfuel eyes. Then the door opened and Nico felt a sure hand on her back, guiding her in.

"Just give me a minute, Miss and I'll get you out of here."

Nico waited to reply until the driver closed her door, "Call me Nico."

The driver glanced over her shoulder, "Hello, Nico. I'm Maki. You're safe in here. Tinted windows, reinforced body, bulletproof windows and tires."

As Maki went through the security features, Nico relaxed.

"You've probably had years of race car training or something like that."

Maki hummed something that sounded cheerful.

"Nico loves that her car service is so…" what to say not to sound like a total perv. Nico knew long words, she talked to Eli all the time, "well appointed."

A quick laugh, "So you're saying you like the nice upholstery?"

Nico was glad the driver's eyes were on the road. Irritated blushing was not Nico's best look.

"Nico is saying a classy conveyance is nice after a busy day."

"So you like the view." Smug.

"Nico is suddenly tired."

Another laugh. "Where are we going?"

"Nico's midnight showing at the Paris Theater. Didn't you get the address?"

A cough, "I was just double checking that you didn't want to change plans and go home where you'll be safe."

"Nico never disappoints an audience. And these are her biggest fans."

"And stalkers." A pause. "Do you want me to contact the police?"

"That will draw the wrong kind of attention."

A grudging grunt.

"Nico's not in real danger." Nico almost convinced herself.

"I'll stay close." A pause. "Do you have sunglasses?"

"Why? It's 11 p.m."

"I'll look more intimidating." A pause. "Did you know there are studies that showed people recognize people with the lower half of their face masked more than if they are wearing sunglasses."

"Nico did not know that. That's what you learn in the security business?"

"Actually it was in a medical journal. About masking during Covid." A pause. "I read a lot in the car. While I'm waiting."

"Eyes are very recognizable. NIco's never seen anyone with eyes as striking as yours." Nico took a minute to enjoy that memory. "Mine runs in my entire family. All the Yazawas take after my mama."

"They are an unusual color."

"Rubies. Nico knows. That's what everyone thinks of."

"Oh."

"You didn't think of rubies? What do Nico's eyes remind you of?"

"Santa."

Nico didn't even know where to start a response. She just sighed and sat back, wrapping her coat closer. Santa? Nico hoped the night wouldn't get any weirder as the perfume kept trying to lure Nico into a forward lean, just to play a little bit with a tiny curl of red. Santa? Really?

###

The driver had opinions. Nico wasn't thrilled.

"We need to go in through the back. I can call ahead."

"There is a red carpet set up for Nico."

"Might as well be a target."

Nico raised an eyebrow. And frowned. But because the driver was good and paid attention to the road and other drivers, Nico frosted her voice with enough disdain to wallop through the laissez fair confidence machine with the killer voice and dreamfuel eyes.

"Nico's fans are the best. Nico's fans would take a bullet for her."

A pause. "Has someone shot at you?"

"No."

"Do you think you're in a movie?" Attitude.

"Nico is in a movie. You are driving Nico to the premiere. It is a concert film so everything actually happened as it appears on screen. Nico spent a lot of time with the editor." Nico paused. "And, Maaaki, you are the one with sneaky entrance ideas and sunglasses requests."

"Yeah." A grudging point.

Maki took a hand off the wheel, reached into an interior jacket pocket and pulled out a card, name and phone number printed in velvet black on silver linen. It felt nicer than some of Nico's clothes. "Put my contact info in your phone."

"Why? My manager schedules with your office."

"Oh." A hum, "They give us discretion about which clients we accept. If you'd like me to drive you again, the best way is direct contact. My schedule gets booked up quickly and I would hate for there to be a miscommunication."

Where had Eli found these people?

"You are still on probation."

"Yes, Miss."

Nico like the respect mixed with teasing mischief in the voice.

"Nico."

"Nico."

Nico was going to dream about that voice.

###

Maki was muttering over timing and parking concerns.

"Just drop Nico off."

"You said stay close."

"No one is going to do anything more than take a snap in the middle of Nico's screaming fans. Leave the limo, lurk by the door, keep an eye on Nico when the lights go out."

"Sure." Maki pulled up in front of the theater smoothly, fans pressing against velvet ropes and hired security. "Stay put for a minute. I'll open your door."

Maki was fast, moving with confident grace, mask and sunglasses covering most of her face. Nico wondered if she were really that worried about Covid. Maybe she had a sick family member. Nico tested consistently before public events and masked backstage but this kind of event required Nico's full face. At least the clingy crowd part was outdoors. And the venue had upgraded its ventilation, taking care to use environmentally friendly tech. Nico was careful about every variable she could control. She'd missed too many concerts during the lockdown.

Then the happy screams started as Nico stepped onto the red carpet, swirling the skirt of her pink dress and Nico clicked into performance mode.

"Nico Ni loves you!!!" Air kisses everywhere. Maki hustling back to drive the car off. Fans surging, phones and Sharpies and limited edition photocards shoving at Nico. The best kind of night. With bonus eye candy. Nico grinned and bounced, ecstatic at the reaction of the crowd.

###

Nico was back in the car, wrapped in the glow of shouts, screams, and applause. All through the concert. Fans singing along, Nico singing along, and leading fan chants, Nico was a foot off the ground running 30 miles an hour, following the super hot limo driver, grinning wildly. She wasn't going to sleep until maybe Wednesday.

Maki held the door open, Nico blew her a kiss, and dived in pulling out her phone and going right into broadcast Nico mode.

"Nico's fans are the the number one fans in the galaxy and Nico wants to meet all of you. Soon!!! Great night at the movies. Nico's never been in the audience for a Nico Ni concert before and now, Nico's going to put all her investment money into cloning technology so it can happen again."

A snort from the front seat as Maki punched the ignition and pulled into traffic.

"Nico is on a LOVE high, has the prettiest limo driver…"

The car jerked to the right.

"And is going to get dropped off at the studio to turn all this energy into the perfect song. Make sure you get the link for tomorrow night's livestream. Nico will be answering all your questions. Good night. Nico Ni loves you." A series of kisses and then Nico dropped her phone on the seat next to her, threw back her head, and laughed. "Nico is in the clouds. That was amazing."

"You were screaming the loudest from what hearing I have left."

"Nico is Nico Ni's biggest fan."

"How does that work?"

"Isn't Maki Maki's biggest fan?"

An abrupt "Biggest critic."

"How does that work? You drift too far into a lane and kick yourself??!"

"Not driving. I have a…"

"Oh, you're not a full time driver?"

"No."

"What else do you do?"

"Artist, musician…right now, I'm mainly working in photography."

"So you see how photogenic Nico is."

"Sure."

Nico almost giggled. Driver, caught..

"Want to photograph Nico?"

The car jerked again. "What…no…I don't have…you…" a sigh, "Never mind." Maki cleared her throat, "Do you actually want to go to your company's studio?"

"Nico has a studio at home."

"Smart. Private."

"Professional. Nico is in total control of her career."

Nico's phone buzzed. She picked it up. Another unknown number. Who had this number? No one should.

"We'll be meeting soon."

"Fuck."

"Nico?"

"Another text."

"What's it say?"

"We'll be meeting soon."

A pause. "You did say you wanted to meet all your fans."

"You're not helping Nico."

"Sorry."

"No one should have this number. No one. Nico livestreams and texts out; no one texts in."

"I have a friend who's good with computer stuff."

"Stuff? Nico has professionals. Who know the actual terms for *stuff.*"

"Of course. My apologies."

"Just take Nico home."

"Address."

"Are you the stalker?"

Silence.

"It's in my phone." Maki's voice sounded strained, "I forgot to enter it into the GPS."

"Pull over."

"What? No. You can't walk from here."

"Just pull over."

Maki did. Nico exited the car as Maki panic rambled nonsense syllables, then slid into the passenger side of the sedan. She typed rapidly, watching as the GPS unit's map shifted, then buckled herself into the seat.

"Let's go."

"You need to ride in the back."

"Just drive." Nico snapped.

"Yes, ma'am." Sarcasm.

"Oh, now Nico's a ma'am."

Maki's eyes might have closed. Such long eyelashes Nico realized. She shouldn't take out her change in mood on the hot driver, but Nico needed a way to release the knotted tension the text had twisted her mood into.

"We'll arrive in twenty minutes. Very little traffic."

Nico, in order not to gape or drool at Maki's profile, had forced herself to stare out the window so the no traffic announcement was not news.

"Care to predict the current weather?"

Maki made a growly noise. Should Nico find it cute? It was too late for this.

"Cloudy."

"Looks clear."

"Starry, then. Whatever you want it to be, Nico. Sunny when you walk into a room, stormy when you walk away."

"Is that a song?"

"What? No. Why would you ask?"

"Sounds like a song."

"You've still got the concert in your head. Nico Ni's. You know, that singer you're the biggest fan of."

"She wouldn't write anything that trite."

"TRITE?" Clenched hands on the wheel.

This was too fascinating, Nico thought. She hadn't had this much fun teasing anyone in years. Maki was so quick to react. "Everyone does that kind of analogy. Predictable imagery."

"You want it stormy when you walk in?"

"Like a hurricane washing everything else away."

"You, Nico Ni, are admitting to being a natural disaster?"

"No, Nico is just giving you a song writing lesson."

"No thank you."

"Nico went platinum."

"Midas went gold."

Nico thought there was a twitch under Maki's eyebrow. This really was too much fun.

"Maki prefers gold?"

"Maki prefers…"

"Nico is waiting."

Maki muttered "ask again later, answer unclear" and clamped her jaw shut.

After five minutes, Maki and the GPS announced their arrival at Nico's destination. Turtle Bay Gardens. Nico released the seatbelt.

"Thank you, Maki."

Maki gave a quick nod, "Just did the job."

"Nico is very satisfied."

Hint of red, tip of ears. Adorable.

"Nico needs you tomorrow morning, 7 a.m."

"Huh?"

"Nico will send a confirmation text. Unless you have a previous client appointment."

A minute then "No, no I don't."

"Good. Nico will see you tomorrow."

Nico heard a "sure" as she shut the door, although it was not a confident one.

###

Maki was home. Time to turn her phone back on and see how many texts lurked.

Rin: Where are you?

R: Are you pacing outside?

R: Are you in the tub?

R: Did you go to a club?

R: Get a drink in a pub?

R; ( ≧ᗜ≦)

R: WHERE ARE YOU BESTIE?!??!?!?!?!?!?!??!

R: nozomi looks pissed

R: Everything sold. nozomi says her commission is going up to 95% since you never show

R: RUOK?????

R: 👀

M: I'm fine. Something came up.

R: something? or someone cute?

M: ( •̀ - •́ )

R: ??????

M: I helped someone out.

R: Someone cute?

M: Shut up.

M; You know I'm not…never mind…

R: Cute is an aesthetic. The a in aspec is for aesthetic

M: Shut up.

R: Tell Nozomi you're oK; she left you a long voice message

M: I'm not listening to it. She knows that.

R: (◔_◔)

M: I'm going to bed.

R: Lunch?

M: Can't.

R: huh?

M: Good night.

R: (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

Maki switched contacts. Nozomi.

M: Rin said everything sold. People want an hermit not an heiress. Better story.

Nz: Keep lying to yourself. I'm bringing dinner tomorrow. I know you don't cook.

M: I might be busy.

Nz: Don't be.

M: No, like legit busy.

Nz: With what?

M: Can't say.

Nz: Dinner. I'm also bringing Umi. She wants you to dust off the piano.

M: (O_O)

Nz: Thought that might catch you.

M: …

M: Thanks for covering for me.

Nz: It's why you're going to start paying me so much more.

Maki put down her phone. It buzzed immediately. New number. Must be Nico.

N: 6:30 a.m. So it's Beauty ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ sleep time (๑>؂•̀๑)-♡

Maki blushed. She could feel it, her cheeks redden and draw all her awareness. How was she to sleep with this sudden racing of her blood?

She wandered into her bedroom, turning to confront the wall of built in bookshelves off the foot of her bed. Reaching into the Japanese photography section, she pulled out Mina Ninagawa's Into Fiction/Reality. Glossy bright red cover, a grid of lens flared bright red lips. The visuals wouldn't soothe her way into sleep but it might distract her from the way Nico's voice kept flirting in her memory. And she could always read the original Japanese and follow that with a critique of the English translation. That would knot up her brain enough that sleep might sneak through for the few hours before she had to pick up her only "client." Nozomi would laugh, Rin would look at her like she'd lost her mind, and Umi, well, Umi might actually call the police or something. Or at least threaten to if Maki didn't deliver a full apology for deception.

Maki blew out a long breath, dropped on the bed, and opened to a random page. Shattered glass. The section of the book with pictures from Ninagawa's father's stay in the hospital. Sad. Silent. But full of light. And the hospital setting reminded her of her own family. Her family and the responsibilities she'd left behind. Another random flip. Woman staring back, barebacked, with a yellow spiky flower over one eye and yellow red and pink flowers over a two page spread. Maki laid back and imagined the flowers she might put in the backdrop of a Nico picture. Maybe Nico wasn't flowers. Maybe Nico was pillows, piles of pillows, lips and hearts and candy, something soft to fall into, to cushion Nico's fall when she flew up through the audience and off the stage. Something Icarus like, but an Icarus as bright as the sun, Maki thought as she remembered the concert film, Nico soaring even higher than her reach, beyond the expected. Maki knew the trick to that kind of illusion, if it was one, and it must be. You could just never stop. If you stopped, you might see the wall looming in the blocked off alley all your efforts had lead to. Maki closed the book and let her mind go back to flowers. filling the dark behind her closed eyelids with fuzzy, drifting colors, out of focus, ruby and red and pink and sharp, leafy greens.

A/N: Having some fun.

[whatsonmedia]

The Art of Therapy 

Being Creative With Art Can be Just as Therapeutic as Talking About it  Now this is something that I've not only heard about whenever it appears as a news item on TV or after I have read about in articles but I genuinely admit that it is something that has long since interested me and has only grabbed my attention again when it was mentioned as part of a news item on TV. First and foremost using art as a means of therapy was something that I would never have considered if you had asked me this a decade ago, mainly as I wouldn't have seen the point of it. That and I wouldn’t have even remotely understood how it would have worked. Back then I did actually ask myself just how in the heck picking up a paint brush and going bash bash bosh would have been helpful to anyone looking to use the medium as a means of expression. I suppose in some way. But this was where I was being somewhat ignorant. Because in my mind, I looked at this and thought just how it is supposed to be even therapeutic? How does even help person who is doing this get out of it? It's only now I look back at it with a more mature and educated mindset. That I read yesterday a large people to understand and express their thoughts. The irony being is that they say that action speak louder than words. So in some ways, this is what it enables them to do. If they can't talk about it vocally then painting allow them to express it in a different way. Whilst the medium of art therapy may seem quite new to some people. It's roots goes back to the late 18th century and was used by psychiatric patients as a form of moral treatment. It wasn't until the mid 20th century that it began being used professionally. The term art therapy was first coins by a British artist called Adrian Hill who first used it when recovering from tuberculosis. It was during his recovery he first began using art, it was the process of drawing and painting which he began to find very therapeutic. Since them it has been used for abuse victims, people with mental health issues and even uniform services veterans as a form of therapy, to help them understand traumatic events and so on and so forth. Even I have used it, and no before you ask I've not suffered any form of abuse, I just do art because I genuinely enjoy it. Yes, I find it expressive, yes I find it therapeutic and yes it helps me to relax. But that's because I just allow my imagination to run wild and see where it takes me. When I was delving a bit further into this and other people who use this I was pleasantly surprised to see what individuals who are on the disability spectrum and/or suffer the mental health issues use this. For them it can be used as a form of communication, basically a more artistic version of the Makaton system. Rather than using faces, symbols and words to express how they feel they can just paint it.  Well they do say that an image can say a 1000 words so you can imagine just how much of a lifeline in communication that can be to someone who has problems doing so. Even more so for all the individuals out those who literally don't have the ability to do it vocally  Before the era know as the Covid era I volunteered at a local art group in my home region. I openly admit that though I originally got involved entirely for different reasons I decided at best to give it a shot and see what it was all about. And I have to say that I was quite intrigued by what I saw. The art group was called Art Core and was based in Derby, also it was nice to get involved with something outside of work. The people who attended this group were the sort who had various problems, both mentally and neurological. Now whilst I had no real idea of what their troubles in their own lives what I did see was that just being part of an artistic community allowed them to express themselves in a more positive way.  For example in one session I volunteered at I saw one individual arrive at the workshop somewhat withdrawn but when they got stuck into creating their own craft work pieces they practically changed as a person. I saw someone change from being withdrawn to becoming engaged with everyone around them. And that was just from them being given a paintbrush, paint and a canvas, space and means to emerge from their shell  Was I impressed, you bet. If you can express things through art, why not do it? https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/art-therapy Read the full article