#also this is what bothers me the most about useless pockets. sewing a pocket takes the same amount of time and labor regardless of size

[sol-flo]

sewing a little extension to make a pocket bigger is always so fucking worth it and you don't need much in terms of sewing skill and i really suggest everyone learn it but it's also so fucking fiddly. that's the duality of altering clothes

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 27) Raven named Utstøtt

.-.-.

He should be exhausted, but Ivar was wide awake, back in shackles and frustrated. Worrisome thoughts ate their way into his subconscious like maggots feasting on rotting flesh. Everytime he closed his eyes, images appeared; of his mother waving her last goodbye, his one-eyed father being eaten by a flock of ravens, and of the fair-maiden, walking past him into her dread filled future. Even Piglet’s dark eyes and temper came into view.

Ivar could no longer pinpoint who he was. He had been a lot of things; a prince, a despised brother, a cherished son. A disgrace. 

He’d become a lot of things, too; a slave, a savior, de martelaar, the bloody bear of Kattegat, a cursed one. 

And he was and always would be a cripple, nature’s mistake. Possibly a changeling and the reason for his father’s absence. 

He held so many titles. Too many, and he no longer knew which one to hold onto and which one to throw away forever. What use was it to ponder over his royal blood, as it had been spilled countless times by his masters? 

But to embrace the title of a slave? Never. The Giant could flog him over forty times, break his useless legs and spit on his grave, but he’d never fully bow to the rulers of De Haar. 

Another toss and turn, another long sigh of frustration, and Ivar crawled on his side to stare in envy at his sleeping companion.  

Although spring had kindly rid the shed of cold, after twilight, Piglet still turned into his shadow. No longer would she cling onto his body for heat, but she’d sleep at his side. 

It no longer bothered him, not even that high pitch weeze she’d make as she’d fall deeply asleep. Or how her stone cold feet always managed to find their way up against his knees.

  There was a level of trust from her behalf and it was an odd and unfamiliar sensation to receive such a gift from someone else. It was a fragile treasure, one he’d broken countless times. Yet the shards and shatters always magically seemed to restore, as he’d proven his loyalty to the slave maiden. 

There was this strange balance between them, one that at times made him push her away and yet drew him closer and closer. 

“Why?”, he whispered to the sleeping form of Piglet, “why do I bother to care for you? You are just a soil skinned slave”. 

His words were meant to sound harsh and insulting, but they came out so hopeless and quiet. 

.-.-.

Ivar had been very wrong about one thing. He most definitely hadn’t missed cleaning chamber pots. Retching, his back arched against the stone well as the stench of human waste mercilessly filled his nostrils. 

What should be a miracle actually felt like a punishment; at dawn the Giant had released him from his chains, hoisted Ivar on his shoulders, and tossed him into the midst of the cobblestoned centre. 

He’d been freed and turned into the laugh of the town, as he’d suffered his way through the chamber pots. The stench already sank into his skin and Ivar was fully aware that the Giant unleashed him only to torture him. Yesterday, he’d been able to cleanse his body for the first time in months, and now he stank even worse than before. 

Even Piglet, queen of poor personal hygiene, scrunched up her nose as she rapidly dumped his breakfast at his feet. 

Ivar did not blame her and, frustrated, he whipped at the flies circling around his head. 

After fulfilling his duty, the Giant picked him up again and carried him over to the entrance of the castle. Dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit, he handed Ivar a bucket and a cloth, indicating that he’d better start scrubbing. 

This task was less revolting and allowed Ivar to embrace the meager glimpse of daylight. Although his stiff muscles and knees ached, he counted this moment as a humble blessing. To be outside, breathe in fresh air, and be able to observe the residence of de Haar. Small children playing silly games around the well, carts bringing in new livestock, the linen maidens handing out loads of fresh laundry.  A peaceful scenery, a delight for the eye. 

But that wasn’t what filled Ivar’s heart with content. Now that he was deployed to another part of the Castle, he was able to observe far more interesting aspects; the specific amount of guards and their route. Without drawing any attention, he was able to glance at their weaponry. From the main entrance, it was easy to view the main gate and how it was being watched by two guards. Two, it took two full grown men to open the gate. Now that was a very important discovery, as this meant Ivar wouldn’t be able to escape during nighttime, when the gate would be closed. 

‘Unless I grow wings’, Ivar thought to himself as he enviously glanced up at the circle of ravens flying high in the air.  

Ivar pulled himself onto the fifth step of the stone stairway when his ears perked at the sound of  distressed squeaking.  

A hatchling lay in the middle of the main entrance, ready to be stomped to death. A little puzzled about the baby bird's previous whereabouts, Ivar crawled closer to inspect the tiny little thing. 

It looked hideous, mostly bald with tufts of light feathers. The baby bird was defenseless and incapable of fleeing as the limp wings lacked strength and feathers, it’s eyes hadn’t even opened up yet. 

Ivar glanced up again, scanning the rooftops and walls until his eyes rested on a raven’s nest submerged in between roof tiles. Two ravens flew on and off to provide food for their offspring. Neither of the parents seemed aware or bothered by the unfortunate youngest who’d taken a massive tumble down. 

The heavy footsteps of the Giant marched close and without any hesitation Ivar picked up the bundle of cold naked flesh and stored it inside the pocket Piglet sewed in to smuggle food.

 Meaty fingers raked through Ivar’s hair and yanked him up onto his knees with a pained hiss. The Giant was not pleased with his slave taking a break. With force, Ivar received the cloth back in his hand while his face was shoved into the dirty water of the bucket. Reliving vividly how he’d nearly drowned inside the well, Ivar squirmed, gasped and whittered. 

The threat of drowning was short but powerful and the moment his lungs were allowed to fill themselves back up with air, Ivar’s hand turned into fist and dutifully began  scrubbing the entrance of De Haar. 

.-.-.

Piglet was in a state of pure bliss with so many new animals inside the shed. Sheep with lambs, a flock of chickens, and six young calves were stored inside, all with hungry mouths to feed. 

“You’re working yourself to death for those stupid animals”, Ivar felt the need to tell her.

  Of course, his statement fell on deaf ears and Piglet happily slaved herself through countless troughs of fresh water, bales of hay, and handfuls of grain. She then still remained strong enough to fill up Ivar’s trough and announced he stank. Which he did, there was no denying that. 

“Use this”, Piglet said as she handed him a black lump of lard, motioning by scrubbing her own arm and face, “it helps”. Ivar recognised the structure of the lump; it came close to the herbal soaps their elderly made in Kattegat. It was a time consuming process, not to mention very delicate work. 

Ivar pulled the tunic over his head and scrubbed the greasy lump over his smelling skin and washed himself. As he rid  himself from the stench of human waste, Piglet came back with supper. 

“Piglet, you know a lot about herbs and ointments”, Ivar stated, referring not only to the soap, but also to the professional way she’d tended his wounds. “How do you know all of this?” 

Piglet paused, shoving a handful of potato into her mouth and chewed slowly, buying herself some time, because by the Gods, his question meant revealing something about herself.

“Before you, there was another cripple, but not her legs. No-”, Piglet tapped her index finger against her temple a couple of times, “in here. She meant no harm, but she talked. All the time, never shut up”, Piglet gestured towards the stairs, “I slept up there, called her Rattle-mouth. Her real name was Mabelia, not that anyone cared. She taught me about plants, herbs, soap, how to disgust men, keep them away. She was my friend”, Piglet added, sincerely. 

“Was?” Ivar noticed how she’d spoken in the past tenses. 

“The Toothless burned her alive”, Piglet whispered bitterly, “everyone knew about her special gifts. She knew things. She helped people, she cured sickness, wounds, colds. Never asked for anything in return. She saved lives, until she couldn’t. And the Toothless blamed her for that”.

“Who died, Piglet?” Ivar asked, “who’s the one she couldn’t save?”

Piglet stared at him but seemed to look right through to him: “his son, born in breach, never able to draw his first breath.” 

The Giant lost his son. Oddly enough, that made the man seem less untouchable and more human. 

“She was accused of witchcraft. Toothless stated she purposely murdered his son for her Lord, the devil. She burned the same day his son was buried. Mabelia Rattle-mouth at the stake with her tongue cut out, all because she failed to save his son.” 

“Yet you survived”, Ivar stated sharply, “you were her friend. A witch’s friend.”

“I spoke lies, that she bewitched me, that she talked to the Devil night after night. I caused her to burn, saved my own skin.” Piglet told her story pragmatically but the guilt that crushed her was unmistakable. It took over her whole being, she seemed to shrink and cower away. 

  Ivar wanted to lash out at her, because that had been a gutless act on her behalf. Although it wasn’t his betrayal, her confession felt like a stab in the back. For he’d taken a flogging for Piglet, one that nearly caused him his life and left him scarred forever. He’d never expected her to return the favour, but to hear her say she’d sold out a friend, yes, that put her in a completely different light. 

Yet, all the poor young woman had done was simply survive. No doubt, Mabelia would have burned without Piglet’s lies, for failing the Giant’s son.

A muffled squeak eventually broke the silence between Ivar and Piglet. Ivar had completely forgotten about the baby bird hiding in the safety of his tunic.  During the day he’d been so focused on his tasks, the small animal warming up due to his body heat, becoming a small bundle of warmth, skin and a heartbeat. 

Ivar picked up his tunic and scooped the bird up. In his large hand the bird seemed even smaller and so fragile.

“You’ve saved a bird? Why?” Piglet asked curiously, as Ivar never before showed much care to any of the animals aside from the pigs. And that care had only been there because it had been his task. 

Ivar shrugged, still unable to answer that question for himself.

  Piglet leaned in for a closer look. “Does it have a name?”

“He,” Ivar snapped, “it’s a he and he does have a name: Utstøtt.” 

Piglet’s brows furrowed as she hadn’t learned that word yet, “what does that mean?”

Ivar’s fingers petted the small beak of the bird, “Outcast.” 

.-.-.

Over the course of days, Utstøtt’s feathers started to flourish and his eyes opened. That was how Ivar understood his subconscious reasoning for saving the young bird. Instead of growing ink black feathers as all ravens do, Utstøtt’s feathers were white as snow. Another abnormal feature was Utstøtt’s eyes. His right was milky and pupil-less, while his left eye was icy blue. 

Had Utstøtt’s fall from the nest been an accident? Or had the parents deliberately pushed their offspring from the nest? In the animal world there was no place for abnormalities, nature could be cruel, allowing the parents to either eat or kill their young.

Or abandon them in the woods, to let the wolves do the dirty work for them. 

Neither Ivar nor Utstøtt should be alive, because they didn’t stand a change in this cruel world. They both had all odds against them, but Ivar knew from experience that sometimes the damaged ones can rise. 

So, he did his best to keep Utstøtt hidden inside his tunic. Collected worms during his tasks outside and chewed the boneless, wiggling things up to feed his pet raven. 

Piglet was appalled by the way he fed the bird, yet touched by his will to care for Utstøtt. She brought him scraps of beef and chicken so he no longer had to chew on worms. 

Utstøtt turned out to be a smart bird, oddly aware of when he needed to remain quiet and still inside Ivar’s tunic. While at other times, he’d poke at Ivar’s chest and caw, indicating that he was hungry. With his good eye, he’d stare up at Ivar accusingly if he took too long. 

And so, another chapter started in Ivar’s life, that of being a foster of a white, one-eyed raven named Utstøtt. 

.-.-.

A/N: So, for this chapter I had about 6 tabs open about ‘ravens’, and then 3 more about ‘how did they make soap before soap?’ This chapter felt a bit all over the place, but I didn’t feel like cutting it up in pieces and adding extra ‘space’ purely to make it more organized. Basically I didn’t want to bore myself and I needed to get a lot of thoughts/information/background and Utstøtt into the story. So yes, most of all happy with the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it too:)

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part eight ~ the chance to pipe ~

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six) (part seven) (part eight)

A/N: We are in it now; thank you for sticking around. Messages/Asks are open and greatly appreciated.

Summary: Alex seeks Will’s support and advice for how best to shoot his shot with Y/N. He also takes his first shower in 72 hours.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language.

Word Count: 2.6k

He arrived at Will's apartment, still wearing the mindless grin that Y/N coaxed out of him. Alex walked through the unlocked front door and straight to his friend's bedroom. It was bright, not near as cave-like as his own, and there was the lingering scent of a candle burned recently. Will sat at his desk: a second chair set-up next to him: scrolling through the youtube analytics for his most recent video.

It seemed that CPM was up – good news for the video and its one-million views. Will cleared his throat, causing Alex to freeze just two steps inside. Without lifting his head or dragging his attention from his screen, Will said with a flat and ominous tone, "I warned yous."

"What?"

"About being late." Spinning his chair, Will revealed the blue spray-painted plastic bat sitting in his lap. He kept his stern face for another five seconds before breaking into his usual toothy smile and laugh.

Rather than scrambling together a witty remark in return, Alex chuckled along. To that gag as well as the other usual playful abuse about his laziness and tardiness. Will finished the last one-liner he had prepared in the extra time he was made to wait for Alex to arrive, and his expression faltered. Not that he did not appear cheerful anymore – the smile remained – but it relaxed as a single eyebrow raised.

Will asked, "What's got you all giddy?"

Looking down at his hands, Alex chuckled again, though it sounded more akin to a humorous scoff, and gave no answer. He buried his hands in his pockets and took the seat next to his friend.

"What is it?" Will pestered on. "James Charles unblocked you, did he?"

Alex punched him in the arm as hard as he could (not hard). "Fuck off."

Will rolled his eyes before turning to the camera. He hit record and, putting on his boisterous presentation voice, shouted, "Right! Hello, welcome back to the second channel – welcome back to oddly satisfying. It's been a..."

Top posts for that month included photos of symmetrical flower arrangements, videos of tape-peelings from miniature canvases, woodworking gifs, beautiful block calligraphy, slow-motion capture of a sewing machine, and animation to fulfill the desire to sharpen a pencil to a perfect point every time. Alex gave out ratings of nines and tens like he had a quota to fill. As the video continued, Will argued the scores with him more and more. None so much as he did with the seven Alex gave to a real shit submission of ping-pong trick shots.

It was not an average filming session (unbeknownst to Will); it was a game where with each passing minute, Alex was building up his courage for what he wanted to talk about after the video was over. George had been the one person in the friend group he told about his feelings for Y/N, and that had not gone over well. But Alex thought he might now be able to explain it better – explain himself better – and be supported. Will was, after all, behind the act of snakelike behaviour, a very caring person who had held Alex's hand while he fixed himself several times over.

"What do you give the paw-print painting then, Alex?"

"Hm?" Torn from the bed of his subconscious thoughts into the waking world, Alex darted his eyes to the screen and to the camera. "Uh, ten. Definitely a ten."

"Right. Anyway, we'll end on a good note. Be sure to hit that like button for more reddit videos and go subscribe to Alex's channel—"

"It's really epic!"

"—link will be in the description. And we'll see you guys later!" Will gave a terse salute to the camera and, once the outro was finished, dropped his voice to normal and asked, "Care to do a second one while we're here?"

"Why not?"

Springing from his chair to his feet, Will crossed the bedroom to his cupboard and began to change. Giving the illusion of there being a more significant passage of time between filming. Taking off his beanie revealed his dark unruly hair, which he covered again with his 'crisis actor' hat.

"I was wondering if I could get your advice on something?" Alex began not moving from his seat at the desk. Neither did he turn his attention much from the screen, to give Will some privacy.

"What's that?"

"There's this girl— Well, um, this woman rather, that I am interested in approaching – romantically – and—"

"Why you talking like an android?" Will stripped himself of his black and green shirt. Interestingly enough, the same black and green shirt as Ethan wore when he last had the sidemen member over for a video. "Could you be normal for a minute?"

"I like her. Ok? What now?"

He pulled on a shovel hoodie and grabbing another turned to Alex. Gesturing to the pink zip-up jacket, he asked, "You have a decent shirt under there or want to borrow one of these?"

"I'm fine. But about the girl. Should I even bother?"

"How do you mean? If there's the chance to pipe – you got to take it."

"No. Like if I just end up fucking it up, why—?"

"Stop thinking about the end. We're at the beginning, alright? You're a good-looking lad, even got a decent trim for once in your life." Will ruffled Alex's hair as he returned to the seat beside him. "You're verified. All you got to do is slide into the lass' twitter DMs, and you're in."

"I'm not verified," he said with a bit of a huff. "You're verified."

Will shrugged. Pulling his phone from his pocket to check messages. "Whatever. You ready to record?"

"Not yet. What if she has a boyfriend?"

"Chin him."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. If there's not a ring and a date...well...it isn't really all that important, is it?" Will scrolled through the next ten posts on r/oddlysatisfying, before changing his mind, scrolling back up, and switching to another subreddit. Adding to his previous comment, "Unless it's Mia we're talking about."

Alex sucked his teeth. "Unfortunately, it is."

"Shut it. I'm having none of that." He pushed Alex's shoulder with one hand and wagged a jokingly accusatory finger. "Let's get back to it."

"Alright. Alright."

Will turned to the camera and, as quickly as he had dropped it, picked up his presentation voice, shouting, "Right! Hello, welcome back to this incredibly ad-friendly youtube channel. Instead of rating sand-cutting and slime, today we're gonna be rating dogs again. So this, welcome to r/aww. There should be some decent content here..."

It was nice sifting through the top posts of the week: a golden retriever taking care of baby bunnies, deer fawns sleeping under lawn furniture, an albino skunk, and a lot more ducklings and birds in general than Alex remembered being popular on the subreddit. Their last filming was full of constant challenges and debates, but when Alex gave nine and ten ratings for animals Will agreed whole-heartedly – save for a single dispute over a cat picture. It was cute; Will just was not terribly fond of cats.

Alex simultaneously commentated for the video and pondered – now that he had his friend's blessing – how best to shoot his shot with Y/N. He beamed with excitement and energy, and the evidence was in the light blush of his cheeks. It was not soft happiness like he felt when sitting on the rooftop of his apartment building, with a sausage roll in his stomach and a decent buzz. It was sharp happiness like the entire world had been dragged into photoshop and had the contrast shot right up to one hundred. All the dust from the corners of his mind was gathered, swept up, dumped in a bin, and set ablaze.

Before Alex could think of anything, it was the end of the video.

"Thank you very much for watching! Hope you enjoyed. Check-out Alex's channel and the WillNE main channel, links in the description, and we'll see you guys later." Will stopped the recording, dropped the act, and pulled out his phone again. There were dozens of messages; his fingers flew across the keyboard, shooting off response after response. "Thanks for helping out the cause."

Alex returned Will's fist-bump. He stood from his chair just to walk the single step and sit on the edge of Will's bed. Any distance would do in helping him ease into the details of his situation; after all, it was not just any woman that he was after.

He started, attempting to sound casual, as if the topic was organic, "What do you think about Re—?"

"Red and Sammy?" Will asked distractedly. Believing he had finished the question how Alex meant to, he took it upon himself to answer it as well, "Haven't met Red to be fair, but Sammy is a solid bloke."

"You think?"

"Yeah, Gee wanted to rearrange some furniture, and Josh and I were useless. I rang Sammy, he came round, practically moved everything himself – even brought beers. You did well good picking him, Lex."

At what was likely intended to be a genuine compliment, Alex felt himself shifting a single step closer to his internal self-destruct button. Of course, Alex knew. He knew that it was not healthy for his mind or mood to be so fragile or rather so easily swayed, but there he was – fuming with misplaced anger.

How could he tell Will? How could he explain he wanted a chance with one of their mates’ girlfriends without coming off as a bad person? Was he a bad person?

Did he care? When he came into the world running a race where he was made to wear sandals while everyone else got trainers. Alex stood from the bed and readied to leave.

Attempting to lighten the mood despite likely not knowing why it dimmed, Will added, standing to throw an arm around Alex's shoulders, "And who said you have no friends?"

"You do."

Will chuckled. "Huh, I must be dead smart me."

"Alright, well..." He intentionally trailed off, ducking from under his friend's arm.

"Are you off?"

"Yeah, I'll sees you later." Alex left the bedroom with quicker and heavier steps than was his usual gait; the difference, however, was not enough for someone outside himself to notice. It was frustration. It was: a set jaw. : an unnatural heat rising from his core to all his extremities. : and a mouth pinched smaller than what seems humanely possible.

If he were a 2D cartoon character, as comments under all his videos would suggest, his irises would be redrawn in the shape of flames. Steam might have even come from his ears.

George likes Sammy. Will likes Sammy. James (or at least drunk James who met him) likes Sammy.

And Alex wanted to steal his girlfriend. Fuck.

He raced through the flat to the front door; just through the threshold and into the hall, he stopped. Waiting to hear the latch bolt behind him. Like the clap of a hypnotherapist bringing their patient back from a breakthrough session – the sound drained him of his anger.

It was not helpful to him to be angry at the situation: angry with himself.

Alex walked the hall to the lift and stepped in. During his descent, he looked at the warped reflection of himself in the metal doors: the prickle of hair on his upper lip, the trim which was different but somehow identical to all his previous, a picture in pink – and also red.

It was the reflection of a man. Despite how his followers portrayed him in collages and fanfics, he was an adult man. Confronting that distorted image altered his perception: what he knew himself to look like: his conscious image.

How interesting he must look in the strange light of an average person's perception. How confused. How tired.

DING of the sliding doors opening, ripped his warped reflection in half. Alex exited half-expecting for Y/N to be there on the other side, considering she was everywhere recently. Luckily, she was not. But that fleeting thought of Y/N snowballed as he walked the hall to his apartment. Outside the door, he stopped and stood Blair Witch style facing it but not moving to unlock it or get the key from his pocket just yet.

Y/N. Alex thought of Y/N. Thought of first meeting her with her cute ears and flushed face. How she doted on Sammy. Thought of speaking with her in the foyer with her calm aurora and chin-hugging top. How he wanted nothing more than to be cute with her – for them to have a song.

Thought of when she was making waffles with shaking hands and a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. How she dodged his questions. Thought of ~the dream~ and how different he would act if it were real.

He rummaged through his pockets to find his key. When he did, he shoved it in and pulled it out the lock with an equal amount of unnecessary force.

It was late. 

Alex had been awake over twenty-four hours, and he wanted – needed – he just needed it to stop. Unable to handle consciousness much longer, he dragged his feet along the straight shot to his bedroom. And into his bathroom.

Not particularly a nighttime shower type of person, Nor a morning shower type of person, Alex was more a when-I-want-to-or-remember-to-shower type of person.

During slight depressive slumps, however, the more accurate category for him would be a once-the-grease-starts-to-drip-off-my-hair-that-is-when-I-will-shower type of person.

Stepping under the showerhead, the warm water wrapped around him. Pelted down on the pale skin of his shoulders and back, relaxing the muscles there. Slender fingers racked shampoo through his tangled hair: it smelled like almonds. Like artificial almonds designed by chemists who had never seen or smelt an almond before. It was nice.

He ducked his head to rinse out the suds and lost his balance, falling forward a bit. Catching himself with his hands on the wall in front of him; it jolted him out from under his somnambulism spell.

Hopping out of the shower, he dried off and wrapped his single towel around his waist. There in the mirror above the sink were those little prickles of a moustache. Alex stepped up, took his razor in his right hand, grabbed the shaving foam off the counter with the left, and looked to his right again to find he had dropped the razor in the sink. His brain was too exhausted to focus on more than one thought – more than one task at a time.

With less than six flicks of the wrist, his upper lip was clean-shaven, and he was trudging along to his bedroom. Alex let his towel drop to the floor; he tugged on a clean pair of pajama bottoms and pitched himself from the other side of the room onto his bed.

"Ow," he muttered to his aching bones. Alex closed his eyes, and for the first time since ~the dream~ appreciated the contemplative silence of his bedroom – and of his head.

Taglist: (message to join!) @angelbabyivy​

[love-pyramus]

Back Then -Switch’s Backstory

Enjoy this...the doc is called “The Origin Of Switch’s Trauma” so-

@brooklyn-is-here @that-aint-news-no-more @mushe-room   There’s a warning for murder, attempted murder, and someone goes missing so! (and then Switch being gay so-) 

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

“Papa?” Alexi wakes up to the shout of his dad before a silence followed. Suddenly, there is a weight on top of him, and he begins to struggle. He screams loudly at the sensation of a cold, sharp metal at the corner of his right eye. “Mama! Papa!” He screamed, feeling the blood drip out. He screamed, and loudly, for anyone praying someone would hear and come running. The thirteen year old continued to scream and cry, his voice cracking as he did so. And then just as suddenly as the weight was on top of him, it was gone. He sat up, his hand covering his eye, trying to stop the bleeding, or at least stop it from dripping onto his shirt. He looked over at his dad, who was lying in a pool of blood, his right eye, his brown one, gone. “Papa!” he screamed, and then he was grabbed by someone. He began to struggled, slowing as he realized it was his mom, and she had managed to scare whoever was on top of him away. “Alexi, come.” She pulled him away from where his dad was, her grip tight as Alexi continued to struggle. “Lexi. Stop.” her voice was firm and commanding, but also comforting. The boy eventually stopped struggling, his eye burning from the blood. “Papa, papa…” he kept muttering over and over. “Alexi. He’s gone.” “His eye!” He screamed that. “And he tried to take mine!” His mom gently began wiping the blood, humming softly, cleaning the area, and trying to stop the bleeding. After a while of that she put a cloth over it, keeping it here. “We’re gonna start saving to leave, not for years, but we need to start.” 

A fifteen year old Alexi stood at the edge of of the ship him and his mom were on. “Look ma, we made it!” his mom grinned at him, her gaze catching on the scar on the corner of his eye. She gently brushed his hair over it, covering both the brown eye and the scar. “Just for now.” Their choppy English was enough of a giveaway that they weren’t from America, and she didn’t want to risk him getting attacked. Alexi grabbed her hand softly. “We’re gonna be ok.” 

As they made their way to the apartment they had gotten, Alexi shifted under the glances he got. “It’s so different here.” He mumbles, looking around. “I know, but it’s safer.” His mom answers, taking his hand, only to release her hold on it a few moments later to open the door to their apartment. It was small, but had a fire escape where they could see the docks. “I need to find work.” she says, and Alexi nods at that. “I will too, there were boys working. It’s more money for us.” His mom nods at him, smiling. 

Alexi walked to the circulation gate, his hair swept over his brown eye, only showing the blue. But the wind blew it out of the way, causing one of the newsies, Flurries, to see and ask. “I’ll tell ya what Switch Eye-” The name new, but not unwelcome, “-you stick with me for today and I’ll teach ya more english and how to sell.” He nodded, accepting the deal. As people came and bought papers and struck simple conversations, he felt more money in his pocket then he ever had. “Ok Switch, let’s go get some food, and then I’ll take ya back to the lodge and help ya get set up.” Switch, though touched by Flurries offer, shook his head. “My ma...we got an apartment.” Flurries nods xeir head before speaking. “Then be at the gate when it opens.” 

When he got home to his apartment, he saw that it was set up nicely, the open windows letting in the warm air, the old family photograph on the counter, and his mom sitting at the table, working on some sewing. “Ma.” he says, getting her attention before dropping the money in front of her. At his moms smile at the sight he smiled as well, it being one of the most sincere ones he had given. 

“Alexi.”  Said boy looked up from the photo of his family before the attack at his moms voice. “Are you going to sell today?” He shook his head, the scar stinging with the old feeling. “Flurries know?” Switch once again shook his head, trying to ignore the phantom feeling of the blood dripping down. “Xe’ll be worried.” He shugged, nearly indifferent to his mothers words, shaking his head to get rid of the feeling. He remained sitting on his small bed as his mother left, continually shaking his head. Around the time in the break between the morning and evening papers, there was a loud knocking on his window. Switch let out a yelp as he looked at the window, calming slightly as he saw the outline and heard the telltale voice of Flurries. “Switch? Switch Eye, you ok?” He let out a sigh and opened the window. “Hey Flurries.” His voice was raspy, as if he’d been crying or screaming. 

“You doing ok? You didn’t come to the gate today and me and Billie got worried.” Flurries concern was genuine but Switch didn’t let that register. “I’m fine.” He answers quickly. A bit too quickly. “C’mon Switch, I know you better than that.” He sighs, rubbing at the scar quickly. “Today’s just a bad day.” Flurries nodded before speaking. “I get it. Want me to cover half?” Switch once again shakes his head. “I’m fine. I’ll sell extra tomorrow.” Flurries shakes xeir head, not believing him, though not that xe thought Switch wouldn’t sell extra, rather that Switch couldn’t sell extra, the days after bad ones tending to be worse. “I can go if you want?” Flurries offers, and Switch shakes his head before hesitantly nodding. Flurries gives him a soft smile before climbing down the fire escape and walking away. 

“Ma?” Switch calls as he enters the apartment. The door had been previously forced open, te lock broken. “Ma!” His voice got louder and more desperate as he looked around, before hearing the telltale sound of glass crunching underfoot. He looked at the ground, his heart dropping as he saw the family photograph on the ground, pieces of the glass missing, the frame broken. “Ma!” He yells again, more distraught as he picks up the fallen photograph. There was no response at all, his search proving useless as the apartment was empty of all people except for him. He took one last look at the photo before putting it in his paper bag. 

In the morning, he went and put everything in his bag and made his way down towards the lodge. He gave a nickel to the clerk and picked a bunk, sitting on it for a few minutes before tucking the bag under the blanket and making his way to the circulation gate. His gaze was on the ground, and he gave a quick explanation of his bad mood to Flurries. He thinks that Flurries may have told Billie, leading others to overhear, because soon it seemed like the entire circulation gate knew about his mother vanishing. Though he doubted the rumor would’ve needed to be spread, as when he looked at the substories one of them was on his mothers disappearance. He spent his first night in the lodge that night, in the bunk above some kid who’s name he didn’t bother to catch. And despite everything that told him it was wrong, he couldn’t help but think that the boy sleeping in the bunk below him was rather cute. 

When he walked into the circulation yard the next morning, the boy who’s bunk was below his approached him. “Hey...I know how hard it is to lose a mother.” Were the first words out of his mouth. Switch nods, not responding to the boy, who in the morning sunlight looked much cuter then the darkness of the lodge had originally allowed him to see. “I-uh-...we can stick together if you want...I’d like to get to know you.” Once again, Switch nods, but this time he speaks as well. “I’m Switch Eye...but most call me Switch.” The boy held out his hand for Switch to shake. 

“Fennel.” 

[mysaldate]

(UM seduction methods anon here) Im in awe over how much you write for so many character, every day! Do you have any hc on how they live? (where they live? living conditions?) BUT please dont push yourself or anything either!

Thank you so much for worrying about me! I’m simply trying to do my very best for all of you! And thank you also for such wonderful and original requests!

The living conditions of the Upper Moons headcanons

Daki&Gyuutaro

This one will be short since we know quite a lot about them. They’ve lived in the red lights district for their whole lives. In the streets and usually with little more than just their clothes on but they had each other.

They stayed in even after they became a demons. No surprise, there’s plenty of food and nobody will really care if a couple girls disappears.

They don’t have separate rooms of course. These two are literally inseparable so of course they wouldn’t bother with something like that. There’s nobody to tease them about it either since people are not aware of there even being two of them and as for their fellow demons, those just don’t care. Except maybe for Douma but he wouldn’t tease them about it.

We got to see their room so there’s not much to be said about the decorations either. Daki is a stylish girl and she likes to show it off even in the way she sets up their room – even if nobody much gets to see it.

Kaigaku

He never really had much of a home per say. He became an orphan at a young age (if he wasn’t abandoned as a baby already) and then was chased out of Gyomei’s temple as well. Jigoro took him in but unfortunately enough, that relationship didn’t really work out either. Strangely enough, he felt most at home when he was outside, travelling from one mission to another.

After he became a demon, he stayed with Kokushibou for a short period of time but that was just before Muzan approved of his existence. After that, he had to find his own territory – which wasn’t really too hard anyway. He picked a run-down old house as his shelter from the sun for the day but he didn’t really care much how it looked, at least not at first.

It’s not that he wouldn’t like company but there’s not really anyone to share his place with. Humans wouldn’t hang out with him, other demons literally can’t. Other Upper Moons won’t.

He first didn’t care at all how the place looked but after some time, he decided that since he didn’t have anything to do during the day anyway, he could at least try to decorate the place a bit. So while the sun is up, he does little things inside, like sweeping the floors or painting the walls. He even learnt to sew to make curtains. And at night, when he’s not out hunting, he does other reparations. Even he is surprised by how much fun he can have, giving the place a personal touch.

Gyokko

Being an artist, it’s not unlikely that he lived in an open, arid room before he became a demon. Lots of sunlight too. And occassionally, a companion or two but those never really stuck around for long. His place was filled with various unfinished art pieces.

Now that he’s a demon, he can’t have the luxury of a sunny appartment. His pots, however, work as a little pocket dimension so that’s an upgrade? Of sorts? It doesn’t really have a set shape either, it’s a little bit like Nakime’s Infinity Fortress but shapeless, like the walls are made of water or another liquid and constantly change form.

He lives with plenty of goldfish. The entire place is nearly filled with aquariums of various shapes and forms. You know how people make mazes for hamsters, guinea pigs or even cats? Well, those are nothing when compared to the lengths Gyokko goes to for his fishies. It’s not just glass, coloured or plain, either. Sometimes he would use the nichirin blades or pretty hairpieces of his victims’ to decorate the elaborate fishtanks as well. If a human ever strays in, it’s the last thing they say.

Gyokko LOVES decoration. Aside from his fishtanks, he has numerous statues, paintings and just about everything else you can think of. Both handmade and stolen. For his handmade art, he usually uses bodies or bodyparts of his victims, possibly their blood too. It serves both as an artpiece and a food reserve just in case he ever gets to a position where he’s forced to starve. Surprisingly enough, his pots are great at preserving things. Oh, and let’s not forget about the amount of detail he puts to the exterior of his pots! 

Hantengu

Back when he was a human, he didn’t really have a home, naturally. He couldn’t afford it. And most people wouldn’t let him stay more than one night, chasing him out often with sticks and stones. He had to travel all the time and preferably somewhere far away where the rumors about him didn’t reach yet. Due to this, he becomes restless when he has to spend a long time in one place.

Now, as a demon, he also doesn’t stay in one place all the time. He usually sneaks in a house, kills the family and stays there for a few days before moving on to the next one. Some of his other personalities, namely Sekido and Karaku, find this a little useless and bothersome but they wouldn’t really fight him on it.

Speaking of whom, his other personalities split when they have time to be alone as well, taking care of him and the house. It’s a great way to keep him safe as well since at least one of them is always on guard for possible intruders. They get along... somewhat well. There are the usual conflicts between Sekido and the others. Karaku is careless about their cover, Yoroko likes to make pranks on them and Aizetsu tends to lock himself in his room for hours on end. Poor Sekido is left with the task of housework, making sure they don’t get discovered too soon, acting as the voice of reason... and he still has to go out hunting and stay on guard when it’s his turn.

Yoroko likes decorating stuff and Karaku loves to watch him but their taste is strange to everyone but them. Surprisingly enough, Hantengu as well as Aizetsu both can actually create rather beautiful tapestries and Zohakuten sometimes paints when Sekido is just too done with the three useless dorks.

Nakime

She used to be your typical hikikomori. Nakime spent all her time in her room, with nothing but a pile of books and her biwa. It wasn’t a big room either. While her room did have windows, she prefered them covered and read in the light of an oil lamp. As expected, it wasn’t too good for her eyes...

She lives in the Dimensional Infinity Fortress now. A place she can fully control and knows everything about, one that bends to her will and where she can transport anyone anywhere at any time, just as she wants. The only exception seems to be Muzan who comes and goes as he sees fit (at least until the current arc but y’all already know how I feel about that). It’s not that she minds it, she still knows where and when he enters and leaves and even if she didn’t, it’s not like he would ambush and kill her for no reason (right?).

Despite providing rooms specifically suited for the Upper Moons, she much enjoys her solitude. Even when they’re in and she has to keep an eye on them (I’m sorry, I’ll stop with the puns now), she keeps her distance. Try to annoy her, or even just seek her company, and you will mercilessly get thrown out. An exception, again, is Muzan. He doesn’t live there with  her though and only seeks her out when he has work for her to do.

Decoration of the rooms varies greatly, mostly based on what are they used for. Most of the Fortress is not decorated since Nakime sees no reason to waste time and effort on that. However, there are special parts that deserve special attention. Just as an example, there’s Muzan’s upside-down lab, Douma’s lotus pond, that traditional japanese area Kokushibou first appeared in... And of course, the execution platform that’s now decorated with the red of the Lower Moons’ blood.

Akaza

Again, we have a very good canon idea about his life as a human. First living with his father and then spending some time in the streets, he eventually ended up staying at Keizo’s house, taking care of Koyuki. He had his own room there too but it didn’t really matter because he spent most of his time by Koyuki’s side anyway. Rumor has it he dragged his futon to her once when she was having a nightmare and never moved out until she got all better.

He’s pretty much a street rat as of now, looking for challenges and new foes to fight for the most part. During the days, he usually stays still outside, in dense forests or deep caves. He’s not particularly picky. Sometimes he stays there during the night too, setting up a campfire and waiting for someone to wander close. For some reason, he doesn’t really like cities, especially during the festival season.

So yeah, he lives alone. At least usually he does. It’s not all that rare for Douma to find and bother visit him. He doesn’t want company. Getting attached would make him weak. The more people you care about, the easier it is to take advantage of you.

The only thing he cultivates in his surroundings is his own body. No, I’m not talking about the tattoos, though those certainly are a decoration as well. Rather, it’s his muscles and strength. However, he still prefers to have some manners over raw power, hence why he keeps refusing Douma’s more than generous offers to hunt down some girls together even if that could make him stronger.

Douma

Grew up in the temple in the forest. High up on a mountain overlooking a small town, it’s not a place with the most access to society. But cults are usually like that. When he was about three years old, his father planted two magnolia trees in the courtyard so that the place is a little more lively and the trees can grow tall to provide lots of shade in summer since the sun could be quite annoying. If only he knew...

Loyal as he is, Douma stays at the temple even now. He had it expanded a little and even had a lotus pond build right behind his room so he can calm his thoughts at least a bit after every session. He used to need it more than he does now, especially since he now also has the one made by Nakime that is way better and more spacious.

Canonically, there is at least one temple servant staying with Douma at the temple. But honestly, it wouldn’t be quite like him to satisfy himself with a single person. There’s probably a number of people taking care of the place, both temple servants and maidens. They also serve as a source of entertainment and possibly even as a last-resort snack just in case. There also used to be Kotoha and Inosuke for a short period of time but well...

While he is quite childish and it might sound just like him to go overboard with decorating stuff, that’s not entirely true. Really, the most he has is the skull closet with engraved golden door. That and the pot in which he planted Kotoha’s head but that one is a gift from Gyokko so it doesn’t really count.

Kokushibou

As with most of them, we were blessed with enough info on Kokushibou’s, or rather Michikatsu’s, homes. Growing up a samurai, he never had time to spare, little to no friends and a bride who was most likely found for him without him having any say in it, it’s really not that much of a surprise he would elect to leave it all behind and become a demon slayer since it gave him significantly more freedom.

Even as a demon, not much have changed. During the day, he stays at a mansion like the samurai lord he is, and at night, he goes out to hunt down the pests in the area, more often than not treating himself with a bountiful feast while he’s at it. He also has a room in the Infinity Fortress but like the majority of the Upper Moon demons (actually everyone but Douma), he enjoys his solitude way more.

He has a few servants at the mansion. Ones that get replaced every once in a while when they mysteriously disappear. But the salary is high enough to let any major rumors die out in a blink (I know, I promised, I’m sorry) so the most he has to deal with are whispers about him overworking his servants to the point where they rather abandon the money and run away under the cloak of the night.

You would probably find the house eerily plain but he’s used to it. The backyard is where he spends most of his time aside from his room and those two are the only actually decorated places in the house. And they’re still kept neat and practical for the most part. He rarely has anything that wouldn’t serve a purpose, both when it comes to items and people.

[strikearose]

Over a jazz tune (IchiRuki)

Here’s the translation of a little story written years ago, I hope you guys enjoy it <3 Summary: It was by pure chance that Rukia had found it one day as she was exploring the wonders hidden in the Kurosaki's attic. You can also read it on ff.net (link) and ao3 (link)

It was by pure chance that Rukia had found it as she was exploring the wonders hidden in the Kurosaki's attic. This place was truly a treasure trove and among her greatest finds were a whole bunch of out-dated items of clothing, dusty furniture and hilarious picture books. However, what that was standing before her very eyes was even more extraordinary and intriguing than anything she had ever seen before. The object had a very peculiar shape : a large sort of golden horn was fixed on top of a wooden box while a small, delicate, crank handle was anchored on the side. She felt the fabulous instrument with her fingertip, appreciating the roughness of the woodwork and the delicacy of the bronzed details.

What could be the purpose of this thing? If there was even one, of course, as her sojourns on Earth had taught her how much Humans liked to surrender themselves with objects that were utterly useless!

A smile of wonder came on her lips as she lifted the object of her dreams with her hands, eager to know more about it. Unfortunately, Rukia quickly felt disenchanted as she realized that it weighed a ton. Bringing it to the redhead's room was going to be a real pain, but she could do it on her own - she was a Kuchiki, after all!

**

His eyebrows frowned as he heard the heavy footsteps of the brunette coming in his direction. What the hell was she going to show him, now? Vintage pictures that were from a time than none of his close relatives had lived in? Other eccentric outfits that had belonged to his father long, long ago? Well - at least that was what he hoped because even he had no real interest or whatsoever in fashion, the memory of that awful purple sequined jacket still gave him chills.

Ichigo did not have the time to think of it any longer - the door of his room opened with a bang, revealing Rukia's exhausting face. Not expecting it, he watched her struggling to drag a large cardboard box into his room. It was only after receiving a murderous glare from the shinigami that Ichigo finally decided to give her a hand - hey, it was way more heavy that what he'd thought. What the hell was inside that box?

When the brunette's treasure was finally brought to his bed, Ichigo allowed himself a sigh of relief while Rukia, losing no time, immediately began to unwrap... A phonograph.

The young man squinted his eyes slightly, he had no recollection of ever seeing that thing. It probably belonged to the previous owners.

"Ichigo, what is this marvelous thing?"

His chocolate eyes slowly lowered onto his friend's face - she was literally begging him to answer. He had learned over time to appreciate this side of the goddess of death, far different from her usual professional and distant mask. It was in those precious moments, when she left aside her role of shinigami to appreciate every little thing she was given to discover on Earth, that she seemed the most human to him. Her curiosity was always genuine.

"It's a phonograph, Rukia", he smiled and closed his book for good. "It's like the ancestor of a record player, you know? It's kind of a radio, it makes music."

He wasn't going to give her in a nonsensical explanation of how the machine worked - a demonstration would make much more sense. With a cautious gesture, he lifted the sapphire from the record-deck and, plunging his hand into the box, tried to grab whatever record was supposed to be in there.

...

Nothing.

He frowned - if the phonograph was stored there, everything should be in there too.

"Ichigo?", inquired the brunette after a few moments of silence.

"Something is missing", he sighed. "Sorry Rukia but it won't work."

A veil of disappointment passed over her, quickly swept away by her usual mask of neutrality.

**

"Ichi-nii, are you there?"

Ichigo's eyes opened and he slowly lifted his head, lost. What had happened? He just remembered looking at a particularly tough math problem and then... Nothing. He had fallen asleep on his desk.

"Ichi-nii?", his little sister's sweet voice brought him back to reality:

"Come in Yuzu", said the elder Kurosaki, muffling a new yawn.

The schoolgirl opened the door carefully, smiling, and closed it behind her.

"I wanted to have a look around the garage sale downtown, but Daddy has patients to take care of and..-", he cut her off gently.

"Just give me a few minutes to finish up and then we'll go."

A big smile brighten up the face of the youngest Kurosaki - he knew how much she loved dusting off, sewing, and bringing back to life whatever ancient dolls she could find - Kon being a living proof of it.

With his hands in his pockets, the schoolboy walked through the streets and stalls of the city, keeping a close eye on his precious little sister. Yuzu was on her seventh purchase when they passed along an old vinyl stall - if Ichigo didn't bother to pay it the slightest attention, the young girl grabbed his arm and forced him to approach.

"Weren't you looking for one of those things Ichi-nii?"

His gaze fell mechanically on the discs, but it was only when he met the radiant smile of his sister that he made the connection. The sweet giggle that escaped Yuzu's lips set his cheeks on fire as he used his last savings for an 'ungrateful idiot who wouldn't even understand'.

**

Several days had passed since the yard sale but the shinigami hadn't bother to even show her face. If at first, the brunette's lack of interest had upset Ichigo - 'She brings and unwraps it, lose all interest two seconds later and leaves it in the middle of my fucking room' - he stored his latest acquisition in a empty corner of his desk and eventually forgot about it too.

The red-head was writing the thirty-seventh line of his essay when he heard a few knocks at his window. Any form resentment instantly forgotten, it took him only a tenth of a second to unlock it for her. It wasn't like he was really looking forwards her return.

...

No.

Ichigo simply had good reflexes.

And maybe bad faith, too.

The high school student didn't comment on how tired she looked - the contrite smile she gave him when she entered his room definitely erase any rancor he still felt. She looked as if she hadn't have a proper night of sleep for ages - there was no way he could have kick her out in her state.

"Yo", he cleared his throat, the silence made him feel quite uneasy.

"Good evening Ichigo."

The conversation stopped there but the atmosphere had mellowed down considerably. Rukia, removing Sode-No-Shirayuki from her waist, gently put it in the closet as he went back to his geography.

"Oh, it's still there!", Rukia's calm voice forced him to look up.

Obviously, she was talking about the phonograph which hadn't been moved for almost two weeks, forcing the poor student to hop over it each time he wanted to go to his bed.

"Yeah, it's your mess by the way so you better..-"

A murderous glance stopped him in his track - well, as he had already paid for it, the least he could do was to surrender for once.

"Here, try this one," said Ichigo, handing the shinigami the disc he had brought.

Her big eyes sparkled. At last! She was about to find out how this fabulous machine worked. With a carefully gesture, she accepted the present and placed it on the player-deck. There was a sizzling sound and then, finally, the music began.

Of course, it had to be jazz music - a waltz, more precisely. The room soon felt into a relaxing, peaceful - not to say intimate - atmosphere. And as time went by slowly, Ichigo who wasn't particular fond of the genre, began humming along the song.

They were far from the sound of clashing swords and cries of the hollow. Far from the violence of the wars they had to take part in. Far from the suffering they had to endure.

He closed the geography book, this time for good, and turned his attention to the brunette who hadn't say a word in what felt like hours.

What the ?

Ichigo almost burst out laughing when he saw her dancing - she looked simply ridiculous : wiggling her tiny body to the music, her eyes were closed, her eyebrows furrowed and she was wrinkling her nose in what seemed to be great effort.

"Rukia?"

She didn't even bother to lift her eyelids and continued her strange choreography. More serene than ever. She didn't seem to care one bit that dancing wasn't her strong suit.

"Gosh, you really can't dance..."

As if by magic, the enchantment instantly broke.

The shinigami opened her eyes, her mouth now twisted in an angry frown - she was about to strike the student with a kidō spell when she realized that he was smiling at her.

Genuinely smiling.

Her cheeks turned an almost adorable pink hue as he nonchalantly rose to stand beside her.

**

"You suck at this too."

He didn't retort.

"No, you're even worse than me Ichigo."

"Stop complaining", he glared at her. "And watch your step!"

They both went silent.

Their cheeks were bright red and their gestures clumsy - but none of it mattered at that moment.

"Ichigo?"

He opened one eye to look at her, but said nothing.

"Ichigo!", she insisted.

"What now Rukia?"

For god sake, she couldn't hold her tongue for five minutes! She definitely had a knack for ruining moments.

"Thank you."

She smiled at him, her eyes gleaming, as if all the fatigue accumulated over the last few days had vanished.

"Don't mention it, silly."

**

None of them heard the light footsteps coming up the stairs nor the weak knocks at the door. Yuzu waited a few moments and hesitated before opened it carefully. What she discovered there remained forever engraved in her memory:

Ichigo, with his eyes closed, was in a trance. With his hands placed around what she guessed was supposed to be the waist of a woman, he was moving back and forth, whirling around himself.

The poor girl slowly closed the door and ran away, promising herself never to set foot in his room again.

** (small explanation: Because Rukia wasn't wearing her gigai, Yuzu unfortunately couldn't fully enjoy the show.)

[inkstainedfanfics]

Rainin’ You

Summary: Reader both likes and dislikes rainy days. Inspired by the tone of Brad Paisley’s “Rainin’ You”

Word Count: 1,850

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Tagging @jackdawsonsgrl @heneed-somemilk @blackholeunderyourbed @dont-give-a-bother @whatinbenaddiction @thosefantasticbeast2 @red-roses-and-stories @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly--canthrope​ @caseoffics @benniesgalaxy @studyforthreehands @barbarachern

WARNING: Death Mention

You sit on the deep windowsill, knees pulled up against your chest, chin resting atop your knees, eyes focused on the rain pounding against the pane of cool glass.

You sigh, breath fogging up the glass for a second, and you wonder if when it fades, you’ll be able to see through the rain to the intersection only five blocks away. The heavy rain obscures it, but on good days, you can spot it, watch the cars ramble past as though nothing matters.

For a moment, you think you smell pine and rosemary, a combination that shoots hope through you, and, despite everything, despite the memories, despite the old gown hanging in the back of your closet, you shut your eyes and let yourself pretend that Newt’s here, just in the other room mixing you a cup of tea with honey, waiting to curl up on the other half of the ledge and discuss your future the way you used to. For that moment, it’s like he never left. You breathe in again, begging the air for one more waft of the familiar scent, but the smell is gone as quickly as it appeared.

A sharp twinge of pain shoots through your chest, reopening old wounds you sewed shut a few months before. Unfortunately, you’ve never been good at sewing and your stitches tear out with any small prick of a memory.

Tears well up in your eyes, but a smile drifts onto your lips when the small puppy you’d adopted with Newt hops onto the ledge, licking at your foot before curling into a ball, tiny nose pressing against the pane, huffing small clouds onto the glass.

You peer back out at the rain, letting it transport you, letting it take you back to back the first time you’d met Newt: a sunny day that flipped on its side faster than you’d ever seen.

You’d been wandering the town, trying to find a very specific shoe store recommended by your friend when he bumped into you, apologizing quickly, starting to walk away, but stopping when he saw your expression. “Sorry to bother, but do you need help?”

“I’m looking for a store, but I think I might be a little lost.” You’d admitted it with a quiet, ashamed smile, one directed at the ground. “I’ve just moved here for a job that I begin on Monday; I’m going to be late tomorrow if I don’t figure out these twisted streets.”

With that, he’d grinned a nervous half-grin that could melt the hardest heart. “I’m Newt.”

“A pleasure.” You’d murmured, introducing yourself and waiting for his next directive, but before he could say another thing, rain was falling, heavy drops bursting open on the crowns of your heads, plopping against the sidewalk. Newt grabbed your arm, tugging you toward him, and you’d followed him under an awning without hesitation. There was something about him even then that was dragging you in, intoxicating you.

“It was just sunny. How’s it already raining?” You’d asked, brushing water droplets from your hair, blushing when he gently knocked one from your cheekbone with a simple flick of his finger.

“This is London. A bit of sun means nothing.” Oh, he’d had the most charming smile, one that crinkled his eyes. When he laughed, his nose had scrunched up the tiniest bit, and your heart had dropped in your chest. The one.

A curse, those words. What do people know about fate except that it gives only to take away? The memory fades as the words echo in your empty chest. You had truly believed them, truly thought you’d found your forever.

Lightning flashes just outside, and thunder follows close behind it, shaking the house. You shake your head, lips parted as you sigh and pull a silver ring off your finger, spinning and twisting it so the dim light glimmers off of it, casts small refractions against the wall. Your dog perks up, eyes following the light, and you continue the movement, giving him a small moment to play as you stare down at the ring.

It’s old, a ring bought on a trip to Venice, found in a drawer in an antique store. You’d caught your breath when you’d noticed it among the useless baubles and costume jewelry.

Newt had gravitated toward you, hands landing on your waist. “You should buy it.”

You snorted then as you do now. Ridiculous. The thing cost a fortune, far too much for you to afford back then. “Don’t be absurd. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s expensive, Newt.”

He’d smiled at that, taking the ring from you, his soft hand brushing your own. “Then allow me.”

You’d grabbed for it, but he’d just slid his hand into yours, lacing his fingers through yours and holding it at his side. The gesture paused your attack. You’d held hands before, but never so casually in public. Newt had always been more reserved, against any sign of affection in public outside of adoring looks. So when he’d paid for the ring, walked through the shop, and led you outside without letting go of your hand, you were amazed. The one. He’d grinned when he saw the rain pouring from the sky.

“So much for a lovely date.”

“Don’t you like the rain?”

He’d looked at you then with that calm gaze, one you’d come to understand was the way he looked at anyone he loves. It sent a warmth creeping through your chest and stomach. “I enjoy it, yes. Do you?”

You’d thought back to first meeting him, then the picnic ruined by a sudden storm in Scotland, and the time he’d first kissed you in a slight drizzle after asking. “I know it isn’t perfect, but I’d rather not wait another week, if that’s all right with you.”

You’d smiled at him, considering his question about the rain, then answering his question honestly. “I love the rain, too.”

And you did. Still do, if you’re being truthful. There’s not much you wouldn’t do to remember the pleasant times, the times in your life where you were truly happy, truly living, while at Newt’s side.

With every rainy day, you can remember them, close your eyes and pretend you’re back to when Newt’s wet hands landed on your cheeks and gently tugged you forward to meet his lips, can pretend it’s the same day as when you shrieked as the downpour drenched your food and you pulled Newt to shelter.

But with every rainy day, with every day that’s even cloudy, you can’t block out the worst of it all.

You received the news on a Tuesday. His mother was on the phone, saying she knew he would want to tell you first. So you went out shopping, bought yourself a new dress that would fit well for the day, knowing he would agree that’s it perfect if he saw it. Newt had a way of being sweet without even meaning to.

You got in your car five days after the phone call, on a dreary Sunday afternoon, and drove five miles out. Everyone was mingling, waiting for the service to begin. You found yourself the seat reserved next to his mother, sat next to her, squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right.” No, it wouldn’t, you knew, but Mrs. Scamander didn’t need to know.

The priest talked and talked and talked, reading from his bible, looking at the crowd, smiling, but it was wrong. It was all wrong. You’re not supposed to be sitting here. You’re supposed to see him standing at the end of the aisle, running a hand over his face when you turn toward him; he’s supposed to be wiping away tears, Pickett poking up from his pocket and pinching his arm in celebration. He’s not supposed to be carried up. People aren’t supposed to give speeches during the ceremony, that’s supposed to happen after.

You listened to story after story, comparing them to the ones in your head, the ones you cherished above everything, and you find that none of them could match the stories you share with him.

A light drizzle started during the ceremony, seeping through your shoes and wetting the sleeves of your coat. The ground turned to mud, and guests’ shoes made ugly shlooping noises as they stomped up to the newly filled hole in the ground. You know if Newt were there next to you, he’d nudge you, tell you how lucky he is that even the angels would cry for him. That if he were next to you, he’d be doing whatever he could to drive the tears in your eyes away, rubbing them away with his thumbs, making joke after joke until you smiled. But he wasn’t next to you, and no amount of condolences from mere acquaintances could have even a smidge of the effect Newt had.

You stayed there even after Theseus led Mrs. Scamander away, cradling her sobbing body with one arm. “He’s happy somewhere, mum.”

Theseus, a strong man. You’re grateful for him when he returns to see you, sitting in the mud next to you, eyes not lingering on the way you wrap an arm around the tombstone, the way you let the rain soak into your skin. You stayed there in silence. Newt wasn’t around to pull you from the rain, to drag you away and laugh with you, and Theseus was grieving himself. So the two of you sat there until you both ran out of tears, and, when that happened, you got in your cars and drove home, fully awake but also fully numb.

You forgot the next few days, forgot what had occurred, didn’t realize anything was amiss at the beginning of the day until you crawled into the case and it was barren, Newt not there. Newt not anywhere you could reach. Then it’d all swing back and you’d weep, sitting down wherever you were and wrapping your arms around yourself until you could stop the tears, until you could imagine Newt helping you up, telling you it would be all right.

You stand, stepping off the ledge and crossing the quiet living room. Lifting a quill, you slide a piece of parchment onto the desk and start a letter. It will go nowhere, be sent to no one, but it helps. It’s like he’s here, talking to you, and when you write, you can sometimes feel the brush of his hand on your arm or hear his boots pound behind you as he rushed to bring an injured creature to the case. You smile again as you finish the letter and lift it. It shouldn’t help but it does and you let out a deep breath. Someday, you’ll see him again. Until then, you have quills and parchment and rainy days.

Love, it’s raining again. One of our days. I miss you too much to say, and I cannot wait for our reunion. Wait for me wherever you are, darling, and know that I will always carry you in my heart from now until forever. Xo, yours.