#and just made life a bit livelier generally

[avephelis]

if anyone's got good pick-me-ups lmk i could really use them

[peach-and-bugs]

Hi, I hope you are well, I fell in love with Nat's one-shot, so I was encouraged to ask for a request, well there are two that come to my head with different characters.

"Wow, you really never got out of your angsty teenage stage, did you?" with Teen Shauna (sorry it's just that you see those eyes and they bring back a lot of melancholy).

"Please tell me you didn't hold on to that all these years" with Lottie (1996) and Lottie (2021). I think with this one you can play with flashbacks of seeing what happened in the desert and their relationship in that timeline in 1996 as a reunion in 2021 somewhat angsty.

Sorry the request is so long, although I would like to add that I can imagine both requests with f reader, anyway thank you very much for everything, take your time and take care of yourself. ❤️

💚Flower stems for heartstrings - Lottie Matthews (1996 & 2021) x fem!Reader💚

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: y/n finds evidence of her teenage best friend (and secret crush) being alive after all, and a possible way of finding her thanks to modern internet and goes on a personal quest to find her and the truth, all while reminiscing about their teen years...

Warnings: Internalized homophobia, fem reader that dresses both "masc" and "fem", underage drinking and smoking weed, extremely angst but with a good ending

Word Count: 8,758

A/N: woohoo! We've surpassed word count on my longest oneshot with this fic, the record previously being 6,990. And ngl, this might be one of my favorites to date! Lottie is an extra special gal who deserves an extra long one-shot, so of course I'm going to give her extra attention. What can I say, I'm not immune to favoritism. This one was actually so fun! I loved getting to write about excited, young (and medicated, let's be fr) Lottie bc I think we forget just how much the wilderness took a toll on her. She was so lively before, it makes me so sad. But, I hope I was able to give her a little bit of that liveliness back in this fic! I think in the request "desert" was supposed to be wilderness, but I wanted to have the reader be left behind, which adds a whole different kind of angst to the situation. As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading!💚

Lottie Matthews Tag List:

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-💚-

You’d only ever felt the way you did now only twice before in your life. Once when word got around that flight 2525 had mysteriously gone down in flames with no trace, and once again when you learned she’s been shipped off to god knows where for some kind of treatment. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to her then and she was gone. 

It was a sickly green feeling that had you kneeling over with weak knees and a stone throat. Lottie Matthews, the girl you’d had your heart set on for all of these years, wasn’t gone. She wasn’t locked away or dead like gossip has always said. She was alive and well and looked like she was thriving. And how did you find this out? Through Instagram, of course. That might have been the worst part of all of this. 

One minute you’re mindlessly scrolling through your feed when an ad for a farmers market in some part of upstate New York, rather than New Jersey where you resided. But the ad featured a booth selling honey, and low and behold, there she was. Well, the photo didn’t give a clear picture of her face, but you refused to deny that it was her, despite how it made you sick. How could you forget that smile of hers after all? 

You had to put your phone away after that, but it didn’t help you sleep. A few hours into staring up at the ceiling, restless with gnawing curiosity, you decided sleep wouldn’t come till you found an answer. Rather spontaneously you packed a bag and got into your car. Was this the smartest thing to do? Hell no, but you had the weekend off for work anyways, and nothing stopped you from going, so you drove through the nightstand into the morning and drove by coffee, a podcast, and the straining urge that you needed to know what was going on.

-💚-

At some point in the night, you found your mind wandering as your eyes trained on the empty highway before you, highlighted by your headlights. You reminisce a time long before, even more than 25 years ago. Back when you had been a freshman in high school during your lunch period. You moved to Wiskayok, New Jersey late in the year, giving you an even later start to your first year of high school. You’d relatively been left alone and had decided you'd be alright with that. Not everyone can have friends right? So, alone you sat outside on the school's field, picking at the grass underfoot having already finished your lunch. 

Some students around you sat on the track or the stadium's bleachers with their friends, enjoying company and comradery or whatever and you didn’t like to admit how it made you jealous. But what was there for you to do to change it? You refused to look desperate and walk up to random groups of people who would probably talk about how lame you are behind your back-

“Hey, you alright?” the sudden voice in your direction yanked you out of your self-deprecating thoughts. Looking up you had to squint your eyes to try and make out who was talking to you as the sun shone in your eyes till they tilted their head, blocking it. After some adjustment from the sunspots in your eyes, you were greeted with a shy yet warm smile. 

“Um, yeah, I’m fine,” you uttered awkwardly, swallowing the frog in your throat that had your voice croaking. The girl chuckled and tottered down to the ground to sit beside you in the grass. She dressed well, was one of the first things you noticed. Her pink skirt and tall white socks were very countering to your grass-stained jeans, scuffed hightops, and t-shirt. 

“You sure, because you’re all by yourself,” she said rather matter of factly. 

“Well, maybe I like being alone. Think of that,” she arched her brow curiously. “And as far as I know you’re alone too,” she chuckled again with a little huff. 

“Tuche,” was all she replied, but she had a stupidly shiny grin on her face. Next, she reached out her hand to shake. “I’m Charlotte, by the way. But most people call me Lottie,” you hesitated for a standing moment, only staring at her hand as you kept yours loosely wrapped around your knees till you gave in, shaking her hand in greeting. 

“I’m y/n,” 

“Well y/n, tell me about yourself,” she spent the rest of that lunch period at your side, asking questions about you in exchange for the little tidbits you were willing to give her. It was so strange, looking back now, how a because girl decided you looked lonely you'd be driving to upstate New York on a random Thursday night due to your desperation to find her again. 

Lottie had always been charismatic. She liked people. She looked at them like puzzles made special for her to figure out. Maybe that was her way of avoiding herself, or maybe she just had a natural curiosity for those she didn’t understand. But from that day on, she hadn’t left you alone. She’d excitedly greet you in the halls, and invite you out with her friends and to late-night parties. She was the one who integrated you into the community and helped you find a place. 

But she also became your best friend. However, you struggled to feel like you were hers sometimes. She was so bright and colorful, full of life and boy was she popular. She always had someone with her, unless she found the time for you exclusively, which dwindled more and more as high school progressed. Of course, this is a concern you could talk to her about but you didn’t want to bother. In truth, you feared your feelings were driven by selfishness. You thought you'd never voice it, but oh, how you undoubtedly adored Lottie Matthews. 

You felt her encase you when she was close and her laugh was enough to have you swooning. You thrived in her presence and basked in the littlest bit of attention she may offer you. Her touch was electrifying and when she grabbed your hand when she greeted you you felt what had to be magic. But of course, you could never tell. Sure, you knew you were gay and you were so fortunate that you’re mother said it was ok, but you’d never tell, ever. Even if the ache felt like it was squeezing you, you couldn’t lose Lottie. You didn’t want to scare her away and be a freak. 

Part of you wonders if that’s why you'd lost Lottie after all. You hadn’t been honest with her. No, that wasn’t rational. A secret didn’t take down an airplane. 

-💚-

You didn’t arrive till mid-afternoon, late morning, the sun high above as you made your way towards this market. They had their location posted online, so with a quick search and an input to your mapping app you were all set to go. Moments like that reminded you of how on your road trips with your mother growing up she'd have you read the map in the passenger's seat beside her, your finger tailing over the highways towards the little star sticker added on to be your final destination. Strange how so little time felt like it had passed since then yet a whole life as well.

Venders had been set up for some time now and enjoying the comfortable air as they mingled and shopped. You hooked a tote bag over your shoulder to look less conspicuous (although there inherently isn’t anything conspicuous about a middle-aged queer woman at a farmers market, still. You felt a need to keep a low profile). You wandered for some time, looking for a stall that said something like sunset honey, or maybe it was sunnyside. Something involving both the sun and honey, and it looked like the people working wore a lot of purples. 

Honestly, it was a very nice market in itself. Had you had ulterior motives for attending you would have quite enjoyed it. That is still you grew distracted by a florist’s stand. The owner had lovely premade bouquets that ranged in a variety of colors and sizes, but what caught your eye where the assortment of white and pastel metal buckets housing small assortments of different flowers, meant to be starters for gardening. In particular stood out the small purple flowers known for growing naturally back home, in Wiskayok. You tentatively reached out to stroke the petals. 

You hadn’t formally been invited to the party, but it was one of those words get around kind of things, she no one was actually invited, right? At least, that's what you'd told yourself as you got ready in your room, obsessively messing with your hair in the mirror. It was one of those beer-guzzling bonfire things that the seniors hosted on the outskirts of the woods now and then. This time, however, the justification was the girl's soccer team going to nationals, and after the whole pep rally earlier in the day, it did sound justified. 

You pulled back from the mirror to look back down at your clothes. You'd layered a black plaid dress with thin straps over a white sweater that’s sleeves cut off just below your elbow with tights and docs. You tugged at your coller, attempting not to grimace. Sure, you liked dressing feminine now and then, but when it came to events like this you couldn’t help the anxiety, especially with drunk boys. But still, you wanted to look nice, even if the drinks being served were from a beer keg. It just felt like one of those nights, you figured. You sighed and forced yourself to leave as there was a car horn honking outside, grabbing your backpack along the way as you went. It’d be good to have a quick getaway available to you if need be. 

“Have fun, hun! Make good choices for me, ok?” your mom called to you from the couch, watching one of her late-night shows while sipping tea and crocheting something as you went downstairs. You smiled, walked up beside her at the end of the couch, and kissed her forehead. 

“I will, mama, I promise,” you forced a tiny smile. She hummed her thanks and smiled, opening her eyes to take a look at you.

“Show me this little number you assembled for me,” she said, taking off her eyeglasses and gesturing up and down with her crochet hook as she readjusted in her seat to get a better view. You stretched out an arm, the other firmly holding your backpack to your shoulder, and did a turn around for her. She smiled wide and gave you playful applause. 

“Cute! And do you like it? Everything fits well?” 

“Yes, Mom, I promise,” you sighed, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes. It was a new dress you hadn’t worn yet and you knew she was only doing the classic mom routine but you had to go!

“Alright, you go have fun. And tell your friend Charlotte good luck at nationals!” she called after you as you shut the door front door and locked it. You turned, illuminated by your porchlight, and waved to your ride. Van had the passenger window of Taisa’s car down and she waved back with a confident grin on her face. You could hear Depeche Mode playing on the radio as you approached the car. You opened the door and slid inside with a quick smile. 

“Thanks for the ride, Taissa,” you said, trying not to sound as shy as you felt. She smiled in the rearview mirror, checking her surroundings as she turned down the radio. 

“Yeah, no problem girl,” she said with effortless confidence. You didn’t know Taissa or Van, or much of the school's soccer team all that well, but in your mutual connection to Lottie over the past four years you’d tagged along with them quite often and they’d always been nice to you.

“We couldn’t say no after Lottie was so adamant we were nice,” Van joked quite loudly to Taissa, giving you an up and down with that grin again. You stared for a second, unsure of what she was trying to imply till Taissa smacked the goalie in the arm with the back of her hand, hissing her name to make her shut up as she started driving. The redhead let out an undignified yelp.

“She’s being an asshole. And confusing. Lottie wanted you to come and she knew we’d be the best people to pick you up is all,” you still had a confused look on your face, your shoulders hunched inward. 

“Um ok, thanks?” you said it more like a question. 

“What she means, is that we like you. And we’ll tell you we like you,” Van chimed in again. She wasn’t as helpful to you as she thought she was.

“Right, ok. Is there something else going on that I’m not cluing in on?” Tai and Van shared a knowing look. 

“Ok, so the other day Lot kept going on about how she worries that you don’t feel like we’re all friends, and doesn’t want you to feel like you’re just her other friend that tags along, ya know? So we figured we pick you up and tell you that, because some of the other girls on the team aren't the best at communicating, ya know?”

“Oh. So we're friends?” you sounded far more surprised and eager than you would have wanted to. “And Lottie told you all that? About me, I mean?” Van grinned once more, fully turning around in her seat. 

“Yeah, dude! I think you’re really cool actually!” you began to smile more than before and leaned back, straightening up your posture. 

“And, yes, Lot had all that to say and more,” Tai added on. You were thankful for the dark car hiding any color that might have rushed to your face. 

“She talks about you all the time,” Van blabbed on. Tai gave her a look that told the goalie to keep quiet now. Just as she did you pulled up to another house in the neighborhood that has Lottie sitting on the front porch. She shot up when she saw the car but took a last-minute look at the front door like she was waiting for something. Van maneuvered in her seat to hang out the window. “Hurry up slowpoke or we’ll be late to our party,” Lottie all but yelped and ran to the car after that, toward your side of the car. 

You didn’t have enough time to move out of the way and before you knew it Lottie had flung the door open with an exhilarated grin, laughing as she climbed in over your lap to collapse in the seat beside you in the back. She’d picked to wear all pink, which was just so fitting for her. You noticed in particular that she was wearing one of her shorter skirts that she giggled to you about hiding from her mother. 

“Shut the door and go!” she said through giggles, and once you had the time to process what was happening you did just that, closing the now-opened door to your right, and Taissa was off. Lottie lunged forward in her seat and punched Van in the shoulder, laughing all the while. “God, fuck you! I could have been caught because of that,” she griped as Van dramatically clutched her arm. 

“Ugh, what’s with beating on the goalie tonight? I gotta stay fit for nationals and I’ll be covered in bruises at this rate,” 

“Whatever. You’re always covered in bruises, and not all of them are from soccer,” Lottie implied, her hands gripping Taissa’s headrest in front of her so she could lean forward and talk to the two girls up front. That is till she scooted back to give you her full attention. 

“Well, you’re liking fine as hell tonight hot stuff! Have you been hiding this little number?” Lottie asked, reaching out to touch the material of the dress you were wearing along your leg. You managed to force a laugh and playfully swatter her hand away with shifty eye contact. 

“It’s new. My mom got it for me during our last mall trip. She wanted me to expand my wardrobe or whatever,” you played off causally. Lottie gave you a knowing smile and sighed as she turned to look out the window. 

“I think it looks great, just like you always do,” she murmured rather quietly. You weren't even sure you were supposed to hear her. Not long after Tai parked and you all got out of the car. Van yelled something at the crowd that had already gotten things started and there was a low collection of howling and yelling in response to her. Lottie got out of the car before you but stopped and waited by your door for you to get out with her. She said nothing but had that perky smile on the whole time as she watched you expectantly.

“So, whatcha wanna do?” you asked. She shrugged. 

“I dunno. Maybe get reeeeeally drunk,” she toyed, reaching out to take your hand like it had become second nature. Tai walked up to the two of you from the driver seat of the car, double-checking as she locked it shut and shoved her keys in her jacket pocket. She made a purposefully obvious glance down at your entwined fingers then back up to Lottie.

“Careful Lot, people might talk,” she said with what Lottie took as a comfortable coolness but it sent a shiver down your back that caused you to think about pulling away. 

“Pfft! I don't give a flying fuck! Let them talk!” she announced quite loudly, leaning forward with her free hand on her hip. She turned her gaze back to you and wiggled her brows as she grinned. “Come on. Get a drink with me,” she urged, tugging you away from Taissa. 

“Don’t listen to her. No one is looking, and if they are they don’t care. What’s wrong with holding hands anyway?” Lottie babbled on as she pulled you in line for a beer with her. She was still holding onto your hand quite tight as she jumped into rambling about something related to her French class. Maybe a recent test? You weren't exactly sure. Despite everything she’d said before, it felt like everyone was looking, but not because of you. Because of Lottie. She was the pretty, popular girl while you were just the weirdo she hung around. With that idea in your head, it was pretty hard to not be self-continuous. You were so in your head that you didn’t notice her shoving a beer in your hand. 

“Wha- oh, thanks,” you stuttered. You'd let go of her hand to get your drink, opting to use both hands to hold it. Lottie frowned as she was handed her drink ans thanked the guy passing them out. 

“Hey, you alright? Lost you for a sec,” she murmured. She’d become so gentle all of a sudden. Were you really that fragile? She forced a smile and nodded.

“Yeah, I'm great. Just haven't gotten into the party mood yet, I guess,” 

“Oh, ok. Do you wanna step away, clear your head a bit?” you shook your head no. 

“Nah, I'm good. I’m just gonna grab something from my bag in Tai’s car, ok?” Lottie tilted her head, almost like she was trying to look at you from a new angle. 

“I can go with you,” she offered. God, why did she have to be so attentive and sweet?

“I promise I’ll be fine-” you started only for a distraction to catch your eye. “Hey, Shauna and Jackie are over that way. I’ll meet up with you when I’m done,” you offered, dialing up that chipper tone as high as you could. She finally gave in and nodded, making her way over to her other friends while you crept away to dash toward Tai, wherever she was. You eventually found her after dodging around cars and trees listening to Van argue with a group of boys about something sports-related probably. That honestly wasn’t a huge concern of hers at the moment. 

“Hey, Taissa. can I borrow your keys?” Taissa arched a brow. 

“You’re not trying to use my car to go joyriding or to fuck, right?” 

“What? Oh my god- no. I just wanna get something from my bag. It’s in the car,” 

“Where's Lot?” why is that relevant right now?

“She’s with Jackie and Shauna,” you began messing with the loose hair falling in your face, averting your eyes from her. Tai gave you an up and down before tugging at Van’s jacket. 

“Van, go with y/n to my car, ok?” 

“I was just in the middle-” Van started till Tai arched a brow and she gave in. Tai dropped her keys in the redhead's hand and you were off to the car again. 

“Do you already wanna leave?” Van asked, walking backward in front of you. 

“No, I just want something from my bag,” Van slowed to walk in stride with her hands in her pockets, watching you as you watched everyone who passed. 

“Care to share?” you just looked at her and finally managed a laugh.

“I’ll share when we get there,” upon reaching the car and unlocking it, you grabbed your bag and made your way to a more secluded edge over the party where you’d be left alone, Van trailing close behind till you set your solo cup on the ground, sat down saddle style on an old, knocked-over log to rummage through your bag. You pulled out a baggy you’d been holding onto and a lighter.

“Damn, y/n, I didn’t think you the type,” the goalie said as she dropped down across from you. “Where’d ya get it?” she asked, taking the joint you pulled out to share. 

“My older brother. He lives with my dad while he’s going to school and I visited him over Christmas and he gave me a few that I use quite sparingly. 

“Divorced?” she asked, referring to your parents. You shrugged.

“Kinda, but not really? It’s weird. They still like each other and get along but they aren't exclusive by any means. Dad works in Cali while mom moved here to look after her mom who’s a few houses down from us,” you explained as you fidgeted with the lighter, fixated on the way the flame moved up and down, on and off. Van snatched it out of your hand during an “off” moment to light the joint now placed firmly between her teeth. 

You simply watched her process, lighting the joint and then taking in a long breath before holding and letting it go with a sigh as though she was relieved before passing it to you. She did the same, watching your breath in with your eyes shut only to exhale into the dark, finishing off with a small cough before passing it once again. You could see streetlights from the main road from here, you realized. 

“You’re into Lot, aren’t you?” her voice was low to not attract attention, but she was confident in what she had asked. You paused, staring out at the lights just a short walk away. Normally, an insinuation that you were gay would have you panicked. It could have been the weed, but maybe you'd relaxed and found some sliver of comfort in the redhead, your new companion.

“I think I do,” you whistled through your teeth at your admission. You turned to meet her eyes when she nudged your shoulder with the side of her hand, passing the joint off again. “Think I’m a lost cause?” Van snorted and shook her head.

“Oh, hell no. That girl’s crazy about you,” Van said with a sigh, leaning back on her hands where she was sitting on the log. “Now, I don’t know what type of way she feels. Sexual, romantic, or just friendship. But there's something there. Lot’s banked a lot on you,” you began to smile again, soft and mellow as you took another hit. After that one, you leaned down to take a chug of your beer. You offered to pass again, but Van had turned her attention back to the party, particularly to Taissa who looked like she was getting shit from Shauna. Even from over her, you could tell she was wasted given how she stumbled around. Van groaned and got up from where she was sitting.

“Keep it. I gotta deal with this,” she huffed as she left. You watched her go, eyes trailing after her to meet with Lottie’s, who was staring right at you, arm crossed over her chest and cup in hand. She seemed to hesitate between you and her arguing friends, but when the debate got particularly loud she turned with a furrowed brow. You watched her go and kept watching till Jackie derailed the entire situation, pulling all the girls away likely to yell at them. With that done, you sighed, leaning back to fully lie on the log, the joint between your lips and legs dangling over either side as you shut your eyes. 

“You hiding from me over here?” you opened your eyes. The joint was nearly out as it had just been sitting between your teeth for who knows how long by now. Lottie stood over you, arms still crossed as she held onto her nearly drained drink. you shook your head, sitting up as she sat down beside you on your left, much closer than Van had been. You readjusted, sitting properly with both legs over one side of the log, shoulders hunched. Lottie's arm brushed against yours when she moves. “You didn’t come back,” she simply steed with no malice or accusation in her voice. You shrugged. 

“I was getting overwhelmed I guess,” you murmured. “Didn’t feel like talking,” 

“You seemed chatty with Van” Again, she simply stated fact. You sighed and leaned down to take another drink. Lottie took the joint from your hand. You watched, then reached for the lighter to give it a second wind. She held it between her forefinger and thumb for you and once it ignited once more it found home between her lips. You watched, sipping your beer. She smoked far prettier than Van had.

“Van’s a good listener guess. Doesn’t talk too much,” Lottie snorted out a laugh at that. 

“I don't think anyone has ever said ‘Van Palmer doesn’t talk much’” you chuckled out a soft laugh to match hers. You looked away, out at the lights again. Lottie took another breath in, letting the joint sit between her fingers with her crossed arms. She watched the lights with you, though she might not understand the fixation you seemed to have on them. That is, till she paused, turning fully to watch you. She tilted her head again, unexpectedly brushing her fingers over your temple to guide loose hair obstructing her view out of the way and behind your ear. “Let me kiss you,” she murmured, almost as though she was pleading. You turned back to her. Her hand settled on your cheek, fingertips curiously brushing over the apple of your cheek.

“Don’t kid me,” you whispered, eyes glazing as you darted down to her parted lips. 

“Never,” she shook her head ever so slightly. It made her hair sway. You swallowed hard but shakily nodded. That was enough of a yes for her to move in. She immediately dropped the joint in her hand and the hand tracing your cheek found home on the back of your neck. Her now free hand rested behind your ear, stroking your hair as you latched onto her waist, using your left hand to hold you up on the log. 

She kissed like she knew exactly what she was doing. As though this had all been part of a longstanding plan. She’d envisioned this just as you had, and fuck was it perfect. Her lisp whereas urgent as your own and had it not been a public space you might have let her do anything she wanted to you right then and there. She scrunched her fist into your hair, unintentionally pulling ever so lightly on your scalp and eliciting a sudden moan from your throat which only egged her on further till she had to pull away with you chasing after her. 

You opened your eyes wide, lips still parted as you gasped for breath in and out. And then, of course, you got shy, anxious voices telling you she’d regret this immediately. You began to turn from her but the hand in your hair let go and moved to trace knuckles over your cheek and subsequently turn your eyes back to her. She shook her head, murmuring no over and over, soothing you like a child about to cry. And at that thought, the thought of crying alone, you felt the tears spike in your eyes. She watched your brow crinkle as your lip trembled and she pulled you into her chest, holding you as close as she could. 

The hand on your neck found your back as the hand on your cheek moved to cup the back of your head. You buried into your neck as you cried, and she rested her cheek against your scalp, murmuring over and over how it was all ok. She kissed your hair, rubbed your back, and rocked you from side to side as your hands vigorously clung to her sweater, fearing letting her go, because what if the magic would be over and gone when she was out of your hands? 

But reluctantly you needed to let her go, and eventually, that point came where you emerged from her embrace, the scent of her shampoo and perfume fading from you quickly as you met her puffed, teary gaze. She moved to hold your cheeks in her hands as her breath shook. You held your hands around hers, kissing her palm with a weak smile. Fortunately, that had her let go of a watery laugh. But neither of you spoke yet. You just sat in warm silence till you readjusted to be side by side once more, your head lulled to her shoulder with her cheek at your temple.

“Fuck, what do we even do after that?” you breathed, eyes training down to the long discarded joint and red solo cups with only sips left of beer in them, though yours has spilled at some point, soaking the ground under it. 

“I leave tomorrow,” she murmured back. You dressed your lips together before letting go of another sigh. 

“I know… we should have waited” she chuckled sleepily.

“I don’t think so,” you hummed your why. “I’ll be excited to get back here. Well, more excited than I already was to see you,” you chuckled, though your tongue dripped with wordless sarcasm. 

“Don’t forget about me,” 

“Oh, how could I ever after that?” she teased with another giggle. You smiled, nuzzling your nose into her shoulder. With the change in direction, you got an idea upon seeing a small purple flower growing just beside her shoe.

“I know how,” you started, reaching across her side to pick it, leaving a nice, long stem to tuck behind her ear and in her hair. You sat back to admire your work and smiled. “Purple suits you,” you decided, tucking some of the hair behind her ear for a better look at your work. She chuckled with a sniffle, her fingers gently wrapping around your palm, catching you to kiss your fingertips. 

“Mam, are you alright?” you were dragged out of your daydream like a shockwave and had to take several moments to ground yourself again, taking in a deep breath. You blinked repeatedly, shaking your head before forcing a smile. 

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I was remembering something I needed,” you said with a forced chuckle. The florist smiled, though he seemed a little unsure. You turned back to the flower, petal still gently settled between your fingers. “I’ll take this, while I’m here,” you said as you cleared your throat, gently picking up the small white bucket and giving it to the florist to ring up. 

“Ah, Ruellia caroliniensis. But it’s better known as Carolina Wild Petunia. A good choice. Pick it for any reason? I ask everybody that,” he asked, making meaningless small talk. Your eyes stayed focused on the waving petals of the plant as it was gently jostled around. 

“It just reminded me of someone I knew, I guess,” he smiled thoughtfully and nodded with a soft hum of acknowledgment before he asked you for cash or charge. You picked charge which resulted in you digging through your purse for your card. 

“Oh my god! y/n! A shrill voice called when you weren’t looking and just as you pulled out your debit card. You gave the florist you’re card before turning to look who it might be only to have the Misty Quigley herself approaching you with the wide smile and outstretched arms that you felt you had to reciprocate. She squeezed you quite tight and when she let go her hands remained at your side for a moment as she seemed to look at you in awe.

“Well, what the heck are you doing here?” she asked tilting her head with that smile still plastered across her lips till she gasped “Oh! Are you looking for Nat too?” you furrowed your brow and frowned. 

“What? No, I’m-”

“Uh, mam, you’re purchase?” the florist interrupted. You turned from Misty to grab your new belonging, which he had been so kind and bagged for you as well as outstretching your card back to you. 

“Yes, thank you so much! I truly appreciate it!” you said as chipperly as you could before ushering Misty out of the man’s stall and towards a clearing. “What, what are you talking about with Natalie?”

“She got kidnapped!” the blond exclaimed, adjusting her glasses. “She was taken from the motel she was staying in back home and we’re here to find her,” she blabbered on. 

“Hold on, when did Nat get out of rehab and who is we?”

“I dunno, a few weeks ago I think? So much had been going on and it's been hard to keep track and ‘we’ is me and Walter,” you were still confused about the situation and about to ask who Walter was when the man himself showed up. He’d be trailing behind Misty for some time, just casually in the background. He was so average you hadn’t even noticed him. The man waved and offered a smile. You tentatively returned the wave but still seemed confused. 

“I’m not here for Natalie. I didn’t hear about that at all. No, I’m looking for Lottie,” you said rather bluntly. Misty frowned and it was now her turn to be confused. 

“Lottie? But she’s been in Switzerland for years-” 

“Well I thought that too will I saw this,” you whispered, hissing through your teeth as you frantically pulled out your phone and the screenshot you’d taken of the farmers market Instagram post, zooming in on Lottie and shoving the device into her hands.

“No, that can’t be her,” 

“It is. I just- it’s not a great angle but I know it’s her,” you insisted. Misty began to scan the photo curiously, zooming back out when she let out a dramatic gasp and began excitedly smacking at your arm. 

“Purple people!” you yelled. “Purple people!” she repeated it to Walter this time, which summoned him to rush over and huddle around your phone.

“The purple people took Natalie!” she explained with far too much excitement for your liking. 

“Could they have taken Lottie,” Misty shrugged. 

“I dunno, maybe. But only one way to find out!” She shoved your phone back in your hand and began aggressively powerwalking away with Walter tight on her heels. You hesitated momentarily before shutting your phone off and shoving it into your purse, hustling after them. 

“Wait! Do you know where to go?”

“Yes! Of course! We found out from the other stalls,” she called back. “Get in your car and follow us!” she sounded far too excited for this whole ordeal, but what other options did you have to find Lottie? You ran back to your car, got in, and started with heavy breath ready to take the next step on this crazy adventure you found yourself on. 

-💚-

After quite a bit of driving, they pulled off into a bed and breakfast parking lot and parked. You parked beside them and got out with a frustrated expression. 

“We're not going tonight.” Misty rolled her eyes and she pulled her suitcase out of the trunk of what you assumed was Walter’s car. 

“Someone,” she was heavily implying someone to be Walter, especially with the annoyed, flat-mouthed looks he gave him “wanted to wait till morning because he thinks the cult will expect us at night,” you gave her a look that asked “really” and Misty threw up a hand, shaking her head as she grabbed onto her luggage. 

“I know! Trust me, I know, but captain’s orders,” she huffed as she followed Walter into the B&B. You paused, letting out an exasperated sigh before going to grab your duffle back and your plant. You hear Misty muttering about not using her real name as she and Walter get a room. 

“And it's just for one room, right?” the concierge asked. There was an irritatingly comedic back and forth of yes, and no, then both of them settled on no, two rooms would be fine. 

“And, um, you can put mine under the name Lady Mallowan,” Misty gave herself a name straight out of Clue or a shitty romance novel and you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

“Seventeen and eighteen. Up the stairs to the right,” then went back and forth with thank yous as they clumsily took their keys, then started deliberating about luggage when Walter offered to take the suitcase off of Misty’s hands. 

“Just one room under y/n l/n is fine, please,” you said simply. You saw Misty and her new boyfriend exchange an appalling look and you had to refrain from laughing. 

“Room nineteen,” 

“That’s great, thanks” You dropped your things upon entry, but gently placed your plant in its bed on the nightstand before collapsing on your bed with a long sigh. Of course, you'd need to get up and change, but for now, lying on your back in a bed that wasn’t yours was all you could feel like doing. That is till you got up from said bed and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a small paper cup of water that you set on the nightstand as you sat on the edge of the bed. You tentatively opened the bag that held your plant and took it out, setting it on the stand to be out and in the fresh air. You gave it a light drink from the cup before you returned to the bathroom for a shower. 

-💚-

You were woken by Misty’s knock at you’re door bright and early at seven-thirty and back on the road by eight after grabbing complimentary breakfast to go. It was a rather long drive to wherever you were going, but you once again found ways to fill the time. That is till Walter took a screeching u-turn that almost caused a car crash on a winding, wet wooded road, but that was a conversation for later. You pulled up beside them and followed as they now stood excitedly outside a green gate that happened to have a matching bee on it. All you carried with you was your tote bag with your plant tucked away inside. Why you felt the need to bring it, you weren't sure, but it felt necessary. 

“The bee is where the purple people are!” Misty insistently explained.

“Ok, do we need to call them ‘the purple people” 

“Well, yes, but that's only till we get a better name for them. But anyway,” without another word of it, Misty ducked under the gate herself and began walking up the road. 

“Ok, we’re getting hit by a car if we do that-” you started but she shook her head. 

“It'll be fine. It looks decently short,”

“Well what about my car?” you urged. 

“Just lock it! Who’s pulling over in the rain to rob an unattended car out here?” you sighed with exasperation. 

“I dunno, maybe people from the cult we’re actively visiting,” you mumbled to yourself. 

“What was that!” 

“Nothing!” you huffed, following after Misty and now Walter, who had started moving shortly after her. She’d been right though. It was a rather short walk with no cars. You found yourself in what looked like a parking lot in the middle of the woods blocking off yet another road with an even larger fence in front of it. Misty and Walter were actively messing with an intercom system that seemed to have worked as they excitedly returned to your side. 

“Alright, so the man on the other end, I think his name was Jack or Jackson- anyway, he’s getting Natalie and she's coming to meet us here,”

“But what about Lottie?” Misty adjusted her glasses and folded her arms with a shrug. 

“I thought we could have Natalie confirm that, because we know she’s in there-”

“You don’t believe me,” you interrupted as she began trailing off.

“Well, we do not want to be making outlandish accusations to strangers, I mean-” she got easily distracted by the sound of someone walking down the pebbled path.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nataline started with heavy irritation. 

“Oh, thank God you're safe,” Misty would have hugged her by now had the gate not been in her way.

“Safe? What are you talking about?” her attention turned to you and her eyes widened with further confusion “Hi, y/n,” she added tentatively. You awkwardly waved as she gave you a nod. 

“And who the fսck is this?” she gestured to Walter now. 

“Walter,” he simply introduced himself with a wave and a light chuckle before going on. “I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you” Natalie scrunched her nose, clearly not caring all that much about what impression Misty had given him of her upon first meeting. 

 “We're here to rescue you!” Misty eagerly interjected again. “I mean, you-you were kidnapped, right?”

“No. Uh, yes, technically I was, but it's no big deal, okay?” the notion that Natalie’s kidnapping wasnt that big of a deal was bewildering to Misty as seen on her face, but honestly you understood her reaction. 

“Lottie sent some people for me, but I'm not being held against my will,” she muttered, twisting her neck as she spoke. “Well, not anymore” It was now your turn to perk up. 

“I'm sorry, Lottie?”

“I told you she was here,” you hissed through your teeth at Misty, moving closer to the fencing. 

“Wait- as in Lottie? Lottie, who was committed to a mental institution in Switzerland? That Lottie?”

“Yes, Misty, that's the one,” Natalie turned to you once more “I'm assuming you had your theories or whatever?”

“Oh, I’m not here with them-” you paused. “Ok, originally I was coming here all on my own, but we ran into each other, and well,” from there you gave up.  

“Wait, Natalie, Natalie!” Misty derailed the conversation once again. “​​You're gonna have to elaborate, 

“Look, she runs a place here, and she's helping me reflect or whatever. So, you and your Hardy Boy can go home,” she looked Walter up and down again about Hardy Boy.

“But…”

“I'm doing a fսcking thing here, Misty. I don't need you getting in my way,” she’d lost patience with the blonde’s interruptions and persistence and in all honestly, you felt bad for her given how she shrank back at the raised tone. But she quickly toughened back up, turned on her heels, and marched back in the direction you'd come. 

“She seems nice,” Walter tried to lighten the mood. Natalie sighed with either exhaustion or irritation, watching them go before her eyes drifted to you, still standing in front of her. “You’re not done too?”

“Natalie, I need to see her,” she let out a scoffish chuckle and sighed through her nose. 

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” 

“I’m serious, Natalie,”

“Oh no, I can tell you are, don’t worry. Just- just give me a minute, alright. Let me ask my guy,” she began to turn but waited for you to nod before actually leaving. You stood still, turning to check your surroundings once more just to be as sure as possible. Natalie returned quite quickly with a man behind her. She shrugged, seeming surprised by the verdict herself as the gate’s electric lock began to unlatch letting you in. 

“Uh, my car is still parked with some of my things,” Natalie was already shaking her head. 

“We can have someone come and retrieve it all later,” Natalie’s companion started ad Natalie turned, already heading up the hill for a second time. 

“But you're not gonna need it!” she yelled behind her. Due to her eagerness to leave the scene, you were left walking beside the strange man who let you in. 

“So, I'm assuming you’re Jack or…” you drawled off but he chuckled, appreciating your intention. 

“Jeferson,” he cleared. 

“Right, ok. Nice to meet you,” you nodded, your hands clutching quite tight to the straps of your tote bag. “Look, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’m only here to see Lottie not join your… well join whatever you're up to,” he laughed again and nodded. 

“Don’t worry. She knows you're here,” a shive rushed down your spine as you realized what was happening. “I’m instructed to take her to you, actually,” 

“Oh. wow, that’s just great. Yeah, great,” you whispered to yourself as you bit your lip, questioning if this was going to be a good idea after all. When you looked up again, taking a deep breath you were met with quite a beautiful scene before you. It was a nice, well-organized camp on a lake with cabins and what you assumed were social areas all around and throughout the woods. You paused for a moment to take it in and wonder, did Lottie make all of this? 

“Charlotte is waiting this way, Ms. l/n,” Jeferson interrupted your wonderings. 

“Mhm, I’m coming,” you had to manually tell your feet to move before you could follow him to the separate cabin that must be Lottie’s. He had already walked up the stairs by the time you approached the porch, taking a moment to appreciate its handiwork before trudging up the creaking wood. Jefferson opened the door but didn’t enter, only gesturing for you to go in. 

“Charlotte will be here as soon as she can step away,” he explained as you cautiously walked in. You nodded, turning around to give him your thanks but he was already shutting the door, leaving you to your own devices. For a moment you stood completely still, watching the wooden door anticipating her walking in at any second, but after a few seconds of stillness, your foot began bouncing with building anxiety squeezing at your chest. 

“Shit,” you hissed, turning to look around your surroundings and find something to help you calm down. You put your bag on the table, but take the time to take the plant out and set it beside your bag. You rubbed your sweating palms on your pants and began to wander around the single room you found yourself in. Her main space was split into a small lounge-ish office space with a kitchen on the other half. 

You assumed the bathroom and her bedroom were down in the back of the cabin and with a craning of your neck you could see in one of the rooms but you decided it best to leave that be. Wandering around the office space you ran your fingertips over the edge of her desk. You peaked over the edge, curiosity winning momentarily before you restrained yourself, instead turning to the art hung on her wall featuring deer and other wilderness things before resigning yourself to the couch facing her desk. 

You flopped down rather unceremoniously but couldn't help sitting stiff, hunched forward with your knee bouncing in anticipation. Your eyes trained on her desk again, which was mostly bare of anything decor-like other than the two small picture frames. You forced yourself to look away till your nerves kicked in again and you were back up and taking the large one into your hands. It featured a classic team photo of the soccer team back in high school, but earlier on during your sophomore year. 

You chuckled lightly scanning over the baby faces your old friends used to have. Having something familiar to look at was relaxing, you decided. Maybe not the most morally correct thing, but this was an exceptional situation. So, you moved on to the small one, thinking none of it till she got a look and your heart dropped again. Pressed pristinely against the glass was an all too familiar flower, nearly identical to the one you'd been carrying for the past day and a half. Only this one had far more wear to it, clearly showing its age. It had faded in color over time, taking on hues of parchment brown rather than the vibrant purples you’d been familiar with. You traced over the shapes of the petals, likely dry and dusty to the touch by now over its safety net of glass. That is till you heard the carbon door abruptly shut.

And oh, she was perfect. She was sickeningly, stunningly perfect but all you could do was freeze where you stood, grip tightening around the small wooden frame in your clasp out of fear you might drop it if you didn’t squeeze tight. And she stood just as stunned at you. Age had encompassed her face all this time, but it was still her face. The one you had ingrained in your mind, so much more detailed than any photograph. You felt your chin begin to quiver.  

“Please tell me you didn't hold on to that all these years" You had to force it out with your breath ad your brow bowed with the strain of keeping it together. And then she laughed. She laughed her laugh, now blossoming with the beautiful thing that is age, just as every other part of her was. She moved toward you as though she was floating. She took her caftan off so smoothly it was like the breeze itself removed it for her. And before anything else, she took the frame from your hands, fingertips brushing together only for a moment. She returned it to its place before shakily turning back to you, tears drizzling from her eyes as she smiled.

“How could I not,” she murmured with a laugh full of exasperated joy as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her hands hovered over your arms as though she feared touching you would break the illusion, but with the way your lip trembled and tears rolled from your eyes as you held back a strangled sob she couldn’t refrain herself. It all felt so new and old all at once and oh, how overwhelming she was, her hands cupped at your face, thumbs stroking at your tears as you let it all go, sopping into her. 

Just as she had years before she murmured sweet nothing promising that you were safe and you were here, but not only you. After so much time she needed the reassurance of reality just as much. She pulled you in, just as before and your nose found its rightful place in the curve of her neck as her cheek found your scalp. She held you up and close as your knees began to shake and you had to grip onto her shoulder blades for what felt like dear life. You needed to feel her to truly know that she was here, she was real and she was yours, as were you.

[thatunusualwriter]

Hey, I love your writing and I was wondering if you could write some cuddling hcs for Reiko. I'm feeling a lil bit down at the moment.

I'm sorry I'm late to reply! Life's been getting- ehm, livelier lol. Hope you feel better 🫶

ᓚᘏᗢｼEnjoy!

Like, reblog, go to askbox to request anything! 🫶

banner made by @infinitnei

𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚔𝚘 𝚡 𝙶𝙽!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙲𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 sfw

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.⛓🤍💥👊⛓.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

Reiko himself is NOT a cuddler (at the beginning). Let's get it straight. The General raised him to be anything but. :')

Doesn't mean that he'd pull Reader away - if they would be close, knew one another, for a long time!

He gets introduced to affection: hugs, smooches, cuddling, all that jazz because of and thanks to Reader.

Reiko was sour one day, feeling the blues, feeling like he's not a perfect soldier, that he's not doing enough for General Shao — and Reader happened to be passing by their humble house while Reiko was slouching in the lounge all on his own with his guard down.

Reader being the good friend/lover that they are couldn't just pretend that he's NOT sad...

Reiko perks the moment he hears you approach, his frame ever so slightly tense to pretend he hadn't been vulneable just moments prior.

Reader doesn't ask what's wrong, instead, they sit down on his lap, facing him — and it takes Reiko very much by surprise.

He's unable to formulate coherent sentences while Reader sits comfily across his thighs and folds their arms around his neck, bringing him closer until his ear was pressed gently against their heartbeat, Reader's chin in the crown of his head.

Reiko's arms are awkwardly positioned in the air, confused about what to do with them before hesitantly putting his palms on Reader's calfs while his head was craddled and Reader slowly rocked their bodies back and forth.

The proud soldier was puzzled by being held like he - a warrior - would be a piece of percelain in Reader's embrace...

.... But it's not like it was unpleasant, quite the opposite actually.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the only thing filling Reiko's ears was their heartbeat and soft exhales over his head.

Reiko doesn't talk about whatever is brainstorming in his mind, it's hard for him to open up and Reader should be kind enough not to try pry it out of him — because it would've only made things worse. Some people just need time and patience.

But it's safe to say from now on Reiko will 'ask' for more cuddles after that.

He won't say it, but he'd give Reader that sort of an exhausted look or a slightly brush his callous fingers over their arm, when they have their privacy.

Reiko just needs to be held. That's all. No need for words.

[theculturedmarxist]

These days I mostly avoid being around art spaces and the dwindling population of people that frequent them. This is for the same reason you might duck an old friend who’s been transformed by time and circumstance into a thing that you scarcely recognize. Sometimes it’s better to remember them as they were.

I broke my rule the other night to attend the closing of a theater I built long ago, and it was every bit as sad and disappointing as I would have expected. Hardly anyone came to send her off, and the ones that did could muster nothing better than a couple of beers and off to bed. The whole thing was over by 11.

“Who are you voting for,” a pudgy, bearded, graying Xer, asked me before I left. He was wearing a kind of middle-aged bohemian get-up, right down to the hipster hat, that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for a new Type II diabetes drug. I’m down to talk my doctor about . . .

“I’m writing in Dave Chappelle,” I said.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the part of his brain that knew how to process a dissenting opinion. Not finding one he sputtered, “But you’re not for Trump.”

“No.”

Then a skinny, wan, pale guy with sunken eyes, and long, greasy black hair, sober as a judge, like someone who’d acquired all the physical attributes of heroin addiction, without ever having had any of the fun, said, “Then you have to vote for Biden, or Trump wins.”

“So what,” I said.

And that was when they both shit themselves and I had to do the whole red-pill/blue-pill thing. By the time that was over, everyone else had gone and I followed suit. Leaving the building for the last time, I thought of livelier days when the whole place, the whole block, the whole city, was full of life and crazy energy.

How did this happen? How did we get here?

This is an article I’ve started, abandoned, and started again a few times over the years. That’s partly because I still had some hope when I began that I might one day be able to return to my craft as a theater director without revealing my opinions. But that was before Due Dissidence had a YouTube show. Now I very visibly express ideas 3-4 times a week that would get me professionally and socially cancelled in about 5 minutes as soon as anyone from that crowd took the time to check out the channel, which of course they would.

Another thing that’s kept this one at the bottom of the digital drawer is lingering affection for a lot of people who are still making the music, lighting the lights, and all that. I have dear friends in the arts and this is going to hurt some of their feelings. Except for the ones who regularly DM to thank me for saying what they can’t without risking career suicide. Those will be greatly cheered by this piece, in the way of a bullied child watching their tormentor take a hard fist to the nose, so I guess in the end that part’s a wash. Here goes.

In the 8 years since the election of doom that transformed me from the kind of guy who wanted to have a beer with Rachael Maddow, to the kind of guy who would protest her book reading, I’ve had lots of debates with lots of people.  Enough to notice a distinct pattern

Conservatives will generally keep it on the issues; they may not agree with you, but as a rule they aren’t going to go right to ad hominem attacks on your character.  Liberals can go either way: they may debate the issues with you, but they’re just as likely to attack you personally as a closet Republican, a Russian plant, or if you happen to be a white man, that’s kind of their go-to.  But the absolute worst people you can find yourself engaging with are members of the arts community.  I know this because I’ve been a member of it since at the tender age of 19, I bullshitted my way into a directing gig at the still extant 13th Street Repertory Theater. 

The artists I worked with then as a kid from Queens dazzled by the bohemian world I had infiltrated wouldn’t recognize the artists of today, and I suspect they wouldn’t like them all that much.  Heirs to a 60’s counter-culture ethos of distrust for authority and institutions, and to an older tradition of the artist-intellectual, they generally thought of all politicians as dishonest psychopaths, and spent more time discussing Kafka than the evils of Soviet Russia, which occupied the same position of public enemy #1 that its successor state does today.  And lest the wokeratti immediately jump to its aforementioned go-to, the scene was far more substantively diverse than what you might find at a theater or a gallery today.  They were gay and straight, old and young, black and white and brown, and in a major departure from the current moment, both penniless and well to do.  There were artists living rent free in the loft above the theater, others renting $250 apartments in pre-hipster Williamsburg who had to walk across the bridge to get to rehearsals for lack of train fare, and still others living comfortably on the Upper West Side.  If there was a failing it was in a tendency towards pretentiousness: when a middle-aged woman pronounced confidently at a post-rehearsal dinner that the principal crisis of the modern age was the “post-Nietzschean vacuum,” I almost laughed in her face.  No one had that problem in my native Flushing, and I suspected that was true most places.  But the problem wasn’t racism, sexism, or homophobia-expressing those sorts of views would have been just about the only thing that could have gotten you ejected in an atmosphere where pretty much anything went, and it was that way in the arts community for as long as I was a part of it.

Generally, I like to heavily source everything I write, ‘cause when you’re offering controversial opinions, you had better cross all your t’s and such.  But because the arts are such a distinct subculture and the kinds of institutions that have the means to conduct a wide survey on questions like: what class background do artists usually come from, or, when did artists start to favor censorship, never would, I must of necessity rely on my personal observations and speculations.  Which makes this, by definition, a personal essay, so take it as you will. 

I’m starting from the premise that something has gone very wrong when you have an American arts community that tends to be politically conservative in the sense of being to the right of general sentiment in the Western world on class and economics; that mindlessly supports politicians like Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton who’s records are at odds with even the identitarian issues that they claim to care about, and that sees de-platforming and cancelling figures like Joe Rogan as a legitimate tactic, never considering the idea that once you let that genie out of the bottle, no one will be more vulnerable to having it turned against them than artists.  I’ve given a lot of thought to how a bohemian scene of intellectuals and misfits turned into something resembling a PTA meeting in Scarsdale. This is what I came up with:

I will concede this to the painfully woke white people that dominate the arts even as they lately denounce their own position: rich white people are the crux of the problem, with the emphasis being on “rich” rather than “white,” as some would have it. The low to no pay circumstances of most creatives are beside the point, even though many of them will point to this as evidence of their moral authority to speak on matters of poverty and marginalization. If “artist” isn’t a Professional Managerial Class job, what is it? It sure ain’t factory work. The pretense of artists to social disenfranchisement calls to mind John Goodman’s line in Barton Fink, where his serial killing salesman tells John Turturro’s slumming writer, “You’re just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here.”

Most of these folks are just playing dress up for a while before they pack it in for Grad School and take up residence in the same sedate suburban enclaves from whence they came. Just as in every other sphere of American society, the arts are, and always have been, dominated by these kinds of middle and upper-middle class, mostly white people, whose sensibilities reflect that reality.  The higher up the food chain you go, the more evident that becomes.  The same exact advantages of money and connections that favor people in every other industry, favor those who attempt a career in the arts.  Perhaps even more so because the standards are so nebulous.  If you’re a doctor, or an attorney, you either do your job well, or you don’t.  If you’re an artist, the quality of your work is subjective which leaves a lot of room for just hooking up the people you relate to, which in the arts is going to mean a lot of rich white people, hooking up other rich white people.  The net effect of that is, if a lot of bad ideas are coming out of the suburbs, that’s going to be reflected in the work.

When the PMC’s were more rooted in the New Deal, with its focus on class and economics, as was the case when I first entered the scene, so were the arts. Now that they’ve turned to neoliberalism in their economics, and the post-modern turn has unmoored their social activism from observable reality, we have an arts community that has nothing to say about the current moment that strays an inch from what you might hear on MSNBC. This is why, as just one example, in a moment of social strife and economic dislocation, the Artistic Director of Connecticut’s Long Wharf Theater recently seized on the idea of a Black Trans Women at the Center festival as the best use of his platform and resources. The company lost their home of 55 years shortly thereafter.

Whereas in the 30’s a good many artists responded to the Depression by adopting a Marxist-Leninist posture and playwrights like Clifford Odets, (the writer being satirized by the Cohens in Barton Fink), and later Arthur Miller and Rod Serling, began writing plays for the first time that placed working class people “at the center,” this generation of artists greets the moment with only contempt for the struggles of working people, seeing them as reactionary Trumpers who sadly lack the education and sophistication to realize that the economy is great, incremental change is the best we can hope for, and getting all bent out of shape about books full of graphic cocksucking in your child’s middle-school library is totally uncool. Rather than to represent the struggles of average people, these artists offer them nothing but derision and when they do bother to acknowledge them, it is only to portray them as wrong-think culture war enemies.

Adding to the problem, poor people who manage to get to college usually don’t decide to major in something that’s going to almost guarantee that they end up poor.  Being an artist is a luxury most people from economically disadvantaged environments just don’t think they can afford.  You’re a lot more likely to choose it if you have a trust fund to fall back on.  So, essentially you end up with a scene dominated by trust fund babies, no matter what identity group they align with.  Their politics proceed from there.  All these artists going on about white privilege is partly a case of, to use a phrase with which any theater aficionado will be familiar, “Methinks thou dost protest too much.” And as with Diversity Equity and Inclusion efforts in other sectors, this results in pretenses at promoting “representation” amounting to nothing more than trying to find more black and brown people from similar backgrounds to the whites that are already there, and who consequently share the same attitudes. Barracks and Michelles are always welcome, but the Hueys and Assatas make these folks deeply uncomfortable. The theater party I walked into last week, was no more racially diverse than the scene I knew in the 80’s (perhaps a bit less), but it was palpably less wide-ranging in class perspectives.

Another reason the censorious Victorian lady in high dudgeon pose that has become the liberal class default setting over the past 10 years or so, has had so much appeal to this group in particular, probably has to do with the psychological afflictions common to artists, combined with the insecurities inherent in the profession.  This is something else I’d love to see a study on: common psychological illnesses in artists, but lacking such a study, I can only tell you what I’ve observed.  Most people don’t choose a career in the arts because they’re very secure, contented and happy sorts.  The level of personal psychological torment that’s driven them to such an irrational career choice varies, but deep neurosis, emotional neediness, and pervasive self-doubt are kind of a base line.  I do not except myself from this analysis: my head is the kind of snake pit that Indiana Jones has nightmares about.  Proceeding from there, you’ll find a fair amount of narcissism, borderline personality disorder, manic-depression, and just plain old depression-depression.  These qualities are not at all ameliorated by constant rejection and criticism, which is kind of the nature of the beast.  In some ways the people who are attracted to the arts are the least capable of enduring its vicissitudes without severe psychological damage.  So, you have a bunch of deeply insecure, neurotic people, trying to make their way in a profession where the rules are vague and the agreed upon standards of successful work are non-existent, and then you hand them a secular religion that gives them not only rules and standards, but a weapon with which to bludgeon their critics as -ists, phobes, and reactionary heathens.  That’s like throwing crackers at a starving man.  Naturally they jumped on it en masse, without ever thinking through the consequences.  Critical Social Justice gave artists something they haven’t had since Duchamp signed a urinal and called it a sculpture: certainty.  And this group is far too ignorant of the past to know why their forbears rejected the kind of formalism that these standards impose, and what the price paid in quality, creativity and individual expression will be in the long run. Insofar as they embrace Duchamp’s lesson, it is only in using the precedent set by his famous prank to avoid being interrogated on the basis of quality, talent and craftsmanship.

Which brings us to my final observation.

I’m going to let you in on a secret, although if you’ve ever been dragged to a “new interpretation” of Hamlet on the Lower East Side, back when we still did that sort of thing, you probably already know: talent is rare.  That’s why we call it talent.  If it was common, we’d call it something else.  I’ll give you a breakdown from something I have a fair amount of expertise in-auditioning actors.  If you audition 100 actors, it’s going to go something like this: about 10% will be so God-awful you have to wonder where they got the encouragement; around 60% will be passable in the way of people who have had a lot of training; 20% will be very good; 8% will be excellent; a final 2% will be exceptional-in other words, talented.  So, based on my admittedly subjective observations, only about 30% of the people who call themselves “artists” have any business pursuing it.  And only 2% of those are really gifted.  So, the scene is, and always has been, mostly populated by hangers-on who are only one 30th Birthday away from packing it in and getting a Masters in Social Work.  The appeal of a set of standards that remove the basis of evaluating work from its quality to its adherence to a set of clearly defined political beliefs is obvious.  If you can’t out-talent people, you can at least out-woke them.

None of this is to say that representation in the arts isn’t a problem or wasn’t a problem until these meddling kids started performing their virtue for likes and clicks.  It’s always been a problem, particularly at the level of management and project leadership, in the arts as in every other sector of society.  I would posit that DEI efforts are a solution in search of a problem, only in that part of the reason for that lack of representation, has always been a lack of artists of color walking in the door, which in turn has to do with the economic realities I’ve mentioned.  There aren’t a lot of poor white people walking in the door either; I’ve owned 5 theaters in NYC across three decades, and I never met another theater owner or director, who grew up on welfare.  In my experience, that lack of representation never had to do with virulent racism in the arts community. It always had to do with class realities and broader issues of structural racism society-wide that stop POC from ever making it to the door to be considered.  If you were paying any kind of attention, that lack of diversity was always an embarrassment, but you can’t work with people who simply aren’t there because of societal problems that reach far beyond the arts.  If we really want to do something about this, we need to go out into impoverished and marginalized communities, provide training and encouragement to young people in particular, then offer them jobs in our theaters and galleries, instead of only looking for POC from similar backgrounds to the people who are already there in order to assuage their white guilt.  Until we see arts institutions doing that, we will know DEI efforts in the arts for what they are: one more example of rich white people protecting the privileges of their class, even if they have to outwardly denounce them in order to do it.

In the end, the arts scene as it exists today and the institutions that support it may have simply become too sclerotic, out of touch, and irrelevant for saving. The future is with activist-artists grown naturally from their communities, using new technologies and platforms to draw attention to concerns and realities that no gatekeeping clique of PMC’s will ever understand or think to explore. As our self-appointed creators of culture have abandoned us, it may be time that we abandon them in turn, leaving their venues to close as they should, leaving their 501c’s to go bankrupt, as they are doing, and taking the space their collapse opens up to create something new of our own.

[stingslikeabee]

meet the mun

1. what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have?

I always credit Melissa to a combo of three particular things: a) my personal interest and passion for the Japanese nightlife scene and its uniqueness; b) the movie 'Sucker Punch' (and particularly the character of Vera Gorski); and c) a post that once made the rounds when I first joined the FFVII rpc that wondered if the Turks didn't visit Wall Market for the chili fries or because the girls happened to have the best intel.

And then it was like something clicked inside - I sudden had this 'vision' and Melissa was born after some crafting as a brothel madame who had strong mama bear/caring and nurturing vibes and who had set herself in opposition to Corneo. The two alternatives in terms of earning people's loyalty (fear/love), a cold war of sorts, a lot of fun and layered dynamics to play with from a Wall Market perspective (such as trading intel, working as an informant, etc) and tying in to the game main events.

I always preferred to pick 'minor' muses or to craft characters that fill in spaces and make a world livelier - Melissa just felt right. I guess she works nicely because no one ever thought it was absurd to have Corneo as a nemesis - even with Remake revamping the HBI and making it something else, I decided to stick to my OG view and I was incredibly well-accepted! :)

2. is there anything you don't like to write?

I am very plot driven - and therefore threads that are just winging something and with no ulterior purpose just bore me and I lose muse fast. I like threads to be like book chapters, with an objective in mind - once that's done, I prefer wrapping it up and starting a new one. Smaller things I deal with in asks (although there is nothing preventing me from turning an ask into a thread when it sparks the good muse food).

So I tend to have a basic, over-arching plot line to follow and I enjoy discussing it offline with my partners so we can ask each other what we are thinking in terms of next steps, if a certain event would be interesting, etc. Believe me, this doesn't take away the surprise - I have been hit by unexpected feelings so many times, I love it.

In addition to that, I struggle with fighting/action sequences (I am just super bad at it), overly descriptive things (a room, someone's clothes, a landscape). It just feels like everything I have ever studied about English goes out of the window and my writing turns super dull, I hate it.

3. is there anything you really enjoy writing?

Emotional stuff - of any kind. I have found out that my preferred writing method is one that mixes a lot of thoughts, emotions and bits of lore together, so although a given reply may not give much in terms of objective actions, it will make room for further emotional or introspective discussions to happen. Characters working out their own feelings and perceptions in relation to certain things is a favorite of mine and my replies are frequently novella-like because Melissa thinks (and feels) so damn much.

I also do like setting the scene (as in giving context for a particular interaction) in starters or asks and expanding on lore. Worldbuilding is another favorite of mine and I often make extensive research into stuff that is only going to be briefly mentioned in a thread. Other than that, I'm also into sharing/including NPCs to make the flow of a thread feel more like a book and crafting these small cameos is super fun.

Oh - I do enjoy writing the usual shippy things (including those on the platonic side of things), particularly with Melissa who has such a strong preference for these themes when compared to other muses. However, without plotting (and since she's an OC), it all feels very soulless if I don't know how to get there in a way that makes sense or seems to be aligned with every character involved.

4. how do you come up with headcanons?

I get inspired by different types of media and a lot of real-life references. For general lore/worldbuilding, I tend to leverage from historical or current events whenever possible, all the while trying to tie these things with the existing canon; for muse-specific verses, anything can spark an idea: a quote in a movie, a song, a certain TV show.

5. do you write in silence or do you play music?

I always have music on - it tends to change depending on the specific verse or muse, but I generally have key songs to fall to while writing.

6. do you plan your replies or wing them?

I plan them as a rule (including asks and memes) - even if it's mostly in my brain and as a general line that I want to follow so I can go from A to B within a few paragraphs. It doesn't always work, though - sometimes I rework the entire idea, or get hijacked by the muse and directed to something else instead.

7. do you enjoy shipping?

Yes - I adore it, and building connections and creating ships is something I really like to do, from discussing it to dropping aesthetic posts to a customized tag. For Melissa in particular, they play a large and significant role as she is someone very much transformed and shaped by love and attachment to people, so my ships for her invariably become a part of much larger and complex verses.

This also goes for platonic dynamics - I like the concept of ships because they allow me to visualize a setting/plot much better and build around it with so many little additions that it feels alive and organic. I start creating timelines and events and it is just so satisfying to see it all coming together.

One thing I have learned with time is that, despite enjoying shipping, I like to be able to talk/connect to the other mun offline (talking about it and plotting is fun!) but also I try to be selective to the point of exclusivity. Because I am so plot-driven, I end up building so much around one variant/portrayal of a given character that I just become partial to it and blind to others - and because I don't want to project my dynamics onto duplicates, I'm multi-single-ship as a result (as in multiple ships, but just a single one per each muse - although exceptions sometimes apply).

8. what's your alias/name?

Mari, because that's how everyone calls me anywhere, anytime. I actually get confused/bothered if my full name is used because it sounds more serious and I just think it's either a stranger calling me or a boss/my mother being angry, haha.

9. age?

Old enough to remember the hype re. having a Blockbuster card around here; these where the premium video rental shops, haha (and nope, I never had one, I only wished I had).

10. birthday?

A late winter/early spring child! As a kid I thought I was born in spring and loved it, but then I realized spring is just later in September and that I was actually a winter kid by a few days, haha. But growing up, winter (winter as I know it, mind you) became my favorite season, so it was all good!

11. favorite color(s)?

Used to be black, silver and blue but these days I'm super fond of turquoise and shades of green? I seemingly cannot settle on a single one forever.

12. favorite song(s)?

I am contractually required to always reply with 'GLAY' and 'Yuuwaku' haha (this song is so damn important in my life). Here's an awesome video to introduce you to my favorite band.

13. last movie you watched?

'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' - one of my top 10 favorite movies, one of my top 5 movie openings, one of my top 3 Fincher movies.

14. last show you watched?

I just finished (re)watching 'Nana', only this time I made it to the last episode. I forgot how emotional this show made me feel and how epic the soundtrack is.

15. last song you listened to?

'Raise Your Glass' by P!nk, a courtesy of my spotify shuffling things haha.

16. favorite food?

I never know what to say here, there is just SO MUCH I love? I think pasta generally ranks very high, followed by pastel and pão de queijo. On the sweet side, I am obsessed with coconut and paçoca.

17. favorite season?

I might have spoiled it here, but it's winter - again, my winter. Brazilian winter. Tropical winter. The winter I have experienced in the Netherlands was depressing, dark and horrible where my nose bled, my skin cracked, I got shocked every time I touched anything metallic and I was just miserable; I love blue skies with sunshine and something below 20 degrees outside.

18. do you have a tumblr best friend?

I do! I mean, I could just say that I have a bunch of really awesome mutuals and I wouldn't be lying; or that I am closer to some than to others, and that would also be true. But it's no secret that @dojimakaichou is just on another level because Dawn and I talk every day to the point I feel weird if we don't; we don't just talk about roleplay, we talk about everything, we have weekly movie dates, we send each other gifts, we record videos for our families and we spent 10 days together last year with plans for more annual encounters. :) She's my bestie (and not just a 'tumblr' bestie) and honestly I only wish we lived closer but we make do!

tagged by: @bitterarcs cursed me (and I loved it!) tagging: anyone who wants to - this has gone around for some time now so I'm pretty sure I'd be tagging people again~

[snorky]

Wildin' in Detroit

Hey y’all! This is a rewrite of an older Detroit: Become Human work that I had uploaded to AO3 sometime last year. I hope you guys enjoy this work of fiction, and keep in mind, this fic isn’t meant to be taken seriously, just a fun little story. Reader is gender-neutral in this with they/them pronouns. Let me know if you want anything! :)

Word Count: 912

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption (of legal age)

—

—

They had just gotten off of work at a quaint bookstore in the center of Detroit a couple of hours ago, and their friends, Hank, Connor, and Gavin, had just gotten off of a shift at the Detroit Police Department. After a couple of moments of deciding, they decided to text them about some plans that they have considered.

Hey y’all, would you guys be down for some food at Biggie’s? Think it’d be fun to have a little night out this Friday.

Yeah, I’ll be there in about 10 mins. Connor is coming along too. - Hank

Read 6:48 by Gavin

They showed up at Biggie’s a couple of minutes after 7, the music already making the place livelier, along with the scent of savory foods, and laughter from the crowd of people. Dim lighting set the place up for a feeling of something so serene, and yet alive. A dream-like haze in a way.

Hank showed up with Connor alongside him a couple of minutes later, spotting them sitting in a booth near the back of the restaurant.

“Hey kiddo! Sorry for leaving you here all alone for a bit.” He sat down in the booth and smiled. “Are you doing alright?” he asked politely.

“No, yeah I’m alright Lieutenant,” they responded. “What about you? Hopefully the Detroit traffic didn’t slow you down too bad,” they laughed.

“Nah, don’t worry about me, I made it here in one piece.” Hank shrugged.

The music continued to float through the air, a generic top 50’s hit humming in the background of the now crowded restaurant. Buffalo chicken wings and some refreshments made their way to the table by Connor, and Hank thanked him for it. They all sat there in silence, sipping their drinks, enjoying the atmosphere of a warm Friday night in Detroit. 

“Hey, guys! Sorry I’m late.” Gavin said as he sat down in the booth. “Detroit traffic got to me.” Hank rolled his eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Reed.” He took a sip of his drink.

Gavin eventually got up and out of the booth to get a drink at the bar, leaving Hank and Connor with them. 

“You look like you’re enjoying those chicken wings Lieutenant. They must be appetizing,” Connor said with a soft smile.

“Damn straight! You can’t find these anywhere but Biggie’s.” He said as he finished the last of his wings.

A couple of minutes passed by and Reed was nowhere to be found yet. It seemed eerily quiet at the table without his banter and complaints about seemingly anything, and the music playing in the restaurant over the silence didn’t help.

“Hey uh,” Hank started, “does anyone want to check up on Reed to make sure he didn’t start a fire or something?” he chuckled looking at Connor.

“Sure thing Lieutenant, let me just run a scan of the—”

“Howdy partners! How are y’all doing on this beautiful night?” Gavin said over-enthusiastically in a southern accent.

“Hey Reed. Quick question, how much did you already drink?” they questioned.

“None! I’m just living my life!”

Connor looked at him skeptically, “My scans indicate that your BAC levels are higher than sobriety,”

“Damn, robocop got me there,” Gavin sighed, “but I have a wonderful idea.” He smirked.

“Oh god Reed, it’s never a good idea if it comes out of your mouth.” Hank groaned into his palm.

Gavin chuckled, “You wouldn’t believe it old man! My ideas are masterpieces!”

Hank sipped on his beer quietly while Gavin continued giggling for a while. He wasn’t usually this giggly, his facial expressions consisted of a stale frown or a blank stare.

“C’mon Reed spit it out, what got you cracking up and sounding like a hyena?” they asked.

“Why since you asked, why don’t you join me in the honors of singing some karaoke with me?” He stuck out his hand as he got up, stumbling a little. 

“No thanks, I’d rather not make a fool out of myself to ‘Superman’ by Eminem,”

“Why thank you for the song recommendation,” he smiled. “Now let’s get to singing!”

They looked back and saw Hank chuckling to himself while recording this on his phone, while Connor sat there observing the scene in front of him. The beginning of the song started to play, and people moved their attention to the karaoke machine near the center of the restaurant. Whistles and cheers started up as the song progressed further.

“You high, baby?” They started off.

“Yeah…” Reed continued with a smirk.

“Yeah?” 

“Talk to me…” 

“You want me to tell you something?”

“Uh-huh,” 

“I know what you wanna hear.”

Both Gavin and them sang that part at the same time, making each other lose their composure for a quick second.

“I know you want me baby, I think I want you too.”

“I think I love you baby!” Gavin hollered with an embarrassing voice crack. Hank was sitting hunched over, and dying of laughter. Connor lost composure as well, his smiling lighting up and his LED a spinning yellow trying to process the situation. 

After what seemed like hours, the song came to an end, and the four of them walked out of the restaurant. The cool air helped Gavin sober up a bit and calmed the rest of them down from their laughter.

“Hey guys?” Gavin started, “you guys aren’t going to remember this, right?”

“Remember this? No totally not,” Hank said sarcastically.

“M’kay just wonderin’,” he smiled dumbly.

[dayseternal-blog]

Hello DAYS8! I know this might even not be answered but I am fascinated by some of the fans on how they could balance their life and read and write naruhina fanfics in their spare time. As a student, I struggled a lot these past few months and was fixated on ALWAYS reading Naruhina fanfictions, as in I wouldn't even do my school works and completely procastinate then later cram a LOT just to satisfy my self in reading everyday ALL about naruhina fanfics. It was a stressful lifestyle I got used to back then. Now, I stopped reading since Saturday but I kinda miss reading stories such as that, but maybe taking a break on Naruhina can help me control my life to for a bit. It always feel like I need to finish a lot of fics in a rush like that's just probably wrong. But can you give some advice as to how I can balance Naruhina and my personal + school life? thank you ( ꈍᴗꈍ)!!

Sorry my grammar sucks and not the best out there :)).

Hello! I feel for you. I was a mess in college who procrastinated to the moon and back. I simply didn't do readings. I showed up to some classes unprepared. I was so busy with club/organization activities that I rarely ever talked to my long-distance boyfriend (now my husband). Somehow things worked out and I graduated with relatively good grades. If I went back to that time as the person I am now, I find it difficult to imagine myself handling it any better. I think I was doing my best.

To be upfront, I am generally not a "balanced" person. I don't know what kind of person you are, but I'll share some parts of my life so that I can kind of reflect on what "balance" means to me now and how I've been trying to deal with it. This is an ongoing struggle for me.

A handful of years ago, I was working full-time, attending a competitive online graduate school, and had a preschool-age daughter. At that point, I was also writing "It's No Secret," "Nightdreams," and "Catskin." I was so stressed out, fanfiction was my escape. I'm pretty sure this is a trend across fandom. I noticed that some of the longest works were written during the writers' most stressful times according to the author's notes. I was so unbalanced, and I would bet that many fanfiction authors write their "best" works during periods of their life that they would rather not revisit. I was working so hard, I was mentally checked out on the weekends. My family suffered for it. Taking out fanfiction would not have made my life any easier or more organized. I was stressed. And taking away the space for my brain to unwind in a completely unrelated topic from my real life would not have improved it.

I learned a lot about myself concerning self-discipline during those years.

I need physical location restrictions placed on me. I would do my work at a tea shop that I could easily stop at. Any homework I didn't finish would have to be left for the next day. I tried my very best to not do my work at home. Once I got home, it was relaxation time. Yes, there were nights when my daughter did not see me.

I literally used a student school planner to assign myself what needed to be done every day. I could not go home until I had checked off what needed to be done or unless the tea shop was closing. Once in a while I really did stay until closing. That was an important time restriction. If you can find some place to work that has a time restriction, like a school building that closes at 9:00, that would be a good place to go. Time restrictions not self-imposed force my procrastinating butt to get things done.

I was most productive at a tea shop. Somehow, libraries put me to sleep, home is too distracting, college study rooms are literally the worst, and working outdoors is too difficult. The liveliness of a tea shop coupled with the treat of bubble tea did the trick. Yeah, I spent a lot of money back then. I now wonder if I couldn't have just made my own tea.

I could not do fanfiction until I was done with my day's work. My current restriction now that I'm not in school is that I cannot do fanfiction when I'm at work. I cannot look at fanfiction on my phone unless I'm at home for professional reasons. My workplace locks up around 5:00. I can only write my fanfiction after my daughter is in bed. (Place & Time restrictions)

I will burn myself out for the sake of my work. This is something that I cannot compromise because I refuse to do anything half-heartedly. My family was suffering for my work when we all know that family should be the first priority. So two years ago, I had to change job placements to a less demanding community. That was the only solution. Had I continued working at my old placement, I would have never been able to prioritize my family.

I am most definitely a procrastinator. But procrastination is absolutely fine as long as you're actually getting it done by the deadline. I am also a workaholic. I am secretly competitive. I am prideful and desire to be the best. In the end, something always gets neglected, and at various times of my life that's been my then-boyfriend, my daughter, or my personal health; for me, there is no such thing as true balance. Currently, I am not working as hard as I used to because the community simply doesn't need as much of me for me to achieve good results. I am as "balanced" as I can possibly be right now.

After all that personal reflection, here are a few reflection questions that might be helpful for you:

As a procrastinator, how can you get other people and places to impose restrictions and deadlines on you so that you get your work done? This could be a study partner who has a similar schedule to yours, a building or shop's closing hours (this works for me), or a mentor/advisor (someone who is not your close friend) to set clear expectations and hold you accountable. This might look like asking for someone to sit down with you and help you break down all of your class' assignments into daily tasks. As a procrastinator, these daily tasks MUST feel imminent, meaning it MUST feel like you have to get it done otherwise you're screwing yourself over for the rest of the week. You must always have an urgent sense of "I have to get this done NOW or I'm screwed." If you don't feel like that, then honestly you're not going to get anything done. Speaking as a fellow procrastinator.

How can you romanticize your work to motivate you to enjoy doing it? How can you reward yourself WHILE doing your work? For me, this was a bustling tea shop with bubble tea. For early birds, it's seeing the sunrise and settling into a comfy chair as soon as the Student Center opens before the rest of the student body wakes up. For studyblrs, it's using cute gel pens, blue and pink highlighters, stickers, washi tape, cute post-its, and adorable notebooks; it's taking photos of and documenting their productivity on social media with little coffee cups (check out the #studyblr on tumblr). I had a coworker who would format spreadsheets at home while watching tv dramas. I saw students doing schoolwork while staying in the dining hall to have access to food and a stimulating atmosphere. Maybe you can find someplace that has attractive workers/other students. Nothing like surrounding yourself with cuties. Basically, how can you make your work feel as little like work as possible?

Unfortunately fanfiction cannot be read while working. That's just not possible. So if you want to continue to read fanfics, where and when is it appropriate for you to do so? While you eat dinner? After you study? Between classes? For me, it's weekends and after my daughter is in bed. And then you need strong reasoning as to why that is the only appropriate time and place. My workplace is my workplace. Fanfiction would be unprofessional. I can't have the tea shop workers catching me reading smut. My daughter loves to read. I can't have her asking me to read fanfiction to her. Basically, try to not be alone for most of the productive day, that way the temptation to read isn't there.

Do you want to restrict what device you read fanfiction on? Maybe you can only read fanfiction on your phone, and that leaves your laptop strictly for schoolwork. You could even go as far as to block fanfiction websites on your laptop.

I don't know what you're majoring in, but I have a tip for notetaking on readings that I wish I knew in college and that I only picked up in grad school 😩. If you know you will eventually have to cite text evidence for a future paper or something, while you're doing the readings, copy the quotations you like word-for-word into a Google Doc. Put the page number next to it. That way you don't have to ever go flipping through the book or article ever again. You don't have to highlight. You don't have to dog-ear pages. You just copy-paste that bugger from your list straight into your essay when it comes time to cite your evidence.

Good luck. Stay strong. Fanfiction should be a place to relax rather than a place to feel guilty!

[wolint]

FRESH MANNA

ATTITUDE OF GRATITUDE

Psalms 107:1-3

Gratitude! Thankfulness! Is there a difference? yes!

I have learnt to adjust my mentality regarding the word thanks or thank you because of the overwhelming gratitude for the love, support, encouragement, and blessings I received daily.

The Bible talks a lot about having a thankful heart but sadly not many habitually do so, we are in a generation of deeply entitled mentality with little or no spirit of appreciation.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 tells us to "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. No one has a right to expect anything from another, especially when they don’t appreciate anything done for them or accord others what they expect.

Thankfulness is the expression of gratitude while gratitude is a sense of good things received and the celebration of them.

If we can’t appreciate the people God physically uses to bless us and if it’s too much to be grateful to a human being, how would we then appreciate and thank God, whom we can’t see for all He’s done and does?

The Lord says the one who shows gratitude glorifies Him in Psalm 50:23. How do we express gratitude?

Some people only appreciate big gestures, extravagant sentiments, and expensive gifts. How about saying thank you to the colleague who made your job a little easier or quicker? Do you say thank you to the store cashier for doing a good job of serving you? even to your children and spouse for making your life a little bit livelier?

Give thanks instructs Psalm 136:1, there should be a difference and a high standard of gratitude from believers, and not just mere lip services for God.

It is with a joyful heart we give thanks to God for the blessings of life. Scriptures repeatedly call us to give thanks and glory to Almighty God and make a joyful noise to the Lord all the earth! Says Psalm 100:1-2. That is intentionally being thankful.

An attitude of gratitude is a constantly thankful heart!

Thanks! A very important and much-needed word but so often an inadequate word. A six-letter word that is insufficient to express gratitude for the actions.

My gratitude gives me a new understanding of Paul’s action in Ephesians 1:16. When you are bursting with gratitude and have no way of expressing it to your satisfaction, you find yourself praying for those God uses in your life.

Why was Jesus so interested in the one returning leper in Luke 17:15-17? After all, one came back! Jesus, through this, made us aware of how important gratitude is to him.

Gratitude is an attitude!

Thanksgiving is the Action of that attitude.

Gratitude is the divine gracious influence upon the heart and its reflection in life.

Are you a grateful person? Do you have an attitude of gratitude?

This was what the one leper had, which is why he was made whole. Gratitude!

Our psalm is a call to give thanks to God and the repeated theme of His mercy endures forever tells us plainly that it is the Lord’s mercy speaking in, for and over us.

I have said so many thank you that I’ve been told to stop but I can’t stop, just as I can’t stop asking the Lord to bless certain people and keep thanking Him for their lives.

Let’s all emulate Paul, who was heavily persecuted, yet he wrote, “Thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him” in 2 Corinthians 2:14.

Gratitude is key; it’s whatever you want it to be and whatever the recipient wants it to be. The more you show gratitude, the more Father opens doors and blesses you, according to Acts 24:3. Be grateful and not entitled! Always say thank you!

PRAYER: Thank you Lord for everything, especially for the cross and for Jesus, for life, loved ones and Your word. I am grateful Lord in Jesus’s name.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT. PRAYER MIN.

[wintcrstcrfall]

For a moment Matthias wasn't sure about his own reaction to her words. But then, a second passed and only when he was halfway through a deep, truly amused laugh, did he realize that it wasn't a pretence, that it wasn't one of his usual states of half-truths mixed with a lot of false cheerfulness that somehow still managed to get him off hook. Because no one ever noticed, maybe because no one really paid any attention. Matthias wasn't anyone's best friend or a dear companion; his best friend was rotting dead and there wasn't going to be anyone ever again like that in his life, the man knew it with a cruel, hollow feeling that made him want to drink all that more. The desire caused him to put a little more force into his touch, desperate to feel her warmth all of a sudden, desperate to feel like there was still some use of him in this life and he wasn’t just wasting space and air with the same old passing days. "I'll celebrate right there with you," he said before even putting too much thinking into it. Now this was the alcohol talking, loosening his tongue, making him seem livelier, happier, like he enjoyed life when the truth was the complete opposite. "Not with with you, I mean-..." The attempt to fix the moment was surely slipping through his grasp and he gave up with a deep, tired sigh.

Her question about being afraid caught him off guard. Shifting his body so it somehow found more comfort in the cold cushion, Matt listened to her words with a slight frown on his features. Fear? When was the last time he had felt fear, truly? Or when he had felt anything but thirst and a deep vast of nothing that ached to be filled with that very same thirst? "I used to be in outer space, just a rope attached to my waist while I walked on the outside with a mission to fix an issue on the ship. I-... I've seen storms from up there. And they are always so still. Big, yes, but also still. And I never felt anything but admiration for how insignificant our problems seem like, compared to them." He had no idea if that made her feel any better, but it was the truth. What he didn't say was that he was probably going to experience his first fear since a long time now, when the prospect of not having a drink slowly began to sink into his mind. But for now the man agreed on just keep holding the small, auburn haired woman in his grasp, intent on keeping her warm a bit longer. And she indeed knew a lot of spicy stories too. For a while Matt debated if that was a good idea because now he couldn't erase any of that knowledge from his mind. "Ah, me? No, I'm a saint. Ask whoever you want!" Chuckling, Matt brought one of his hands to massage the back of his head, suddenly very aware of their topic. "And you know so much, yet you don't have anything on me. That should tell you enough!" He tried not to make the turn of his head so visible, but Eris probably still felt it, in the movement of every muscle in his body. "Hey... Let me get out and find that generator, huh? You need real warmth. I can't let you freeze like that. It makes me feel bad."

She was apologising for many things, mainly the fact that part of her mind thought she was something disgusting to touch. That had to be the reason she had so many memories of pain, caused by touch one way or another, why it became bitter in her head and something to stiffen over. Eris was apologising because she wondered if it was awful, to try and be nice to her, if touching her felt like poison surging onto his skin, if it made his skin crawl.. as it did hers. It wasn't because of him or any disgust, anything like that, it was simply because she was waiting for the carnage. She was waiting for the pain and the anguish of it, she was waiting for something good to become something terrible and yet as he began rubbing her shoulder and down, that stiffness? Each tense muscle? Relaxed. She actually let some of her guard soften, she let his hands rub her skin to warm her and let her bunched shoulders drop bit by bit. If only Matthias knew how big of a deal that was for the auburn haired woman.

She huffed a bit of laughter and for once he got a smile out of the miserable woman on the desk, that never gave anyone even a hint of smiling but he'd done it. He'd made her laugh. "Yeah, you know what, we have a really good reason to not be dragged into these stupid work activities ever again. Next time? Pizza. I'll celebrate not having to do this whole socialising thing." it was not her strong point anyway. She smelled it, the drink.. anyone in Eris' shoes would have known, it's just she was choosing to not say anything about it. Everybody had their way of coping did they not? It didn't mean she liked it.. the memories she had relating to the smell of alcohol, they weren't good. The first memories were of her Father, drinking nonchalantly day after day, hour after hour. It wasn't even spirit all of the time, it was the cheap shit because it's all he could afford and it stank, the stench was on everything, mixed with cigarette ash and smoke. Eris remembered when it got worse, when he could afford spirit and how it sat on his breath, how it created such violent rage in her Father. She remembered every time drinking, turned violent.. but Matthias? Well he wasn't being anything like that.. so maybe if she talked, it'd be a distraction he needed right? She hated talking, but she would... if it'd help him even for an hour or two.

There. A smile again, a smile and apple shampoo, two things that were oddly nice about little miss misery. "Are you scared?" she asked with the tilt of her head. "There are very few things I'm scared of but sometimes.. you see what the weather can do and it's... I mean, can't fight the weather can you? There isn't anything you could do against a force of nature." to this day though, Eris was still terrified of her Father. That was the one other great fear. "Oh, if you want scandalous stories I am your girl." she was smirking now, the corners of her lips pulled and when she smiled, she had dimples. "Don't you know being on the front desk means I hear everything? I mean everything. Did you know that Suzie in maintenance is sleeping with Rob? You know rob the married assistant manager? Every lunch time, in the womens bathroom on the third floor. Then Alex from HR has a huge crush on Morgan, that new guy. What about you, are you part of some big scandal?"

[january31st]

...Who have you become? (Pt2)

Cruella (2021) x reader

A/N: Angst, it���s all angst, and I would love to leave this on a bitter terrible ending because i’m an agent of chaos, but i won’t be doing that to you yet <3 as for the request…. I may or may not have gone completely off the tracks, the story just brought me here.

i haven't really had the patience to proofread this (it would take even longer to post, so there's that) forgive me for repeating some stuff or just inconsistencies.

In my head the inside of Hell Hall has mixed together with the rooms from The Favourite, it’s giving royaltycore yall.

On a more personal note, I did test positive for Covid, that is also why I was able to upload at all. My symptoms aren’t bad at all, I’ve had worse colds, thank goodness, guess I just have a couple of days to clear my mind a bit, since I can’t really study with this sick brain.

Warnings: Homophobia! Sexism. Alcohol and drug abuse.

|| Masterlist || In coming and going (Part 1) || Wattpad Link || AO3 Link ||

~5800 words

Someone else. That was who you’d become. Both of you. Though you didn’t really know her part of things until the day you met, yet again. And it was another one of those days, impossible to forget. But this wasn’t like the first reencounter, it had a bitter taste to it.

You knew who she was, there was no mistaking it, you knew her hair colour from childhood and no one else would dare to make a brand quite the way she did. You had read a couple magazines while you were away, sitting in your apartment in Paris, your cup of tea cold and forgotten as your mascara ran down your face. She made it, she had her brand and you knew this was only the beginning.

Cruella. You wondered why she went for that name her mum used to say to her, the one part of her she had to avoid. It was just impossible to imagine that she could have changed who she was, though it didn’t surprise you to imagine that life had its ways of damaging even the kindest of people. That’s why it was so shocking to come face to face with her, to have her treat you this way at first.

And it was fair that she didn’t recognize you, but it didn’t hurt any less. Almost a decade had passed. Your hair was now dyed too, the stark opposite of its natural colour. Your clothes were that of a grown up for the times, a high-society lady, just like the ones you’d talk shit about. You were forced to change who you were completely, even the way you walked and the way you talked, all of your liveliness was gone, replaced by a cold demeanour, a lack of response to show you didn’t care. That was who you had to become to survive.

Christian Dior. A name that made people think about fashion, about perfumes, about high society and expensive things. To you that name had meant so much more. He was not only your boss, but he saved you.

You took it very seriously when you had to leave, you couldn’t bear to put them in danger, they were the people you would always love the most. So you ran away, pretty far away for a kid. You found yourself crossing the way to Europe, not even knowing when you were in what country, just roaming around clueless, lost and afraid. The perfect recipe for disaster.

In Germany there was a bar that made you think of your Estella, the black and white decorations, the red details and the general punk aesthetic. In your state, that was the only place where you felt remotely safe.

Not that a bar is a particularly safe place at all, let alone for a teenager. But you begged to work there, barely even knowing how to speak the language, and they took pity on you.

At first it was just that, a job, a place to stay. But eventually all the alcohol around you made you cave in, and since you didn’t know any better, and no one cared to help you, it became your companion. That was when things started getting blurry. Drunk nights, drunk days, and eventually they fired you. You couldn’t stand being sober. It made you think about her, about the way you left, about the way she felt.

And with it being the transition between 60s and 70s, the drugs on the streets were all but normal, the easiest thing to find and use, no one would bat an eye, and no one cared that you were always angry and that all you felt was guilt. You stayed on the move, travelling from high to high, trying everything and anything, just as long as she was out of your mind. The Netherlands, Luxemburg, Belgium, Switzerland, you’d been as far as Hungary.

An overdose was never a worry for you. You didn’t really care anymore. And with the tolerance you’d built you started believing that it was just something that would never happen to you.

Until you found yourself in northern France, in some exclusive bar that you somehow got yourself into, having a fashion argument with some pompous asshole about how the A line conveyed an objective message, as did any fashion choice. You had gotten so mad that you had to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and take an excessive dose of something that you couldn’t even recall the name of. That, along with the fact that you were already high off your mind before, resulted in that big overdose you had to know was coming. To your luck, there was someone in that bar that had kept his eye on you, his attention caught by your loud arguing. That was your soon to be boss.

He went into the men’s washroom just as you were coming out, his attention landing on you again as you hit the floor, unconscious already.

And from then on he took care of you, he was moved by the air of tragedy that clung around you, he became determined to “fix” you. A year or so had passed and you were completely clean, working for him. At first it was hard, you didn’t agree with any of what he thought, his mindset felt all backwards, but soon you learned to pretend to agree with him, you learned to keep your mouth shut, because your opinions only mattered when it came to fabrics and colours.

You owed him your life, it was all you could do to shut the fuck up and be grateful, he kept telling you. He had put up with your outbursts, making you believe they were childish, telling you that when you grew up you’d learn to behave. And you sure did. Not because it was true, but because that was how he manipulated you to act. To be the face of what he believed in, to be the example of his brand, a perfectly beautiful and composed lady, the image of true femininity according to him. You had to comply, because that was the only way you’d survive, that was what you believed.

And you did put up with it, until he struck you on your last nerve. From the second you saw her in that magazine you wanted to fly back and congratulate her, run away from him and stay close to her, tell her everything you had to say, and then, only then would everything be alright. But when he made that supid comment, you just waited until the end of the day to pack your things and buy the tickets.

“Lesbians are the very thing corrupting our society. If it weren’t for those brutes then our women would remember that they belong at home, serving their husbands gracefully. But now that the lesbians are out there, they keep convincing girls that being masculine and working men’s jobs is an appropriate goal.” Was what he said, the words flowing from him with that coolness of someone who just thinks they’re right all the time. This along with the comments on Cruella’s brand, it infuriated you. You knew he was scared of her, you knew she would continue to overshadow him, because that was who she was, that was your girl. Along with the magazines saying that was her plan, to run Dior out of business. And in knowing him, you also knew he was planning something to sabotage her instead, make a scandal. You’d overheard him more than once, but though he had no idea that you knew her, he knew her style was your favourite, he knew that was who you were when he “saved” you, so he didn’t trust you to know his plans.

And so at last you left, you flew back to her. Drunk on the idea that not even time could change what you had.

It was so dumb of you, proving yet again how naive you could be, that you didn’t expect her to welcome you with anything but open arms. So when you asked to see her, and when she treated you with nothing but disdain, your soul was ripped to pieces yet again.

“You must be mistaken, this is no longer the Baroness's kingdom. This is no place for you, precious. If you think you’re getting a job with me you should return to wherever you’re from.”

It was too late to prepare, but you should have expected it. You looked different, you dressed in the staple Dior style, hell, even your accent had changed, sounded like you weren’t from one country in specific, just a vague foreignness. It took you a little too long to react to her, you froze for a second too long, looking at the sketches she had up on a wall. Her perfume was making you dizzy, it was still her, but now instead of the fruit notes, it was just intoxicatingly sweet. You could smell her before you got in the room and long after you left.

“Darling.” she said, a fake niceness wrapping around her words, and you turned to her again, to those eyes you had missed more than you could have imagined to be possible.

“Please leave, I’m sure you remember the wa-”

“It’s me.” You meant to exclaim, but instead of confident, the statement came out sounding something like disappointment. Because yes, it was you, but right then it wasn’t her you.

She looked at you with a face you’d never seen on her, she looked confused but also annoyed at you, silently asking for you to be quick with your explanation.

“I’m… “ Your chest tightened, remembering your actual name, you had to change it, to leave the past behind, it was coming to you all at once. But yet again, she misread your uneasiness.

“Well Darling if you can’t even remember your name what do you suppose I must do with you?” she said, with that fake tone again, and that was enough to make the feelings spill out of you.

“Estella! What the fuck, it’s me, Y/N! I literally just got out of a goddamn plane and ran here to talk to you and you treat me like this?” you almost screamed, and her acting all went away, her expression changing completely, but you were already too angry to shut up. “I’ve been working for fucking Dior, he’s been making me nuts for years, and- and now that you have a brand! And you’re- well, of course you’re doing great- he’s plotting against you, I just know it. I had to come and warn you.” The fight came all out of you along with the last sentence, your face was stained with tears and you felt so, so tired. You leaned against a table and covered your face with your hands.

For a while that was all there was, your faint sniffles echoing around the tall room. She didn’t seem to move or say anything.

“You’re clearly very tired from your flight.” she said at last, almost mechanically “I’ll get someone to take you home. We’ll catch up later, I have loads of work”

Home? Did she say? What was home? You’d wanted nothing but to step on that warehouse again, feel that familiar smell and trace your fingers along the sketches she had up on the walls. But you knew better, you’d been paying close attention to any magazine that mentioned her name, and you knew that the building, your home, had burned to the ground.

Home. You clung to that word like it was the last bit of oxygen left in the universe. Where could that be? Did it even matter? Not really, you just knew home would be wherever she was, whether it was sweet and tender or just bitter and cold.

You didn’t even bother to check into a hotel, because all you cared about was seeing her. There was no second plan, nothing else you could do in case she had shut you off, but luckily she didn’t, not entirely at least.

After a while of her staring at her corkboard, there was a knock on the door and Cruella, with her back toward you and the source of the noise, answered “That’s your ride, Darling”

You grabbed the small travel handbag you’d brought, and impulsively lingered your gaze on her, waiting for her to turn around, tell you goodbye, but there was nothing. She was probably too caught up in your sudden appearance, but this harshness was new to you. So there you stood, rooted to the ground, petrified until a familiar voice broke your trance.

“Oi lady, I don’t got all day” he said when Wink started barking happily at your feet.

“Horace!” you exclaimed, and the shock of seeing him was too much to contain, your smile grew along with his hesitation.

But before he could guess that it was you, or you introduced yourself, Cruella, still supposedly focused on her work, said “Well our precious Y/N must be so tired from her flight, we should get her home right away.”

“Blimey!” he said when he understood what she said “Ah dear! I would have never thought it was you” he croaked as he met your hug halfway.

“I know, can you believe this? It’s because I lost the angle. But you haven’t changed a thing, just as charming as always” you answered before the both of you said your “see ya” to Cruella and left.

“I can’t wait to see the face on old Jasper! He’ll never see it coming” he said, grabbing your suitcase for you.

☽◯☾

You hadn’t even been paying attention to the road, with all the questions the both of you had, but soon enough you realised that the wheels were on gravel now, and you looked up to see the gateway and it’s big letters.

It all hit you at once, the things you’d read about the baroness, and the night of the charity ball. It all seemed confusing to you in the papers, a girl was pushed off a cliff, and in some papers her name was listed as Estella, the baroness's daughter. You thought maybe they’d confused Cruella’s real name, since she did her big entrance and claimed to have been trusted with the inheritance, because you didn’t know that Estella was a name she was hiding from people.

But as quick as your thoughts came in, they were washed away when you saw Jasper at the door, waiting for Horace.

“Okay don’t tell him a thing, let’s see if he notices” he told you before the car stopped. He went to the back to grab your things as you walked toward Jasper. You didn’t miss the way he studied you, probably intrigued that Cruella would have even agreed to talk to someone who dressed the way you did now.

“We don’t usually have guests stay over here, the boss must really-” you tripped on your feet and grabbed his already extended hand, cutting him off.

“Oh I’m sorry, it has been a lot of travelling.” you said, hiding your smirk as best as you could.

“No worries, of course, you must be tired Mrs…?”

“Ah Jasper, grab these while I put the car away” Horace interrupted as he shoved your bags into his hands, giving you the perfect opportunity to avoid telling him your name yet.

“Oh yes, so tired, I would just ask you to show me the corners of the house, just in case.” you said with an imposing manner.

“Well, of course.”

And following your request, he made a quick tour of the place, the main rooms that you could need to get into, all of them with high ceilings and windows that covered the walls, filling them with the gleam of golden-hour, which bounced off the metal decorations and rich woods.

At last he opened a door and gave you the key “This will be your room” he said, eyeing you curiously.

You looked around: the room was just perfect for you. On one side there was an enormous four poster bed and two open doors: one to a walk-in closet, and another to a spacious bathroom. On the other was a sort of “working space”, with a large table surrounded by walls that were covered in books, a small library just for you. In the middle was a living space, with a comfortable looking set of armchairs and sofa around a glass coffee table, each of them topped with cushions and a blanket in each. On the table was a tea tray ready to be consumed. Jasper left your things on the sofa.

As you took the room in awe he seemed just as impressed as you “Yeah, this room hasn't had anyone in it since Cruella’s gotten the place and changed things her way. I mean, I didn’t even think she would ever let anyone stay here, it’s very... “

“Personal” you said, still looking at the room.

“...Yeah. And her room is next door, there’s a passageway in between the books, I should just tell you.”

Before you knew what to answer, Horace came up behind the both of you. “Ah, M’lady, hope this old shoebox of a place suits ya needs!”

“It sure does my fair Gentleman” You answered, barely containing your laughter.

Jasper furrowed his brows further, the engines clearly turning hard in his head as he stared in between you. After a moment he started to turn around and said “I’ll leave you to rest, dinner should be around eight.” But before he could leave you asked him “Haven’t you forgotten anything?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around very slowly. When he saw that you were holding his wrist watch in your hand, and had a mischievous smile on your face, a light seemed to turn on in his head.

“Is… is it really you?” he asked, and your only answer was a tight hug.

“I hadn’t done that in a long, long while, glad it still works, even on the person who taught me how to do it.” you said, and when both of you let go, he said “I must admit, it was very smooth, I didn’t notice it was gone at all.”

He put his hands on your shoulders, as if studying you, while a thousand questions stumbled from him. As summarised as you could, you told him why and how you got away, letting the details of the past years to be told over dinner, the three of you talking well into the night and well after the food was gone.

You wanted to wait for her to come back so all of you could talk, but they told you that she didn’t usually dine at home, was always too busy at work, putting fashion ahead of her basic needs, just like she always had.

However late or early it was, you were at last in your room, sitting on an armchair you’d pulled next to the window, letting yourself be bathed in moonlight while reading a random book, hoping it would make you fall asleep. You’d forgotten to bring pyjamas, so Jasper lended you one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts, and at last, you did indeed feel at home, the lace and silk nightgowns forgotten in Paris, and your old self showing it’s colours for the first time in too long.

After a while the lines started blurring together, as you pulled the blanket taught around you, when there was a low squeak. The big, heavy door to the room had opened just a fraction, letting a white bit of curls peek in, and you squinted at them.

“Oh, you’re still up.” she half whispered.

“I suppose, not technically up, up” you answered, your voice scratchy from disuse. You tossed the blanket aside and stretched a bit.

When you opened your eyes you noticed that she was staring. “What?”

“Maybe you haven’t changed that much after all.” to which you answered with a giggle.

She stepped closer and paused again, looking at you as if trying to write down the differences, a warm silence settled around you.

Then in a swift motion, her hands grabbed your neck and her lips encapsulated yours, and all you could do was kiss her back. She let go to look at you, evaluate your expression, but you grabbed her lapels and pulled her back in, making her stumble and grab for the armchair, sitting on one of the arms, still above you.

“Oh I’ve missed yo-” you tried to say, but she just told you to shut up and went back to what she was doing, effectively silencing you.

Without breaking apart, you took off her jacket and started undoing her shirt when she stopped you.

“Let’s get somewhere comfier” she rasped, guiding you with your hands laced together. When you got to the edge of the bed, she pushed you into it, not skipping a beat before getting on top of you.

☽◯☾

A week and a half passed like this, Cruella staying at work for most of the day, your time consisting of wandering around Hell Hall or the occasional visit to House of De Vil, where you looked at people’s work or just sat in silence in Cruella’s office. She didn’t have much time to talk to you, always busy it seemed, but you had a feeling that that wasn’t all of it. The only thing she would say was something along the lines of how great destiny was to have put you in her path again, and whenever you tried to tell her about these years, about why you ran away and why you stayed away, she would cut you off and take the conversation elsewhere, or end it completely.

But there was always something off in her tone, and at night she would hold you so tight you thought you’d melt into her, and she would touch you with such fierceness, writing her own name all over you, just to make it clear how much she wanted you. No one could as much as look at you wrong, she would get jealous, possessive, like you were hers and hers only.

But eventually this got tiring for you, because you never had secrets between you, and now there was a very clear concrete wall, low enough that you could touch her, but not so you could really see much of her.

Now it was the two of you having dinner alone, the boys had eaten already. She looked calm enough, and her plate was nearly empty, so you tried to talk to her.

“Hey” you said, touching your hand to hers, to which she only answered with a look.

“We haven’t really talked much”

“What do you mean? We talk loads, what else would we talk about?” she said, playing dumb so you might drop it.

“Well, the first thing I talked about with the boys was why I left, and you don’t seem very interested in that”

“Why should I be? You’re here now, why dwell on the past?” she said while swirling her blood red wine in her cup.

“Because, you seem mad. I’ve spent all these years thinking how hurt and betrayed the three of you must have felt, how mad you must have been.”

“Oh, well I…” and she took a sip of her wine, looking into the bottom of the cup as if making sure that the notes she tasted were right.

“If you’ll just listen to me then I know you’ll understand that I had to do it”

“Had to? Oh Darling I know you didn’t have to, and I don’t care to know your excuses for running away from me.”

“I didn’t run away from y-” you said while she got up from the table.

“That is enough Y/N. I’m off to sleep now.”

“It’s barely 9 PM!”

“Work awaits.”

“Yeah right, and it didn’t await you for these past days?” you said, crossing your arms.

“Don’t act like this Y/N, it doesn’t suit you.”

You also got up and followed after her, into a corridor that led to the stairs and into your rooms.

“Look I know I hurt you guys and I don’t want you to have the wrong idea of things, can we just talk for a second?”

“About how you ran away from me and came back now that it was convenient for you?” she said, opening the door to her room. You took a step back. Noticing how she’d affected you, she took advantage of it and went on, still walking deeper into her room so that you had to follow her in to still hear her.

“Tell me, does your dear Christian not spoil you enough that you had to run to me? Because you just know that I'm better than him.” with the last sentence she turned to you, her long red nail pointing ahead of her. By now a strong itch was building in your throat, you blinked again and again to try to clear your vision.

“So you came back to leech off me.”

“Estell- “

“It’s not! Estella! You know it!” She screamed, making the tears pour at last.

“You know none of that is true- I haven’t asked a single thing from you.” you said, your voice small.

“Then maybe you’re spying for him! I think I just understood your game, you’re a double agent! You come here and strike right into my heart because you know I love you, you know you’ll be able to manipulate me, and then what, you ruin my brand and run away? Go back home as if nothing ever happened between us? You’re mine Y/N, it doesn't matter what you tell yourself, you can’t run from me again, you can’t betray me!”

“You’re not making any sense.” you said, and she only raised her eyebrows at you.

“I can’t figure out if you want me to leave or if you don’t? But I think that might be exactly what I’ll do. Cruella” you said with a mocking tone ”I’m flying home, I’m done with this.”

“Home?” She laughed, throwing her head back “Where is that? Is it in Paris, is that what you’ve told yourself? That home is the place farthest from me that you could find?”

You huffed heavily “I didn’t want any of this! Do you think I ever, for a second even thought about leaving? You think I wanted to leave? That life was perfect, and I’ve never felt anything that even came close to feeling safe after that, I fucking had to run. But right now I wouldn’t be putting you in danger anymore so I came to you to warn you, and to help you, because lord knows I never wanted to leave.” She only listened to you with her arms crossed, so you went on.

“I wanted nothing more than for things to be the way they were, but that just won’t happen, will it? I might have also changed everything about the way I look, but I haven’t changed who I really am, and I didn’t become the sour angry bitch that you did.” you spat, but she still didn’t snap back.

“I understand that you don’t want to trust me, I get it, but if you don’t even want me to explain things then there’s nothing I can do about us. I’m leaving.” you said, hoping she’d stop you, but you went to your room, grabbed your things and left, in true thief fashion, you knew where the car keys were, and you took one of them. And she didn’t stop you. The whole drive to London was foggy. Either from the cold night outside, or just the tears swimming in your eyes. Why hadn’t she stopped you?

Eventually you got to London, parked the car at the House of De Vil, leaving the keys inside. And if someone stole the damn thing, good for them.

You called a cab, got in, and he dropped you off at the airport. And now here you were, looking up at the next flights, biting your lip as your mind raced nonstop. Where were you even going? Not to Paris, that’s for sure, Dior must have a price on your head. Why the fuck didn’t she stop you!?

And something turned in your stomach as you imagined her face when you walked out of that room. How her lip must have trembled and how hard she must have fought the tears. How she fell to the floor, helpless because you’d left her again, paralysed. And this new façade of hers, you knew how hard she was trying not to break it. But you couldn’t just stand here and let her use you only when she wanted to, her coldness was too much to bear, even though you loved her and you knew she did too. You’d hurt yourself enough for this lifetime.

Knowing her past, of course it pained you to have to leave, just like everyone else did in her life, and unfortunately that included you, all those years ago, twice. And now you sat here contemplating your options, and leaving again was the most likely outcome.

The sun was coming up already, and you’d sloped into a chair, thinking about what to do next, when you heard the clink of a cane coming up to you.

“You’re not leaving me, not again darling.” she said when you looked at her. She was trying to intimidate you, to get you to do what she wanted, but you knew her too well. You were more than happy that she came to stop you, but you couldn’t just let her have her way without fixing things.

“You won’t get me to stay by being a bitch to me. I got the tickets already” you bluffed.

“So you were just going to leave me again? What did I do all those years ago?” she said, her shoulders slumping.

“It was never about you! If you could just listen to what I have to say!”

“Can you please come home with me?”

“I can’t do this if you won’t listen to me. Because you just don’t seem to care about me anymore”

She bit her lip, looking away from you, thinking about what to do.

“I… Of course I care about you” she said, closing her eyes. “You have no idea.”

“But you’ve just been away for so long, and so much has happened, Darling, I’m having a hard time dealing with this. But please don’t leave me again.”

“Then just tell me… all of what’s happened. I saw the news, but I’m sure there’s more to it”

“Let’s go home please” she whispered.

You agreed and followed her out of the airport. Once back at Hell Hall, she took you to a covered patio, with chairs and a table overlooking the cliff. There she told you how things unfolded that year, from working at Liberty to the charity ball when she fell down that very cliff. She told you about her birth certificate and how Katherine wasn’t her real mother. Jasper and Horace had told you parts of it, just not that one last bit, which shocked you beyond belief.

“And that has been me.” she said at last.

“That was a lot. And there would be no one in this world more capable of dealing with it.” you answered, to which she turned her face away to hide the colour in her cheeks.

“Well, you’ve been dying to tell me your part of things. Now’s your time.” she said.

You took a deep breath as you relived that day yet again. Finding yourself feeling the same way you had, looking at the sculptured bushes of her garden but seeing the golden displays of watches instead.

You were supposed to transfer the bag with the goods into the one you held in your other hand, a big one with a closure and that was made of a thick metal on the inside. Whatever was inside it wouldn't trigger any security system.

Except you forgot to do that. Of course. You just walked out, looking very shaken and not at all like someone who didn't just commit a crime. The costumes the four of you had were, as always, exceptional, and made you look far older than you were, but it was also the attitude that was selling your act. Right now you did look your age, given that the one thing on your mind was the way her skin had felt on yours, but not like all the times it did before, because it didn’t make you feel the same.

The alarms went off and instead of keeping a cool, nonchalant air, you decided to run off.

Well, decided isn't really the right word. The case was more of a fight or flight response, where you would choose the latter.

But that also didn’t help you much. You barely turned the street before two policemen caught you and spilled the contents of the bag onto the floor.

They dragged you into the station for an hour and a half of scolding, but, to your surprise they let you go. Not before threatening you of course, of calling your parents, and making a particular remark that chilled you to your bones. If they caught you again with some pesky group, they wouldn’t be so merciful.

They never checked your background, because if they had, you would spend the next months in an institution for troubled children, for running away from the orphanage system. You walked out as shaken as you would ever be in your life, and some part of your brain made the decision that you couldn’t go back to Estella and the boys. You convinced yourself that you did it because you couldn’t risk them getting caught because of you. You sported a target on your back, there was no way you could just walk like that into that warehouse. Bring a ticking bomb right into their lives.

So you ran off. Not to run from your feelings of course. For the following months you couldn’t think about anything else. How confused, how betrayed they must have felt, to not have you come back. Maybe they even thought you just grabbed the riches and left.

“How long did you sit at the meeting spot? When did you realise that I wouldn’t come back? And the next year was hell, because I couldn’t shake the guilt away. I wish I could have at least warned you.”

“I always knew I’d get you back” she answered with a smirk.

Notes!! I do not claim to know anything about Dior's behaviour, I would have put reader working for any designer, I chose him because his signature style fit with what I had in mind for the plot.

|| Masterlist || In coming and going (Part 1) || Wattpad Link || AO3 Link ||

Taglist: @padmeswife @ilovewinter101@cosmicbrownies7

if want to be added to a taglist for future works please let me know!

don't forget to eat today and drink water :)

[bts-weverse-trans]

201127 Weverse Magazine ‘BE’ Comeback Interview - Jungkook

Jung Kook: “I hope this feeling never fades” BTS BE comeback interview 2020.11.27

I had a chance to interview BTS before, when they debuted. During that interview, Jung Kook had one small habit; when I met him again a while later, he had corrected it. He makes a conscious effort to change himself. And after seven years, I met Jung Kook again.

You directed the music video for “Life Goes On,” BE’s title song. Jung Kook: I was really eager to direct the music video from the outset. My plan was to organize the synopsis, discuss it with the  music video director I was working with, shoot and edit them, but we were short on time. So I worked on it while sharing ideas with the director. Originally there were a lot of scenes with lip synching in them, but we took some of them out and put in more scenes that conveyed the members’ emotions better. It wasn’t easy to combine scenes, but I think now I know more about how much of everything is needed when shooting a music video.

You had shot the Golden Closet Films and uploaded them to the BTS YouTube channel, and now you shot a music video. Jung Kook: Once we were on location, we had directions for everything we needed to shoot prepared in advance, so I took candid shots of the members here and there with a camera during the shoot. We were filming in a beautiful place so when they asked me to take pictures of them as they wanted to be presented, I did.

What kind of pictures did you take of yourself? Jung Kook: I was just, in them. (laughs) I’m not in the shot for the Golden Closet Films either. I kind of take a back seat. The director had to shoot my parts for the music video, since I couldn’t film myself, so I relaxed a bit. I tried to make the other members look really good when I recorded them. Since this was a BTS music video and not my own, I wanted to show what was happening with every member and the team, not just one individual’s thoughts. Each person who watches the video might feel different, but I wanted to show that we feel what other people feel, that we’re in the same situation.

You get your picture taken a lot, but you don’t pay much attention to the ones you’re in. Jung Kook: I never really liked having my picture taken. (laughs) And I’m usually with the others when we’re working, obviously, but it’s hard to take a camera and take selfies. So I take pictures and videos of the other members every chance I get.

Do you still find it difficult to have your picture taken? Jung Kook: I put my best face forward when it’s for something I have to do, like  for photo books, but it’s still not easy. Videos are okay, though. And even though I’m not nervous at all when I sing in front of tens of thousands of people, if I have to sing or talk in front of a small group, I get super nervous. I never feel that way on stage, but maybe I have a hard time doing things that are a little bit awkward for me.

It seems like you draw a distinction between work you enjoy and work you find difficult. Jung Kook: Work related to music, like recording, composing, writing lyrics, filming music videos and things like that, are all fine. But anything outside of that is probably a challenge for me.

On BE, you each explained your feelings about work in the song “Dis-ease.” You must have experienced a cycle of enjoyable and difficult work over seven years, so how did you get through the hard times? Jung Kook: I actually understand my own problems well, so most of the time it’s okay. I can figure things out one at a time through experience instead of just looking for answers. I’m always growing and my personality changes, depending on my environment. I think I’ve learned to do things I used to find difficult by experiencing it little by little.

Speaking of growth, “Skit” was very memorable. You recorded it the day after “Dynamite” reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and you, who talked about what you did before you became trainees in “Skit” in your debut album,talked about being first place on the Billboard Hot 100 this time around. Jung Kook: When I was a trainee, I saw the older members rapping and thought, “Wow, they’re so cool!” But now, after having spent everyday together, I’ve forgotten about all that. (laughs) Sometimes I see the lyrics they wrote, see them dancing and hearing the things they say on stage, and think, “Oh, right. That is the kind of person they are. They’re a lot different now.” You know how you don’t feel it when you live with your family, but if you can’t see them for a long time, you miss them. You might even cry. We’re a real family. Like, legit! (laughs)

Your “legit family” (laughs) each put their own songs on BE and came up with units spontaneously. What was it like making the album that way? Jung Kook: We talked with the company over the outline of the album and organized our ideas together. That was our process for making songs. Then we’d listen to them together, and if we thought they weren’t great, we’d go back and work on them some more. The members would get together and say, “Hey, how about so and so do a unit song this time?” or, “What should it be about?” and share a lot of ideas that way.

How did the others respond to your song, “Stay”? Jung Kook: That song was originally meant to be on my mixtape. We planned to put a different song on the album, but after V heard it, he said, “This song that Jung Kook wrote is really good,” and then the other members all listened, said it was better than the other one, and somehow (laughs) “Stay” made it into the album. The message for the other song was also, “Even though we’re far apart, stay just where you are.” I wrote my song with the same theme so I loved that it was included in BE. At first, I wanted to talk about how we’re always together, using the English word “wherever.” I wanted to express how we’re always together no matter where we are, but Namjoon heard that and said “Stay” might be better. I liked his suggestion, so I changed it. He really helped me to organize my thoughts, since I’m not always good at writing everything I want to express.

One might go as far as to say the lyrics sound heartbreaking, but it’s arranged in EDM. Jung Kook: We imagined we were performing for the fans while we made it, jumping up and down with them.

It sounds like you really miss your fans. Jung Kook: This album really hit us in a different way, with this situation being what it is. Because the world is struggling with COVID-19, we have to keep our heads up and convey our messages to our fans.

What can your fans expect from you when you finally meet again? Jung Kook: There’s nothing specific, but when I watched our old performances, my facial expressions were awkward and my dance moves weren’t always perfect. I keep working to improve myself, so I hope   when the fans see me, they think my performance is amazing and that my aura fills the stage.

Are you happy with how you look in your latest work? Jung Kook: I’m not 100% satisfied, no. When we did performances for “Dynamite” recently I kept seeing my imperfections.

Your acting in the intro to your “Dynamite” performance was really impressive. Even in COVID-19 times, you captured a feeling of liveliness and being cool, as though to explain what the song is all about. Jung Kook: Actually, on the first day of filming the music video, I was supposed to film my parts first, but I was so bad that it had to be pushed to the end of the shoot. So,I was a bit more relaxed when the camera rolled.

So that’s what you get when you’re relaxed! (laughs) Jung Kook: Yes, I relaxed, and something went “pop!” and “boom!” inside me, and then I did it however I wanted. (laughs)

It’s fascinating how someone who performs the way you do during stadium tours can feel nervous while filming and yet still do so well in it. Jung Kook: I can be a shy person. When people used to ask me to sing, I couldn’t always do it—like in front of adults or teachers. And I’m still a bit like that. If I start thinking, “Oh, I can’t do this,” then I really end up not being able to do it. Even when I could have done well.

Why do you think that is? Jung Kook: I feel the same way about my dancing and my singing, and I can’t compose a really amazing melody either. I feel like I’m always somewhere in the middle. But then I also think I have my own colors, so I like to quietly, slowly open up to people, and let them know what kind of person I am. Yeah, something like that. (laughs)

But, when you review your songs and performances objectively, you see all of your changes, don’t you? Jung Kook: There’s a lot of change. My voice has changed a lot; I grew taller and my frame and facial structure have changed, too. I could tell how awkward I looked at the beginning, but after a while, I think, “My gestures look better now, but I feel like my dance is too rigid.” And again after a while, “Now my dance is fine and my gestures are good, but I’m making awkward facial expressions.” And later, I say, “Now I got the facial expressions down, but, hmm, there’s no killer move.” (laughs) That’s how I slowly changed. And then my actions, thoughts, dreams, goals, what I value, what I want to do—all these things will change depending on the situation.

You had some changes in BE, too. Throughout “Life Goes On,” you lightly carry your voice and tone throughout the whole song, like they’re flowing. Jung Kook: Right. I think that’s very important. My general feeling was my voice should be woven into the song, rather than bringing out my individual voice. The lyrics say the world stopped, but I can’t keep on being sad, and life continues and flows on. I wanted to mix a little bit of my own colors into that complex, subtle sadness. I listened to how the other members recorded their parts for the song, and I sang while thinking about how I could do it in a way that it would all blend together well. I kept changing my voice exploring how to make it sound better, cleaner. I kept trying new things while I was recording, performing, and practicing.

When you look back after all that change, don’t you feel like you accomplished a lot? Jung Kook: I don’t really pay attention to things that have already happened. I think more about what it is I need right now, so I rarely think, “I got a lot better from how I used to be,” or, “I did a good job.”

You sound insatiable, in a good way. Jung Kook: Yes. This is how I want to keep living, and I hope this feeling never fades.

You’ve found immense success with BTS. What makes you want to keep doing more and keep improving yourself? Jung Kook: I want to show people who I am: how I talk, how I act, how I sing, and so on. And after that, I want to be acknowledged for doing what I like to do, and for people to see what an amazing guy I am. I want to do these things step by step. I want to be appreciated as Jung Kook, as the real me.

What do you think is the source of that energy—the energy to keep proving yourself, even though you’ve already achieved so much with BTS? Jung Kook: I think my heart’s telling me to. BTS was able to climb this high thanks to the group members, the company and our fans. But there’s always the question of whether I could receive that kind of recognition by myself, so I have this feeling of wanting to throw myself at some challenge alone. There’s a lot I want to do, and a lot I want to achieve.

By gradually improving yourself, what kind of person would you ideally want to become? Jung Kook: A person who’s crazy awesome in their field. (laughs) Those kinds of people look cool even when they do something different. I still have a long way to go. I feel like I could be more captivating and draw more out of people by improving any number of things, by trying hard to be confident about my singing, or the way I dance and perform. BTS is way more important and meaningful to me than I am to myself, so I’m not saying I want to do anything alone. But I hope I get to the point where I can perform alone for three or four hours in a venue full of people.

It’s clear that your job, music, is very important to you. Jung Kook: I must never let it go. That’s what I always think. I have to keep it close to me, even if I get bored, or I don’t want to hear it, or it feels like a hassle. I want to keep on making music. It may be a long ways down the road, but I want to prove myself with my music.

You said before that your MBTI is ISFP, so I looked it up. Obviously, MBTI can’t sum up a person perfectly, but it says ISFPs tend to be “curious artists.” Your answer reminds me of that. Jung Kook: That sounds about right. I looked up the personality traits for ISFP too, and it was interesting. (laughs)

Maybe that’s the reason you set your goals so high. You seem like you have high standards and want to keep growing. Jung Kook: It’s like a foggy mountain top. (laughs) I can’t even see it yet.

You’ve been climbing for seven years, staying curious. Is there anything you want to say to the people who have been watching you all this time? Jung Kook: Umm … Well, there are seven of us, and the seven of us keep running ahead. So it’s possible we could get tired, one by one, and drop out, right? But if more people join us, one by one, and run with us, we can support each other and pull each other up if someone falls down. That’s kind of how I feel. There are people who supported us from the beginning who have been watching us the whole time since, and because of them our follower count keeps going up, and they all keep us on track. So the only thing I can say is—thank you. We were nothing special, really (laughs) but they keep on liking us and supporting us, and the best way we can repay them is to give them our all through our music and our performances. They push me to work hard, even on things I find difficult. (laughs) I’m eternally grateful.

Just like in the last line of “Stay.” Jung Kook: “We are together.”

Trans © Weverse

[mrpenguinpants]

Venti and Diluc: Friendship HCs

Hi elliechan! I’ve already written friendship hcs for Venti but I never want to leave anyone hanging (unless the dupe request is incredible specific and I can’t add onto it anymore) so think of it as a part 2. But if you haven’t seen Part 1 yet, I added a link.

Also, I would like to credit fulltimeventisimp​ for helping me out with this fic. My monkey brain couldn’t think of anything for Venti but they gave me literally a fics worth of content. PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY, MAKE IT AN ACTUAL FIC! I LOVED IT! I tried my best to not piggy back too hard off it but if it does seem that way, let me know and I’ll definitely change it. 

But thank you 💕💕💕

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Part 1: Venti Frienship HCs

Xiao: Frienship HCs

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​​  @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​ @dai-tsukki-desu​ @thicmitten​

Venti and Diluc: Friendship HCs

Venti

The first time you met the bard, it was when you were visiting Mondstadt as a small pit stop. He was sat on top of some wooden boxes, next to an apple vendor, singing a short ballad. You’ve never encountered bards throughout your journey and he did have a lovely singing voice so you decided to stay a bit and listen in. It felt like the wind itself was carrying his voice throughout the streets but you couldn’t help but feel a bit...melancholy from his tune. Was it homesickness? You clapped with the crowd when the bard finished and on a whim, you decided to buy him a small bag of apples. He seemed to like them as he only asked the apple vendor to gift him two for his efforts. When you paid your purchase the bard seemed to be in a deep conversation with the same vendor that you didn’t want to disturb them, after all you weren’t going to be in Mondstadt for long. So you placed the small bag of apples beside the bard’s lyre with a quick thank you note, a couple extra coins, and continued on your journey. 

You didn’t expect that small act of kindness would lead to anything but when you were preparing for bed, the same bard popped his head outside your window and almost gave you a heart attack. This bard was lucky he didn’t catch you while you were changing your clothes or else things might have turned ugly. He wanted to thank you for your generous donation which you simply waved off explaining that throughout your journey, you never met anyone that could sing quite like him. A small token of appreciation. Perhaps it was because you fed his ego too much or other reasons but that seemed to peak the bards interest and ask about what other fascinating places you’ve been too. You talked about the horrible mountain you needed to climb through to reach Mondstadt, the shining electro lamps of Inazuma that would spark if you got too close, to the clear pools and lotus heads in Liyue. 

“You’ve been around all over the place! Perhaps you would allow me to write a ballad of your conquests?”

“Hm? Is that so? Why don’t you come with me? Go outside the walls of Mondstadt and explore. So you can write your own ballad instead of others.”

“Is this another acting whim of yours?”

“Haha, perhaps.”

Unsurprisingly, you don’t see the bard the next day. It was probably a lot to suddenly ask a stranger to drop everything and come with you to unknown places. But you decided to stay in Mondstadt for a short while and see what the City of Freedom had to offer. From meeting the supposed gliding champion and learning a few pointers, to the mysterious Calvary Captain who you were sure was probably the shadiest person you’ve ever met, to the aloof red headed tavern owner. You weren’t much of a drinker but everyone in Mondstadt, especially the knights, seemed to really enjoy their wine and were incredibly friendly to strangers. On the night you were planning to leave Mondstadt, the rowdy knights you’ve became friends with decided to celebrate and urge you to drink to your hearts content (please drink responsibly haha). You must have been a bit tipsy when you met the bard for a second time, introducing himself properly as Venti. You could blame it on the alcohol when you suddenly challenged him to a drinking contest but it was the most fun you had in a while. You were pretty sure everyone got kicked out but as you leaned against Venti absolutely hammered, laughing about the silliest things, it was the most freeing feeling you’ve ever felt. 

From then on, even after you had left the City of Freedom, you could would randomly see Venti pop up sometimes. Should it be at Starsnatch Cliff or all the way in Wolvendom, you would see a few fluffy feathers appear as the bar- Venti announced his arrival. You were pretty sure Venti was bored whenever he visited you to see what you were up to but you didn’t mind. His liveliness nature was addicting and you were an easy going person. Though, some of the jokes he made, made you a bit suspicious of him. Whenever he would say that Andrius was secretly a grumpy mother hen or that Dvalin was actually a shy sweetheart.

“You sure do know a lot about Mondstadt. You sure you’re just a bard Venti?”

“Hmm, well it shouldn’t hurt to tell you. I am Barbatos. The Anemo Archon of Mondstadt. Pleasure to make your acquaintance..-again.”

“I see...and yet you still get ID checked?” 

“Rude!” 

Outside of Mondstadt, Venti is a whirlwind of emotions. Always wanting to see what’s changed or linking your hands and dragging you off to some far off chest he found. How did his small body have so much strength to nearly pop your arm out? He did come in handy during your Liyue expeditions since he can give you a small boost to just reach the top of that cliff. You thought violet grass was bad, it should be illegal for Qingxin flowers to grow on the very top of mountains. Venti thinks it’s really sweet that you put so much faith in his winds to let yourself fly when he uses his elemental skill. Though, it’s a bit of a double edged sword. When you finally reach the very top and you’re waiting for Venti to join you, he might pretend to loose control and throw himself off the cliff. You sometimes forget he’s literally the anemo archon and you’re ready to go gliding after him before he pops up in front of you to give you another scare. While he’s laughing, you’re already planning how to sneak slime condensate into his hat. 

“You should have seen your face! I didn’t know you could scream like that! Liyue must think a banshee is haunting their mountains again!”

“Watch yourself gremlin, you might wake up without hands tomorrow.”

“Haha, you wouldn’t do that...right? How would you even do that? Why aren’t you saying anything?!”

“Isn’t there a saying in Liyue Venti? You can’t run from your debts? Prepare yourself.”

For as child-like Venti appears, you both end up getting into a bit of trouble when Venti get’s a bit too bold. While it’s incredibly refreshing to see someone speak their mind regardless of the consequences, you actually kind of admire him for that, usually the boldness comes from trying to bribe the bartender for free drinks. Your poor wallet is crying out every time Venti spots a new tavern. While he say’s he will pay you back or he’ll pay you back in a song, you can’t actually eat his words. But on other occasions you can’t help but join in when it happens to be one of the Fatui guards giving you both a hard time. You feel like you’re acting out a Shakespearian play with all the flowery nonsense and metaphors you’re both spitting out. 

When you’re both in the thick of a forest or even on top of Liyue’s mountain, Venti will bring his lyre out and strum his strings softly as you both fall into a comfortable silence. Looking at the sunset or relaxing under the trees as the sun peaks through as you both live in the moment. It’s these times that you’re harshly reminded that Venti is an archon as he slips out of his persona and speaks as Barbatos. He tells you how fun your adventures have been, that he was glad to have made friends with you, speaking as if you’re about to die tomorrow. You’re not sure how to handle it, what kind of burden Venti is carrying, but you immediately drop everything and comfort him. Giving him a strong but warm hug that you’re still here and he’s not alone right now. 

“Come on, I’m still waiting for the Ballad of Venti. You haven’t given up on that right?” 

“Hmph, of course not. Every being deserves a name to be called upon, and woven into a song.”

Diluc

It was a peaceful day, one Diluc hadn’t felt in a long time in his hectic life. Though it was a bit too early to determine how the day would go since it was still noon. The tavern would soon get loud as it approached night but for now. Everything was peaceful. The sounds of Monstadt streets bustling. The peaceful atmosphere as the sun shone through the windows. Working on mundane tasks of wiping the counter down. No Kaeya in sight. A small moment of peace. All broken when his door was kicked nearly off its hinges as you announced your return from your shopping trip as if you had returned after a 3 year long journey. Diluc sighs under his breath, takes a moment to pray he doesn’t need to repair his door again, and helps you with your bags as you ramble about your day. 

To others, it’s always seems a bit weird when they catch Diluc and you chatting since Diluc always gives off the lone wolf persona and yet you’re this ball of sunshine. Maybe it’s because you knew Diluc when he was a child, back when he was still bright-eyed, that you never treated him any differently when he came back. Diluc never really talks about it but he’s happy that you’re still the same and he can let himself relax with you. He still keeps his silent demeanor as he listens to you talk about anything and everything, it helps keeps his mind occupied, but he might add a few comments here and there. Just to let you know he’s still listening. 

You know what sounds really hot? Sitting in the same room with someone while you both do your own respective thing. You both don’t feel forced to talk to each other just because you’re in the same room or you have to do everything together just because you’re together. It’s an easy atmosphere that settles as Diluc works on business papers and you’re planning your next expeditions. Until you end collapsing on his couch because your brain processing has suffered enough and it’s time to take a nap. You always end up dragging him out of his work to go outside and take a nice doze in the sun. 

If you ever have a problem, he won’t necessarily coddle you unless it really bothers you or you’re in a situation where it could hurt you, but he’ll do everything to help you work through it. You’re his friend and if someone is giving you a hard time then he has no problem chasing them away, especially if its a Fatui member. If it happens to be Kaeya, well that’s an entirely different story. Likewise, if it appears to you that Diluc is going through a rough time you’ll try and comfort him. Do small little things to let him know that you care and while he doesn’t need to tell you what’s wrong, you’re here to support him. 

Diluc enjoys playing chess against you, even if he wins most of the time, you’re always so determined that he can’t help but laugh along with your over reactions. Presenting him an entire 20 page paper on chess and yet getting checkmated in 10 turns. You’re 95% sure all the chess strategies he offered were all fake, if his smug grin is anything to go by. You both have agreed to never play darts together, well more specifically, you’re pretty sure you’re banned from playing darts when you almost hit Adelinde. That was the first time you ever genuinely feared for your life. 

Whenever Diluc has to attend a gala or has to host a party to further his business, he’s always appreciative when you show up. You’re not exactly apart of royalty or even a business owner but it’s so refreshing to Diluc, after spending so much time keeping a polite attitude and trying to talk business, when he can come to you as you laugh about how one lady almost tripped because her dress was too long. Sometimes he’ll lean a bit on you or pretend to be in a conversation just so he can recharge. 

More often then not, you’re mistaken to be Diluc partner even though the idea of holding Diluc’s hand makes you want to throw up. But when Diluc get’s random father’s trying to offer their daughter’s hands in marriage, he’ll pull the excuse he’s already with someone if they can’t no for an answer. It’s always funny to you, linking arms with Diluc and re-telling the grandiose story about how Diluc saved you from falling off a cliff when you were both younger and you were both star-crossed lovers that were destined to be together. Or something like that, you’re pretty sure you’ve changed the story enough times that you can’t keep track. But it seems to work and as soon as they are out of ear’s reach you make a quick gagging motion. He shoves you a bit to which you elbow him in the side. Old habits die hard. 

---

I swear, I could probably recite character stories word for word at this point. Gripping my writing hand don’t make it angsty, don’t make it angsty, don’t fucking do it. But I still did, whoops. 

I feel like my fics are really long so I’ll add a read more tag. Mmm writing styles are hard. I don’t know if I like this;; I ended up writing so much to try and combine my “hcs are just another word for fics just without the dialogue” and “actual headcanons” styles. Ahh, well whatever. I have to go speedrun my assignments since genshin is going to eat all my time this week. 

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 21

The Darkling x Reader

The atmosphere in the Palace was welcoming and enjoyable yet you couldn't help but dampen the mood of those around you. Your smiles were visible fake, your laughs as forced as the diplomacy of the evening. It was hard to focus on anything but the Queen's request, you could still feel her cold touch on your hands, could still hear her voice as if she was standing next to you. Some would say being in the presence of the Royals was a blessing by the Saints, but to you it was a sudden blight; a curse.

The duties and obligations you had were out the window now as you looked for the particular head of red flame hair, completely ignoring the Kerch ambassador and his slurring words of trade agreements.

Did Genya tell her General that the charming Lantsov Prince was soon to be wed to the Deputy of the Second-army? Or did she keep that part to herself? You had a feeling it was the latter given Aleksander's behavior earlier but what if he knew- What if his obedient spy told him everything and he was looking at your predicament as an opportunity, even though it would hurt you to the core and shatter your moral values. There's nothing he wouldn't do for more power.

'Deputy Y/L/N, I presume?' A man in a military uniform adorned with colorful medals approached you from the side, silently shooeing the Kerch man away and taking his place despite your obvious air of hostility. You were in no mood for diplomacy.

'The one and only.'

'So I have heard.' You could make out the smallest tinge of an accent reminiscent of a Fjerdan rhythm through the spoken words. His blonde hair and long beard tell-tale signs of his druskelle service and enough for your anger to flare. 'Tell me, what kind of Grisha are you?' You didn't miss the disgust dripping from the word as he forced it through his teeth. No doubt he hated himself for being here.

'A powerful one.'

'More powerful than the Sun-Summoner?'

'Much.'

'I won't forget that.'

'I hope you don't. Tell your people too, it'll save me some time and perhaps some lives.'

'Is that a threat Deputy?'

'Yes' He snorted and looked around the lively room.

'Fjerda isn't here to fight tonight, we're here to party. I thought it would be the same for you, no?'

'I don't keep peace with people who wish my kind dead.'

'Neither does your General. But the West, I'm not too sure they're on the same page'

You bit back the urge to smack the tall man stone-cold. The West was a tricky situation that had been playing heavily on your mind for as long as you could remember. Although it was Ravka, Grisha were no longer safe there. Zlatan was coercing with the Fjerdans to capture Grisha in exchange for military backup and as much as it angered you to keep the First-Army General alive, it would create a whole other problem if he was found dead.

'West Ravka is Ravka. All Zlatan is is a mere General of the First-Army. He's no King.'

'You would be surprised. People would listen to a stableboy if he spoke of truth and justice.'

'And would Fjerda back him up too?'

He smirked and gave a nod of his head in amusement at your raging eyes. 'You drüsje get so worked up over words. It's actions that matter.'

'Not here in Ravka. Remember where and what you are. Then think of what half of this room can do to you' Without so much as a goodbye, you walked away from him with a huff and continued looking for Genya. You hadn't even seen Aleksander make an appearance yet but you didn't think you wanted to see him, not after your conversation with the Queen.

We wish for you to marry my son

Every time you thought you had shaken the haunting request, it came back with a shiver up your spine. It went against everything you ever believed in. You hated the crown, the Lantsov line, you hated the Ravka they created. But this didn't feel like something you could reject. It wasn't a proposal, it was an alliance.

You turned your head to the doors and watched as Zoya clambered up the stairs in her stunning blue silk kefta. Behind her, a Suli performer climbed up on her silks as if it were all she'd ever known. Her body swung gracefully and smoothly, not batting an eyelid at all her observers. It was memorizing and distracting, something for which you were thankful.

'Haven't you got some Dukes and Ministers to babysit?' Zoya appeared beside you, eyeing up the empty glass in your hand.

'Let them roam free for the night'

'As long as they're not groveling over me'

'Because your presence is so much more captivating than the Sun-Summoners' You rolled your eyes and made your way to get a new, full, glass.

'Thank you for finally admitting it'

'Where's Genya Saffin?'

She made a face and took a glass to, bringing it up to her lips and taking a small sip.

'With Alina. Why?'

'Oh nothing, just some details to hash out about Marie attending dinner' You covered up. 'I spoke with a Fjerdan dignitary. He had no problem hiding that West Ravka is coming to their aid.' Zoya was a good soldier and a great tactician, if you were to tell anyone such sensitive information, it would definitely be Zoya.

'I overheard a Zemeni ambassador say they were spotted at Zlatan's rallies. He's raising his ranks whilst our own coffers run out. We can't afford a war with each of our borders'

'Try telling the King that' The Lantsov King. Nikolai's father. Nikolai.

'Saints are you alright?' Zoya looked at you with wide eyes, then to the broken glass crumbling in your hand. You had been clutching it so hard you managed to smash it and slice the palm of your hand.

'Oh umm- I need a moment' You disposed of the glass on a nearby table and basically ran to the nearest washroom. Crimson red blood dripped slowly from your fingers as you tried to keep it from staining your kefta while you closed the door behind you.

This was the first moment since your talk with the Queen where you were alone. Truly alone, no ambassador looming over your shoulder or a Duke at your side. Alexander, Alina, and Genya were still nowhere to be seen and the demonstration would begin shortly but all you wanted to do was stay in this tiny and stuffy room, shut off from everything. You washed your hand down with water, hissing in pain as the water tinted red and carried away the signs of injury. The quarters were quiet and calm, a stark contrast to the liveliness in the hall not often seen in the Little Palace.

The Little Palace tended to be quiet, but the Grand Palace was different. The Grand Palace. The winter home of the Lantsovs. Nikolai. Marriage.

The gentle tears came like a surprise, rolling down your face with grace. 'Fuck me' was all you could say as your head rested on your uninjured hand. You still felt exhausted and overwhelmed now even more so but you liked to think you hid it well. What good was a Deputy in emotional turmoil at a party full of political vultures?

The door to the small space suddenly opened and none other than Genya Saffin walked in with ease only she possessed. She looked at you in shame then fixed her attention on her shoes, not meeting your broken gaze.

'I take it you spoke with Tatiana?'

'Why didn't you tell General Kirigan?' You sniffed and wrapped your hand in a handkerchief, not bothering to wipe away the tears that you continued to cry.

'I felt it wasn't my place'

'Why?' Your voice cracked, slightly distracting you but the meaning to your question was obvious. Why me?

'She wished to squelch his bastardry rumors with your standing reputation.'

'Does he know?'

'She wrote him, but he has yet to respond.'

'Why not Vasily? Is it to make sure a Grisha never sits on the throne?'

She stayed quiet, toying with her sleeve. 'She says you have the air of a false Queen but the mind of a demon'

'Nothing new there' You laughed and straightened up, using the handkerchief on your hand to pat your face dry, diminishing any last sign of your weak moment away. 'Is Alina ready?' She looked at you with pure pity on her face, the compassion bursting on her face busting at its seams.

'Yes. Last I saw she was with the General.'

'Thank you Ms.Saffin'

***

You didn't mean to miss the demonstrations, but you took your time walking back to the main hall anyway. It was only when you saw the darkened room and searing light did you stop dead in your tracks at the door. Alina stood there on the podium, the image of a Saint. Her black and gold kefta shimmered in her light beautifully, illuminating her face and smile. She was glowing. Her powers had brought her not only luxurious life but good health, something everyone prays for. The black looked well on her too. It set her apart from the sea of bright keftas and gowns. In a Palace full of Grisha and powerful members of society, only Alina and Aleksander wore the black keftas, not even you wore it tonight and it made you feel surprisingly insecure.

He stood to her side, enthralled by her show of strength and skill. He was fascinated with her, it showed in his eyes and on his face but it definitely wasn't a facade. Even watching them from afar you could see that he looked at her as if she was his Sun, the only thing capable of lighting up his night sky.

You didn't know how to look at her. Everyone around you was worshipping her, whispering silent prayers to Sankta Alina: the Sun Saint, but you stayed frozen and still. You were never faithful to the Saints, they never listened to you, so what good would pledging your allegiance to Alina be if you knew Aleksander planned to extort her?

The whole room was kneeling now, heads bent down in symbols of submission yet you stood. No doubt you stuck out like a sore thumb, but a leader does not bow to anybody, not even the Saints. He momentarily turned his head to look at you but his eyes were far from the softness he gave Alina. They spoke more than his smooth words ever could yet this time the silent exchange did nothing to soothe your muddled head.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to break your burning gaze away from the summoners and to a guard instead.

'Deputy, we have 2 First-Army soldiers who claim to have found Morozova's Stag' The Stag. Just my luck.

'Tell the General, I have no business with the stag' You waved him off and returned your stare back to the room, scanning the crowd like a hawk when her eyes caught yours. Queen Tatiana was looking through to your soul, demolishing any confidence you could muster at that moment.

Marry my son.

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

Part 22

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!) @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @adoringb @grisha-of-shadow-bone @rosiethefairy @carlywhomever @allisjustok @keepdaydreamingbb @luciadiosa

[bokutosworld]

hey, you’re warm | sakusa k. 

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader 

wc: 1.8k words, fluff. little bit of angst, reader is heartbroken on christmas that’s sad. 

summary: You’ve accepted that you'd be alone for Christmas. It was a surprise to find your best friend standing right outside your doorsteps.

this is part of the winter wonderland collab! you may check out the other stories here!

---

"The busy streets of Shibuya seem to be livelier than usual as families, friends, and couples gather to celebrate the Christmas Eve. And it seems that the night will become even more special as we are expecting a beautiful snowfall. So be sure to bundle up if you're planning to spend the evening with your loved ones outside."

The news coming from the television is the only sound that fills the empty apartment. Who would've thought that you would be wasting away the merriest time of the year all alone and cocooned in your one-bedroom flat? You certainly didn't think that a week ago, when you were looking forward to the exciting festivities you have planned for you and your boyfriend. You certainly didn't see it coming when he abruptly ended things, leaving you heartbroken, confused, and insecure. At least he didn't just disappear out of the blue, you consoled yourself.

But still that thought was enough to make you shake your head in sadness and take a sip from your chocolate drink that has now turned as cold as your heart. Clutching your robe closer to your body, you peered at the street below and looked at the number of people who were happily strolling. You see couples holding hands, families with their matching sweaters and mufflers, even groups of teenagers running about town and spreading the holiday cheer.

A glance at the wall clock tells you that it's only 8:45 PM, still a little early for you to hit the bed. But it wasn't as if you had anything eventful planned for the rest of the night. After you downed the rest of your drink in one go, you walked to the kitchen to wash your mug. You just turned off the lights in the living room when the ringing of the doorbell startled you from your forlorn thoughts.

You didn't think anything about it at first. Maybe it was the Christmas carolers wishing you a happy holidays and asking for some generous donations. You figured they would leave if you didn't pay them attention so you resigned yourself to your bedroom.

But the buzzing did not stop, even if you were already tucked in the comforts of your warm bed. You groaned and pulled yourself up, almost stomping on the way to the door to see who was so incessant on disturbing your peace on Christmas Eve. You didn't expect to see the masked face of your best friend, Sakusa Kiyoomi.

The two of you stood in the doorway for a few minutes, just staring at each other with blank looks on your faces. Kiyoomi shivers from the cold, his breathing ragged. His eyes narrowed at you, "Are you not going to invite me in? It's cold outside."

"Oh, right," you chuckled, moving to the side to make way for him. You closed the door and turned around to see him taking off his shoes and dusting some snowflakes that have fallen on his jacket. You extend a hand to take his scarf and jacket, hanging them on the rack near the door.

"Didn't you have a thing with your teammates tonight?" You asked when you notice the gym bag that he always carries around. As soon as he puts them down, Kiyoomi makes himself comfortable on your couch, stretching his legs and leaning back on the headrest with his eyes closed.

He hums, "Yeah. We had dinner at the izakaya downtown but I didn't want to go with them to the bar." When he sees the judging look on your face, he was quick to say, "Stop. You know how I hate crowds. And it's too cold for me to go anywhere."

"I wasn't saying anything." You toss him the remote to the television, a silent invitation for him to choose what he wants to watch. "Do you want a drink? I have orange juice, milk, and wine."

"I'll take wine, thanks." From the kitchen, you can hear him flipping through the channels, a dissatisfied grunt often leaving him when he sees that a cheesy holiday movie is showing. You go out to the living room, bringing two glasses of wine and a plate of some biscuits, just in time to see that he has opened Netflix. "Should we watch the new true crime documentary?"

You nod, "Yeah, sure. I'm down with whatever." As soon as the familiar ta-dum sound begins, you cozy up next to him on the couch, holding your wine glass and focusing your eyes on the screen. Nights like these weren't uncommon to you and Kiyoomi. For as long as you can remember, the two of you have been by each other sides all throughout high school and college. He's always been your constant support system, and you were the same to him.

So it wasn't that much of surprise to you when he nonchalantly throws an arm over your shoulders, bringing you closer to his body. You hum contentedly, leaning in to his warmth and you take in that familiar soft scent of vanilla and sandalwood. It's comforting and soon, you find yourself close to drifting off to sleep, your head falling to his chest and being lulled by the erratic beating of Kiyoomi's heart.

But the nap doesn't happen when Kiyoomi, out of nowhere, murmurs, "I'm disappointed with this setup. It's so lonely in here, there's not even a single mistletoe, ornament or stocking hung up." His statement completely pulls you out of your drowsy state and you muster all your energy to glare at him.

"I don't really feel like celebrating." Your voice weakens as you say the second part, "Besides, I'm all alone anyway." But of course, Kiyoomi doesn't miss it.

The movie serves as background noise at this point. He seems to ponder on something, his mind bringing him back to years ago when he would come to your family house whenever you felt upset. He reminisces on how his younger self used to cheer you up, his photographic memory pulling up scenes of you and him playing board games until the wee hours of the night. Until you finally felt happy again.

"Hey, do you still have that jenga with you? His question was puzzling, prompting you to look up at him with a perturbed look. He chuckles, his voice deep as he teases you, "Why are your eyebrows creased like that? It's not like I asked you a difficult question." A hand is raised, and before you know it, Kiyoomi has playfully hit your forehead.

"With that attitude, I am not bringing that game out." You grumble, pushing off him to massage the spot that he hit. He was giggling now, and it was a sight that only you have always been blessed with. It was only in your presence that he seemed to relax and show his true self.  And this thought helps uplift your dampened spirit. "Alright, wait here. I'll get the jenga."

Five rounds in, zero wins for you, zero loses for Kiyoomi.

"Can't you show a girl some mercy, 'Omi," you complain after losing five straight games. Were you so unlucky in life that even in simple games you can't get a win? That thought drained you and you reach out for the bottle of wine to refill your glass.

Kiyoomi watches as you pour another serving. "It's because you are always drinking that you can't get your mind straight enough to play." You know he's just looking out for you and your low alcohol tolerance, so you find no ill intentions behind his words. He moves to snatch the wine from your grasp, but you were quicker to hide it behind your back. You stuck out your tongue at him.

He sighs, "Shall we go for another round?"

"Of wine or jenga?"

He stands up, going over to your side and offering a hand out to you. "Actually, that's enough of both for tonight." He drags you up to him, making you stand on wobbly feet and guiding you to the bedroom. You were whining almost all the way to your room, complaining like a little child who has not been given a gift from their Christmas wishlist.

Kiyoomi did not mind your playful punches and tugging on his shirt though. He was used to your antics. He didn't find it hard to tuck you in your bed, fluffing the pillow to make it comfortable and pulling the blanket over your body. He smiles when a contented expression takes over your features and he debates tucking the strand of hair that obstructs his clear view of your eyes.

Just when he thought you've finally calmed down, your eyes shoot open and it startles him a little. You grin, "Do you want to join me in bed, Kiyoomi?"

You always had a way with your words, sober or not. And at this moment, Kiyoomi has half a mind to jump in and cuddle with you until morning breaks. He almost says yes, but he remembers he was still in his outside clothes. He ruffles your hair, "Let me wash up first."

The hot shower that Kiyoomi takes in the bathroom allows him some time to think about the decisions he has made that led him in your apartment tonight. He recalls the first few hours he spent in the company of his teammates. But majority of that time was spent worrying over you.

Though you didn't outrightly mention it to him, Kiyoomi was not as oblivious to turn a blind eye to your heartbreak. When you texted him a week ago about your breakup, he constantly cursed the stupid jerk in his head. How could he have let go of such an amazing person like you? He lightly punches the wall, his fists curling as he remembers the face of your ex. As much as he'd like to drag his sorry ass to hell, he worried about you and it surprised him and his teammates when he immediately ran to the direction of your home.

After turning off the faucet, he steps out and steam fills the room. He dries his hair and wears the hoodie and shorts that he always keeps in your apartment. When he returns to your bedroom, he sees you sound asleep. He turns the rest of the lights off and carefully slides in to your side.

He's shocked when you turn and snuggle closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. He gently strokes your head and the action stirs you lightly awake. "Hmm, you're warm," he hears you mumble.

Kiyoomi sighs in content and he thinks that he made the right decision coming to your aide tonight. He envelops you in his embrace and presses a kiss on the top your head, "You will never be alone. You'll always have me."

He doesn't mind spending Christmas like this with you. From now and forever. 

FIN. taglist - @aii-channn​ @peteunderoos​ @jungtoast @nekoclysm​ @our-tall-slytherin-queen​ @isabella5 @slippinglasses​ @yhyucklee @rowley-with-ackerman​ @lilacnoodles @ineedsomefoodpls (can’t tag those in italics!)

[forever-rogue]

Of Princes & Berries - Part 1

A/N: Yeah, so I have like zero self control, and I’m so deep in my Pedro feels and Oberyn is one of my og loves. In this family we throw canon out the window. Canon? I don’t know her. Anyways, this will probably be like 2-3 parts, y’all will get some sexy times, so hold tight. As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: slight language

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

MASTERLIST

»��————-　♡　————-««

Popping a few of the fresh, succulent berries into your mouth, you received a tut and playful glare from the chef that was busy preparing various foods for feasts throughout the day. You gave him an innocent smile before putting a finger to your lips.

"Those are for the prince," he reminded you playfully, passing a jug of wine towards you, "those were imported just for him, best not eat them all."

"Oh relax," you gently bumped him with your hip as you loaded everything onto your serving tray, "our esteemed guest won't be missing a few of them. Besides, these are so much mode delicious than the ones we have here. Ours are so lackluster and have no flavor. These are practically bursting with juice and flavor. Maybe the best I’ve ever had!”

"Why do you think he specifically asked for them?" he turned back to the pot he was stirring, giving you a little sigh.

"Because he's the fucking prince of Dorne?" you started to lift the tray up to carry it to the gardens where he was no doubt waiting, "and he's got impeccable taste. Looks, taste, people throwing themselves at him left and right? What a life he leads.”

"Just make sure this gets out to him," he insisted and you gave him a small salute as you headed out of the dim kitchens, “and no detours to eat more berries!”

A small sigh escaped your lips as you stepped into the daylight and felt the sun's rays hit you and instantly warm you up. Everything felt lighter already. Most days in King's Landing were overcast and not this beautiful, at least not during this time of year, and you planned on taking full advantage of it. Perhaps later, when you were done with morning duties, you’d go and set by the sea for a while. It always relaxed something deep within you.

As soon as you spied the prince, staring out into sea, a smile grew on your face. You'd spoken to him a few times here and there, mostly in passing, since his arrival at King's Landing. He was a bright spot, a welcome interruption in our normally monotonous and drool days.

He always spoke to you in a kind manner, taking the time to ask your name, how you were doing, small things. But unlike most people in the court, he seemed genuine in his actions, kind even. He truly listened when you spoke, rather than just blowing you off.

As you approached him, a smile stretched across his handsome features when he realized it was you, causing a small flutter in your heart.

"Good morning, Y/N," he stood and offered you a small bow as you set the tray down on the table in front of him. It was a sign of respect; reverence. Proprietary would have you bowing to him, but he never was one for rules, "how are you on this fair day?"

"Your highness," you beamed at him, pushing a plate of berries at him, "I dare say my day has been much improved. What good luck it was that they sent me to serve you."

"Good fortune, even a wonderful twist of fate," he sat back and watched you intently, "or perhaps I made a simple request."

"A request," you raised an eyebrow as you sneaked a berry, which just made him chuckle at you. Normally, with almost anyone else, you'd never be so bold. But with Oberyn...it felt normal, right even, "you asked for me?"

"You sound surprised," he mused as you leaned against the table, trying to soak up as much sun as possible, "why does it surprise you so?"

"I don't know," you said quietly, "I just never thought I'd make that much of an impression on anyone. I prefer to pass by quietly, generally."

"You've made quite the impression on me, sweet girl," he said softly. You caught your bottom lip in between your teeth as his words fell over you, "I'll take every opportunity I can to look at that lovely face."

"You flatter me," but a content sigh escaped your lips nonetheless, "it is I who am in awe of your beauty, your highness. Surely."

“Now you’re just flattering me, fanning my ego like everyone else,” he waved his hand at you laughed at him, “I didn’t specifically ask for you just because you fall in line like everyone else.”

“I’m sorry then,” you playfully stuck your tongue out at him, “I shall never flatter you again. Nothing but complete honesty.”

“A simple request, no?” he teased, letting his fingers linger near yours. You studied his hands, the few scars that had marred the warm, tan skin. He was really was beautiful, such a sight to behold in your otherwise dreary life, “can I ask you something...perhaps too forward?”

“Yes,” permission was given without hesitation, and worry. Nothing about him worried in you in that sense. Sure, he was the Red Viper, deadly, feared, and brutal in his own way, but you saw past that...he was also kind, gentle, surprisingly soft spot and quick as a whip, “anything.”

“Have you been with a prince before?” 

“I’ve been with many men who call themselves all sort of things,” you shrugged your shoulders as you poured more wine into his goblet, “kings, princes, knights, lords. You name it and I’ve been with one.”

“And have they lived up to your expectations?”

“Hardly,” you grabbed a berry and popped into your mouth, and raising an eyebrow at him, “the only time I’ve experienced true pleasure, it has certainly not been at the hands of a man.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” you sat down across from him, far overstepping any boundaries that remained. But Oberyn was different; he wasn’t like all the other princes and lords who spoke down to you like you were some sort of mere peasant. He treated you like an actual person. That in itself was enough to keep you intrigued; his delicious, warm accent didn’t hurt either. It was like music to your ears, sweet like the wine that flowed freely throughout the court, and much more pleasant than the harsh accents of the King’s Landing that you’d have grown accustomed to.

“You prefer the company of women?”

“I do enjoy the company of women,” you gave him a lazy half smile, “very much so. They’re beautiful creatures, soft, and warm, kind. Unlike men, they know how to touch other women, how to make love and make it a pleasurable experience, not just spend five minutes pounding into you until they’ve found release like a common barnyard animal. And then again, if all else fails, there is also the undeniable pleasure you can give yourself.”

“Very valid points,” he eat a few of the fresh berries, his dark eyes never leaving yours. A smile played on his features as relaxed in his seat, letting the sun warm him, “clearly you haven’t been with the right men.”

“Do you think you’re different?”

“I know I’m different.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “you’re very sure of yourself, my prince. Is your reputation well deserved? Are you as good of a lover as they all say?”

“I am,” a small smirk played on his lips as he crossed his legs, gauging your every reaction closely. He was curious, almost deathly curious to see what you hid under your cool exterior. You acted like you belonged in the court, under the direction of the Lannisters, but he could see through right through you. He knew you weren’t fully invested in your job or life here; hells, anyone that spared you more than a passing glance could see that much, “do you care to find out?”

“I appreciate the forwardness,” you gave him a wicked little smile of your own, “but surely you’ve got better things, and individuals, to shower in your worship. I am a simple servant, not worthy of anyone’s time, something I am made sure never to forget.”

You didn’t wait for a response before standing up and brushing your skirts off as you turned to head back inside. You’d been gone for some time now, surely you’d be attracting some unwanted attention any minute. You’d only been meant to serve the prince, not converse as though you were fast friends, shamelessly flirting in the open where anyone could stumble upon the two of you.

Oberyn was a welcome change to the cold atmosphere of the court you were used to. He brought a certain liveliness, warmth, and you swore more sunlight, with him. You could only imagine how wonderful it must be back in Dorne, where he got to spread that same radiance day in and day out. 

“Where are you from?” he asked as you turned to leave. You paused and tensed up, surprised by the sudden question. He didn’t move as he waited for answer; part of you was tempted to pretend that you hadn’t heard him, but you knew better than to defy the prince.

“I’m just a servant, your highness,” you gave him a saccharine smile as you watched his expression falter slightly. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, “I am from wherever I am situated. My job isn’t to have a personality, it’s to serve others.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he grabbed a particularly plump looking strawberry, took a bite before standing up and striding over to you. His caramel gaze was focused on yours as he gently grabbed your jaw with one hand raised the berry to your lips. It was a question of sorts, to see if you trusted him. Without hesitation, you parted your lips slightly, letting him pop the berry into your mouth. You let the juices coat your mouth before swallowing, your eyes never leaving his. Oberyn traced his thumb delicately along your bottom lip, wiping away the small bit of lingering juice, “where are you from, my sweet girl?”

“Your highness-”

“It’s a simple question,” he let go of your jaw, his face moving into a softer expression as his eyes slowly raked over you. If it had been almost any other man, you would have been disgusted, but there was some gentle about when it was Oberyn. 

“Honeyholt,” the name of your birthplace fell off your lips almost like a whisper, and your eyes darted around to make sure no one had heard. When you worked for the Lannisters, personal matters as such were best left unsaid; they paid you, albeit barely, for your service, not to moan about your previous life. 

“That’s rather far from here,” he mused and you shrugged lightly. You were a a child, a mere young thing the last time you had visited your place of origin. You didn’t remember enough of it to truly miss. King’s Landing had been your home since, “what brings you here, to the harsh life of the court?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you bit your lip, unsure of how far he wanted you to go into detail, “I...was brought here by parents. They needed the money, and I was their only source of commodity. For them it was an easy decision. I haven’t seen them since.”

“I could tell you were not from this forsaken place,” you wondered what he meant, how easily he could tell you were different. You’d spent most of your life trying to blend and not stick out, you’d thought you’d been doing a fairly decent job. Most people didn’t spare you a passing glance, unless they desired something from you.

“And just how is that, if you don’t my asking?”

“You’re much too beautiful to be from here,” he answered and your entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire. You turned your head, gaze intently trained on the cracked ground of the aging palace as you avoided his inquisitive looks. He reached over and with a few gentle fingers tilted your chin up to face him, “do not shy away from your beauty.”

“I do not,” your voice was but a whisper, “people do not usually show me such...reverence.”

“You have kind eyes,” he carried on, “the sweetest smile, hair fair more beautiful than the Lannister gold they love so much here. Your accent gives you away, it is very slight, but anyone with a keen ear will be able to pick up on it. These barbarians here no doubt have come to ignore it.”

“You...” no one had pointed out that fact that you have a slight lilt to your voice in years. You’d lost the majority of any accent as a child, having come to court as such a young one, and being surrounded by nothing but the gruff voices of the crownlands.

“And if you don’t mind my saying so,” he took a step closer and ran a gentle hand down your body, fingers grazing down your side and sending a shiver down your spine, “a figure that any man or woman would be blessed by the gods to know. Beautiful breasts, a round bottom, lovely thighs, I can only imagine how exquisite everything I’m not seeing is.”

His large hand gave your ass a firm squeeze, and a small sound escaped your lips; a mixture of surprise and pleasure. He was forward, there was no doubt about that, but nothing about it felt...wrong, or unwelcome. You could tell he was making sure every touch and word off of his lips that he was making sure you were okay with it. And you were. Everywhere he went, women, and men, fawned over him, dying for even a bit of affection and attention from the prince. Here you were, having down nothing and you were the object of his desire. 

“You flatter me far more than I deserve, your highness,” your cheeks were on fire as he smiled at you, trying to reassure you that his affection was well deserved.

“Please,” he insisted, bringing a hand back up to your face, “enough with the formalities. Oberyn.”

“Oberyn,” you repeated, enjoying how it felt on your tongue, so sweet and foreign, much more interesting than anyone you encountered through your daily duties.

“What was your name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insisted, but he was not fooled by your attempts at deflection. Instead, he leaned against the carved marble pillar, arms crossing his chest as he analyzed you, “you know my name.”

“My dear, sweet little one,” you sighed lightly at the sound of his voice, so rich and warm, hitting each last nerve within you, “everyone has a name. It means something, even if that of a bastard.”

“What if I don’t want to have a name? What if I want to be no one?” you shrugged as you leaned against the column facing him, “what if I want to hide in the shadows?”

“Y/N,” your name had never sounded more lovely or magical than when it came off of his lips. It sounded pretty, beautiful almost, “it matters. You should be proud of who you are...unless you are some sort of monster, which I already know you are not.”

“You already know my name.”

“And you know exactly what I’m referring to you. I am a prince, sweet one, not a fool.”

“Flowers,” you gave him a soft smile, “just like all bastards of the Reach.”

“But you’re not a bastard,” he pointed out as you nodded, “so why do you claim the name?”

“So I can be no one.”

“You, my sweet girl,” he was by your side again in no time, leaning only mere inches between the two of you. He smelled warm and sweet, likes spices and exotic fruit. Enchanting. Lovely, “are destined to be so much more than no one.”

“I assure you, it doesn’t matter,” you said after a few beats of silence, “my family was once one of the many great houses, just like so many others. But they fell and were broken apart over the years. The remainder of them are common merchants now. It’s easier to claim the name of a bastard than to receive pity for your family’s misfortunes from the likes of Lannisters and Starks and whomever else.”

“I am sure you far outshine them in every way,” he pushed a few locks of your hair out of your face, “your kindness is fair greater.”

“I...I know why you’re here, your hi- Oberyn,” you were scared that you had overstepped your boundaries, but weren’t able to hold back your tongue. He was so forward and open with you, surely he wouldn’t mind if you did the same. 

“And why is that?” his curiosity was piqued as he tried to read your expression.

“Your sister,” you answered softly and he shifted on his feet, shoulders tensing slightly, “I used to work for her...when I was just a child...before. She was the kindest woman I had ever met, gentle and sweet to everyone she ever encountered. Beautiful to no ends and her smile could light up the entire kingdom. Her babes were just as sweet, they would grown up to be the kindest people.”

“You knew Elia?” he was quieter now, and had a soft pang to his voice. He still missed and longed for his sister. Even though she had been gone for some time now, he still mourned for her and her children every day.

“She’s probably the reason I’m still alive,” you admitted, “she took me under her wing when I was brought here. I miss her too. I cannot imagine the sadness and burden it must have placed upon you and I would not dare to imagine. But I know how hard it was on someone like me, just a servant.”

“I think of her every day,” he admitted, “I know I cannot get her back, but it doesn’t dull the pain; Dorne has mourned her loss every day. Instead we must honor the memory of those we’ve lost, instead of letting grief consume us, no?”

“Yes,” you agreed, placing a small smile back on your face. You hadn’t meant to bring the mood down, but you wanted to let him know where you stood, that you were on his side, “I...I blame myself some days. When they attacked...I just ran and hide. I ran and ran and ran until it felt like I couldn’t breathe and then I hid and waited, waited till the smoke had cleared and it was safe to come out. I didn’t even try to help her or her babies. I just wonder if...I had stayed if I could have done something.”

“You were a child,” he could imagine the horrors you had seen, all the thoughts and emotions that had stayed with you throughout the years, “it was not your place to do anything. You protected yourself; it is our instinct to flee and hide, especially as children.”

“I was a coward.”

“You were a child,” he repeated firmly, “you were not a coward and it was not your duty to protect anyone. They should have protected you.”

You weren’t even aware of the fact that a few tears had rolled down your cheeks, but Oberyn was quick to wipe them away. He brushed a thumb over your cheeks, in such a soft and intimate gesture, offering you a small, reassuring smile in return. You put your hand on his wrist and gave it a firm squeeze, “thank you.”

“Y/N,” you almost jumped out of skin at the sound of Cersei’s grating voice. Swiftly wiping the rest of your tears away with the back of your hand, you took a step back from the prince, who seemed completely nonplussed, “surely you’ve got other duties to attend to. I’m sure the prince’s wine and berry need has been satiated for now. We know where to find you if we want more. Go on and apologize to his highness for your folly and distraction.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you let out a shaky breath and gave her a nod. She had her trademark smirk on her face and you wished you could slap it off of her pinched features. She really was cruel down to her core, and you often wondered when the last bits of humanity had left her. You wondered how much she had seen or heard. Hopefully not enough to warrant any sort of punishment. 

Instead, you gave her a nod and small bow before turning back to Oberyn, “I apologize for my indiscretions, your highness. Please let me know if I can be of service at any time.”

“What did I tell you, my sweet girl, call me Oberyn,” he was not bothered by Cersei in the slightest and her jaw dropped in surprise. You couldn’t hide the small smile that crept onto your face, “and do not apologize for a conversation I have initiated. Surely even the lovely Cersei can understand that people enjoy conversation.”

“I...yes,” you returned his warm smile, unable to contain yourself and enjoying the little thrill that defying Cersei had placed in your bones. He reached for your hand and placed a kiss, chaste kiss to the back of it. You knew Cersei must have been dying on the inside at the exchange, frankly, so were you, “thank you, Oberyn.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, making it a point to look directly at Cersei, who was fuming silently. If she had been a kettle, steam would have been exploding out of her ears, “I’ll find you.”

Just before you could turn to return to the kitchen and go about the rest of your daily duties, Oberyn trailed his fingers over your face, letting his gaze linger on your lips, “until later, dear Y/N.”

You turned to go back inside without another word, a bounce in your step at what had just happened. But just before you got inside, you heard him call after you, “I’m glad you enjoyed my berries, sweet girl!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[goodlucktai]

Could I request some good bro Natori and Natsume stuff for prompts 1,2,3, or 5? Either separately or merged into one frankenfic?

PROMPTS LIST

1. “I apologise in advance for the inconvenience my murder is going to have on your life.” +2. “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.” +5. “This is my life now. I have climbed this hill and now I will die upon it.” “Shut up. We’ve only been hiking for twenty minutes.”

x

When Shuuichi called the Fujiwara house to invite Natsume to the upcoming wrap party, he was braced for the type of dogged, exacting negotiations better suited a hostage situation. 

Instead, after a pleasant fifteen-minute conversation with Touko, he was painlessly gifted custody of his friend for the weekend. 

“Shigeru-san and I need to meet with one of his relatives about some of Takashi-kun’s missing belongings,” she says, a sliver of steel in her sunny voice that promises, in no uncertain terms, that these relatives will almost certainly have a fight on their hands. “I’d hate to have to bring Takashi-kun along, but I don’t like to leave him here alone, so this is quite the neat solution!”

Natsume is grim and resigned when they meet at the train station, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder, his ugly cat tucked into his arms. Shuuichi can’t help but beam at him, having come out of this arrangement fully on top. 

“Shopping!” he announces gleefully. “You’ll need something fancy for the party. And then we’ll get lunch-- my treat, of course. And if you don’t listen to me, Touko-san will be sad!” 

If looks could kill, Shuuichi would almost certainly have met his unfortunate end right then and there. 

xx

Natsume has been uncomfortable all evening, in a fixed position at Shuuichi’s elbow and nursing the same flute of champagne that was foisted upon him at the door. 

He’s in dark-washed jeans and a smart blazer, his hair tucked out of his face with a few strategic hair clips. He toes the line between youthful and stylish well, and his quiet personality comes across as shy instead of standoffish. The cast and crew are all delighted to finally meet the kid Shuuichi talked so much about, and Natsume is doing his best to hold up under all the attention.

So it had taken a bit of blackmail and bribery to get him here-- was that so unusual? 

Networking is a necessary evil, and usually Shuuichi is stuck at these functions until the early hours of the morning. But it’s only a couple of hours before Natsume starts to flag. He’s edging into nonverbal territory, only mustering eye contact for a few seconds at a time, and Shuuichi doesn’t waste time in steering him away from the press of the party and into an out-of-the-way office. 

“Who’s office is this?” Natsume asks quietly. When Shuuichi presses lightly on his shoulders, he sinks into a leather armchair without fuss. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m famous, I can do whatever I want,” Shuuichi says with a winning smile. 

Natsume is recovered enough by then to scowl at him, a knee-jerk reaction. 

“I hate you.”

“Why? I’m lovely.”

After that exchange, Shuuichi feels alright about leaving Natsume alone with Hiiragi while he sweeps off to make their excuses, and say his goodbyes, and steal some food for the road. 

And now they’re bundled in coats and scarves, making their way back to the hotel. Natsume looks much livelier now that they’re outside, working on the second half of an egg sandwich that Shuuichi smuggled out for him. 

“I can’t believe you do that for a living,” the boy murmurs after a moment. “It’s exhausting.”

“You get used to it,” Shuuichi says. “And I’m good at talking.”

Being charming and personable on cue is one of his greatest skills. No closed door, or VIP entrance, or members-only sign has ever kept him out. 

When they get back to the hotel, an ugly cat is waiting for them outside. Natsume smiles to see it, his pace quickening, and offers the yokai the last bite of his sandwich. 

Madara takes it with a scoff. “This is all you brought me? I want barbecue!” 

“What kind of party do you think we were at?” Shuuichi mutters. 

“Maybe tomorrow, sensei,” Natsume says agreeably, lifting the cat into his arms. 

“Hmph. In that case, I guess I’ll pass the message along.” Settling into a comfortable loaf in the crook of the boy’s arms, the cat squints at them with shining, dark eyes. “Someone came for their name while you were gone.”

Shuuichi stiffens in alarm. They’re hours away from Hitoyoshi, where Natsume’s reputation proceeds him at every turn. To have been tracked this far, despite the wards... 

Natsume only looks mildly surprised. “Are they still here?”

“No, they’re waiting for you in the woods,” Madara says. “Human settlements make them nervous.”

Nodding as if this is all perfectly reasonable, Natsume glances at Shuuichi. Shuuichi, waiting for his cue, says, “Absolutely not.”

“Natori,” his friend says, with the same tone of a tired mother attempting to wrangle an unreasonable toddler.

“In what universe would I allow you to wander off into the forest in the middle of the night?” He opts to ignore the rich orange dusk above and around them, and the fact that the streetlights haven’t kicked on yet. Natsume’s eyebrows are inching toward his hairline, so he decides to play his trump card. “Your parents said I’m in charge.”

Hiiragi sighs deeply. It’s only after Shuuichi says it that he realizes how juvenile it sounded, but by then it’s too late. He has to double down. 

“Let’s just go inside, and we’ll discuss it over a proper meal,” he says with a smile. He waves Natsume toward the door, but Natsume doesn’t budge.

Shuuichi realizes he used up all his authority earlier, in forcing Natsume to the department stores and restaurants and the wrap party. The boy has played along thus far but he’s clearly reached his quota for the evening. He doesn’t even entertain the idea of listening to Shuuichi this time. 

“I’ll be quick,” Natsume says plainly. He turns back the way they came without another word. 

Shuuichi struggles with it for a moment, but he really doesn’t have any choice but to follow. It doesn’t help that the ugly cat is laughing at him, or that Hiiragi is judging him silently with every step.  

xx

Honestly, if Shuuichi were feeling marginally more generous, he would admit that there was some sort of cosmic justice at work here. He had forced Natsume out of his comfort zone all night, and now the tables have turned entirely. 

The trees tower around them as they pick their way up a faint foot trail, stretching up into a dark, endless canopy. The wind combs through branches and leaves in eerie, hushed whispers. They only have the shiki’s night-eyes and the flashlight on Shuuichi’s phone to see by. 

“This is my life now,” Shuuichi complains, out of breath. “I climbed this hill and now I’m going to die on it.”

“Shut up,” Natsume replies mildly. “We’ve only been hiking for twenty minutes.”

He certainly seems comfortable here, for all that he’s never been in these particular woods before. With his green eyes and silvery hair and thousand-yard stare, Natsume might as well be a mountain spirit himself sometimes. 

The thought cinches painfully in Shuuichi’s stomach, and he speeds up a bit until they’re walking alongside one another. 

“How do you know you can trust this spirit?” he asks.

“I don’t,” Natsume says, sounding surprised by the question. “How do you know you can trust any of those humans you work with?”

“Because they’re human.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Shuuichi can see his own incomprehension reflected in Natsume’s expression. There’s a sudden chasm open between them, a lack of understanding that goes both ways.

Natsume looks away first. He doesn’t quite hang his head, but he isn’t standing as tall as he was before. Shuuichi remembers, belatedly, just how many humans have hurt Natsume up to this point. He realizes that what he just said was very stupid. And on top of being grossly inconsiderate, he managed to alienate his friend at the same time.

This is what he gets for being so smug all day. 

He puts a hand on Natsume’s shoulder, throwing a line across the chasm and hoping it will hold. He squeezes, waiting until Natsume has mustered the courage for eye contact once more, and only when he has the boy’s full attention does he say gravely, “I have a lot to learn from you. I’m only sorry I won’t have the chance. And I apologize for the inconvenience my murder is going to have on your life.”

Natsume splutters, and then laughs, and those sad, clinging shadows peel away from him as easily as a broken spiderweb. “You’re not going to get murdered!” 

"Hm,” Shuuichi says, deeply unconvinced (and deeply relieved to hear his friend laughing).

“Honestly, if you’re this worried, why not just wait at the hotel?” Natsume asks. He’s animated again, picking his way ahead confidently. Shuuichi is happy to follow, leaving that painful, aborted conversation behind them for another day. 

“Because Touko told me to look after you this weekend,” Shuuichi says mulishly. He’s still clinging to the thin veneer of being in charge, for all the good it’s doing him. “How could I look her in the eye if I let you go charging off into danger?”

“Easily,” Natsume mutters. “Charmingly. And with a bouquet of roses, probably. You said it yourself, you’re good at talking.”

Now it’s Shuuichi’s turn to laugh. He thinks of his conversation with Touko earlier that week-- he thinks of how, even now, she and Shigeru are off getting into a fight with their family for their foster son’s sake, with Natsume none the wiser. 

“You’ve sorely underestimated how protective she is of you,” Shuuichi says ruefully. “That’s fine. I’m sure you’ll get to see it firsthand when I take you home, since I’ve made an absolute mess of this weekend so far.” 

Natsume tips his head curiously, but whatever he might have said is interrupted as they come around a bend that opens up to a glade.

There’s lantern light up ahead. The glow is unnatural, slightly off-color, and the lights sway even though there isn’t a steady wind. Hiiragi goes tense and alert at Shuuichi’s shoulder, and Shuuichi himself feels a cold thrill of anticipation, his fight-or-flight reflexes primed. But Natsume lets out a little huff of relief, and Madara says, “Finally!” as a rabbit spirit steps onto the path to greet them. 

It’s about as tall as Shuuichi’s waist and dressed in a neat yellow yukata. It greets them politely, and apologizes for making them go out of their way, and invites them into the glade. Madara jumps out of Natsume’s arms to lead the way, and Hiiragi follows distrustfully, but Natsume lingers for a moment. 

“What if Touko hadn’t said anything?” he asks, in the tone of someone testing a theory. 

For all of about three seconds, Shuuichi considers lying to preserve his dignity, but he gives it up for a lost cause. He sighs, and musses his hair up even more, and admits, “I’d still be here.”

Natsume might as well be a mountain spirit himself sometimes. But then there are times like these, when his face lights up like a summer sky, and he smiles as though he’s never been hurt, and Shuuichi has never met anyone more human than him.