#and sure enough in the middle of the day she talked about my graying hair

[thenineofus]

Here is a question I have: when people criticize an aspect of your appearance (specifically something less under your control, like body weight, shape of boobs, acne or hair texture) what is their goal? Like what do they expect the follow up to be?

You could argue that somewhere inside they have a fucked up perception of the world wherein they believe they are helping you notice something you may not have noticed yourself so that you can try to correct it. Anyone with a normal brain knows that this is not helpful at all, but MAYBE they believe it, right?

Well, the only aspect of my appearance I ever perceived negatively was my acne prone skin. So all my adult life I wore heavy makeup to cover it. However many times the acne was so inflamed it was still noticeable through the makeup. And STILL, many times people commented on it to me. If we actually take to heart that these people do it to help, what the fuck else can I do about it when I'm already wearing heavy layers of foundation? That was when it became clear to me that was never their goal at all. What is the goal then? What the fuck can they possibly expect to achieve from it? The only conclusion I can ever reach is that they do so maliciously, they want to make sure You know They noticed an aspect they perceive negatively. Maybe in an attempt to gain some psychological power over you? I don't know, back on the day I used to swallow a sob and say "yes I know" and then sit as far from them as possible in the situation trying to hide my face as much as possible from everyone.

Now a days my skin is not a problem anymore (thanks isotretinoin). So people comment on other things that I myself don't perceive negatively at all, like my graying hair, small boobs and unshaved armpits. So when any of it is pointed out to me I get to say "thanks for noticing, it's really cute and I love it!" Which turns it against them, now it's they who don't know how to respond and look silly.

Anyway, I still wonder what goes through their mind, how do they justify it internally, to themselves that this is appropriate social behaviour?

[seeingivy]

middle name

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

all you can do is stare.  

there’s the smallest hint of gray hairs mixed in with his natural color. his hair is longer, but it’s still the same color. he has the faintest smile lines near his eyes and that small wisp of a beard that he used to always sport is long gone. 

he looks younger. what you assume is his youngest daughter is wearing a sparkly green bracelet. green was always sammy’s favorite color. they both seem to have his nose – though that’s really the only resemblance they bear, since they almost entirely take after the lady at their side. 

she had to be younger than him, a willowing black dress clinging lovingly to her figure. she had the same smile lines and that short haircut that you find young moms always sported, with three stacked silver chains and a glittering diamond on her finger. 

you wonder if she smells like vanilla like your mom does. 

“don’t react.” 

you turn to your left to find sammy at your side, sukuna and yuuji hovering in the background with matching hazel eyes filled with concern. you shake your head – throwing away the image of their picture perfect smiles – as you focus on sammy, mostly on the fact that her upper lip is trembling. 

sammy was always the favorite. 

“what did you say?” you ask. 

“don’t react.” sammy repeats. 

you pause, mulling over the thought. 

“okay.” you respond. 

“yeah? because we can’t give that asshole the satisfaction. he has no right barging in here the way he just did.” sammy seethes. 

you give her a nod, before she takes her side next to you on the wall, the four of you leaning against the wallpaper. sukuna slithers his hand into yours, offering you a smile that you don’t return, before focusing back on the four of them in the living room. 

it annoyed you – that you didn’t have enough time to really consider what the best course of action would be. not reacting, you suppose you could understand the appeal. of showing him that you were above him, that he didn’t even warrant a response. 

but deep down, you wondered if that would bother you the day after next. if you would be standing in the shower, rinsing the soap out of your hair, and somehow come up with the right thing to say, that would perfectly encapsulate whatever it was that you were feeling. 

though you suppose that’s easier said than done. you can barely put words to whatever it is that’s forming in your chest. 

you watch as he talks to sukuna’s old basketball coach. so loudly animated as he chats – about how the property values are better two towns over and how the school district is better for the girls. you wonder if the coach thinks it’s offensive. you wonder if he ever considered that you and sammy needed to switch to a better school too. 

and it happens in a split second – your dad catching the sight of the four of you – before lifting off the couch and closing the distance between you. yuuji shoots you a weary glance as he gives the four of you a bright smile, before clearing his throat. 

you catch a slight whiff of the lemon smell as he walks up, though the lingering scent of smoke you remember gone all together. 

“sukuna. is that you?” 

you look over at sukuna, watching as he swallows hard, before clenching his jaw. 

“yes.” 

you watch as he frowns, before pressing one of his hands to his chest. 

“i’m so sorry for your loss, kid.” he states. 

“sure. thanks.” sukuna responds, rather stiffly. 

you can tell that your dad finds the situation uncomfortable – being treated so blandly by the kid he watched grow up, a kid that he knows could surely be more expressive than that – as his eyes flicker over to you and then back to sukuna. 

“your dad told me you studied abroad in europe. is this a pretty girlfriend you brought back?” 

you bite down so hard on your cheek that all you taste is metallic blood pouring out of the side of your mouth. the implication makes all of you seethe. 

that he still talked to people in town. that sukuna’s dad had known his whereabouts, probably for years. and worst of all, that he didn’t recognize you. 

“what?” sukuna hisses. 

your dad turns over to you, eyes bright, as he holds his hand out. you can feel a sensational burning in the back of your eyes. 

“he always used to brag about how his son was studying with the greats. i’m mr. l/n. i’ve known sukuna since he was little.” he states, holding his hand out. 

you swallow down the lump of bile, before extending your hand out to him, unsettled by the freezing cold feeling. 

that was in no way what mr. itadori said. and he didn't know sukuna, only briefly, when he was little, before he ran away. and you know exactly who he is – far too well. 

“nice to meet you.” you mumble. 

“take care of this one, okay? he’s a tough one, but we all need a little love sometimes.” he jokes, lightly tapping sukuna on the shoulder. 

you watch as he gives sukuna a lingering smile, before shuffling over two steps to where sammy is. sukuna places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes boring into yours – like he’s trying to beckon for your attention – as you watch the two of them. 

“hi sammy girl.” he whispers. 

you watch as sammy’s eyes water. sukuna watches as you clench your jaw. 

“hi dad.” she whispers. 

so much for not reacting. 

you wonder if you would have broken just as fast if he recognized you. though you suppose you’ll never know, because he didn’t. 

it’s a long list of things you’ll never know. the questions that bother you at night – the ones that expose that deep rooted rot that festered in your brain –  seem to come to the surface for the first time, in broad daylight. 

when did he fall out of love with your mom? when was sukuna going to fall out of love with you? why does he have such a distaste for you? if you were more polite like sammy, would he have stayed? if you screamed a little louder, would the begging have worked? 

“i wanted to tell you something.” 

you watch as he slings his hand around sammy’s shoulder, squeezing hard, before pointing to the two little girls that are seated on the couch, the two of which were making a mess of mrs. itadori’s coaster set. you wonder what she’d think fo all of this, if she wasn’t so preoccupied. 

“those are my girls. claire and molly.” 

you watch as sammy scrunches up her nose, her fists clenched into little balls at her side. 

“molly was born a year ago. she’s a little shy, but she loves music. but claire, claire’s the exact opposite. headstrong, strong-willed. exactly how a big sister should be.” 

“so?” sammy asks, her voice dripping with attitude. 

he shakes his head. 

“what i mean is that my girl claire reminds me of you. my first girl. so much so, that…well. claire and molly are real special to me. but you, my sammy girl, are always going to be the person who made me a father. that’s why i made claire’s name claire samantha.” 

you watch the tears spill from sammy’s eyes, the most bitter contempt in her eyes, as she turns to him, wiping away the stray. 

the questions return. what festers in someone to breed such cruelty? what horrors could you and sammy had exacted in your past life to deserve it? how much pressure does it take before something cracks? 

would sammy ever get over the fact that she had basically, for all intents and purposes, been replaced? which one is worse – not warranting recognition or just enough to be traded out for the shinier new model? 

“thanks dad. that’s real kind of you.” she mutters, crossing her hands over her chest before leaning back against the wall. 

you watch as his face falls, albeit halfheartedly – the clear inclination that he didn’t really mind that the statement didn’t land as he intended – before he turns back to the three of you and gives you an awkward smile. 

“family stuff.” he mutters. 

he disgusts you.

“well, i’ll take my leave. molly’s about to start fussing. i’m very sorry for your loss again, boys.” 

you watch as he walks off, retreating back to the couch and picking up claire – claire samantha – before you feel sukuna’s lips on your temple, his hands rubbing circles into your side. yuuji’s at sammy’s side, offering her his pocket square which she takes. 

“oh shit.” sammy mutters. 

“what?” you ask. 

“he’s going to the patio, where mom is.” 

you clear your throat, turning on your heel to move, before sammy reaches for your elbow. 

“it’s better if you stay here. you don’t want to make things worse when he realizes it’s actually you.” sammy responds, before walking off towards the direction of the room. 

sukuna watches as you step back, cursing the fact that sammy, for the most part, always seemed to have a horrible way with words, as he reaches for your hand. 

he knows what she meant. that whatever reaction your mom was going to warrant would get infinitely worse when she realized that your own father wasn’t able to recognize you at first glance. 

but she didn’t need to say it like that, sinking words placing the blame on you. 

“she didn’t mean it like that.” yuuji states. 

sukuna watches as you look over at yuuji, face blank, as you nod. he can see that you’re picking at the scab from the shot glass a few days prior on your hand, but you sidestep too fast before he stick his hand in between yours and make you stop. 

“i know.” you respond. 

it stings. 

“i’m just going to take a minute. i’ll be back.” you respond. 

you drag your feet as fast as they can take you to sukuna’s room, before shutting the door behind you, quick and fast breaths heaving out of your chest as your vision blurs. sukuna’s voice is quiet, muffled by the wood. 

“hey. i’m on the other side when you’re ready for me, okay pretty girl?” 

--

you sit in sukuna’s room for two hours, watching the sun sink down into the horizon from his window, watching as people trail in and out of the front door from below. it’s a pretty sunset – a vibrant mix of purple, blue, and pink – with the clouds swirling beneath. 

if sukuna’s dad was a different type of guy, you’d almost think it was a sign from him. that sweet solace that people felt – seeing their loved ones in the beauty of nature. 

though, you’d figure he’d be more of a hurricane or a tornado, wrecking havoc to everything he touched, as opposed to a pretty sunet that shed light. 

sitting at the windowsill is the first time you realize that from sukuna’s vantage point, he’s always had a perfect view of your bedroom window. it’s not exactly level, so you assume that he was probably never able to see much, except for if your light was on or off and if your curtains were pulled. 

you wonder how often he stared at it. 

you find one of his sukuna’s old hoodies and pull it over your dress, before climbing into his sheets and pressing your face into his pillow. it smells faintly of his shampoo, the smell so sweetly comforting, as you feel your eyes swell up, the choking feeling in your throat unbearable. 

the sounds that leave you are embarrassing, but luckily, you’re the only one who can hear them. 

[sammy]: mai came to get me. let’s talk tomorrow okay? 

the typing bubble appears, before disappearing. and after a few minutes, a second text followers. 

[sammy]: i love you. 

you wonder if that complicated, infected part of your brain that seemed to always cultivate some type of disgust for sammy, even when nothing really happened, was a part that you got from your dad. 

you’re almost positive that it is. and it bothers you that it somehow feels like it’s something so fundamental, almost biological, that she’ll always rub salt into a wound that you can’t even heal. 

you turn your phone off instead. 

--

“are you okay? your mom mentioned that you went upstairs pretty abruptly, said you needed a minute.” 

sukuna looks up to find your mom standing there, two ice cold bottles of water in her hands, before she plops down on the carpet next to him, hiking her knees to her chest. the usual picture of perfect hair is astray, the front stands pulled out, and sukuna absentmindedly wonders if you get your hair pulling habit from her. 

he doesn’t respond. only because what he said was a lie. 

not entirely at least. it was true that he needed a minute, it was just an obstruction of truth that he really needed to take that minute for you. 

sukuna notes that she doesn’t mind the silence that much – not only because it’s something that she was well versed in, the mere fact that sukuna didn’t really like to talk when it came to things like this – and instead changes the subject. 

“has she come out yet?” she asks. 

“no. did yuuji tell you what happened?” sukuna responds. 

she smiles, leaning her head back against the rungs of the stairs. 

“you missed quite a show downstairs.” 

“what?” 

she laughs, before reaching up to mess with the ends of the strand closest to her ear. 

“he walked out onto the patio with his wife, cindy he said her name was, because he wanted to offer his condolences. your mom responded by slapping him across the face.” 

sukuna wishes he was there to see it. or do it himself. 

“he was about to start yelling but that’s when sammy came out. i got the gist of what happened before, because sammy basically dragged him out on his ear, giving him a choice set of words about how he can’t gives his new daughter the same names as his old ones, and that he wasn’t her father, no matter how much he deluded himself into thinking that he was.” 

sukuna watches as she pauses, taking a shaky breath. 

“he told sammy that he wouldn’t really want to be their father anyways, which is why he left, and yuuji punched him in the face.” 

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“i really did miss a show, didn’t i?” he mutters. 

“nothing we aren’t used to. i’d think hell froze over if there wasn’t some type of drama at this thing. though, i’d expect violent dramatics from you, not yuuji.” 

sukuna shakes his head. 

“he came up and talked to all of us before you. he didn’t even recognize y/n, he…he thought she was some girlfriend i brought home from studying abroad. and i’d almost understand it – she was really little when she left – but there’s no excuse. she looks the exact same.” sukuna offers. 

sukuna looks over, seeing the same bridge of your nose mirrored in her face, before looking back at the faded paint chipping off the wood of his bedroom door. he wished that he had yuuji’s horrible habits of hoarding snacks in his room, just so that you weren’t sitting in there crying.  

“do you have the key?” 

“what?” 

“the key to the door.” she states. 

sukuna bites at his lip. 

“i’m not going to open it. or give it to you. she’ll come out when she’s ready for me.” sukuna mutters. 

he watches as she laughs, full bellied and warm, before reaching forward and tangling the matted mess of his hair off of his forehead. 

“have i ever been one to force you to do anything?” 

sukuna sighs, slumping against the wall, before shaking his head. 

he had heard the sentiment before, the first time he carried his tired and bleeding knees to the porch, after being kicked out of his house for the first time. 

he nearly beat his knuckles bloody from knocking on the door loud enough before she came down, tired and weary eyes that were instantly snapped awake at his crying. and he can’t exactly remember what it was that he said, though he assumes that it wasn’t short of rudeness. 

when he begged to stay. and when she let him in without a second glance, he said it quietly.

“you can’t force me to tell you what happened.” 

and the response was always the same – the seventh, eight, and ninth time – before he finally got a understood. 

have i ever been one to force you to do anything? 

“do me a favor, sukuna.” she states. 

“okay.” 

“let me take care of your mom.” 

sukuna looks over at her, taken aback by the sentiment. he was half expecting the half hearted lecture that sammy gave him months prior, about being careful and gentle with her sister, and was expecting a tougher version of that to come from what he knew was a very opinionated and defensive woman. 

“what?”��

“the worst part is over. i appreciate you picking up slack with me where you could and i’m sorry i couldn’t help more.” 

sukuna shakes his head. 

“she was basically debilitated. you had to stay with her.” he offers. 

“and you sicked my daughter on your brother. but his boyfriend has got him for the rest and i’ll be with your mom for the foreseeable future, like i always have been.” 

“i don’t think –” 

“you’re leaving here tonight. and you’re taking my daughter with you.” she states. 

sukuna shrugs. 

“i can’t just leave her. she’s my mom and…and she’s been so fucking fragile for the past few days. you saw how she acted when –” 

“and you’re her son. that’s not your job.” 

she pauses. 

“you step back and take care of my daughter. and maybe more importantly, let my daughter take care of you.” she whispers, raking her fingers through his hair again. 

sukuna feels a shiver down his spine, before shaking his head. he can’t just leave. 

“no.” 

“sukuna.” 

he shakes his head again, this time more fervently. 

he can’t just leave. he can’t just pawn his own mother off to her and his brother to megumi and walk away. 

“you know that godawful, shitty dining table downstairs that your dad picked out? the one that we gave to goodwill when he left for his trip to new york?” 

“yeah.” 

he remembered the fight that followed after when he realized it was gone. and sometimes, he wondered why his mom would pick a fight over something so trivial as a table. 

“it was really heavy. seeing it every day irritated her to no end – that this was her house and her space and that he had taken over it another time. it pissed your mom off so much that every night, after they fought, she’d try to push it out of that damn room on her own. ” 

sukuna snorts. 

“i remember that.” 

she smiles. 

“i remember it too. watching her try to push it out of that room on her own, barely making a dent in moving it the merest inch. i think sammy even took a picture of it with that shitty disposable camera i bought her.” 

sukuna rubs his palms together. 

“okay.”

“i ended up helping her. carried one side and we were able to move it a few more inches. it didn’t really do much, so i got that piece of shit down the street, to help us too. and the old guy who used to live next door, the handyman. your dad was on a three day trip and it took five of us to push that god forsaken table out of the house.” 

sukuna feels her pull him closer, wrapping him in a hug. it makes his chest pang, eerily similar to the feeling of being sixteen and sitting on the fact that he was going to leave without saying goodbye. 

“my point is that there’s just some things you can’t carry alone, son.” 

sukuna feels his throat dry. his eyes water, as he understands – the embarrassing and pitiful question spilling out as a byproduct. 

“what if it’s too heavy for her? what…what if i can’t hold her up?” he asks, shaking his head as his voice cracks. 

what if sukuna breaks his lifeline? an even worse fate than you dying – being the one responsible for killing you. 

she smiles, before gesturing to her left, where sukuna sees yuuji standing. 

“you’re more than capable, sukuna. you always have been. and there’s always an extra set of hands to help you lift.” 

the thought comes an hour later. 

maybe his mom did get to meet the love of her life. and maybe it just wasn’t the person he was expecting it to be. 

the second one that follows makes even more sense. 

of course the love was always going to be there between you and him. it was destined before you even got here. genetic even. 

--

you make it back home around two in the morning, to three plastic wrapped plates of dinner and megumi asleep on your couch. 

it feels a little bit like intruding, but the two of you can’t help but stare as yuuji lightly nudges megumi to wake up, the latter of whom literally bolts up at the sight of him, arms quick on his face before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

you look over at sukuna, gesturing for him to turn around with you, as sukuna unboxes the closest package – the replacement of the broken mug from your birthday – as you hear the two of them retreat, a quiet goodnight whispered to the pair of you. 

“which mug do you want?” he asks. 

“we can just share.”

there’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he wraps his hands around your wrists, his touch warm as he pulls you forward, tucking you straight into his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

and you’re not sure when it starts, but it’s not long before he’s quietly weeping, his frame shaking under you as you bury yourself closer to him, his heart pounding under your ear as you run your hands up and down his arms, quietly whispering into his ears. 

he doesn’t stop. he makes no inclination of stopping and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

you pull back, cupping his flushed pink cheeks, and wiping away the wetness from his eyelashes before locking your fingers together behind his neck. 

“you took my jacket.” he whispers, voice strained. 

“it was cold in your room.” you respond. 

he nods, before leaning his forehead against yours, quietly trying to steady his breaths in pace with yours, before he abruptly pulls away, and leans against the granite. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask. 

he gestures his head to the left, where yuuji is standing, before quickly wiping the wetness from his face and pouring the warm milk into the mug. you give him a nod before retreating over to where yuuji is standing, his eyes glued to sukuna. 

“yuuji?” 

yuuji looks over at you, shaking his head. 

“sorry. i wanted to take a shower. do you –” 

“i’ll get you a towel, yuu.” 

yuuji watches as you retreat, socks sliding on the tile, as he runs his hand through his hair, a deeply sweltering hot regret in his chest. 

he had you pegged all wrong. both of you, written off the second he found out about it. 

yuuji had the tiniest glimpse of it the other day. the way you so freely ranted to sukuna, watching as he quietly attended to you by braiding your hair to stop you from pulling at it, really – exuding a quiet comfort he didn’t even know he possessed. 

but this was worse. because while you were being exactly who he knew you to be – maybe just shocked that you were able to do it with someone else – what he just saw in the short amount of time – sukuna freely crying, or more importantly, openly humbling himself to let someone in to help him crawl out – it was foreign. 

unheard of. yuuji was almost positive that sukuna hadn’t even done it before, being so vulnerable with someone. 

and he had been giving him a hard time for it

“here’s your towel.” 

yuuji grabs your hand as you hand it over to him, squeezing hard as he looks up at you, teary eyed. 

“thank you.”

for loving my brother. 

“of course. get some rest.” you respond, giving him a smile as you watch him retreat back to the room. 

sukuna’s crying has ceased when you make your way back to the kitchen. there’s a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a godawful amount of marshmallows and whipped cream, that he passes over to you for the first sip. 

“i’m back.” you respond. 

he nods, as he place the cup in your hand hand. and it’s a searing warmth in your cheeks as sukuna lifts his hand, wiping the whipped cream residue from the top of your lip. 

“real cute.” he responds, before licking the excess off his own fingers. 

you shrug. 

“i try.” 

he smiles, taking the mug from you. 

you’re confused by what happens next – because it looks like he’s going to say something, even going as far as opening his mouth to start talking, before he clamps it shut, with something steaming behind his eyes that you can’t really understand. 

and he does it a few times.

“are you okay?” 

“yeah. yeah, i just…was trying to figure out how to talk.” 

“how to talk?” you ask. 

“you know. about all the stuff.” 

you hum in response, before looping your arm around his torso, watching the marshmallows slowly dampen under the warm liquid, the smallest amount of steam still leaving the glass. 

“it’s probably a lot.” you murmur. 

“you have no idea.” 

“how about you pick one thing? and we’ll do one thing at a time.” 

sukuna nods, heaving a deep sigh, before tangling his free hand into your hair. 

“my dad was a piece of shit.” 

one of the marshmallows sinks down into the cup, the curved waves of the whipped cream disintegrating with it. 

“i mean…my dad was a piece of shit. he died a piece of shit and now he won’t ever be anything else.” 

you nod. 

“do you…do you know those lifetime shows? where people go on the news and talk about how…how different things changed their lives? like families getting out of horrible financial situations and being happy or people finally getting time to put the work in to better themselves?” 

“yeah.” 

“i had this really, really crappy thought that i held on to when i was a kid. that some day, that prick would just wake up, and realize what really mattered. that he’d put in the work, that i’d watch my mom get what she deserved, and…and he’d come to my wedding.” he murmurs. 

sukuna shakes his head, before clenching his jaw. 

“knowing him, the last thing he probably said about you was shitty. and not because he was some vile, sick asshole filled with hatred for you – but hatred for me. for yuuji. for the fact that you were fine with yuuji just as he was. liked me just as i am.” 

the steam from the mug is gone. 

“that stupid asshole died just as he was. a homophobic, misogynistic prick. he won’t ever change.” 

you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“still hurts, doesn’t it?” you ask. 

sukuna nods. 

and thanks his lucky stars that you had that in you, to parse out what he really meant. that his dad died just as he was and now sukuna knows that whatever it was he lost out on is something he won’t ever be able to get back. 

grief for what was never going to be. 

“more than you know.” he responds. 

sukuna pauses. 

“what do you think about it?” he asks. 

you look down at the mug. 

“that it’s his loss.” 

“what?” 

“by some turn of fate, your dad was very undeservingly blessed with two very loving children. it’s his loss that he’s died without even getting to feel even an inch of that. and i get it, that on paper, his legacy, his career – it’s seemed so worthwhile to people at your house. that even though he died young, he lived a very full life.” 

you push the mug over to him. 

“to me, it always seemed like he was chasing something. a better title at work, a bigger party he could throw to show off, anything that made him feel like he was larger than life. and i feel sorry for him. he’s had two boys that give the word love meaning under his roof for all these years and it’s embarrassing for him that he never got to feel it.” 

you shrug. 

“you won’t ever get to have the dad you wanted. but he won’t ever get to reap the benefits, the good love, of what he already had.” 

sukuna leans forward, gentle hands on your cheeks, before locking his lips with yours, the kiss mixed in with his quiet tears. 

the best kind of kiss he could give you – affectionate. devoted. and bare. you felt like the smallest parts of him were in the palm of your hand, to cherish and preserve. 

“your turn.” he whispers. 

you snort. 

“do you have short term memory loss? i just told you what i thought.” 

sukuna shakes his head, wiping the wetness on the back of his hand, before clearing his throat. 

“i gave you three hours in that room. it’s your turn.” 

you elbow him in the side, before lifting the mug with your hands. 

“i gave you a week.” 

“you’ve always been more patient than me. i nearly broke the door down.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“i know you have a key.” 

“and i’d never use it.” sukuna affirms. 

you smile, seeping in the warmth of the ceramic mug, as you look down at the flowery print, a mottled mess of liquid swimming from everything you had mixed in the cup.

“some part of me thinks that i’m rotten.” 

sukuna watches as you set the mug down, reaching for the ends of your hair as you twirl them in your fingers. 

“what?” 

you sigh, warm tears in your eyes. 

“i always thought that there was something wrong with me. there was always a rotten part of me, deep down, and everything i was doing was to keep it from getting out. like…like an infection or something.” 

“okay.” sukuna whispers, his tone in his voice beckoning for you to continue. 

“he’s vile. he’s vile for showing up to your dad’s funeral. for not even saying a word to yuuji when he was there the day he was born, for trying to sweet talk on your behalf like he knows you or something. having a new family, two new girls, not even sparing a second glance to what came before.” 

you pause. 

“and he’s my dad. he’s vile and sometimes i feel like he’s…he’s in my head. that some part of him is always going to be intertwined with me and deep down, running through my blood, and that’s why i won’t ever win.” 

sukuna reaches forward, cupping your warm cheeks in the palm of his hands. and you look up at him, warm brown hazel eyes so washed in concern for you, and it makes your chest hurt. 

“i look at you and all i can think about is that one day, it’ll be the last time you’ll look at me like that. because you’ll leave. you’ll realize that it’s just lipstick on a pig, or…or too much and you’ll take your leave for something better.” 

sukuna wishes that he was the one who got to punch him instead of yuuji. 

“what do you think?” you ask. 

sukuna drops his hold, lifting your hands against his lips and pressing a kiss against your knuckles. 

“that i wish i punched him instead.” he states. 

“what? someone punched him?” 

sukuna smiles. 

“my mom slapped him. and yuuji punched him. everyone got to have their cake except for me.” 

you snort. 

“i wish it was me. because i think he’s sick in the head.” 

typical. sukuna was never one to really mince his words. 

“i think it’s absolutely disgusting that he left without a trace and that the one person he talked to when he left was my dad – though i suppose that’s fitting.”

sukuna pauses. 

“it’s been criminal to watch your mom suffer when she’s one of the first people who gave me a lifeline…and when she brought my second lifeline into this world.” 

you smile. 

“i think any bit of harshness or judgment i’ve passed on sammy is unfair, because i think i’d be immeasurably cruel at times too if the one person who was required to love me felt that i was special enough to deserve a replacement, but not enough to be the one who was actually loved.” 

you sigh.. 

“and i think it’s batshit insane that he was unable to recognize you when most of the time, you’re the only person in the room with me. it’s entirely unbelievable to me that the one person he gave no recognition to is probably the only person who would ever deserve it.” 

sukuna looks down at you and frowns.

“you’re a considerate daughter, a compassionate sister – maybe even when you shouldn’t be – and the warmest friend that my brother has ever had.” 

sukuna leans forward, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. 

“you’re a beautiful girlfriend, so painfully kind-hearted towards me that i’m half convinced you’re god with the way you’re able to fix everything with just your hands. you’re everything good and every part of you is worth acknowledging and appreciating. it’s humiliating for your dad that he’s part of the reason you’re here – and that he won’t ever be able to realize that his greatest accomplishment is you.” 

you lean forward, tucking yourself into his neck, and it makes sukuna shiver – the cold tears running down his neck as you quietly sob, your voice muffled against the fabric of his jacket. 

“you think i’m god?” you sniffle. 

sukuna rolls his eyes, unable to contain his smile. 

“of course that’s what you take away from it.” 

you lean back, looking up at him and the smile on his face. and you commit it to memory – the laugh, the love in the silence, and how it persists in the pain. 

“people worship gods.” you clarify. 

“and i worship you.” 

you curl your nose in disgust. 

“ew, sukuna.” 

“you’re not saying ew when i’m doing it. it sounds a lot more like –” 

you wrap your hand over his mouth, before shushing him. 

“your brother is in the next room over.” 

“he’s always such a thorn in my side.” sukuna mutters, earning you a laugh from him. 

the two of you retreat after the fact. you wash sukuna’s hair in the shower. he insists on doing your skincare for you. and the sun rises on the two of you the next day.

--

next part linked here

an: LOL. ok I write dream girl now I just wanted to get that out of me.

edit: someone left an ??? upset? or like...idk the word for it comment on ao3 about the fact that it's kind of toxic that sukuna calls her god at the end. pls know that it's JUST a metaphor and he's just trying to compare her to something that's really important and being hyperbolic 💌

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism @manduse @imhorn1help @gamergirl5125 @r0ckst4rjk @invisible-mori @isaacdaknight @wishmemel @gyros-cum-sock @suftsunshine @i0099 @cowgirlikets @haitanibros0007 @stuffeddeer @yoontaedotin @ec3lipsy @armani78 @awkwardaardvarkforever @kereseth @leave-rae-alone @ruruvia @princess-ackerman @jjkwritingss @lilkiwikiara @opchara a @telepathicheartss @starriesworlds @raechu11 @exprimidordefresas @nxxrxm @aalloochaat @strangehuman101 @tzutology

[cameronspecial]

hiii!!🤍 idk if you are taking requests at the moment but yesterday i had this idea of fem!reader and rafe fic inspired on the song maniac by conan gray lmaoo

in my head this sounds like a good idea but idk lol

love uuuuu<333

Maniac

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and Accusations of Being a Stalker

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Masterlist

Rafe sets eyes on the one person he doesn’t really want to see. The one person he loves, but who is too good for him. So he let her go. By the time he notices her in the crowd, he is on his sixth cup of whiskey and the alcohol is getting to his head. He shouldn’t do it, yet he does. He stumbles through the crowd to get close to her and his finger points at her in accusation. “I wish you were dead. Maybe then you’d stop popping up everywhere I go like a stalker,” he slurs, his finger wavering a little. She chuckles, “You wish I cared enough about you to stalk you. Except I know you need this so can go tell all your friends that I’m a stalker, a watcher or that I drive you mad. I really don’t care.” She flips her hair over her shoulder as she turns to go back to her friends. Their break-up was anything but friendly. Rafe had to resort to cruelty to get it to set into her mind that there was no salvation for them by talking through their problems. She was too good for him and he was just going to bring her down with him. That’s why he had to do it. As she goes to her friends, he catches a whiff of her perfume and he is dying to be able to properly take the scent in before she leaves again.

Later in the night, Y/N hears rustling in the backyard. She gets up from her bed to spot a familiar figure on the grass through her window. She groans; the irony of him calling her a stalker when he is the one at the back of her house late into the night. She goes downstairs and swings the backdoor open to get rid of him before her parents can wake up. She has to laugh at the sight of him stumbling through with a rose and a shovel in his hand. He holds both items up in his hands like he is balancing out the weight between the two. He comes to a decision and throws the shovel to the side. “Take me back,” he pleas. She chuckles, slamming the door in his face. “You are such a maniac.”

———

A few weeks later, her phone rings from her nightstand in the middle of the night. She presses the phone to her ear and rolls her eyes at who is on the other side. She puts some clothes on, heading to her car to make another mistake. She swears up a storm at the sight of the car smashed against the tree. She sets her car in park and runs over to the driver’s side to make sure he is okay. “You came,” he mumbles, looking at her with a dopey look. He reaches out to pet her hair. She jerks out of his touch. “What do you want me to do about this Rafe? You wrecked your car,” she states in frustration. His lips pout, “You always know how to fix my problems. Because you are perfect. That’s why I had to break up with you because you are too perfect.” His eyes start to pool with tears and she wipes the salty water away. “I’m going to call the police and they are going to take care of it,” she informs, pulling out her phone.

“No, please, don’t. I need you. I need you to stay.”

“It’s all I can do, Rafe. Look what we had was magic, but you turned it tragic. So I really don’t know what you want me to do.” 

“I want you to say that you are going to take me back.”

She lets out a low laugh, “You are a maniac.” Y/N leaves his side, listening to him whine as she goes to call the police. She couldn’t take any more of his bullshit. It breaks her heart that all he ever wants to do is use her for help and pretend like he really wants her to stay. He doesn’t love her. He made that clear when they broke up.

———

The next time he calls is during the day. He had just snorted a shit ton of coke and he was feeling his regret at a tenfold. “Come on, Y/N. Pick up. Pick up, Beautiful,” he begs into the phone at the continual sound of the call dialling. One ring. Two rings. After the third ring, he is sent to voice mail. 

She looks down at the phone, pressing the red button with a shake of her head. “He’s a maniac if he thinks I’m going to come back.”

 Rafe throws the phone against the wall, screaming as this is sinking in. He lost her and he was never going to get her back. This thought is enough to turn him into a maniac. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[drabbles-mc]

Crunch-Time

Angel Reyes & EZ Reyes & OC Evangeline Reyes

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This exists in the same universe as Interruptions but can be read without having read that first. I have the next part of this universe written up already as well, so I'm hoping to post that over the next few days at some point. this piece and the next one are focused more on the three Reyes Siblings than Evangeline and Franky but i promise it is all gonna come back together haha. anyway! as always unedited and unbeta'd because the muse caught me by the jugular tonight lmao

The morning had been quiet so far. Mornings in the middle of the week didn’t tend to be busy times for most of the shops on the strip, and Evangeline’s was no exception. She took advantage of the lack of foot traffic, calling and emailing with the people on both sides of the border who sent her their clothes and jewelry to sell in her shop. She was far from a big name or a huge retailer, but she was good and fair to the artists and designers that she worked with. And for a lot of people who were just trying to make some extra money to get by, that was more than enough.

She was updating some of her order spreadsheets, getting to the bottom of her first coffee of the day, when the bells above her shop door chimed. Out of habit she smiled, turning her head slightly to the door even though her eyes were still on the computer screen in front of her as she spoke to the customer who had just come through the door.

“Bienvenidos! I’ll be with you in just one second.”

“Okay,” the woman responded, a twinge of uncertainty in her voice.

Her tone got Evangeline to look up and over at her, wondering what was going on that was making her sound like that. The woman was standing in the tiny little foyer area of the shop, right by the chair that her brothers usually occupied whenever they stopped by to bother her. She looked a little older, enough gray strands of hair mixed in with the brown to be prominent. She had dress bag draped over her arms. Despite the fact that the woman seemed to be trying to keep a neutral expression, Evangeline could see the worry in her eyes.

She got up and walked around the counter, stopping a few feet in front of her before asking, “How can I help you?”

The woman drew in a deep breath, and for a moment Evangeline wasn’t sure if she was trying to steady herself, or if she was about to let loose a tirade. She braced herself for both regardless. The woman locked eyes with her, lips curled into a small frown. “I’m so sorry,” she said, words tumbling out along with the deep breath she’d just taken, “just barging in like this. But I didn’t know…a friend of a friend recommended you and I just,” her shoulders slumped in defeat, “I’m in a bit of a tough spot.”

Evangeline nodded. “Okay. What kind of tough spot are we talking about?”

The woman gave a small lift of her arms, just enough to draw attention to the dress bag. “My son’s wedding is this weekend, and the dress that was supposed to be delivered a month ago isn’t going to be delivered until next week so I had to go out and buy another one but nothing fit off the rack and everywhere else is saying they can’t get it done in time,” she spoke like the sentence was never going to end, like she had been trying to pick certain bullet points to say and then just decided on all of them, “and I understand it’s short notice and it’s not their fault but I really need—”

Evangeline took a small step forward, just close enough so that she could rest her hand on the outside of the woman’s arm. “How about,” she spoke gently, “we get this on you and take a look. Let me know what you need done and I’ll see what I can do about having it ready for you before your son’s wedding.”

The woman’s eyes instantly glassed over with tears of relief as she nodded. “That would be great. Th-thank you.”

She nodded as she let her hand drop back to her side. She motioned for the woman to follow her towards the back of the store. “I’m Evangeline, by the way.”

The woman let out a shaky laugh. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even—” she shook her head, “April.”

“Nice to meet you, April.” She reached and opened up the door to the dressing room. “Let me know if you need help.”

It didn’t take long for the woman to re-emerge. Evangeline instantly smiled. The dress was beautiful—a deep purple floor length gown that was one-shoulder. From the first glance she could already tell that, unless April was planning on wearing heels high enough to snap her ankles walking down the aisle, the dress was at least going to be hemmed. If that’s all it was, she could get it done quickly, but she didn’t want to speak too soon.

“I know it’s not the dress you wanted,” she said as April stepped up onto the small platform in front of the trifold mirror, “but it looks amazing.”

She laughed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Evangeline was slipping on her wristlet that had a collection of pins and sewing needles jammed into it. “So, what are we looking to get done?”

She sighed. “I at least need it hemmed…”

Evangeline nodded as she looked at the flats the woman was wearing. “How short? Are you wearing heels or—”

She laughed and waved her off good-naturedly. “I’m too told to be worrying about heels and a dancefloor at this point. I’m just trying to make sure I don’t fall over and take my son down with me.”

Evangeline laughed. “I get it, I get it. Alright, so we’re hemming. What else?”

She motioned to the waistline. “If you could let this out a little bit maybe? Feels like I can barely breathe let alone eat.” She paused to laugh. “And I know they got a really good cake for the reception.”

Evangeline hummed in amusement. “Well, can’t have you missing out on that, can we?”

“I’d love not to.”

She nodded understandingly as they talked about a couple other small things that she was looking to have done to the dress. She made a quick lap around to get the full scope of it before giving her final verdict. “I should be able to have this ready for you by the time I close up shop on Friday.”

Shock completely absorbed her expression. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I got a couple jobs that can wait until next week. I can get this done for you as long as Friday isn’t too late.”

April’s laughter was coated in relief as she stepped down and wrapped Evangeline in a hug. “Thank you.”

She hugged her back, unable to stop herself from laughing as well. “Don’t thank me until it’s done,” she joked.

She had April step back up onto the platform so that she could start pinning her dress where it needed to be hemmed to. Now that the initial panic that caused her visit was mostly resolved, Evangeline noticed how much more relaxed they both were, but especially April. They made small talk as she walked around and placed her pins and marked where she needed to for later.

Getting the dress marked up was, surprisingly enough, the quickest part of their exchange. She understood why it was hard for April to find a place to take care of her last minute—it was prom season and the start of wedding season so most places were probably slammed. It wasn’t as though Evangeline’s schedule was painfully open, but she always tried to leave herself a little wiggle-room just in case.

The two of them were putting the dress back on the hanger after April had changed back into her regular clothes when Evangeline heard her brother’s bikes outside. Or rather, she assumed it was them—it wasn’t as though the other members of the club made a habit out of stopping by to visit her very often.

She was purposely ignoring it as she and April traded contact information. The roar of the engines stopped, moments later the door chimes rang, and Evangeline was still intent on ignoring it all. She noticed the way that April turned to look and see who had walked in, and she also noticed the momentary shift in her expression. It wasn’t a negative change, but she definitely hadn’t been expecting two men in club kuttes to walk through the door. Evangeline couldn’t blame her for the shock.

She walked with her back towards the front of the store, still not acknowledging her brothers. “I’ll give you a call first thing on Friday to let you know when you can come and pick it up.”

April had let out so many sighs of relief that she’d lost count, but she added another one to the tally. “Thank you so much. Really, I, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Of course. It was nice meeting you, April.”

She nodded. “You too.” She tucked the card that Evangeline had given her into her purse as she tried to slip past Angel and Ezekiel without getting in their way. She brushed by Angel, giving him a small nod and a kind, “Excuse me,” on the way.

There was a smirk on his face as he stepped out of her way. Hands tucked in his pockets he put on the most charming voice he had as he said, “You have a good day, Miss.”

Her smile stretched a little wider. “Thank you.”

Once the door shut behind her, Evangeline immediately rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I could kill you for how ridiculous you are. Sabes?” She gestured to EZ. “He wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Angel laughed as he held his hands up in surrender. “What? I was just bein’ n—”

“You weren’t bein’ anything good. Poor woman just trying to come in here to get a dress hemmed and she’s gotta…” she trailed off as she shook her head.

EZ was trying and failing at his attempts to stifle his laughter. He looked at Angel. “Told you we should’ve come later.”

Angel waved him off without even looking at him. “Nah, nah. This is breaking news. Can’t wait.” He focused on Evangeline. “Think I might have a job for you.”

She was shaking her head as she turned around and started returning to the back of the store. “I told you guys—I only stitch fabric. I’m not sewing up anyone in the club who—”

Angel sucked his teeth in annoyance. “No, Eva. I meant,” he huffed, thrown off his game. “Will you fuckin’ listen?”

EZ wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter anymore. Evangeline turned around and faced Angel, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing vaguely in the air. “Alright, alright. I’m listening. Dime.”

“Like I was fuckin’ saying,” Angel started again, “I think I got a job for you.” He reached dramatically into the pocket of his kutte. “Think you got time to maybe, I dunno,” he pulled out a small slip of fabric that Evangeline almost didn’t recognize for a moment, “stitch on your little brother’s Secretario patch?”

Evangeline’s smile was warm as she laughed. “Got a promotion?”

“Hell yeah,” Angel agreed.

She nodded as she folded her arms across her chest. “Congratulations, Angel.”

He gave a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. Please, don’t feel like you have to hold your fuckin’ applause.”

She laughed. “I think I still will.” She saw the way he was shaking his head at her and stepped in to hug him. “I’m happy for you, ‘manito.”

He kissed the side of her head. “Thanks.” Pulling back, he looked at the wristlet she was still wearing from her meeting with April. “Really, though. You think you could, uh, maybe stitch this—”

“Angel Ignacio. You’re not actually—”

“Just if you had some fuckin’ time, I don’t know!”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I don’t have time. Here,” she plucked a needle form her wristlet and quickly went back and grabbed a spool of thread that would be tough enough to stitch his patch on effectively and handed it to him, “This should do just fine. Won’t take you very long.” She heard and saw the way EZ was laughing and quickly turned her attention on him. “Don’t laugh too hard, Prospect. A title flash is easy—wait ‘til you need to stitch on your bottom rocker.”

It got EZ’s laughter to stop and Angel’s to pick up. He walked over, roughly shoving his shoulder against EZ’s. “Yeah, what she said. Shut the fuck—”

“That’s not what I said,” Evangeline cut him off with a laugh.

Angel waved her off. “Close enough.”

It took a few moments for all of them to stop laughing. Once they did, Evangeline asked, “You going next door to tell Pops now?”

Angel shook his head. “Nah.”

Evangeline sighed. “Angel—”

He knew where she was going next so he stopped her before she could start. Turning to look at EZ, he said, “We do gotta ask him about delivering to the clubhouse though. Cater the celebration.” He returned his attention back to his sister. “This one you actually gotta show up for. Since it’s for me.” He grinned.

EZ laughed. “It’s not just—”

Angel held his hand up. “Shut it, Prospect.” He raised his eyebrows. “You gonna come through?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s Friday! Not even a work night!”

She tilted her head in confusion. “That’s still a work night for me, you know.”

He let out the type of groan someone would expect from a petulant child not getting their way. “Come on, Eva. It’s gonna be a good time. Other charters coming through and shit.”

Normally she made it a habit not to hang around the clubhouse too often. She had no bad blood towards the club, not really. Everyone was just doing what they knew how to do in order to get from one day to the next. She was no different than them in that regard—her means were just different than theirs. She didn’t hold it against them but she also wasn’t going to let it upend the life she had been working very hard for years to create for herself.

Her guest appearances were rare. Every now and then if one of her brothers had needed something she would stop by. Sometimes she wouldn’t even go past the main office for the scrapyard, leaving whatever she’d brought with Chucky and a note. She could count on one hand the number of parties that she could say that she really went to. The look in Angel’s eyes had her thinking that that miniscule number was about to go up by one.

“I’m gonna be late,” she finally conceded after a few more seconds of silence, “’cause I’ve got some stuff I’ll need to catch up on but—”

Angel was already hugging her and laughing. “That’s what I thought!” He let her go and started to backpedal towards the door. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to work. Gonna go tell Pops we need him Friday too.” He looked at EZ and nodded towards the door. “C’mon, he ain’t gonna say yes unless you’re the one asking.”

EZ chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll catch up in a sec.”

Angel opened the door, calling back to his sister, “Love you!”

“You better!” Evangeline was still shaking her head at him even when he was out of sight. She walked the rest of the way back to take the purple dress off its hanger and put it on the dress form to start working. She was lowering herself down to the floor to get started when she said, “What’s on your mind, Ezekiel?”

He shrugged, hands holding the edges of his kutte as he walked back to her. “Nothin’. Now I’m just stressing about having to stitch on my rocker in a few months.”

Evangeline laughed. “If you’re really up a creek with it maybe I’ll help.” She paused, still not looking directly at him as she reiterated, “But really, what’s going on?”

He paused as he tried to figure out how to go about trying to start the conversation that he wanted to have. “If you don’t wanna go…”

She looked up at him for a moment. “Angel’s very excited. I don’t have a problem showing up for a little while for him. It’s fine—I don’t need you to give me a pass.”

“You’re not excited though.”

She allowed herself to fully plop down on the floor. She kept her legs bent so that she could drape her arms across her knees. “I…I’m glad that it’s going well for him. For both of you, actually. I know that this,” she made a vague gesture towards his kutte, “is what you’ve both chosen to do. And you’re apparently very good at it. I’m glad you found something together.”

“Yeah but you’d rather—”

“There’s no rather,” she cut him off but made sure to keep her tone calm. “We’re all grown, EZ. We’ve,” she chuckled, “we’ve been grown. You should know that better than…” she trailed off. “We’re all just doing what we have to do to be okay. I’m not going to start holding that against you or Angel now.”

“Really?”

Evangeline was too smart to take the bait that was packed into his tone. She gave a simple nod and a small smile. “Really.” Before he could try to push her farther, she gestured towards the door. “Angel was right—he’s gonna need your help getting Pop to agree to play caterer for you guys.”

He frowned for a moment, not expecting the dismissal. “Right.” He started to back up towards the door. “See you Friday then.”

She nodded, still offering a smile. “You will.” She watched as he turned and walked. “Ezekiel?”

He paused at the door, fingers wrapped around the handle but he didn’t push as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Love you.”

The frustration disappeared from his face, at least for the moment. “Love you.”

Mayans Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!):

@garbinge @withmyteeth @darqchilddaydreamz @artemiseamoon @proceduralpassion

@justreblogginfics @narcolini @cositapreciosa @fanfic-n-tabulous

[zorilleerrant]

Hello, I saw you say that you'd be willing to take SteveTony prompts? If it's not too much trouble, can you do no one believes they're dating?

When does this take place in the timeline? Listen. Don't worry about it. We'll fix it in post. Humor, little bit of fluff. 2k.

“Oh, Captain America!” the teacher says, surprising Steve into an awkward smile. She twirls her hair self-consciously just the slightest bit, and then clears her throat and gives him a professional nod. “Sorry, do you have a meeting here or something?”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it again, and dithers a little bit over what to say. “I’m here for Peter Parker?” Is it awkward? he wonders, watching the teacher’s grin turn into a frown, as she looks around for her student. Maybe it is. Tony picks him up often enough, but Steve isn’t so much the step-dad as the step-mentor, and that isn’t really a thing, so it’s probably normal that she’s confused.

Thankfully, that’s the moment Peter chooses to walk up to them, say, “hey, Steve,” and take advantage of Steve’s enhanced reflexes to corner him into both a hi and low five. “I’m at Stark Industries again, today,” Peter reminds his teacher, saving Steve from that explanation to both his and the teacher’s grateful looks.

“Of course, right, you’re teammates with Mr. Stark,” the teacher says, and writes something on her clipboard, and waves a friendly goodbye to them as she turns back to the rest of the students.

“She’s keeping track of our community service,” Peter explains, which, unfortunately, doesn’t help Steve understand at all. “A lot of people fake their hours, apparently? So we have to do, like, regular check-ins.” He gives Steve a look like he shouldn’t have to explain all of this, and Steve can’t even be sure if it’s the kind of look that people are meant to give him for being a little out of his time, or if it’s just the teenager thing. He gave those looks, often enough.

“I thought you had Tony sign something for that?” Steve says. He is paying attention, it’s just that he isn’t working on developing any of their prosthetic limbs, and won’t be until Tony comes to him, frazzled in the middle of the night, muttering about how he can’t get skin tones to look right in the rubber, and how most of them look a little too gray. That Steve will be happy to talk him through, one of these days. “Anyway, I just assumed your school would be a little more progressive than it was back there.”

“Oh, yeah, they thought it might be forged, probably because I forged it. Mr. Stark always forgets to sign stuff,” Peter tells him, doing some sort of jump and half flip across a mailbox as they turn the corner to the garage. At a Look, he doesn’t do the same to any of the cars. “What wasn’t progressive?”

“Well, she called Tony my teammate,” Steve says, then considers it for a moment. She also called him Captain America, though, so it isn’t like the Avengers weren’t on her mind. Maybe he’s reading too much into things. It’s not like everyone follows his love life in the scandal sheets. He doesn’t either; he wouldn’t even know what they’ve said.

“Um, that is your teammate, unless you’ve decided to have another war no one told me about,” Peter says, and then looks at him anxiously enough that Steve has to refrain from patting him on the head. No teenager wants to be treated like a small dog in a lightning storm, especially not the small ones. “Right?”

“Right,” Steve agrees, getting Peter to relax enough to actually get in the car. Well, what did he expect her to say? Boyfriend sounds so immature and partner is probably presumptuous at this stage, at least coming from a stranger. He doesn’t know what he would say under the circumstances, either, so, well, it’s probably fine. “I guess at least she didn’t call me your step-dad. Your teachers don’t think Tony is secretly your dad anymore, right?” Steve double-checks.

“Ha! No,” Peter says. Steve makes sure they’re both buckled up before he starts the car, and heads out of the city, hoping traffic will decide to be elsewhere so they can get on the open road. “Wait, are you and Tony finally dating? How many dates have you been on? Did someone take your picture at dinner or something?”

“What do you mean finally,” Steve says, looking skeptically at the kid, “we’ve been dating for more than a year, now. You knew this.”

“I didn’t know this! Don’t tell me what I know! If I knew I would’ve made you an anniversary card,” Peter says, a little wistfully, shaking his head. “I’ve got this great shot of, like, two squirrels, where, if we’re being honest, they were probably fighting over that nut, but still. And you guys fight all the time, so it would be fine.”

“We do not fight all the time!” Steve says, aghast. It’s one thing for Peter to take it in stride, but he thought Peter took the relationship in stride a year ago, when they told everyone, and also the news. Do people think they fight all the time? What exactly are the other Avengers telling the kid to make him think that?

“No, you totally had that showdown one time,” Peter disagrees. Beaming, he adds, “I punched you in the face!”

“Everyone punched everyone in the face!” Steve says, taking deep, even breaths so he doesn’t drive them off the road, “that’s not how our relationship is!”

“Well, I hope not, because that had way too many governments involved,” Peter says, pulling his phone out of his backpack and composing messages to someone. “Not to sound too much like a hippie, but I was raised to believe the government should stay out of people’s relationships anyway, you know? I wouldn’t like them in mine. So, what, like, three dates? Or haven’t you had your first one, yet?”

“A year,” Steve says again, and they proceed to argue back and forth for what would otherwise feel like a much shorter drive to the practice arena.

Steve would usually feel the need to open the door for the kid, even though car doors are easy now and even really little kids don’t have trouble with them. But Peter’s still halfway convinced they haven’t been dating long at all, and insisting he’s going to call Tony for confirmation. (He hasn’t, yet. Whoever he’s been texting ‘agrees with him’, and therefore can’t be Tony, unless Steve’s really confused.)

“Can someone here please convince Peter that I would know if my relationship were brand new,” Steve says, leaving every door flung open on his way inside. Natasha looks up at him in amusement, puts her gun back together by feel, and gives him that quirked eyebrow that invites him to elaborate. “The kid thinks we’ve only been dating days, if that.”

Tossing a glance over her shoulder at Peter, Natasha turns back to ask, “who does he think you’re dating? Or not dating, I guess.” She doesn’t even wait until he’s all the way in the locker room to ask, so they’re both treated to an eyeroll.

Steve slaps a towel angrily on one of the weight machines, and then has to rearrange it more gently so it doesn’t fall off. “Tony. Peter says we’re adorable and he would know better than I would whether we’re dating.” The weight machine is already set to Steve’s standard, and he realizes that they’ve all gravitated towards favorites in this gym. Possibly they should do something about that? To vary up their training.

“Oh, well, yeah,” Natasha says, tugging on the lever to start the climbing tower’s ascent so Peter can practice on it. It starts whirring to life, giving Steve a minute to think Natasha’s about to comfort him before it quiets down and she adds, “the kid thinks you two are cute, and I can see why. I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm in claiming you’re dating.”

“We are dating,” Steve says, plaintively, suddenly concerned he’s somehow in a coma and only dreamt every bit of it. Long walks on the beach are a standard, right? Holding hands as they frolicked across the sand could be pure imagination. Luxurious candlelit dinners, well, he can remember how everything tasted, but Steve easily could’ve eaten that food by himself, lit his own candles, only wished Tony could be there. Did he imagine all the soft words?

For a moment, he’s slightly worried he’s still inside that terrible machine, waiting to see if he can be reforged into a weapon, and dreaming endlessly instead.

“Well, finally,” Natasha says, clapping him on the back hard enough to jolt Steve out of his reverie. She flashes him an approving grin, and it settles into a real smile. She takes the bench next to his – well, she sits on it, anyway – and says, “I’ve been waiting to see how long it would take you. You two are so stubborn, even with all of our hints.”

“Stubborn?” Steve says, incredulously. He manages to drop the weights with a clang, and be glad he isn’t using free weights after all. “We’ve been dating. We’ve been dating for a year. We announced it officially!” It’s tempting to hang his head in his hands, but Steve’s never one to give up without a fight, so he steels himself, and tugs against the weights again. They move slowly as he tries to be methodical.

“Wait, what? I thought that was a publicity stunt,” Natasha says, bending backwards to call out, “Clint! Wasn’t the Steve and Tony thing a publicity stunt?” At Steve’s incensed look, she shrugs unabashedly and makes a vague gesture that isn’t anything like an apology. “They were doing that for political reasons, right?”

“Right,” Clint agrees, pulling down free weights and taking a seat near them. His form is way too show-offy. Steve is convinced he spends his spare time using tiny weights on his fingers to get his arm muscles to look just right, but Steve may just be angry Natasha’s convinced him that his relationship is some kind of sham marriage. “For Pride Month.”

“For Pride Month!” Steve repeats, unable to form a response even inside his own mind. They orchestrated an entire pretend relationship for – well, honestly, he doesn’t even know what for. Would that even be useful? What isn’t useful is angrily tugging at his weights, but he can’t think of anything better to do. Clint is curling his little free weights, and Natasha looks half asleep in a handstand dead center on the nearby mat, and Peter’s already jumped up to the top of the climbing tower as it continues slowly moving higher, which is cheating.

It’s long minutes before Steve can think again. Long enough minutes that the irritation has cooled into something like dry amusement, and his weights have warmed him up enough to add more to them, starting to feel that nice itch in his muscles. So he’s only reminded that he’s supposed to be annoyed when Tony walks up to him and sweeps him into a kiss – a relief to the slight part of him that was convinced he really did make some of this up. Although, to be fair, he thinks that’s the same romantic part of him that always enjoys making googly eyes at Tony from across the room, even after a year, even minutes after the last googly eyes.

“Uh oh,” Tony says, taking a step back, “am I in trouble?” Of course, Steve’s already busy gazing at him fondly, and Tony’s expression softens, too. They could probably live lifetimes in each other’s eyes loudly enough to annoy everyone around them.

Which reminds Steve, “why do all these unobservant jerks who claim to be our teammates think that we aren’t dating?” He takes a moment to step closer to Tony, so he can cling a little to his tank top, something that always seems like it should be intimate and sweet, but is really better done before anyone starts to exercise too hard. Bending their heads together to touch softly at the temple is also better done before anyone has a chance to work up a sweat, and Tony kisses him thoroughly for it.

“They what?” Tony asks, through the middle of the kiss, arm coming up around Steve’s back to pull him closer. Tony runs a thumb across Steve’s jaw even as he looks around at everyone else, “they think we’re not dating?”

“You guys want to start dating?” another voice booms from the doorway, as a second adds, “this is joyful news!”

Tony, to Steve’s relief, stares just as incredulously at the newcomers as Steve would, if he hadn’t sat back down heavily on the bench so he could press his face against Tony’s stomach and heave sobs that are only half faked. Come to think of it, a lot of conversations are making more sense now. Or less sense, given that he didn’t think they were being secret.

Tony’s laughter rumbles against Steve’s head. “I knew the news didn’t quite believe us, but, you guys. You guys. Come on.” He tugs Steve’s chin up again, and gives him a soft kiss, just a peck, really. It’s the look that really does it. There’s nothing tentative about the way they meet each other’s eyes; it’s a trust built over many, many conversations about their hopes, and their worries, and nothing at all.

Yet another person calling finally echoes across the room.

[vulpes-fennec]

Sandcastles in the Sky

Summary: When Elain borrows her best friend's beach house after a tough breakup, she's ready for nothing but peace and quiet. What she doesn't expect is for her new neighbor to be such a giant pain in her ass.

Part 2 of ACOTAR Writing Circle organized by @azrielshadowssing! You can read Part 1 by @kingofsummer93 here

Oh god, it was Graysen, no doubt about it. How the hell did he manage to find Vassa’s beach house? The man couldn’t even find the clit on a good day. 

“Elain? I know you’re in there. Can we just talk? Please? The storm is getting crazy out here.” That grating voice was begging loudly on the porch. 

God, Elain hated being such a pushover. But better to deal with it now before Graysen became more desperate, right? Elain wrapped her cardigan around her shoulders tightly as she made her way through the door. Sure enough, Elain could make out her ex-fiance’s face in the twilight. 

“What do you want?” she asked, opening the door just enough to let her face peek out.

He was a relic from another era of her life, so out of place in his gray suit on a rotting wood porch. Graysen breathed out a sigh of relief. “You’re safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Elain’s annoyance rose a smidge higher.

He gestured down the street of beach shacks. “You’re practically in the middle of nowhere, Elain. Something could have happened to you.” There was a vague undercurrent of patronizing in his tone, as if he didn’t quite believe in her ability to take care of herself. 

“How did you find me?” Elain demanded, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. God, she should’ve just pretended she wasn’t home. 

Graysen gave her a pointed look. “I still have your location on my phone.” Ah, shit. She forgot to get rid of that, too. 

“Look, I know things haven’t been great between us these last few months. I shouldn’t have kicked you out, shouldn’t have been more focused on the wedding than on you. If you need to take a break, just tell me.” 

“Graysen,” Elain sighed, feeling like she was trying to explain simple addition to a child. “I’m not trying to take a break.”

“Well, we should at least talk about what went wrong, Lainey,” Graysen protested. 

“It’s just not going to work out,” Elain cried, exasperated. “We outgrew each other, okay? Our friends don’t align, our families don’t align, our values don’t align…it’s not going to happen. It’s over.” 

Graysen’s face twisted in barely suppressed anger. How could she have once thought him handsome? It had only been a few weeks, but the man was a complete stranger to her now. He had been, for quite some time. “Something’s wrong, Lainey,” he gritted out. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

Elain’s mind flicked towards Lucien. So what if she already found other people attractive? She’d only met him today, so it was simply preposterous for Graysen to suggest she was cheating on him. 

“There is no one else,” she snapped. “It’s over, Graysen. We. Are. Done. And stop calling me Lainey. I’m sick of it.” She pried off the diamond engagement ring, giving it back to him as an added measure. 

Elain was expecting Graysen to yell, to beg on his knees, or to snatch the ring away and drive off. Elain did not expect Graysen to grab her wrist when she extended the ring out. And for him to yank her down the steps of the front porch, attempting to drag her back to his car. 

Her scream was drowned out by the clap of thunder. Elain scrambled for a hold on the porch column, on the ground, anything to keep Graysen from hauling her into his car. 

A wayward brick, spillover from Lucien’s messy front yard, was her salvation. It was heavy with the weight of the wasted years and countless memories as she swung it clumsily at the side of Graysen’s head. His eyes crossed as he slumped to the ground, iron fist loosening around her wrist. 

The rain soaked into her hair, running down her face in little streams. Elain’s jeans had ripped at the knee, and there was even mud staining the front of her shirt.

Elain swore loudly when she noticed the red blood leaking down his temple. Fuck, what if she’d killed him? Her adrenaline abated slightly when her fingers found a fluttering pulse on the side of his neck. He was simply knocked out.

The rain stopped. No, it didn’t stop—it was being kept at bay thanks to Lucien holding a large umbrella over her. His red hair had been pulled back from his handsome face in a low ponytail, and his brows were creased with concern. 

“That’s a strong arm you’ve got there, Elain,” he observed. “Are you alright?” 

***Lucien***

Turns out the asshole who had practically tried to kidnap Elain Archeron was her ex-fiance, Graysen Nolan. With his gray suit and neatly trimmed hair, Graysen looked just like one of his half-brother Eris’s arrogant big-law coworkers.

While Elain was more than happy to leave Graysen lying there, Lucien had opted to call the ambulance. That would leave the prick several thousand dollars lighter and free of any liabilities. The paramedics checked Graysen’s vitals, strapped his still-unconscious form to the gurney, and drove away in a matter of minutes. 

Elain was shivering as the frigid wind chilled her already dampened clothes. “What if Graysen tries to press charges when he wakes up?” she fretted through chattering teeth. 

“Don’t worry, I was able to capture a video of him trying to drag you to his car,” Lucien assured Elain. “I can send them to Vassa—and you—once I have reception again.” He offered his phone to her.

“You’re telling me that you just stood there filming me and my ex in an argument?” Elain raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You seem like a lady who can take care of herself.” Lucien rebutted smoothly, pointing to the very brick Elain had used to strike Graysen with. “My brother’s a lawyer, and he’s always emphasized the power of evidence in a case. Besides, if he managed to get you into his car, I would have hopped on my bike and chased him down for you.” 

Like a modern day knight in shining armor. Lucien gave her a crooked smile and wink that hopefully softened Elain’s skepticism. His gleaming motorcycle was safely covered in the shed, but it had been proudly displayed when Elain pulled up to Vassa’s house. 

“Alright then.” Elain’s cheeks turned pink as she added her number to Lucien’s contacts. Lucien’s heart was pitter-pattering like the rain on the ground, for once Elain finished typing her phone number, she would surely turn and leave. 

“Say, how about you chill at my place until the power comes back on?” Lucien suggested, before she could say goodbye. “You can dry off and I can cook you dinner.” 

Elain blinked. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly bother you,” she tried to say, but then stopped. “I suppose I didn’t have a chance to purchase many groceries…I can stay for a snack and then be out of your hair?”

“Nonsense,” Lucien chuckled. “Vassa would give me an earful if I offered you unhealthy snacks for dinner.”

“She would,” Elain smiled. “Alright, I’ll come over.”

“Any dietary restrictions?” Lucien asked as they started up the short path to his house next door. Elain shook her head. “Home sweet home.” Lucien flicked on the light. Oh god, he’d forgotten how much of a mess his house was. He had not expected Elain to come over so quickly. 

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Elain exclaimed as she took in the warm lighting in Lucien’s living room. “Vassa said you had a generator.” 

Lucien gestured to the ceiling. “Solar panels and a battery, actually.” he replied.

“Very sustainable of you,” Elain observed appreciatively. Lucien’s sharp eyes noticed the small, satisfied smile she tried to hide from him. He suppressed the urge to point it out, and directed Elain to the upstairs bathroom, providing her with a hair dryer, fresh towels, and a soft baggy shirt and clean sweatpants instead. 

Lucien did some hasty cleaning while Elain was freshening up: shelving books, rearranging cushions, and wiping down surfaces. He was almost done remodeling his beach house: two bedrooms, with wooden refurbished furniture; a spacious kitchen, complete with the latest gadgets; bathroom, with restored vintage hardware; a cozy living room; and a mini basement that had been converted into a wine cellar. The only thing left was the yard, which was in desperate need of a garden. 

Mushrooms, garlic, and bell peppers were expertly chopped before sauteed on the stove. The vegetables would go nicely with the leftover cilantro-lime rice from last night. And Lucien had gone to the fishmonger today, purchasing fresh cod filets that would pair well with lemon and dijon mustard flavors.

Earlier that day, he had been organizing the bedroom on his second floor when a rental car rolled into Vassa’s driveway with a stunning woman in the driver’s seat. One of Vassa’s distant cousins, perhaps? 

Lucien was nosy, so he’d turned off his music and listened to her hash it out with “Graysen” over the phone. Watched her struggle up the steps of Vassa’s beach house with a large pink suitcase. The lady was even more beautiful once she’d stepped out into the sun, with her golden brown loose curls fluttering in the wind, big brown eyes, and perfectly kissable mouth. 

And then he’d promptly gotten a call from Vassa, saying her friend Elain Archeron had broken up with her good-for-nothing fiance three weeks ago. “She’s going to stay at the cottage for a few weeks. I think the two of you would get along very well,” Vassa had chirped. “And…if you want to take things a bit further, you have my approval!”

He could practically see Vassa kicking her feet and giggling once she’d hung up. Despite rolling his eyes, Lucien couldn’t help but grin. He’d just finished plating the food when Elain came down the stairs. 

“That smells amazing,” she called out appreciatively. 

Lucien turned around and immediately felt breathless. Elain looked positively beautiful with her hair freshly dry and loose. And though the shirt and sweatpants were far too baggy for her lithe form, seeing her wear his old clothes satisfied that primal male pride. 

“I figured a hot meal on a cold night would be better than processed food. Please, have a seat.” Lucien watched anxiously as Elain took her first bite.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” she sighed. “Really, I didn’t even know how hungry I was until I started eating. Do you like to cook?” 

“I do,” he replied, his heart swelling with pride at her praise. 

“Do you bake?” she pressed.

“I don’t,” Lucien confessed. “Do you?” 

“I like to bake.” Elain’s face brightened visibly. “Vassa failed to mention that her house didn’t have an oven. Can you believe it? No oven? I mean, I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But I just can’t believe a family could live without an oven!” 

Lucien laughed. “You’re free to use my oven anytime,” he offered. “As long as I get to take a 25 percent cut of whatever you make.” 

“Of course. Baked goods are always meant to be shared.” Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, causing some of the cutlery to rattle. The two shared a surprisingly comfortable silence for a couple bites. “What brings you to Long Island?” 

“Soul-searching.” Lucien shrugged. “I’m from Montreal, actually. Last summer, I learned that my mom had an affair with her college sweetheart…and he’s my real father.” 

“Oh my god. How do you feel about it? Are you okay?” 

“Overall, it’s a good thing? The man who raised me was pretty abusive, and he passed away last year. And my mom got back together with Helion.” Lucien didn’t always dwell on the horrors Beron inflicted on him. On his family. He didn’t realize his hand was trembling until Elain laid her hand over it.

The softness of her hands grounded him, drawing away his fears. Elain’s brown eyes were wide, but she did not look at him with pity like so many others did.

“Helion treats her well, thankfully. But it’s been hard for me to wrap my mind around it…to view this stranger as my father. And to finally work through all the trauma. So I quit my corporate job, bought this place with the money Beron had left us, and took up contracting full time. Therapy, self-care, all that jazz.” 

“That must be incredibly difficult.” Elain withdrew her hand, and Lucien’s fingers twitched slightly at the sudden emptiness. “I hope Long Island is to your liking?” 

“I’ll be okay,” Lucien assured her. “Plenty of work to be found here, decent weather…comparatively,” he added with a smile, seeing the disbelieving look Elain gave at the storm lashing outside. “It’s a quaint town. Great people, though.” 

“Yeah,” Elain smiled. “Are you remodeling this house for…?”

“Maybe a vacation home,” Lucien shrugged. “If I ever have a family of my own, it could be a nice place to stay at during the summer.”

“Oh? Are you...dating anybody?” Elain asked. Her voice was neutral, but there was an apprehensive look in her eyes. Like she was at the edge of her seat waiting for his answer.

“Nope,” Lucien leaned back in his chair. “Single for three years and counting.” 

Elain’s jaw dropped. “No way,” she blurted out. “A guy like you?” 

“Just waiting for the right lady to come around,” Lucien chuckled. He tilted his head slightly, regarding Elain with a level gaze that made her blush. It wasn’t like him to be so forward with a woman who had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, but there was something so undeniably compatible between him and Elain, he couldn’t help it. She seemed delicate at first glance with her soft smiles and blushing cheeks, but Elain clearly had some fire to her. And Lucien liked that. 

“And you?” he asked. “What brings you here?”

“I’m sure Vassa already told you.” Elain grinned. 

Lucien held his hands up in the air. “Guilty,” he laughed. “She said you’d be here after breaking off your engagement. But of all the places to go, why Long Island?” 

“Graysen and I were living together, so of course when I broke up with him, he kicked me out,” Elain answered ruefully. “Vassa was probably too nice to sexile me, but Jurian’s roommates probably need a break.”

Lucien laughed. “Those two are definitely a handful whenever they’re together.” 

“Yeah. My parents have passed away, so no family home to return to. My older sister is in law school in California. My younger sister is working in London right now.” 

“Damn,” Lucien whistled. “How are you doing after the breakup?” 

“Relieved, actually,” Elain confessed. “It’s one of those relationships where everything seemed perfect in the beginning, but it became clear Graysen didn’t truly see me…as me. I think having a girlfriend elevated his status, and he didn’t care enough to keep the relationship alive after the honeymoon phase was over.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Lucien grimaced. “He sounds like a real ass.” 

Elain sighed and ran her hands through her loose curls. “Yeah, I should’ve left him earlier. But I’ll be here, working remotely for the foreseeable future. It’s nice to have a neighbor like you around.” Again, that delectable tell-tale blush creeping up the side of her neck.

“I can only hope I’m sufficiently good company.” Lucien reined in the urge to lay himself at her feet, to offer more than just friendship. “Well, here’s to new beginnings, for both of us.” 

“To new beginnings,” Elain agreed with a knowing look that made his blood heat, as she clinked her glass against his. Just as he raised the glass to his lips, the light went out. 

“Well, shit. The battery juices have run out,” Lucien groaned. “Sorry about that, Elain.” 

A/N: Yes...the garden is incomplete but symbolically when Elain and Lucien get together, she'll create a lovely garden that completes his--their--home (home is where the heart is, amirite?)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

could you write another why haven’t you been eating with vaxleth but it’s Vax that’s the one who hasn’t eaten and keyleth finds

43. "Why haven't you been eating?" this is set in grow with the flow! tw: depression

Vax isn't as slick as he likes to think he is. Keyleth notices when the shadows in the apartment start to coalesce, when his eyes dim in the string lights she's hung to make their tiny studio feel less like a shoebox. His smile hasn't reach his eyes in days, and she's still learning the steps to this dance, when it's okay to push and when she needs to let him come to her. She hears him talk to his sister on the phone and wonders if Vex can hear it too, the dull edge in his voice, like the script he's reading from isn't particularly interesting. They've been together long enough that Keyleth doesn't take it personally anymore, except for the gnawing guilt in the pit of her stomach that she doesn't know the right thing to say to breathe life back into him.

So on one chilly autumn night, when the sky is black as a raven's feather and the moon is swollen and bright, Keyleth slides up behind him on the bed, hooks her chin over his shoulder, and plucks the phone he's been doom-scrolling on out of his hand. She ignore his "Hey!" of protest to point past him at the dinner left untouched on the bedspread beside his knee. "Why haven't you been eating?"

His whole body tenses, so she wraps her arms around his middle. He's skinnier, she can feel it. "Not hungry."

Sometimes, this conversation can be like pulling teeth. "For four days? Because that's how long it's been since I've seen you put anything in your mouth."

"Something in particular you'd like me to put in my mouth, Kiki?" But neither of them find his joke very funny.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" There's a long silence as he picks at the stitching in the bedspread. "It's okay if there isn't. But...I miss you. When you go away like this. And even though I know you'll come back to me, I can't help but worry in the meantime."

His body sags back into hers, just a bit, but she holds him up. "It's just...the food." He shrugs. "It tastes like ash."

She presses a kiss to the crook of his neck. "Do you think...maybe getting some help could...help?"

"Hey." He peels one of her hands from his middle and plays with her fingers. "I'm fine, really. Just...in a funk."

"I mean, I'm no expert, but when I'm in a funk, I make Tiktoks exposing my plants for being drama queens. I don't go four days without eating because food tastes like ash." She squeezes him tighter. "I don't want your world to be bland and gray. You're the brightest person I know. You deserve that light, too."

Vax sniffs once. "Yeah. I don't know. I don't want Vex to worry."

Keyleth snorts. "Too late for that, dude. She texted me an hour ago to let me know she could get black market Zoloft if we needed it. I think Percy's physically blocking the door to stop her from charging across town right this very moment."

For the first time in over a week, Vax smiles a smile that doesn't send Keyleth's heart sinking into her stomach. "Yeah, she's pretty great." He turns to look at her, and there's a warmth in his eyes that nearly brings Keyleth to tears. "So are you."

"So are you." She kisses his forehead. "If you eat your dinner, I'll let you play with my hair."

He laughs, and hope swoops fast and bright through Keyleth's chest. "You'll let me play with your hair, anyway."

"Eat, or I'm blending it into a slurry and baby birding it to you until you don't look quite so much like death."

"Rude." But he obliges her, picking up the plate of leftover pasta and popping some into his mouth. He's going to be okay, she knows that, but she's gonna be here every step of the way until she's sure, until the winter passes and spring blooms in his eyes once again.

[vinegar-rights]

thoughts on my version of little shop of horrors: seymours mother :p (read tags plz)

I like to combine aspects of the 1986 and the 1960 films :3.

He was put up for adoption as a baby, too expensive to care for a child. Seymour grew up assuming he was an orphan and was put into the custody of Mr. Mushnik. As he became older, he figured that he DID have a biological mother and she was still alive. He tried to reach out to meet her, but she refused to keep contact. He never met her until he became more well known, with newspapers covering the story of him and his new special plant. His success reached her and Seymour was delighted to know that he was finally going to meet his mother after so many years. Who knew fame was this powerful?

She requested that he visit her apartment for dinner. The woman was older, with messy gray-white hair and eyes that matched seymours, mousey and nervous. She welcomed her son but not without a quick check-up, only to make sure he won't drop dead right at that moment.

The apartment was messy, but no smell of mildew or sight of mold. A clean-ish hoarding situation, there were boxes everywhere full of who knows what and half-used first aid kits. The lack of bugs is what made Seymour confused, cockroaches were a common bug, especially in more drafty, more run down apartments like in Skid Row. He developed a bit of a phobia, growing up around the critters in skid rows home for boys. Dirty. Gross. Even as an adult he sometimes would sit up in bed in the middle of the night, scanning his room for any nocturnal bugs that would skitter in for shelter from the elements.

Seymour was immediately put off by the kitchen, where dinner was cooking. His mother had been talking the entire time, rambling something about the shop and what was in the paper that day, he tuned her out as he became more aware of his surroundings. The kitchen had bottles full of medicine, pill bottles aligned in rows on the counter, and already there's a napkin out with a glass of water with an assortment of pills that are ready to be consumed.

he noticed Seymour's quietness and slight discomfort, who was gazing at the view of her kitchen. She turned to explain her many issues, bad back, sinus infection, constant cold, her appendix got removed recently, ect. Her explanation managed to visibly calm her son's nerves, but he was still eyeing what was on the stove. Seymour tried not to pay mind to his mother's cooking, she was gracious enough to try to form a connection with him, and even asked him to come over! He turned to her to change the subject, he didn't want it to seem like he was judging her. They talked throughout the afternoon about what happened in the past years, and how they found each other. Most of the conversation was directed at Seymour: How did you find the plant? What kind is it? Oh, its a cross between a flytrap and what exactly? You don't know? You must be getting a lot of press, any opportunities? You were asked to host a TV show?ect. There were so many questions that Seymour wasn't to ask his own, he wanted to know why it took so long to talk to her, where was she this entire time, why didn't she reach out first?

Eventually, she passed him a bowl of whatever was in the pot in the kitchen. He didn't notice any food on the counter. The soup smelled sweet, like cough syrup. He opted to drink more of the water she offered, but he didn't want to be rude, he consumed some of the dinner. She grinned as she ate her food with her son, explaining that this is a staple of her household. The aftertaste after one spoonful made his whole body shiver as if he drank bitter wine. Out of fear of potentially offending her and risking her cutting him off forever, he ate a little bit more, cringing at the taste. Quickly he started becoming nauseous. He paused, looking more closely at the bowl, there was little to no actual food, there was a broth of course, but little to no items that would be the cause of this spike in anxiety and confusion. Something dawned on him. While his mother was watching him in between spoonfuls, she asked if he was okay. He nodded but politely declined any more. His newly reunited mother was either horribly ill all the time or a hypochondriac. He didn't need a high school education to know that. The pills and bottles on the counter were another explanation. This wasn't regular soup. She was drugging him. He sat up from the realization, and his mother became more worried at his sudden change of personality. She asked him if he was alright again, if he didn't like her food. He replied hastily that it was amazing, it's just that he remembered he left the stove on-- no, he needed to check on twoey, around this time her leaves should get washed. She accepted that explanation, and began pushing him out the door to help him on his way to Mushnik and Sons. As soon as Seymour was on the sidewalk outside of her apartment, he turned to an alleyway nearby. Fearful of whatever was in his system, he tried to throw up.

He became experienced when he accidentally ingested pesticide as a child and had to induce vomiting to avoid a hospital visit. He ran home, still feeling some residual effects of the drugs, despite only ingesting a little. The shop was empty and dark, Mr. Mushnik and Audrey went home early that day. He drank water and tried to calm himself. He found himself leaning next to audrey ii's pot, mind racing from the events that transpired. His strange mother, the apartment, the "food".

Tears sprang from his eyes as he thought everything over. She only cared to reach out as soon as he became famous. She didn't care to reach out to what was presumably her only child and never gave an explanation as to why she gave him away. He felt used. Defeated, he cried into his clammy hands. Why is everyone so cruel? Was twoey right? That some people were evil by fault and needed to die? His thoughts were deafening his senses, and didn't notice a vine curl around his body and pulled toward the sentient plant. Twoey could read his mind, which was why she knew what his innermost desires were. Turns out trying to get Seymour to reunite with his mother was a bad idea. He tired himself out after 2 hours, one of her vines snaked around his wrist and fingers, sensing Seymour's ratial artery to monitor his heart rate. He was asleep eventually, blanketed by twoeys vines and leaves. Thanks to Seymour, Orin left twoey satisfied for the past week, though maybe she could convince him again for another meal sometime soon.

[mothwithapencil]

Speaking of Jacq: the other day my wife and I discovered why there's tons of pixiv ship art of him and Clavell. And looking into it, that's cool I think. Also some of his lines in SCVI threw me down a huge rabbit hole of analysis and speculation almost completely unrelated to shipping but very much related to character ages, the professors, Area Zero, the Pokedex, and the really fucked up technological Pokemon timeline. This contains heavy spoilers and gets kind of ramble-y so sit down and get comfortable.

It appears Jacq is older than one would initially assume. He and Clavell worked together as researchers a long time ago. This promptly throws a ton of shit into question (see the list above).

In Jacq's class he's talking about when he made the Pokedex app and says something like "But that was waaay before I started teaching. In fact, Director Clavell wasn't in education at that time either! He was a researcher working alongside me at the same facility," which would have to imply Jacq has been around for much longer than he appears.

He was a researcher, which requires a degree, worked at a facility with Clavell for enough time to develop a Pokedex, and then there's whatever amount of time "waaay before I started teaching" means.

It's incredibly likely that "the same facility" meant the Area Zero labs with the professors. Not only because Clavell was there too. Area Zero has tons of hexagon symbolism. Most notably the unidentified hexagon-shell pokemon that's allegedly coming in the DLC and the Zero Gate being covered in hexagons. Although it's just the shape of his glasses, Jacq working with Clavell who also worked with the professors at Area Zero seems too intentional of a design choice.

And tbh Jacq and the professors look like they could potentially be around the same age? Roughly? Trying to map out stuff timeline-age wise is difficult.

On the topic of what the hell happened with Clavell and the professors and apparently also Jacq, I think all of them experienced some accelerated hair graying due to being around fluctuating time machine shit for a while... Which idk how that would happen but it's cool as fuck! We don't know what the professors looked like when they died or what they would have looked like had they not died. They could have had some graying or other aging too, probably the most of anyone. My wife brought this up after I wrote all this, but this could also be why Jacq looks so much younger than he is. An unstable flow of time could definitely fuck with one's appearance in a couple ways methinks.

I also feel like Clavell would have been extremely stressed after the Area Zero stuff because he was closer with the professors. I can't imagine that knowing your close friend is in grave danger, locked in a room in the deepest part of the most dangerous area in the world, would just. Not have any physical effects from the stress. With all that potentially being the case, it's hard to say just how old Clavell is. This is NOT to say he's "young." He's middle aged at LEAST. But given the circumstances and the fact that Pokemon ages +appearances have zero consistency, it's definitely questionable. Cyrus looks Like That and he's 27. Lusamine looks Like That and she's over 40. There's wiggle room for sure.

Maybe Clavell's hair went white early because of stress. Maybe he ages like milk. Maybe jacq just likes older dudes. The world may never know. But the only thing that's clear is that, given the implied timeline, Jacq is not like, 27 as I had previously thought.

That all being said, the Pokemon timeline is incredibly complex and contradictory. Drayden allegedly lived before pokeballs existed and Clavell allegedly had to hand write his Pokedex, but I don't think either of them were alive during Legends Arceus so someone is lying. But hand writing the Pokedex would be understandable if Jacq's Pokedex was the first digital one in Paldea. Which brings up a whole other question: "if Kanto had digital Pokedexes nearly 30 years ago why don't the different regions share the technology with each other? Why is every new region just now developing a Pokedex?" So like. What the fuck is happening.

Is Clavell just saying he had to hand write his pokedex to fuck with you and Nemona because neither of you were alive and/or self aware like 15-20 years ago when the digital Paldea Pokedex was developed by Jacq? Possibly.

I'm hoping this history with Jacq and Clavell gets expanded upon in the DLC, especially given their connection to Area Zero, because this was honestly such an interesting topic to think about. I'd love to discuss it further if any of y'all actually read through this!

[haee-elia]

1x01 - extreme aggressor

pairing: dr. spencer reid x fem!reader (mentions of sister, no name listed)

summary: takes place in season 1 episode 1; extreme aggressor, reader is main victim’s older sister, mostly if not all 2nd POV (part two here)

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, potential harm, grief, sorrow, death, and murder. no mentions of gore, explicit language or depictions. ONLY VERY LIGHT FLUFF 

word count: +1400

a/n: this is the first one shot; one episode where i write a one shot for every episode of criminal minds, be sure to check out the premise here. anyway, this is very very light fluff with just some light crushing (if you squint) on either side and i may do a potential part two with some flirting but this (having your sister kidnapped) did not seem like the setting to do so? lol

You walked into your sister’s, Heather, apartment, quickly putting the key in your hand away once you realize the door isn’t locked. Shoving the key back down into your satchel bag at your hip whilst shoving the door open, you quickly spot your older brother, David.

“Oh my god, David,” You sigh in relief, seeing your older brother. The tension built up from the past few days melting away once you see him. You close the distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around him for comfort, of him and you. You also feel Heather’s golden retriever, Sandy, nose at your leg, whining for some attention.

He pets your head, lovingly, “It’s okay, it’s gonna all be okay.” He says.

Then there’s a clearing of a throat and you realize that there’s two other people in the room with you. Both standing in the middle-ish of Heather’s living room, out of place. You pet at Sandy’s head and ears, soothingly while inspecting the two men that you don’t recognize. Both have dark hair, but the two men are dressed very differently.

The younger of the two is standing akwardingly, obviously from the moment you and your brother are taking together. His hair is short enough not to touch his shoulders, but long enough to be pushed back behind his ears. He’s a lanky man and his clothes almost seem to drown his figure.

The older man has a more serious demeanor and he’s wearing a suit and a gray trench coat over it. Something you would assume to be worn in a more professional setting. Before you can question much about the two men, your brother pulls you back to reality.

“This is my younger sister,” He introduces, then turns to you, “This is Special Agents, uh, Hotchner and, uh, Reid.”

The two men nod at you in acknowledgement and take out their wallet-sized badges from their pockets.

“Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. This is my colleague, SSA Dr. Reid,” The suit-wearing man, Agent Hotchner, formally introduces.

“You must be Heather’s sister,” He deduces.

You nod your head, trying not to get teary eyed with the mention of your slightly younger sister, “Yeah, um, Heather’s less than a year younger than me. We’ve always been really close.” You reminisce.

“Do you mind answering a few questions with your brother, here, while we look around a little bit. To learn more about Heather.” He explains.

You look to David and both of you share a look, you nod and the two men rifle through some papers laid, strewn around the multiple surfaces. You can tell Sandy doesn’t like the two agents going through the house and looking at different papers, but David holds onto her collar to make her stay put.

“When was the last time you both talked to Heather?” Dr. Reid asks.

David goes first, “It had been a few days, I live out of town and work a busy job. We call when we catch each other. I’m off at night, but Heather usually goes out with friends after work.”

“We were gonna meet for lunch the day she disappeared. I had called her that morning to make sure we were both on to meet, but then before lunchtime, she emailed me that she had to cancel.” You answer.

Agent Hotchner turned around from inspecting Heather’s bookshelf and looked at you, “Do you know why she canceled?”

You shook your head, “No idea, the message just said that something had come up and that she might have something to show me.”

“Something to show you?”

You shrug, “I don’t know what she meant. I’ve been racking my brain for the past few days wondering what she meant but I can’t think of anything.”

“Does your sister own a car?” You whip your head over your shoulder and look at Agent Reid. He’s pulled back some of your sister’s mail, staring at something.

You furrow your eyebrows and start to make your way over to him, to see what he’s looking at, “No, she doesn’t. I try to give her a ride, but other times she takes the bus or rides with a co-worker.”

You see what he’s looking at, a magazine displaying Datsun Z’s. You point at it, “But she was in the market for one of these. I remember telling her that the color was weird, but she was sure she wanted a orange Datsun Z.”

Sandy rips out of David’s hand and starts whipping around. David mumbles a sorry and tells you that he’s gonna get her outside and try to calm her down.

The two agents now have their backs turned to face you and appear to be discussing something. Something not for your ears.

“Is this gonna help you find her?” You ask, crossing your arms over across your body, “Do you just suddenly know who took her?”

The older agent opens his mouth to answer you, but his cellphone rings and he excuses himself, nodding to Agent Reid to talk to you.

“While we still don’t know who took her, this will certainly helps us narrow down the pool,” He starts talking, gesturing with his hands along with it, “We know how the unsub, the person who took your sister, lured your sister into a false sense of security and probably how he lured all his other victims.”

You give him a small grin, “I, uh, couldn’t watch the news.” Given his puzzled look, you explain further, “The news, the radio. I can’t listen to what he’s done to the other women he’s taken. ‘Cause I know he’s probably doing those things to my sister. She’s alive, right?” You ask him.

Before he answers, you scoff, “God, I don’t know why I asked that,” You chuckle lightly, “I know you can’t really answer that right? You can’t assure me that she’s alive or dead or anything.” You bring up your arm and wipe your eyes with your sleeve. Not wanting to cry in front of the special agent.

He looks at you sympathetically, “You’re right. I can’t promise you that she’s alive.” He reaches across to the coffee table and grabs you a tissue from the box, handing it to you, “But I can tell you that the man who took your sister hasn’t strayed from his usual schedule. He doesn’t know that we are onto him and that bodes well for your sister. She’s likely alive, wherever he has kept all the other victims, and when we hopefully do find her, she’ll want you and your brother’s comfort.”

You gratefully take the tissue and dab at the corners of your eyes, “Thanks,” You reply, “It’s been a really emotional few days as you could expect. You’re words mean a lot, but I’m sure you talk to a lot of sad people in your line of work.”

Dr. Reid cracks a small grin and almost seems to chuckle when you respond, “I’m, uh, not usually good at comforting other people. Or talking to others, for that matter.”

You return the smile, “Well,” You start, “You seem great at it to me.”

Before he can respond, the other agent, Agent Hotchner, sticks his head into the apartment and motions to the tall, lanky man who you were conversing with, “Reid, we’ve got a lead to follow. We’re gonna meet up with the rest of the team.”

Dr. Reid nods and Agent Hotchner leaves once again, leaving the both of you standing alone. He glances back at you while collecting his personal belongings, “We’ll, uh, be in touch. Be sure to check in with a member of my team or anyone at the Seattle office.”

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small card, a business card, “This is my card with contact information and, uh, let me know if you need anything. Really, anything.” He smiles down at you and moves to leave.

You give a small wave as you see him to the door and watch him stumble towards the large FBI SUV that you assume they arrived in. You watch the car move out of the parking lot and realize your brother has returned from outside with Sandy.

“Was that the FBI leaving?” Your brother asks.

You nod, knowing he can see you, “Yeah, it was,” You say staring down at the small card in your hands, noting the name of the man who gently comforted you.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

You fondly smile as you think that Spencer quite suits him well.

part two here

[ensnapemysenses]

The Wolf, The Bat, and The Girl

Part 2: Hogsmeade (but can be read on it's own!)

Pairing: Snupin, Severus Snape x Remus Lupin

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Part 1 (Also can be read on its own)

Masterlist

Word count: 1,069

A/N: This is part of a one-shot series in an AU where Severus has an eleven-year old daughter named Hazel. More details on the first part if you are interested in knowing more about this AU!

Severus was having a rough day, everything that could go wrong had indeed. First, he woke up late and had to rush to get ready, bolting down to the Slytherin dormitory to wake the remaining stragglers of Slytherin house and shoo them out for breakfast. Then, in every class, some daft dunderhead blew up at least one cauldron, one of which spilled a highly caustic liquid all over his robes resulting in him having to dispel them immediately! Thank goodness he always wears an extra set of muggle clothes under his robes just as a precaution for such an incident. 

With all of these events occurring, Severus had given more detentions just today than he had ever done before. It really was no surprise that he was on the end of his rope and about to lose every ounce of patience he had worked so hard to build up over many years. A booming knock at his classroom door snaps him out of his grumpy trance and makes him audibly groan. He’s had it with everything today and the last thing that he wants is someone trying to talk to him. 

“Come in,” he drawls, collapsing into the chair behind his desk. “Remus, what brings you here?” he asks at the sight of the tall man with graying hair that stops in front of his desk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“I came to ask permission for your daughter to accompany me to Hogsmeade this afternoon. I may have let slip that I was heading there to do some shopping for some supplies and she may have overheard me. I tried telling her that first-years aren’t allowed into Hogsmede but of course, she didn’t listen. Said she’d been many times with you already, Hazel, that clever girl,” he smiles. “So what do you say, Severus? Can she come shopping with me? You can come along if you want as well. I don’t have the heart in me to tell her no, so you will have to if you say she can’t.”

Severus sighs. The last thing he wants to do right now is go out, in fact, he had plans to collapse in his chambers as soon as he retired there for the night. But something about Remus’s plea has him captivated, reminding him of the times he used to venture out with his wife and baby Hazel. He knows he can probably trust Remus with his daughter alone, but then again he still has his doubts, even more so he’s worried about what students will think if they see the three of them together. 

“Hazel has us both wrapped around her finger,” Severus chuckles. “I can’t tell her no either, it’s been so long since we’ve done anything together. I guess she can go, but I will be accompanying her.”

“As you wish, I’ll meet you both at The Three Broomsticks at six o’clock. We can grab dinner if you’d like.”

“I’m sure Hazel will enjoy that. We will see you there,” Snape concludes.

~~~

As soon as Severus told his daughter about their evening plans she squealed in excitement, tackling her dad in a huge bear hug right in the middle of the Slytherin common room. She had been worried that her father would say no but had plans to plead and beg until she broke him down anyway. She knew how to get under his skin.

“Hay! Can you release your grip on me? I can barely breathe!” Severus gasps, trying to fill his lungs with enough air to get a good breath.

“Sorry, dad!” she exclaims, letting go of her father who pulls on the neck of his robes to readjust them. “I’m just looking forward to spending time with you and professor Lupin! He’s my favorite professor and I think he’s so cool! Wait! Let me show you the book he gave me to read!” Hazel rummages around in her bag before pulling out a green leather-bound book and handing it to her father.

“ ‘Defense Against The Dark Arts: A Complete History,’ ” he mumbles, turning the book over in his hands before returning it to Hazel. “That’s one of my favorites,” he muses.

“Really? I asked him for some extra reading materials and he said this book would surely cure my curiosity being as it contains all known history of the subject,” she laughs, tucking the book back away in her bag.

“He is quite right there,” Severus agrees, surprising himself at his willingness to agree with Remus lately. “Now, go work on your homework or I’ll be going to see Remus alone.” Severus playfully wags a finger at her and Hazel sticks out her tongue at him. Both fall into a short laughing fit before Hazel waves goodbye to head to the library to work on her homework.

~~~

A few hours later Severus and Hazel enter The Three Broomsticks hand-in-hand. Hazel keeps trying to wiggle out of her father’s grasp to run over to Remus, her green eyes crinkling at the edges as a huge smile overtakes her face. Sighing Severus lets go of her hand and she takes off, running to the table in the corner under a staircase where Remus is sitting, his nose buried deep in the Daily Prophet, sipping on a glass of firewhiskey.

When Hazel reaches him, he immediately places the paper down and embraces her, pulling out the chair across from him for her to sit down. Severus greets Remus with a bow of his head, choosing to sit beside Hazel. 

“Would you like anything to drink, Severus? Perhaps a butterbeer for you, Hazel?”

Severus nods and says that he would like a firewhiskey and Hazel agrees to a butterbeer as well. Excusing himself Remus returns shortly after, drinks in hand.

“Thanks, Professor!” Hazel begins sipping on her drink happily humming to herself.

“How is it, Hazel?” Remus asks her.

“It’s great! I love butterbeer; it’s my favorite!”

“That’s nice,” Remus hums, directing his attention to Severus. “Anything you need to pick up while we are here? I had planned on swinging by Dervish and Banges.”

Severus shrugs. “I’m here to accompany Hazel.”

“Of course. I’d hate to think you were here to spend time with me,” Remus smirks.

The two men, along with Hazel, find themselves in Dervish and Banges shortly after, but soon Remus and Hazel slip away together giggling while Severus is distracted. The two quickly make their way over to Honeydukes hand-in-hand. 

“Okay, Hazel, hurry up before Severus realizes we are gone! You can grab two candies,” he says holding up two fingers. 

“Three!” Hazel insists, pushing Remus’s hand down and holding up three of her fingers in his face.

“Fine,” he groans. “But don’t tell your dad I snuck you away to buy you some treats!” 

“Don’t tell her dad what now?” a low voice inquires from behind Severus.

Remus’s eyes bulge and he slowly turns around, sweat dripping down his face at the sight of Severus behind him, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed. “Oh, um, Hazel?” Remus whips his head around to get Hazel to explain their actions to her dad but she’s nowhere to be found, already wandering around the store for her three sweet treats. “Fuck,” Remus mutters under his breath, smiling sheepishly. He attempts to back away from Severus but he grips his shirt, holding him in place.

“Language,” Severus tuts. “You thought you could slip away from me, huh?”

“I - I guess,” he stutters.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Remus. Nothing goes unnoticed by me.”

“Duly noted,” Remus responds, shaking slightly.

“Professor Lupin I picked out my sweets! I want a chocolate frog, these exploding bonbons, and a sugar quill.” Handing the treats to Remus she bats he eyes at her dad innocently. “Please, dad! Professor Lupin promised to get me some candies!”

“Fine,” he huffs. “If this idiot wants to buy you some candy that’s on him,” he mumbles, his lips turning up just a bit in the corners into a small smile. It warms his heart to see Remus caring for his daughter and treating her to something special, even if it is just a bit of candy.

[thunderousone]

Chapter 9

Summary: Eirene's training begins, keeping her lightning contained begins to wear on her.

TW: profanity, (eventual... it's slow burn get over it) graphic depictions of sex, pain kink, childhood trauma, parental trauma, chronic pain

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated 🤍

masterlist | read it first on ao3

Training the next day was different after that moment. Something shifted, though she didn't know what.

They walked for a minute or two, the house now in the distance, just the two of them and this endless expanse of green field. He sat down in the middle of the field and crossed his legs, his hand out stretched to her to sit across from him.

"Today, we meditate." Vír took a slow breath in and closed his eyes. "You have to control yourself, your emotions. No more training with the element itself. So far, you're doing better than even I expected," His tongue licked idly at the corner of his mouth.

Eirene was sitting, cross-legged as best she could in the rubber suit. Her eyes were open, surveying the area around her, and Vír.

"I can feel your anxiety from here. You need to feel nothing. Think of nothing. Should be easy for you," Everything he said was so matter-of-fact, even this tease sounded emotionless.

"So this is it? This is my big training? Sitting on my ass meditating all day with you in a field?" She could already feel herself getting irritated, the sparks in her palms jolted up her arms. She kept her hands firmly planted on the rubber covering her thighs and tried to push down the feeling.

"While the lives of those in the mortal world are of little consequence to me, I understand you have no desire to harm them. So yes, for now, this is your training. My goal now is to figure out how to get my power back from you and return you to Lyranth. Until then, I don't want to see a spark." His gray hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, his clothes gray and a soft linen. With his eyes still closed he looked innocent. Like a sad young man. Not the disgusting tormentor Eirene knew him to be. Or at least, knew his storms to be. She surveyed his shoulders and chest, rising and falling in a rhythm. She kept fidgeting either due to the rubberized suit or her hair in her face or the breeze she felt under the gray sky, but he didn't seem to budge.

Beneath him, a mist began to appear, like a dense fog very slightly dissipating around him.

"Vír, you know you're-" One of his dark eyes flicked open.

"I know, shut up-" he closed his eyes tight again and took a deep breath.

"Isn't the point of this to clear your mind? You look like you're trying to control it. When I needed to clear my mind back home I would-" Apparently Vír had enough. He stood up, his eyes dark as the familiar rumble of thunder began, emanating from his chest and the sky. His eyes were terrifying, not because they held anger or fury but because they held nothing. It was if he was looking but not seeing anything in front of him. So distant and removed it felt dangerous.

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't think I need advice from a human," Emotion. Some of the first pure emotion she'd seen him show since she arrived here. This couldn't be good for Lyranth. What was going on in his mind that caused him to storm up like that, Eirene thought to herself.

Eirene shot up out of her position, she could feel the crackling threatening to explode out of her, it made her head hurt with the pressure. "I was just trying to help, Vír," his name a curse word on her tongue. "Are you sure you should be the one trying to help me? Judging by my time on Lyranth I can clearly see you don't have a handle on your powers, or it wouldn't be a mess down there right now!" Her voice loud over the roar of the thunder. "Maybe the Guardians were wrong, perhaps I should have gone with the red haired ass hole and trained with him!"

"Back. Up." Vír's devilish eyes narrowed again, no feeling behind them. "Stop talking about things you know nothing about, you should be thankful they didn't send you off with that pitiful ember. Each second you provoke me, it only makes it worse for them down there. So go ahead, you want a hurricane? Be my guest," his smooth voice cracked, clearly trying to regain control of his emotion. He rolled his head back, exposing his long neck, a harsh vein bulging out from the side.

But Eirene was beyond it. She could feel the spark behind her eyes and if she didn't let it out she thought she may explode. Her body tensed, her shoulders rolling forward, hands to her side and palms facing outward. She had to get the power out, but she didn't know how to do so safely.

It looks like Vír could tell too, because he began to snap out of his emotional outburst and begin to back up and the thunder fell to quiet to a low rumble. "Eirene," his voice once again cold and unfeeling. "You have to listen to me right now or you could not only hurt them, but yourself."

She could hear his words in her head but sparks of electricity were begging to take over her vision. She began to smell the scorched earth from beneath the ground where she stood.

"How?!" Her voice broke with panic at what was happening. She knew he was trying to teach her but she could feel it that he was going about this all wrong. Something naturally within her knew letting your emotions fester within you was not the way to go about this. The angrier she got the more wild and untamed the magic felt.

"What you're feeling right now. Trace it from your head to the point where it's originating from," Eirene closed her eyes, her body now trembling. "Okay, good," he continued, "Now, find the power sitting there... For me it's a tiny thunder cloud. Take it, pick it up in your mind," His voice was closer to her now. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her but she followed the line of power from her head, down her neck, shoulders, to her palms. She closed her hands into fists and began massaging the feeling.

"Now imagine putting it into a box," There were hands on her. One on each shoulder. They squeezed gently. "Lock it. Lock the box, and imagine the key remains in your hands." Slowly, the trembling stopped, and the loud vibrations in her mind sounded like a quiet hum of electricity. Loud, but manageable.

"Breathe in, Eirene" The smell of roses and the ground after a nice rain filled her nose. She felt a drop of water on her forehead and her eyes blinked open. The static in her hands slowly fading as she massaged her palms... And it was raining. The rain drops were slow and soft, not the torrential downpour she was used to back home. Vír's hands were on her shoulders, his soft gray hair getting wet by the rain as he was hunched down to meet her eyes.

This close she could see the raindrops clinging to his long eye lashes. His cheeks were flushed pink. His face tried to hide all expressions but his stormy eyes couldn't lie. They held a look of sadness and fear. He removed his hands and stepped away, Eirene noticed the smoke billowing around them. She thought for a moment it was the same dense fog and mist that was around Vír while they mediated, but the smell of scorched earth and the heat she felt running through her body caused her to look down. The green grass where she stood was now charred, black, and dead. The smoke was coming from her.

[ageofpiracyrp]

OPLO YK ERVJOP

Pronouns: He/him

Position: President of the Theme Park Club of Tarrk

Age: 130

Romantic and/or Sexual Preference: "I only have eyes for my wife"

Species: Carrek

Home Planet: Sturn

Faceclaim/Humanoid Appearance: Dan Povenmire

True Appearance: Oplo does not resemble any particular Earth species, but resembles a lot of different lizards. He has warm gray frills on his head in place of hair, very textured gray scaly skin with occasional speckles of pastel colors, brown eyes, regenerate-able limbs ending in blunt claws, and a tail tipped in silvery-gold spines.

Information: (cw for child neglect and implied gore)

Oplo is a happily married man. He has one son named Bekl whom is currently attending a fancy boarding school on Jehk that has a great athletics program. Oplo talks about how much he misses Bekl every day. He also talks about how much he misses his beloved wife every day too because she is almost always at work. Oplo's wife Jane works long hours as a business executive, commuting back home for three out of every 10 days.

Oplo's wife has a younger sister, Junyi. Since Junyi's parents did not want to take responsibility for the child, Oplo and Jane essentially raised the younger carrek. He knows but would never admit that he is not the best at minding children. He has done a little bit better bringing up Bekl than his younger sister-in-law, but it is honestly just luck at this point that Oplo's line of carreks can regrow fingers.

Oplo's family owns a chain of exercise equipment manufacturing and distribution. None of the other club members are sure exactly what Oplo does as employed by his family's company, but he lives comfortably and has his picture all over the company's promotional materials.

It has always been a point of great tragedy for Oplo that he could not visit his favorite place in the universe that he could never visit: Universal Orlando Resort. He was devastated to discover that Blue Man Group would no longer be performing at the best place on Earth. He started the Theme Park Club twenty-six years ago and has unanimously been voted as president every year (except 2017, when he voted for his wife, who did not want the position at all). After scattered acquisitions here and there, Oplo and his club members came up with the brilliant idea of scouting out an entire pirate crew to visit everyone's dream parks, experience it all on their behalf, and bring back merchandise to cherish.

MARY JUNYI CIRTU

Pronouns: She/her

Position: Member of the Theme Park Club of Tarrk

Age: 56

Romantic and/or Sexual Preference: Pansexual

Species: Carrek

Home Planet: Kurrk

Faceclaim/Humanoid Appearance: Song Yuqi

True Appearance: While she freely enjoys her sformer, she has shockingly vibrant patterning resembling a tokay gecko but seafoam green with gold spots. Her eyes are dominated by a bright amber scelera.

Information: (CW for child neglect)

Junyi was the result of a one-time liaison between a wealthy recently widowed woman and a high-ranking Galx official. The Galx official wasn't married at the time, but he apparently decided he had enough children from his previous marriage and entirely ignored his youngest in all manners except fiscal. Junyi's mother also stopped caring about bringing up a second kid after a decade, so her sister Jane (and later brother-in-law Oplo) brought her up.

It can't be said that Jane and Oplo did a fantastic job teaching Junyi manners, but she's endearing in her own way. Unfortunately, she has little regard for the comfort of others, and is terrible at apologizing when it is due. It can be difficult to get Junyi to stop talking if she takes a liking to someone, and she has little awareness of when she irritates others.

She goes by her middle name because her first name is after one of the worst characters in Pride and Prejudice, she doesn't like how her mom says it, and she likes to have her name started with the same sound as her sister's.

Both of her parents send her money regularly (out of guilt?), even if she is already an adult. Junyi wouldn't have to work if she didn't want to, but she has put some of that money toward advancing a career in doing what she loves... designing dollhouses big enough to fit people. Or as other people see fit to call those: houses. Her early career is going surprisingly well.

Junyi loves collecting things, and is the biggest Disney fan out of the club- beyond just the parks. She has a particularly very large Tsum Tsum collection. Visitors to the clubhouse may find Tsum Tsums hidden in locations where Tsum Tsums should not dwell.

TOQJUN "QJUN" GVUGGL

Pronouns: He/him

Position: Secretary of the Theme Park Club of Tarrk

Age: 111

Romantic and/or Sexual Preference: He is honestly obsessed with calling himself "MLM" but pronounces it "Mlem"

Species: Carrek

Home Planet: Sturn

Faceclaim/Humanoid Appearance: Mika

True Appearance: Qjun closely resembles an armadillo-girdled lizard with cascading scales and a flexible body, but pale blue.

Information:

Kjeuk and Qjun's families have been close for generations, helping each other grow their own wealth. Much of the families' occupations revolves around using money to make more money. Qjun thinks that investments and gambling are quite fun.

By far, Qjun is the most socially apt out of the leadership of the Theme Park Club. Unfortunately, Qjun is only good in social situations if he is presenting information. If you ask him enough questions, his eccentricity comes out. He's fun, and odd people gravitate to him, but Qjun's family thinks that he's kind of a loser.

Qjun is equally comfortable going by his full name "Toqjun" or the nickname "Qjun". Since Kjeuk uses the nickname, the secretary is usually "Qjun" to the club.

While Qjun likes theme parks, he is genuinely more interested in watching videos and having the merchandise than actually going to a park- and risking Galx coming after him and his sweet sweet money.

Qjun's weak spot is karaoke. You can persuade him to do anything if you do karaoke with him first. It's been bad for business.

While he is the secretary of Theme Park Club, Qjun enjoys the social aspect of the club more than anything. It's nice to be a part of a community of people that enjoy things and care so strongly about it! He likes to listen and do his part to keep the club going. Also they serve really good food at the club.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Not-Incorrect Quotes, Clothing (And No Clothing) Edition

Victor: [knocking on Smiler’s door, having dropped by their place with Alice] Hey, Smiler? Are you in?

Smiler: [muffled, from behind the door] Oh, yeah! Give me just a moment!

Victor: Oh, it’s okay, take your time, I didn’t mean to --

Smiler: [opens door, revealing they’re in a yellow crop top and short blue-yellow-and-orange patterned shorts] It’s good! You just caught me in the middle of yoga.

Alice: You do yoga?

Smiler: [grinning and stretching] Yeah! Great way to stay limber, I’ve found! And there’s all sorts of interesting poses out there! I could show you a few if you want!

Victor: [eyes riveted to Smiler’s exposed abs, slowly going more and more pink] I -- um -- y-yes, sure. I-i-if you like. Yes.

Alice: [hiding a laugh] Yes, why not? You will have to factor in the risk of Victor’s head exploding, of course. . .

Victor: [manages to rip his eyes away from Smiler long enough to glare at her]

--

Smiler: [talking to Victor through a dressing-room curtain] Come on out! I wanna see how you look!

Victor: [anxiously from the other side] I’m not so sure about this one, Smiler. . .

Alice: [sitting on a nearby bench] I’m sure it won’t be a complete disaster.

Smiler: It’ll be fine! You need to get some more color into your wardrobe anyway, and this is as good a place as any to start!

Alice: It would be nice to see you in something not black or charcoal-gray.

Victor: O-okay, but I don’t think this is the suit for me. . . [emerges to reveal himself dressed in a bright yellow suit]

Smiler:

Alice:

Victor: [shaking his head] Just say it.

Smiler: Okay, fine, you look like a banana, but I like bananas --

--

Victor: [from his own room on a very hot day] Ugh, I can’t believe how bloody warm it is. . .listen, do you two mind if I don’t -- fully dress before I come out?

Smiler: [lounging on Victor’s couch with a magazine] Yeah, not a problem! Do whatever you have to to feel comfortable!

Alice: [sitting with them, half-melted into the cushions] Exactly. Turn into a liquid if it helps.

Victor: [little chuckle] I don’t think I’ll have to go that far. . .I hope. [emerges from his room naked from the waist up, running his fingers through his hair] Ugh, we are definitely going to have to have something cool for lunch.

Smiler: [looking up, prepared to answer -- stops dead as they see Victor in all his half-naked glory]

Smiler: [stares for a moment, then roughly elbows Alice]

Alice: [sits up, with a soft noise of protest at the elbowing -- which dies as she gets a full eyeful of Victor]

Victor: [still puttering around] I suppose we can have a salad, I know I have lettuce in the fridge, but do I have anything to go with it. . .and Smiler, I too am tempted to just have ice cream, but. . .I. . .

Victor: [trails off as he realizes both Smiler and Alice are staring at him]

Victor: [reflexively tries to cover himself a bit, going pink] Oh, I’m -- s-sorry, I know I h-haven’t -- that w-we haven’t -- if I’m m-making you u-un-uncomfortable, I can put on a s-shirt --

Alice: [much too quickly, bright pink] No no no, it’s fine, you’re absolutely fine, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of --

Smiler: [also pink, still staring] You need never wear clothes again.

Victor: [really blushing now] I think other people would o-object to that.

Alice & Smiler: [simultaneously] Other people are dumb.

--

Smiler: So, you’ve seen me and Victor’s abs. Any chance we’ll get to see yours?

Alice: I don’t really have any. . .plus, I tend to be a little anxious about disrobing in front of others. [touches her shoulder] Burn scars and all. Don’t really have any on my stomach, admittedly, but. . .

Victor: We’re not forcing you into anything you don’t want to do, Alice, I promise. You show only as much of yourself as you’re comfortable.

Smiler: Yeah, exactly. Sorry if I came off as pushy.

Alice: No, it’s fine, I know you. [pause] Which is why I also know that, if I do show you my belly, you’re likely to blow a raspberry on it.

Victor: [snorting] She’s got you there.

Smiler: Curse my easily-readable nature.

--

Smiler: [on a video chat with their other friends, after the trio have all moved in together] So, then I told them that it was fifty cents extra to --

Victor: [passes by and drops a t-shirt on their head]

Alice: [follows up with a pair of pants and some socks]

Smiler: . . .sorry, I think I’ve just been informed to stop leaving my dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

Victor: [calling back] The hamper is right there!

[lalalovezfrenchfriez]

Flyin Frydays

authors note: sorry for last week, it's been a sorta crazy few days!! I hope again you all like this part? idk, this is an important part of the story, and while a little troublesome to write, I got thru it :3 love y'all!

My brother, JD, is in his car, a Toyota Corolla. It’s a sleek gray with some nice mods on it, a huge exhaust, a battery for speed, and some luminescent buttons. JD got it when he was 16, and Papi had been building the car for ages for him. He nicknames it, stupidly, the Yum Bug, since he uses it around LA for his munchie ass adventures.

In the passenger seat is Emi, with his dealer Brian Welter and Elliot Pabalan in the back seats. Elliot is JD’s companion in finishing Brian’s infamous Canned Cannabis Joints. This is where Brian rolls a fat ass j about the size of a soda can. Or so he claims. I’ve never seen it before. I’ve only seen JD passed out at 10 even though he works out at that time. I drew on his face.

Emi waves to me. “Hey girlie!”

I wave back, my tears hidden behind the fog as I step in. “It reeks,” I say as I inhale more of my cig and puff out. 

“Really Manzanita?” JD lowers his radio thats blaring some 2pac as he stares at me. “You know the rules, Manz,”

I offer the cigarette to him with a grin.

He takes it and throws it out the window. “¡Puta- this car is holy! None of your stupid tobacco shit better be in here!”

“¡Pendejo I never got to fuckin’ finish!” I shout back as he shoots off into the night. 

Brian is sitting in the middle, being the skinniest, and Elliot is behind JD, cramped with his football abled body.

Emi tickles my knee as she applies a perfect black lipstick to her lips. It really matches her eyes. “So, how’s your her-mana Laura?” It’s really cute how Emi tries to pronounce Spanish. She talks too much like a gringa for it. I take her hand and tickle it back. She squeals.

“Laura is fine, got her all dolled up for a frat. She should call later.“

JD nods, “Bueno bueno! I like to hear that.”

Elliot is drinking water, probably already high. “Hey I heard you got dumped.”

Now, I usually don’t mind if Laura asks me. She’s my friend who I barely see; She wouldn’t know. But Elliot, as I know, is a chismoso. 

Brian looks over, and he cuts the conversation. That’s why I like him. Brian never likes gossip. “What? Humped? No no- this is the Dumb smoke! This maria-juanita is going to get you dumb as fuck! I dunno if I got enough for a CCJ bro, but I know it’s definitely enough for us.” I poke Brian a little. He gives me a soft smile while he looks at Elliot.

I never really grew up liking Elliot, he always seemed to like me, and JD of course knew. It’s not that he’s bad or anything, just annoying. Even after I came out Elliot seemed to think maybe it’s just a phase, like Emi being goth. But now she’s attending community college with her dark hair that’s fried with pinks and purples, pale legs covered with fishnets and her eyes darkened with heavy eyeliner. Elliot is hilarious if he thinks I’ll stop loving girls because he just plays football at San Diego State.

Elliot tries to say something to get back to the topic, but Emi butts in, “Guys, should we try to get Río on weed?”

It’s not like I never liked it, in fact I first smoked with JD. But I just felt too weird, too quiet- I felt almost ravenous when I saw bread. I nearly broke into Mamí’s bakery to eat the conchas y paletas, but Brian and JD stopped me. 

“As long as we get food in Chinatown, I don’t give a shit.” I shrug.

“You sure they’re gonna be cool with us?” Elliot asks.

The whole car shifts, uncomfortably. 

Maybe I am a hater, maybe I am just annoyed because he tried to bring up my ex a second ago, minutes after I told my first love that I never want to see her again. But Elliot has to stop ruining the moment. 

But we all had felt it. The potential racism, judgement and even deadly stares we all could face when we enter the bridge to Chinatown.

JD proudly exclaims, “Who gives a shit?! Brian?!”

Brian is rolling the joint, and I watch as he licks the joint closed. “Not me brah.”

“Emi?”

Emi smirks as she looks behind to me, “Nothing scares me!” I laugh, knowing she almost pissed herself to get the courage and compliment her now boyfriend’s mohawk.

“Manza?!” JD screams. I didn’t even realize, but the speed of the car has increased. He has a great grin, revealing the canines he used to hate in middle school. His jaw is sharp with a tensed look, and his dirty eyes are gleaming. He’s high. I smile. My heart is beating fast. “!Jorge, ya no tango miedo a la muerte!”

“THEN LET’S GO—!”

JD never finishes his sentence. I turn and everything flashes like pictures in my mind. It’s a lime green car that rams into Emi’s side. Her frizzed hair blocks JD’s view and he turns the wheel towards the car. The car finishes going in front of us. Brian flies a bit out of his seat, going unconscious. Cannabis flies everywhere. Elliot smashes his nose against the headrest behind JD. I can’t breathe. I can’t hear. I also fly forward. My right side of my face smashes against the headrest. In my last few moments of consciousness, I see a red painted Emi. JD’s body is mangled. I feel upside down. Elliot is shouting my name. Brian is trying to crawl to me. I can’t feel anything. I feel trapped.

I don’t know what happens. I just let go. I just mumble my brother’s name. I think of Mama, Papi. I think I see Abuelo Oso. He looks the same as he always does. He smiles at me. “Mija? Por que estas aqui? Levante...No llore…”

“RIO!”

I pass out.

[heliads]

Okay so, I know you have a lot of requests right now and you totally don't have to write this but I had this idea for a Nikolai Lantsov x reader where the reader is in a grouchy mood after having a really bad day and they are venting to Nikolai about it. And I mean bad as in; "Nikolai istg, Tolya ate my food and then I fell down the stairs, and this really embarrassing thing happened, ect, ect" and Nikolai is like "Oh really that's horrible" and he just kinda makes fun of her a little but then a few hours later he wakes them up and takes them outside in the middle of the night to watch the stars to make them feel better because he's like "I know you had a bad day but I thought this would help" or something and some kind of cute confession happens! It's just an idea I had and I thought it was kinda cute! (Tbh it sounded so much better in my head and I'm not sure if this makes any sense) sorry if this was way too detailed. ily!

nikolai my beloved <33 ily too bestie!!

masterlist

It has been one terrible day, even by Ravkan standards. You’d think you’d be happy here, being able to do good work to protect your people as the General of the First Army, and you usually are, but today is an unfortunate exception. In a series of mishaps and mistakes, you’ve quite possibly lost all hope for humanity at large.

Even the surrounding landscape, which usually delights all passersby, seems to have taken on a foul mood similar to the one that cloaks your own shoulders. A low, thick fog has slovenly draped itself over the grounds, swallowing all occupants in a haze of gray. Street lamps do their best to keep the stuff at bay, but even their normally bright lights have been all but snuffed out in the face of nature’s latest apathy.

The crunch of assorted rocks and pebbles under your boots sounds more like small bones breaking as you make your way forward to the Grand Palace. After a long string of meetings with your commanders, which basically revealed that your army is just as malnourished and undersupplied as you’d feared, it’s nice to be able to return to the place that has pretty much become a home away from home ever since you first stepped foot in Os Alta.

You’re greeted at the door by Genya Safin, who, as usual, manages to look utterly charming despite the hair-ruining fog currently creeping inside the palace along with you.

She raises an eyebrow at your appearance. “Has someone else died, Y/N, or is it just another one of those days?”

You grimace at her admittedly accurate appraisal. “Just another one of those days, I’m afraid. If you want, I can find a dead body to excuse it.”

Genya shudders. “I’ll have to decline that offer, I don’t think I can deal with the stench today.”

You can’t help but smirk at her comment. “Neither can I. See you tomorrow morning, I hear we have an early meeting to discuss troop movements near the Fjerdan borders.”

You wave goodbye, grinning at the face Genya pulls at the mention of yet another early morning spent cloistered inside the War Room, trying to figure out how to win a losing battle.

Still, even seeing one of your closest friends isn’t enough to dislodge the permanent dour mood from your mind. Not feeling up to a meal in front of the various dignitaries that constantly pester Nikolai in the hopes of getting something from him, you make a token appearance in the king’s receiving room, talk to the necessary generals, and retreat just as quickly.

You do manage to grab a plate before you go, because if you’re going to be skipping another formal meal, you do at least want to have your supper. You head to your room, unlocking the door and checking your quarters with the level of paranoia that one is forced to adopt when they’re anyone of measure in Ravka.

You fully intend on sinking yourself into war reports and potential treaties for the next couple of hours, but you’ve scarcely sat down for ten minutes before there’s a knock at the door. You allow yourself one moment of glowering at the desk in front of you before giving up and answering the call. It appears that there will be no solitude, not for you.

However, of all the visitors, you’re fairly fond of this one. Nikolai Lantsov, blond king and local troublemaker, is leaning against your doorframe. He takes your arched brow as a welcome inside, and saunters causally inside as if he owns the place. Technically, he does, but you refuse to think of that point at the moment.

Nikolai takes his usual place in your sitting room.. He finds a seat, as per usual, in the one armchair that you personally think is rather hideous. Nikolai seems to adore it, though, which is the only reason it hasn’t been headed to the scrap heap a long time ago.

Once he’s gotten himself situated, Nikolai cocks his head at you. “Trying to escape another dinner, are we?”

You groan, slinking into the chair opposite him. “I’d hoped to, at any rate. Would it be possible for you to be slightly less aware of your surroundings so I can get away with skipping your ceremonies?”

Nikolai shakes his head in mock sorrow. “If I did, my dear general, I think you’d be out of a job because I would have been assassinated. It’s all a part of the job description.”

You give him a look. “You could notice the assassins, not me. I’m sure other kings have managed to overlook their officers before.”

Nikolai grins cheekily, clasping his hands behind his head. “Ah, but I am not most kings. I pride myself on being a trailblazer.”

You smirk in spite of yourself. “And judging by the amount of negotiations that haven’t taken place with Fjerda, I’d say you’re blazing not just trails but bridges.”

Nikolai’s mouth drops open. “Cruel, Y/N. You were supposed to be helping me with said negotiations.”

You reach for the glass of kvas at your side, already poured in the scant few seconds you’d had to yourself before Nikolai came a-knocking, and raise it in a grim salute. “Oh, I know. It appears that the Fjerdans are rather distrustful of even our best attempts at diplomacy.”

Nikolai leans forward slightly in his chair. “Yes, but wait a moment. I know that face, Y/N. Something has happened to dismay my usually chipper general.”

You consider pretending that nothing is wrong, then decide against it. Nikolai has always been able to read you like an open book, something that both infuriates and intrigues you, depending on the day. It’s especially irritating because despite the fact that Nikolai can seemingly tell a shift in your emotions from the slightest change in your poker face, you can never get a read on him.

“A couple things happened. Nothing major.”

Nikolai sighs theatrically. “Y/N, my dearest commander, if I thought you were holding something back I would be grievously disappointed, and also robbed of any possible entertainment for the evening. I have skipped out on my own supper to check in on you, after all, and I feel that I should then have the right to hear whatever it is that you’re holding back.”

To prove his point about a lost supper, Nikolai leans forward and seizes a rye roll from your plate. He holds it up with an air of grave concern. “This is my hostage until you spill your secrets.”

You press a hand to the bridge of your nose, although it’s mainly to suppress a grin. “There’s no use in pretending you’ll return it, I know that roll will have disappeared by my second sentence.”

He smirks, tearing the aforementioned sacrificial roll in half. “You couldn’t be more right. I love that you can see through my bluffs.”

“Only roll-related bluffs, moi tsar. You could sell me a jar of cheap petrol and have me convinced it was liquid gold.”

Nikolai looks pleased to hear this. “I appreciate the testament to my skills in deceit, but it won’t be enough to distract me. The things that went wrong today, if you will?”

You fish around for some kind of excuse, but it’s no use. Besides, you have been rather wanting to rant all day, so you don’t entirely want to shoo away your willing audience.

“I think it’s better to ask for what didn’t go wrong. First of all, I couldn’t fall asleep for hours, so I got no sleep until long past dawn. As a result, I overslept, and even though someone tried to save me a plate from breakfast, Tolya ate it. When I confronted him, he just recited some ancient verse about how fasting can save both the soul and the stomach. He wouldn’t even apologize.”

“After that, I had to go meet with those awful Kerch diplomats for what was supposed to be a thirty minute meeting, and I ended up being there for two hours. They wouldn’t stop haggling about the proper tax on imports, and their lowest amounts were far too high anyways. Later, I was trying to get through the Grand Palace, and I think I was so dizzy from a lack of food and proper company that I literally fell down the stairs. Thankfully, no one saw, but I knew, at any rate.”

“Also, none of my troops want to follow my orders, and all the West Ravkan commanders are trying their hardest to break away again. I’ve had to send several cruel messages but I think I’m going to have to go visit their camps myself to maintain order. All that, and I’m not even sure it’s worth anything, because the second I make a decision on troop movements, the Grisha Triumvirate decides that we should do the exact opposite. I love them, but I’m at my limit, I swear.”

The words come out in a tidal wave, and although you were never intending to say that much, it is nice to have it all out. Nikolai stares at you for a moment, as if processing all of the information you’ve just thrown at him, and then the corners of his mouth start to twitch up.

“Tolya quoted poetry to make up for stealing your breakfast?”

You gesture irritably at him. “Yes, and now you’re stealing my supper to make up for it, I suppose. If you’re just going to make fun of me, you can see yourself out of my chambers. I’m not in the mood for witty banter.”

Nikolai manages to tamp down the renegade parts of his smile, although you can see it glinting in his eyes even afterwards. “Ah, love, don’t take it too seriously. I think I would consider violence if the same thing happened to me. I have to silently chant the statistics of David’s labs in Lazlayon over and over in my head to distract myself whenever Tolya corners me to talk about some epics.”

You regard him suspiciously. “You do?”

He nods fervently. “It’s happened many times, which makes it no easier. If I could send you strength, I would, but I would never dare to assume your current fortitude is anything less than perfect, despite your trip down the stairs.”

You glare at him, but you’re interrupted by the chime of a clock over your mantle. Nikolai glances towards it, grimacing.

“I fear I have to leave you to your musings. I’m supposed to be meeting with Zoya over a new budget addendum for the Little Palace.”

You raise your glass again, and Nikolai takes his leave. You can’t deny that you feel more alone when he leaves, especially at the thought of where he’s going. You can admit that you’ve been thinking of Nikolai more than you should as of late, and you do know that half the palace has assumed the Lantsov king and his fearsome Squaller general are already a couple.

You take a drink of your kvas, and even the burn of it against your throat feels normal now, no different from usual. You love Zoya, and have long been able to smile at her pointed remarks, but you do envy her for the fact that she likely has Nikolai’s heart firmly in her hands.

You decide to go to bed early, although it’s not like it makes much of a difference. You still can’t fall asleep, and spend another hour lying in bed staring at your ceiling until a knock comes again at your door.

You slide your legs out from underneath the covers, slipping on shoes and grabbing a jacket to settle around your shoulders while you answer your caller. You’ve long learned that midnight calls are never good, so you can at least hope that nothing has gone drastically wrong.

However, when you cautiously open the door, Nikolai is looking back at you again, just as chipper as before despite the late hour. He extends a hand to you.

“I haven’t woken you, have I? Come with me, please.”

You stare at him, although you do take the offered hand out of reflex. “Has something happened?”

Nikolai reaches behind you to shut the door. “No, nothing. There’s just something I want to show you.”

You arch a brow, but say nothing. Nikolai seems quite pleased with himself, so at least this late-night rendezvous isn’t a sign that something has gone terribly wrong. Nikolai escorts you out of the Grand Palace, careful to avoid maids and guards who might spin fictitious tales about why the king and his general would be seen wandering the halls together at such a late hour.

Nikolai doesn’t stop his brisk pace until you’re outside and in the gardens, sneaking past hedges trimmed by the cold night air and flowers bending under the weight of moonlight threading their petals with silver. Lone spiderwebs, already touched by dew, trace pearlescent strands across windows as you walk.

At last, Nikolai stops by a bench in a clearing. The flowering trees and fruit bushes have all stopped a couple of yards back, allowing the night sky to flow into the resulting gap in the branches. Nikolai releases your hand so you can take a seat on the wrought iron frame, although you miss his touch as soon as he does. Thankfully, the bench is just small enough that your shoulders gently press against each other, so you do not yearn for his warmth.

Nikolai turns his head up towards the sky, smiling as he sees it. “I love coming out here on difficult days, such as the one you just had. You can see the stars for miles.”

You follow his gaze, and gasp quietly at the sight. You don’t think you’ve had the chance to truly study the sky in quite some time, too preoccupied with making sure the very earth doesn’t fall apart underneath your feet, but the constellations have missed your absence keenly. It looks as if some great hand has flung a necklace of silver beads out into the sky, and stars formed of those long-gone pearls.

“It’s beautiful,” you manage, lost in the astral world unfurling before you. “I haven’t had time to appreciate that recently.”

When you are finally able to tear your gaze from the stars, you realize that Nikolai has stopped considering the sky, and is instead studying you with equal fervor. The moonlight has blanched his curls, making the usual golden strands look bone white. You envy it for being able to touch his face with such depth. Who is the light to come so close to him?

Nikolai seems to regard you with the same delight, though. You can feel his eyes on you, and are suddenly aware of how you look, the fact that your hair is loose from its typical army regulation style. You’re still in your nightclothes, after all, and your jacket has slipped from your shoulders to reveal your throat and collarbone. It’s highly improper, but from the way Nikolai looks at you, you could be dressed in the finest fashions all of Ravka has to offer.

Slowly, he speaks again. “I haven’t taken anyone else out to see this. Only you.”

Only you. Saints, the things you could imagine with that phrase.

“I don’t know that anyone else has shown me anything of quite this splendor. Only you, as well.”

A soft smile touches Nikolai’s lips. “Would it be rude of me to say that I’m glad of it? I have been for a while. I have problems in which I am deeply envious of every soldier who gets to greet you, of every nobleman who is allowed to dance with you at galas. If I could, I would never leave your side, nor say a word that wasn’t your name. I am in love with you, my esteemed general, perhaps more than is wise.”

You have never been able to read Nikolai as well as he reads you. Still, in this moment you can tell that he is telling the truth, and veracity drips from every syllable.

Your lips part, and a moment later you manage to answer him. “There is nothing wise about what I feel for you. That was the worst part of today, I think. I saw you but I didn’t know that you could be mine.”

Nikolai’s hand raises, tilting your chin up so you can face him. “But I am yours, love. There is no part of me that would not gladly be yours.”

Some part of you was expecting his kiss, yet it still comes as a surprise. Maybe it’s because the kiss is the confirmation that this is actually real, actually happening, that it isn’t merely a blissful dream after a long and tumultuous day. Regardless, it is quite possibly the best thing yet to happen to you. You think you could spend the rest of your eternity out here in this moonlit garden, still and quiet save for the beating of your heart. Perhaps, indeed, you will.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie