#and would eventually recognize she was occasionally just being shitty ! it would make for an interesting story ! alas

[misspickman]

cassierose for the ship ask game !!

Ship It

What made you ship it? i liked them in tt03, which you know, is truly a feat considering how terribly that comic treats both of them. but their dynamic (angry homoeroticism) managed to be compelling still

What are your favorite things about the ship? i enjoy girl antagonism from time to time. i know were all sick of the trope that teen girls all hate each others guts but considering cassie has a pretty good relationship with all the other girls on her team(s) its fun to see her just go ugh i hate this one. this one can go. theyre just fun and bitchy and i think they should hatefuck about it. but beside that theres also so much potential there ! i think you know, if anyone writing that comic actually cared about cassie or rose or about their character development, it would have been interesting to see their relationship change over time instead of getting one issue where cassie implicitly calls rose family while protecting her, and then the next one she immediately she calls her a manipulative psychopath for no good reason bc they cant figure out how to make the team interesting without having some wildly antagonistic relationship that doesnt make sense if u think about it for a few seconds. theyre never going to be besties but it would have been nice to see them go from blind hate to an uneasy truce; they dont like each other but they do, unfortunately, care about each other, and lets see where we go from that. + itd be interesting to dig into cassies hypocrisy when it comes to hating rose

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? i guess its that i would like them to grow past mindlessly despising each other ? this is not me criticizing anyone but i feel like a lot of takes on cassierose ive seen are that they should stay in the hatefucking no mushy business❌❌❌phase which is definitely fair and true to how they are in tt03. but i do have some issues with the way they were written in tt03 (particularly cassie) and would like to see their dynamic progress from that (see rant above)

[bossmamacita]

Luz - Emotional Processing Notes (this is the organized version see below for my brainrot version)

Luz exhibits traits of alexithymia, specifically struggling to label her emotions despite feeling them intensely. Her physical reactions often clue her in to what she might be feeling, though she's prone to misinterpretation. She’s never been to therapy, so her self-awareness is limited, but through her experiences and interactions, she begins to piece things together.

Examples: In a high-stake situation in SR1 she mistakes fear for anger (elevated heart rate, body sweat, etc.) and has an explosive reaction that complicates a situation.

Notes: Luz’s lack of therapy/proper emotional understanding does eventually lead to growth. I envision this through multiple characters from the series who have undergone therapy to some degree recognizing Luz's struggles and offering insight, even if it’s initially rejected. It plants the seed in her head. (This might end up being her sister, Elena who she communicates with occasionally at the hospital.)

Anger is the easiest emotion for Luz to recognize because it produces clear physical symptoms: a racing heart, tension, and a surge of energy. She channels this into violence, finding a return to homeostasis after releasing her pent-up energy. Murdering, descruction, fighting, the whole lot here. This coping mechanism is both a strength and a weakness, as it sometimes leads to impulsive actions but also explains why she hasn’t flat out died yet.

—

Transitioning/Dysphoria

Luz's transition in her early twenties is delayed due to her inability to identify her dysphoria. Throughout SR1, her anger and volatility are heightened by this unrecognized core discomfort. As she ages, listens to her companions, makes friends, and deals with challenges as Playa, she starts to understand herself better.

Examples: My brain is struggling here but just imagine some inner monologues that show her lifelong but unrecognized dysphoria. Moments where she feels out of place, angry without understanding why, these all gradually lead to her realization pretty quickly into SR1 storyline but she stays closeted as Cez for awhile. She waits to gain reputation and respect.

Notes: Unrelated but really curious as to how yall canon Saints companions reacting to a trans Playa character. I feel like there’s room for stuff here but I haven’t really thought about it… like for someone like Luz who is besties with Aisha and Johnny would they have an opinion? Approve/dissaprove initially? How does it affect their friendship if there is some phobic vibes or does it not affect it at all due to the respect Playa has as a person idk

—

Relationship w/ Johnny and Aisha

Luz is a keen observer, especially in SR1, using others as a reference to understand her emotions. She connects with Johnny because of his directness and unapologetic nature, which aligns with her literal thinking. She admires Aisha’s femininity, success, and passion for music. Their romantic relationship confuses Luz, but third-wheeling with them helps her gather insights.

Notes: The insights are not always great. I think Luz would try to emulate aspects of Johnny and Aisha’s relationship in her own flings, but it fails, which adds to her confusion and irritation. An example like taking someone out to Freckle Bitches on a first date. Johnny did it and Aisha stayed, why can’t I? The reason why she emulates them I think is because she does recognize they have a deep bond whether they realize it or not. She can identify the emotion in them but she would not be able to do it in herself if that makes sense? She does want a real relationship like theirs at first but she fails too many times with her shitty method in SR1 so she becomes a player. Playa. Get it. (Aisha and Johnny 100% bully her for this as a bestie trio thing)

Flings and Manipulation and… Gaslighting?

In SR1, Luz engages in random flings and flirts with strangers, often as a means of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. These unreliable relationships reflect her dysfunctional understanding of normal relationships. She feels nothing genuine for her romantic pursuits, kinda just using them as a way to waste time and gain influence/information, focusing on power and ambition as main traits in this game. She is not extroverted at all so she kinda has that silent guy rizz and a pretty face that worked somehow on men and women.

Shift in SR2

By SR2, Luz has grown more emotionally aware and confident in her identity. Transitioning has expanded her emotional range, thanks to gender-affirming care and hormones. She remains direct and brash but is less obsessed with power, knowing her worth. (Getting blown up does that to ya) Her leadership style is defined by her no-nonsense attitude and refusal to take any disrespect.

Luz’s relationships with her companions evolve. She gets along well with Johnny and Aisha (post coma reunion) and they both play a significant role in her life. She idealizes Johnny/Aisha a bit as power couple despite their issues because she can identify that core emotion in them. Ask her to identify that emotion in herself though and she cannot.

—

Relationship w/ Luz and Carlos

Carlos's willingness to do anything for Luz puzzles her. She explores this by befriending him, experiencing a mix of flirty vibes and a sense of normalcy that she can���t quite interpret. Her interactions with Carlos are marked by fluctuating feelings she can’t label. The gang notices this dynamic, but Luz denies it. After Carlos's death, Luz is overwhelmed with regret, realizing too late how much she cared for him. This is a pivotal moment for her emotional clarity.

Examples: "Luz, you ever wonder why we do this?" Carlos spoke softly, acknowledging their closeness. Luz felt her chest well with tightness, misinterpreting the feeling that rose in her body. “It’s about power, Carlos. Nothing else.” Carlos blinked at her slowly, “For you, maybe. For me, it’s different.” Luz distanced herself from Carlos, attempting to brush off his words. “Stop overthinking it.”

Post Death:

Luz held the gold chain Carlos wore, pressing her thumb against the cross pendant. “Why does this hurt so much?” She whispered to herself, the tightness in her chest returning, sharper. She could not ignore or misplace the deep wound she felt. It wasn’t about power. It wasn’t about anger. It was loss. Regret.

—

Impact of Aisha’s Death

Aisha’s death hits Luz hard, triggering intense feelings of sadness, guilt, and envy. These emotions, compounded by Johnny's grief, strain their friendship. They become coworkers rather than close friends, driven by a shared goal of vengeance. Luz compartmentalizes her emotions, focusing on tracking down those responsible, leading to resentment and conflict with Johnny.

Luz and Johnny’s relationship deteriorates after their losses. They clash, with harsh words and physical fights reflecting their internal turmoil. (Peep that art i made) (I also kinda see the fight as a foil to their previous friendship and the end of SR1 them and start of sr2 them) Their arguments include comparisons of their losses, revealing their vulnerabilities at the core. Eventually, they realize they must support each other rather than fight, leading to a tentative truce. Their relationship rebuilds slowly, marked by raw honesty and mutual growth between the duo.

Luz’s feelings for Johnny develop over time. She recognizes her emotions sooner than she did with Carlos but remains hesitant. A slow burn towards a romantic relationship vibes. Imagine scenes where there is chemistry but unspoken. Classic unintentional physical closeness- I don’t know Luz is questioning her feelings. Debating on giving them a romantic encounter before the fight to serve as a catalyst but unsure. Unresolved feelings about Aisha and Carlos with that poor choice of sexual distraction could be interesting way to confront guilt/grief.

Examples: im too dead for this

"You don’t get it, Luz. Aisha’s death is on all of us."

"How can you say that? I didn’t kill her!"

I don’t know words here

*anger and confusion, lashing out grrrr* “Don't you dare compare your loss to mine. Carlos was—"

”Was what, Luz? ‘Nother pawn to you?"

Luz explodes in anger, initiating a physical fight

After

Bruised and bleeding

"We can't keep doing this, Johnny. We’re on the same side."

“Yeah, well, maybe if we talked instead of throwing punches..."

“Talking’s not exactly our thing."

“No, but maybe it should be."

[bunnycha]

There For You (Claire Redfield X GN!Reader)

Summary: You turn to Claire Redfield, who you can trust to help you feel better after a shitty night out.

Note: This is my first RE fic so please be gentle! I also haven't written in a while, so I hope I'm not too rusty. This will also be posted on AO3 when I get an invite! Excuse the few typos and grammar mistakes, as my phone will unnecessarily autocorrect words at times :,)

The last few hours had been absolute hell.

You tried to meet with someone who asked you out at work, only for them to stand you up. You didn’t look at the weather report and tried to walk home, only to end up in the middle of a rainstorm that began during your walk. Your phone was soaked and you would need to buy a new one soon. Everything just happened to go wrong at the last moment.

You thought that maybe luck would be in your favor for once. You scored a rather attractive date and it was a Friday. It looked like things would be in your favor for once.

Unfortunately, as always, you were wrong.

This is how you ended up on Claire Redfield’s doorstep, shivering and looking like a kicked puppy.

She was the closest to the restaurant you originally were supposed to go to, and one of the only people you trusted enough to go to when you knew you looked like shit. Like now.

“Oh shit, Y/N, what happened to you?” she immediately blurted out as she opened the door.

She immediately ran to a cabinet and pulled out a few towels as you carefully toed off your shoes, trying your best to not get water inside the apartment.

Claire immediately began to dab you dry as best as possible and wrap you up. The comforting scent of fresh linen filling your senses after the shock of the cold weather and earlier situation had worn off.

Your brain was still trying to catch up with what had happened in the last few hours.

“Earth to Y/N? You there?”

She waved her hand over your eyes as you stared holes into the space in front of you.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

You looked up to meet her eyes.

“No worries there.”

Claire enveloped you in a hug, filling you with a giddy warmth that you couldn’t help but lean into. She rested her head on top of yours, making you feel absolutely tiny next to her, but protected.

She pulled away, nearly making you pout, but you were no longer cold, at least.

“Go to the bathroom and start a hot shower, alright? I can’t bet that the hot water is gonna work right away, so I suggest you run it now. I’ll grab you some clothes while you’re at it,” Claire stated.

You nodded silently, only starting to become aware of your surroundings.

The T.V. was still on in the background and there were a few stray pieces of trash and the occasional blanket lying somewhere, like the dining room chair, which was pretty typical for college-aged students like you and her. Mostly everything was neat and in place. A bowl of chips you didn’t recognize sat on the coffee table along with a steaming cup of tea, which smelt like cinnamon.

You waddled over to the bathroom, and began to run the shower as Claire instructed. You sat on the toilet with the lid closed, of course, and waited for her to come back.

Claire knocked softly before coming in, a small pile of folded clothes with a towel in her hands.

“Take as much time as you’d like in there, I would need it after being caught in the rain when it’s 36 degrees outside. We can talk about it if you want after, but only if you want.”

She gave you a kind, lopsided smile before heading out.

You spent quite a lot of time in that shower. The hot water eventually ran out, which forced you to come out and finally process what a shitty night it had been. Getting ready was a slow process that immediately disappeared from your mind when you were done.

You looked in the mirror to observe the clothes Claire picked out for you. She gave you an old cotton t-shirt and some pajama pants, which were both oversized on you, thanks to her being noticeably taller than you. Although, you couldn’t deny that you felt kinda cute.

You stepped out, throwing your damp clothes in the hamper on the way.

“C’mere,” you heard Claire say from the couch as you opened the bathroom door. She patted the spot next to her loudly and scooted over to make some space.

You nestled against her. She draped her blanket over you both and let you lay your head on her shoulder.

Claire asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I just need some rest tonight.”

Claire nodded in silent understanding, blue eyes scanning your face while you tried to focus on the T.V. in an attempt to avoid her gaze.

“Can I stay the night?” you muttered nervously.

“Of course you can. You can stay with me any time.”

Something in your chest fluttered. You felt safe.

“We need to get you to bed first, though.”

Claire gestured to you to let her stand up, which you did. You immediately missed her warmth.

“Let’s head to bed,” she said, holding her hand out.

You cocked your head to the side.

“Us both?”

“Of course. Unless you don’t want to.”

“I do, but,” you paused, looking away, “I don’t wanna move.”

You pouted to attempt to make her let you stay on the couch.

“I’ll do it for you, then.”

Before you could protest and ask her what the hell she meant, she picked you up and started walking, blanket falling to the floor as she did.

“Claire! Put me down!”

“Well, if you really wanted me to put you down, you would probably be thrashing around too.”

“I’m not trying to kill us both!”

She shrugged with you in her arms and chuckled.

“Well, I’d rather have you sleep somewhere comfortable than get back pain because you insisted on taking the couch.”

You let out a little “hmph” in retaliation. She kept walking, a gentle smile on her face as she navigated herself through the apartment with you in her arms.

Claire finally got you both to her bedroom and put you down gently on her bed, seeming content with accomplishing her little mission. She took another look at you before looking away to grab something in her closet.

“You look better in my clothes than I do,” she confessed.

You blushed, curling further into the covers, trying to focus on anything in the room but her.

On her vanity, there was a photo of her and her brother, Chris. There was a small assortment of make up and other random items. A red leather jacket and other pieces of outerwear sat on a coat hanger next to it. You noticed one of the hoodies you gave her hung up with them. You smiled to yourself before replying.

“Thank you,” you answered, not knowing what else to say before turning into a puddle of mush.

Claire smiled and winked at you, new plush blanket in hand, before turning off the lights and settling in bed with you. She laid facing away from you.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Claire.”

Despite coming into Claire’s home feeling absolutely drained, you felt restless now. Your mind wouldn’t rest when you needed it to. After a few minutes, you quietly sat up in frustration.

You looked around the dark room, only catching hints of the moonlight through the windows. Turning to look at Claire, you found that she seemed to be fast asleep. You felt yourself overthinking, wondering what to do.

You took a breath and tried to wake up Claire as gently as possible.

“Claire,” you whispered.

She let out a tired-sounding hum in response.

You felt a blush creep up on your face.

“Can you spoon me? I can’t sleep otherwise."

She simply opened her arms and pulled you into her chest.

“Sleep well, baby," she slurred.

Her voice was rough and low, making you blush harder, somehow. She pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. You were panicking internally.

Fuck it, you'll deal with this in the morning.

[ipuckwithhockey]

History Repeats Itself- B. Boeser

a/n: This somehow ended up being around 11k words, so I hope y’all enjoy it! Also, I only did a quick scan for grammar and spelling so sorry if there are errors!

summary: You and Brock met once back in college when you were still committed to your high school boyfriend. Years later you’re single and older and just starting a new job in Vancouver. The only question now is whether or not you will take the opportunity to rewrite your own history.

warnings: None that I can think of

“So, are you in or no?” Y/N’s roommate asks her as they walk out of the library and toward their dorm. 

“I don’t think so Mags, I actually have some studying to catch up on.” You reply unconvincingly. Midterms of your first semester at the University of North Dakota just came to a close, and your excuse of having homework on a Friday night wasn’t convincing anyone. 

“Y/N, seriously? You aced all of your midterms and we just spent three hours in the fucking library! Live a little! The hockey team is having a huge party, and the guys are really fun AND super hot! You deserve this!” Maggie tries to convince you to come out to a party that the UND Hockey team is having tonight, and you tell yourself not to give in. 

“Maggie, I have a boyfriend. And you know they don’t let guys who aren’t on the team into their parties. God, it’s basically a frat.” You scoff at the idea of a frat party, but there’s still a small part of you that wants to experience the chaos of a real college party. That’s probably why it ends up being so easy for Maggie to convince you to slip into a pair of skinny jeans and a cute top before embarking on a night out.  

“Y/N, this is Nick and Brock. They’re both in my econ class. Nick is a sophomore, but Brock here is a freshman like us!” Maggie happily introduces you to the two tall boys as you enter an old musty house, full to the brim with college kids. The air smells like stale alcohol and you take note that your shoes are somehow already sticky. You’re not sure if it’s from something you stepped in or if it’s just the floor in general. 

“Hey, nice to meet you.” You shake Brock’s hand that he’s extended for you and you can’t help but stare a little too long, taking in his blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes. 

You had to admit though, Katie was right, these guys are super hot. You can already tell your roommate has her eye on this Nick guy, and it actually looks like he might be interested in her too. He’s just her type— He’s hot and he knows it, and his dark hair and striking features draw the eyes of nearly every girl in the room. The blonde boy who stands across from you is quite honestly the opposite of Nick. Brock is also undeniably good-looking, but he’s shy and his light hair and soft smile make him seem less intimidating than his friend. 

Nick finds you and Katie some drinks and some other girls you’ve become friends with show up to the party a little later. The boys come and go as they mingle with other people and their teammates, but Nick tends to stay close by to Maggie and you catch glimpses of Brock occasionally. Apparently his shyness doesn’t apply to his teammates. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch him and his friends dance together to some shitty remix of a song you used to blast on your way to school. You’re actually having a great time, but you can’t hear your phone ringing over the music that’s blaring through the house you’re in. Later, Nick offers to walk you and Maggie home after a few hours of living like a real college kid, and Brock ends up tagging along since he apparently lives in the same building. 

“So, how come we haven’t met you before tonight? This one talks about you all the time.” The four of you are walking across campus and Nick has Maggie under his arm as he asks why you never seem to be with your roommate. 

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.” Maggie quips as some of the alcohol she’s consumed tonight gives her the courage to openly criticize your relationship. 

“Maggie.” You say in a warning tone. “He’s just not a big partier, and usually I’m not either.” You shove at her shoulder lightly. Maggie was nice and you liked being her roommate, but when you first met and told her you had followed your high school boyfriend across the country to attend a university in “North fucking Dakota” she immediately expressed how crazy she thought you were. In her eyes there was no way that a couple who started dating when they were fifteen would last forever. You disagreed, which is why you turned down your scholarship to an ivy league and followed your boyfriend to North Fucking Dakota. His family was from North Dakota, and for some reason everyone in their family had to go to school there too. At the time, you didn’t see it as giving something up, you saw it as you and your boyfriend starting a life together outside the confines of your hometown. 

“So, what floor do you live on, Brock?” Maggie asks as the four of you make your way up to your building. 

“I’m on 4— Room 405. What about you guys?” Brock asks back. 

“We’re 219.” You say back before you’re startled as you hear another voice you’re not exactly expecting.  

“Y/N! Where the hell have you been?” The group you’re with is almost to the doors of your dorm building when a perturbed voice yells for you.  

“Uh- Owen. What are you doing here?” You’re surprised to see your boyfriend standing in front of you, looking like he’s seeing red. You weren’t even supposed to be seeing him at all tonight. He had told you he was going to be occupied for the evening while he was studying for his physics exam. You hadn’t told him you were going to the party, but at the time you didn’t think it was important. Owen preferred that you didn’t bother him while he was studying, so you decided against calling him before your night out. 

“I’ve been calling you for like two hours— God have you been drinking?” The rest of the group you were with tonight looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can’t blame them. Owen wasn’t the best at saving face, especially when he felt like someone hadn’t upheld the standards that he had set out for them. Now he just looked like a dad reprimanding their child, and a wave of embarrassment quickly washed over you.

“I just- We went to a party. I didn’t think you’d mind. You were supposed to be studying all night,” You say sheepishly, as you begin to regret letting Maggie convince you to go out. Before Owen can clap back again, Maggie nudges you and tells you that the three of them are going to go, not wanting to invade on your private life any longer. 

When they’re gone, Owen starts again, “This just isn’t like you. I’m so disappointed.” You feel bad now, you know you haven’t done anything wrong, but Owen’s words make you feel like you have, so you tuck your tail between your legs as follow him back to his dorm and apologize for what you did. 

That was almost five years ago. You dated Owen for longer than you’d like to admit but eventually you removed your rose-colored glasses and broke up with him. You graduated from UND and got a second chance at your Ivy League dreams when went to graduate school. Now, you’ve completed your masters and have been offered a promotion at you job. The only catch was that the new position required you to move to the west coast… of Canada. 

You moved almost two months ago, and your raise was enough to allow you to move into a nice building downtown. Work takes up most of your time now, so you haven’t been able to explore the city as much as you would like, but you can already tell your decision to make Vancouver your new home was a good one. The laid back and easy feeling you get from this city is completely different from the big east coast metropolis you had been living in before, and even though you’re working more than ever, you feel like you can actually breathe here. 

Since your breakup with Owen your senior year at UND, you’ve taken time to take back your life. You try your best not to ponder on the past anymore, and you focus on your own future. It can’t be denied that at first it was hard not to remain bitter at the idea that you had so willingly given up many things in your life, for a boy who took them too eagerly. You worked through it though and took back your life by focusing on your own goals and working on furthering your own career. The past is the past now, and you were ready to start this new life in Vancouver. 

*

“I actually can’t believe you’re wearing that.” Elias mocks at Brock as they step out of the elevator and into the lobby of Brock’s apartment building. Brock is sporting a bucket hat, and even though he knows Elias is joking, he wonders if he shouldn’t have just left the hat sitting on his kitchen counter. The two of them are bickering back and forth about their fashion choices, and Brock almost misses you as you walk past him. Almost. He recognizes you immediately even though your hair is longer, and your face doesn’t look so much like a kid’s anymore. 

“Hey, nice to meet you.” Brock extends his hand, hoping he doesn’t seem too nervous to the pretty girl he has just been introduced to. He’s a freshman, and a star on the UND hockey team, which kind of makes him North Dakotan royalty. Since starting college, he’s learned what to say and how to say it, to get a girl’s attention, but he’s not the overly confident guy that his friend, Nick is. Nick lays it on thick and loves the attention he gets. Brock likes it, it’s fun, but he’s more laid back, and not as worried about getting the girl. He just likes to have a good time with his friends and doesn’t really need all of the extra attention. 

He would however like to have your attention. He makes some friendly conversation with you over the course of the night, but you stick close to your girlfriends, and he can’t tell if you’re not interested or if you just aren’t catching what he’s putting down. 

Later that night, when Nick tells Brock that he is going to walk you and your roommate home, he’s quick to tag along. Even though he lives in the same building, he probably would have stayed at the party a little longer if you hadn’t been going with them. On the walk across campus, the four of you make some small talk, and Brock knows that Nick definitely thinks he’s getting laid tonight. 

Brock can’t help but hope that Nick getting laid will mean you will need a hideout for a couple hours while your roommate occupies your shared room. Even though he’d happily accept it, he doesn’t think he’ll be getting laid. Brock just hopes that he’ll have some time to get to know you a little bit better, maybe get your number, and then eventually ask you out. It’s right then that Nick asks why they’ve never met you. 

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.”  Maggie replies, and Brock can’t help but be disappointed. You had a boyfriend. So it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, well it was, but it was only because you were already taken. Maybe you had even caught on to his light flirting, and he can’t help but think how embarrassing that is.  

This embarrassment honestly wasn’t as bad as what was to come next. Brock isn’t sure if his secondhand embarrassment is worse than the embarrassment that you’re probably feeling as the guy, who is presumably your boyfriend, yells at you for going to a party. He can tell that you’re trying to play it cool, you’re definitely uncomfortable with scene that is unfolding. Brock isn’t sure what to do, and him and Nick exchange a few quick glances as to say, “what the fuck?” And next, he’s incredibly thankful that Maggie steps in to tell you that they’re going to head into the building. 

“What the fuck was that?” Nick asks as the three of them get out of earshot from you and Owen.  

“Meet Owen, the illustrious high school boyfriend.” Maggie’s sarcasm is clear, and Brock is surprised that someone who seems so sweet could be dating a guy like that. 

That hockey party his first semester at UND was the last time Brock spoke to you. He left after his sophomore year when he signed with the Canucks and before he left, when he would see you on campus, you were usually with the jerk he only briefly encountered that first night. When you would pass him in the hallway of your dorm or even around campus you would usually avoid meeting his eye or offer one of those awkward tight-lipped smiles. Brock would always smile back, and he would wonder if you were actually happy with that guy, and occasionally he would tell himself that he could make you happier. 

You felt bad as you essentially avoided him for the first few weeks after that party, but it got easier as time went on. The two of you barely knew each other, but for some reason every time that you did pass him, you were still enamored by his kind eyes and generous smile that only made you feel worse for avoiding him. Over time your friends, like Maggie, would eventually fall to the waste side too as your boyfriend continued to control your life. Maggie stopped asking you to hang out and when you moved in with Owen after your freshman year, you basically lost all connection with her. Everyone probably thought that you were a massive bitch because they perceived your actions as you choosing your boyfriend over them. They weren’t wrong, but you didn’t know at the time, that your priorities were extremely misguided. 

Brock’s little crush was soon forgotten when he dove headfirst into the NHL. He was busy trying to establish himself in the league, and he found himself in a few lackluster relationships that usually ended in a mutual agreement that it just wasn’t working. He was a good guy, and even though he wasn’t a saint, he preferred to get to know a girl and take her to dinner before anything else. The girls he dated usually fell pretty hard for him. He’s unmistakably attractive and his endearing personality make him incredibly charming. They knew that they couldn’t hold on to him forever and that he didn’t want to hurt them, so they let him go and hoped that they would find another guy that was half as good.

Seeing you now is like a breath of fresh air for Brock; his little crush immediately rising to the surface after being buried away for so long. 

“Y/N?” Brock lightly touches you on your arm to get your attention. You’re lost in the email you’re replying to on your phone, and you’re more than surprised when you turn to see the same light blue eyes that you met your freshman year of college. 

“Brock?” It’s the only thing that your brain can formulate right now. Brock Boeser is probably the only person you know in Vancouver and yet he’s standing in front of you right now. You haven’t seen or spoken to him in years, and you can’t believe that he even remembers you. 

“Hey, I thought that was you.” Brock says, as Elias notices the big smile that’s plastered across his friend’s face. “What are you doing in Vancouver?” Brock asks, wondering how a girl from the east coast who went to school in North Dakota, somehow ended up in Vancouver. 

“I um- I live here. I just moved for my job a couple months ago,” You tell him.

“Oh, no way! Vancouver’s great, I’m sure you’ll love it here.” He replies, still taking in the fact that you’re standing in front of him. 

“Yeah, I like it so far,” you say. “Do you live here? – Or I guess, in the building?” You ask. You know that he lives in Vancouver, you’re aware of his hockey career, but you’ve lived here for a couple months and have never seen him around. 

“Yeah, I’ve been back in Minnesota for most of the summer, so I just got back a couple days ago.” He tells you. You never really put much thought into where athletes go after their season ends, but it makes sense that they would go back to wherever they call home. 

Elias nudges Brock to remind him that he’s still standing awkwardly beside him. “Oh, this is Petey,” Brock turns to introduce you to his friend that you already recognize, “It’s Elias, nice to meet you.” Elias says as he offers his hand to you. 

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a light laugh and think about all of the Vancouver Canucks posters you’ve seen him on throughout the city. You’ve seen posters of Brock too, but you barely even know the guy, so it’s never really struck you as anything out of the ordinary. 

“Are you a Canucks fan?” Elias asks.  

You laugh a little, “Oh, no. I don’t follow hockey or really any sports, but everyone at work does, so I’ve been trying to learn a bit about it to keep up with the water cooler conversations.” You laugh again because it’s true. You’ve never really been tuned into sports, but your new office is basically all men, and they’re all huge Canucks fans, so your google searches of the team’s stats and roster have helped you become familiar with the team before their season starts. 

“Well, you’ll have to come to a game some time.” Brock tells you. 

“Um yeah. Maybe.” You offer back, mentally debating on if that would ever actually happen, but knowing that he’s only being polite. “I um- I’ve actually got to go, but it was great running into you.” You smile, and say goodbye to the two blonde boys and make your way up to your apartment. 

Brock Boeser lives in your building. Again. You laugh, thinking about how funny it is that history is repeating itself. He’s just as cute as he was the first time you met, but the truth is you barely know each other, and you’re sure he remembers that you were probably a massive bitch in college who avoided him at all costs. You don’t let the thought of him linger too long and push it to the side to get on the realities of your life instead of continuing to mull over the past.  

*

Over the next month or so, you continue to run into Brock in the elevator or in the lobby of your building. He always says hi and greets you with the same sweet smile. You make polite conversation and he’s so charming sometimes that it makes you blush. It starts off with awkward hellos and goodbyes, then you start to make small talk, and soon enough conversation between the two of you becomes pretty effortless. His little jokes are usually so dumb, but they make you laugh and you truly appreciate that he’s always so nice. You start to open up a bit more and aren’t as hesitant when he asks you innocent questions about your life. 

You got to meet Coolie and Milo the other day, and Brock says that they are particularly fond of you. They both seem to be the sweetest dogs in the world, so you’re sure they’re just as good for everyone else. You see them ever so often when Brock takes them on walks around town, and he loves the way your eyes light up when you see his furry kids.

Brock usually asks you how work is going, even though your advanced corporate job goes way over his head, and you ask him about hockey, which you also have little to no knowledge of. You both usually give short and uninteresting answers like “great” or “it’s going.” Then, just as Brock is trying to find more ways to get to know you, you tell him that you’ve been trying to educate yourself more on hockey. You explain that you primarily work with men, and these men happen to be very keyed in on the sport and particularly on the Vancouver Canucks. Now, every time he sees you, he asks you what you’ve learned. 

Your conversations are still fairly short, but you tell him when you’ve finally learned all of the NHL team names, and understand each of the hockey positions. You explain some of the penalties and you’re pretty proud of yourself when your explanation of offsides gets an approval. When he asks you who you’ve decided your favorite player is, you tell him you like “that Boeser kid,” but not as much as you like Elias Pettersson. This gets a big laugh from him, and he tells you he doesn’t disagree with your analysis. This is a turning point for the two of you. Brock can tell that you’re becoming more comfortable with him, and he likes seeing this lighter side of you. 

One day when you pass him in the parking lot, he’s on his way to a game, dressed in suit, but with a beanie on his head. You’ve seen him like this a number of times before, and you really don’t understand why he insists on covering up his beautiful hair with various hats. You also don’t mind admiring how good he looks in his game day apparel. He’s good looking, and it’s not a crime to admire that. 

As you walk toward each other in the parking lot he calls out to you, “Hey, you learn anything new this week?” You laugh, because he usually starts the conversation like this, asking if you’ve studied up or done your homework. 

“Actually, I have a question for you.” You tell him as you come up, stopping before you would pass each other. 

“Okay, shoot.” He says. 

“Well, that’s actually your job, but my question has to do with goalie interference. I just don’t really understand it. I was trying to find videos of calls during games, but all of the calls seem kind of inconsistent.” You tell him, and he laughs at your shooting joke, leaving you feeling proud for a moment. He’s also laughing because you’re right. No one fucking knows what goalie interference is. 

“Yeah, I’m not even sure what goalie interference is half the time. But if you figure it out let me know!” He answers. You laugh, and the two of you begin to part ways. 

Before he makes it to his car you shout back, “Oh, Good luck tonight!” 

He smiles and thanks you before opening his car door and on his way to the rink he thinks about all of the little conversations the two of you have had over the course of last couple of months. His crush has only continued to grow, and Elias keeps nagging him to ask you out, but he’s not even sure if you’re single. With his luck, you’re probably married to that asshole from college, although he hasn’t noticed you with anyone and he hasn’t seen a ring on your finger. 

After that night Brock decided he needed to figure out if you were single or not, so that he could move on from his infatuation with you instead of wasting his time pining over a girl who was already taken. You’re always polite, and more recently you’ve become more and more comfortable joking and bantering with him, but sometimes you give him a look like you’re not sure what to say. 

That look is the look you get when you contemplate how you got here. Years ago, you couldn’t have fathomed having a simple conversation with Brock, but now you see him on a regular basis and make conversation like you’ve been friends for years. You appreciate his willingness to talk with you, and you enjoy your interactions more and more every day.

Brock knows that on Sunday morning you usually go for a walk down to the coffee shop on the corner, so today he grabs Coolie and Milo and heads for the door, hoping he’ll be lucky enough to run into you. He makes it all the way to the coffee shop without seeing you and he’s praying that when he opens the door to the store that you’ll be waiting inside. 

No such luck. 

When he doesn’t see you standing inside, he decides he should at least buy a coffee instead of awkwardly walking out. After he picks up his drink he walks across the street to the park so that Coolie and Milo can get some exercise. For some reason, the gods are on his side today, and a few minutes into his walk he sees you sitting on a bench under a tree, reading a book. 

He doesn’t get to secretly admire how pretty you look sitting there, with the sun streaming down through the limbs of the trees, because Milo and Coolie have spotted you and are actively dragging him in your direction. You’re stirred from your reading and when you look up you see two big fur balls running toward you, their owner not far behind them. 

“Hey! Sorry about them.” Brock apologizes as he tries to calm the dogs down. You’re laughing and smiling because Coolie has jumped up on the bench beside you. Brock tells them to get down as they continue to try and jump for your attention, and they eventually settle at his side. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind at all. I feel the same way when I see them,” you say, and it gets a light chuckle from Brock. He loves that you get so excited to see them and he cherishes the way your eyes light up when you reach down to pet them. He’s not sure what to say now, and before the silence gets too awkward you ask him if he wants to sit while motioning to the spot next to you. He gladly accepts your offer, and he sits down next to you.

“What are you reading?” He asks, attempting to facilitate some conversation. 

You turn over the book in your hand so that he can see the cover, “It’s called Normal People.” You say before giving him a brief description. You also tell him it’s a series on Hulu and he says he’ll opt to watch that instead of reading the book, earning another laugh from you. 

“So, did you leave the boyfriend behind or did you bring him with you?” He asks referring to some of the plot points of the book you had described to him. The question surprises you because one, there wasn’t a boyfriend, and two, why would Brock think there was a boyfriend? Your mind works fast enough to figure he might think that you’re still with Owen, but over the last couple months you don’t think you’ve given him any reason to think you would still be with him. 

“Neither I guess. I didn’t have a boyfriend to leave or bring.” You answer, looking over at Brock. You’re sure you almost hear what sounds like a sigh of relief from him, but it happened too quickly to tell. 

“I guess you and that guy from college didn’t work out?” Brock asks cautiously. He’s trying not to seem too eager, but he’s dying to know what ever happened between you and that jerk. 

You let out a light laugh as you think back to your previous relationship, “No, it definitely didn’t work out.” You say back. “We were obviously super young; we started dating when we were fifteen,” you sigh. “Anyway, I think it just took some time to realize I wasn’t going to marry a guy I thought was cute in my 9th grade biology class. We just didn’t have anything in common anymore. And he turned out to be a total jerk.” It feels surprisingly easy talking to Brock about this. You’ve felt so much shame and embarrassment for staying with this guy from high school for so long, but Brock’s eyes don’t convey any judgement or reason to feel ashamed. 

After that you gracefully shift the conversation to Brock’s love life. It was only fair, and when you asked him if he had a special lady- or man in his life, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. It isn’t because you asked him if he was perhaps seeing a man, but because he was just so flustered by you and your questioning of his love life at all. 

“Nope. No ladies... Or men for that matter.” He says with a little laugh. 

“Really? A star hockey player like you doesn’t have girls lined up waiting for their chance to be with you?” You tease, as you can see, he’s still blushing a bit. You don’t think much of it, other than that he’s probably just shy about those things, but you don’t really feel too bad about teasing him.  He continues to convince you that there aren’t any other ladies in his life, and eventually the topic of conversation is forgotten. 

Brock walks back to the apartment building with you, and when you get in the elevator you remember that you’re going to be attending a Canucks game next week, “I almost forgot! I’m going to the Preds game next week!” You tell him, and his expression lights up hearing you say that you’ll be attending one of his games. “Some of the guys from work invited me to go with them. I think I’ve really won them over with my new hockey knowledge,” You tell him proudly. 

Some of the guys from work who are particularly invested in the hockey team invited you to come with them to a game, and you happily accepted the invitation. You had proven yourself to them as a colleague and now as a hockey fan too. 

“I guess we’ll have to get a win for you guys.” Brock replies confidently. The Canucks have had a great record lately and it looks like their winning streak is just getting started. “You better!” You say before the elevator stops on your floor and you tell him you’ll see him later, leaving Brock to think about everything he’s learned about you that morning. 

*

It’s Thursday, and this week has been hell. 

Sadly, you’re used to dedicating most of your time to work, but this week has been a total shit show, for lack of better words. A big account you’ve been working on decided at the last minute that they wanted something completely different, causing you and your team to have to work some crazy hours this week. By Thursday you’re practically a zombie due to your lack of sleep. The hours you have spent at home have been minimal, as you’ve gotten home past ten almost every night this week, and you leave in the morning again before 7. 

The guys on your team have all been working crazy hours too, but you’ve been taking the lead on this campaign, so you’ve made sure to be there early and late every single day. They can tell you’re just about out of gas, and they send you home early, telling you to rest up for the big presentation tomorrow. You try to argue, but they’re right, you need a break. You surrender and head home after stopping to get some takeout, knowing that your fridge at home is starkly empty. 

“Ms.Y/L/N, I’ve got a package for you.” Paul, the concierge of your building tells you as you pass him on your way to the elevators. You haven’t made any online purchases as of late, and you don’t remember anyone telling you they were sending you anything. Still, you wait patiently as he goes to the back room to grab it. When Paul returns he’s holding a decent sized shopping bag. You’re not sure what it could be, but you take the bag and thank him, too focused on getting up to your apartment and out of your work pants. 

As soon as the door to your apartment is closed behind you, you drop your bags onto the kitchen counter and slip out of your dress pants. Your bra follows shortly, and you settle into your couch with your take out. The rest of your evening is spent lounging on the couch, catching up on your shitty reality tv shows and taking a break from work. When you look down at your phone and see that it’s only 8:30 you tell yourself it’s too early to go to bed, but you’re exhausted and you bed is calling to you. As you gather your dishes and clean up your kitchen you’re reminded of the package you picked up on your way in. 

The bag is still sitting on the counter where you left it a few hours ago. You take a minute to think about what it could be or who it could be from, but nothing comes to mind. When you open the bag all you see is some blue fabric. It feels like clothes, so you dump it over on to your counter and come to find that the bag is full of what looks like Vancouver Canucks gear. You’re in surprised to say the least. There are multiple pieces of clothing laying in front of you, and you’re sure it’s at least a few hundred dollars worth of apparel. There’s a note too, but you choose to look through the other contents first. 

First off, there’s a navy blue hoodie with the classic Cancuks logo. There are two t-shirts, one has the Canucks throwback logo on it and the other has the pride logo printed on the front. You smile at that, knowing that he obviously knew you would like that one. Next, is a Canucks beanie with a pompom on the top. Finally, you unfold a royal blue jersey. You’re expecting to see a number six on the back but instead your eyes land on the number 40. You can’t help but feel a little sad for a minute, knowing he didn’t get you a jersey with his number on it. 

Alas, you unfold the piece of paper that was sitting in the bottom of the bag and it reads:

I figured you might need some gear for the game Saturday. I hope everything fits okay. 

If you ever need anything I’m Apt. 859, *his phone number* 

-Brock

P.S. Petey insisted that I include his jersey since he’s “your favorite.”

You don’t feel as bad about it not being a Boeser jersey now, and you use a magnet to hang the note up on your fridge before folding your new gear and heading to bed, grinning ear to ear. 

Your presentation goes off without a hitch the next day and you and your coworkers are ready to let loose a bit for the Cancuks game the following evening. You meet up with them at a bar that’s not far from the arena, and you grab a round of drinks before you head into the game. The four co-workers you meet up with take note of your Pettersson jersey, and you smile, satisfied with their praises. A couple of them are sporting jerseys too, one with Horvat and the other with a Boeser. You don’t mention that you know the guy who actually wears number 6, and when he scores the game winning goal you cheer just as loud as everyone else, but secretly you’d like to think it was because he knew you were there in the stands. 

When you get home after the game you shoot Brock a quick text.

You: nice goal tonight! i think this pettersson jersey is lucky! (10:54pm)

You: this is y/n btw (10:54pm)

You’re not sure if he’ll reply so you set your phone down and start to go through your nightly routine. A few minutes later you hear your phone buzz from your night stand. 

Brock: petey didn’t even score tonight and you’re still talking about him? maybe i’ll just take that jersey back (11:01pm)

You: hey, no take backs. but it was a very nice goal!  (11:03pm)

Brock: how was your first game? (11:07pm)

You: my second favorite player scored, my team won, and my co-workers were impressed with my vast hockey knowledge so i’d say it went pretty well! (11:13pm)

You spend some time debating on how to word your message, not wanting to send a reply too fast, and not wanting to seem to flirty, but you still let yourself tease him a little bit more before hitting send. 

Brock: HAHA. very funny. (11:14pm)

Brock: i’m glad you had a good time. (11:14pm)

Brock: we’ll have to get you to more games. it looks like you might be good luck. (11:15pm)

*

Sunday morning is your time to relax. You try not to do any work and opt to take some time for yourself. This can take many forms, like lounging around the house or even reorganizing your bathroom. Today you opt for baking. You bake a couple dozen brownies and place them in a container before slipping on some shoes to head up a few floors. 

You hadn’t given it much thought until you were standing outside of his apartment door, but the two really only interact in the hallways or elevator and you’ve never been to each other’s apartments. The brownies in your hand are probably getting colder by the minute, and you know they taste the best when they’re still warm so you convince yourself to bring your knuckles to the door. 

The person who answers the door isn’t Brock. The boy who answers is shorter and has dark hair. You recognize him as Quinn Hughes. Brock told you once that they call him huggy bear, but you’re not totally sure you know why. 

“Uh-“ There aren’t words coming out of his mouth, it’s more like an awkward sound that you think it is meant to convey some sort of confusion. 

“Um, Is Brock here?” You ask, offering a smile to the boy in front of you. 

“Oh, yeah. Um, come on in.” Quinn doesn’t really know if he should be letting someone into his friends apartment, but Brock made him answer the door so he didn’t feel so bad about inviting a stranger in. 

You walk through the door and take in Brock’s home. It’s similar to yours, but slightly bigger. He lives on a different side of the building so the windows are slightly different too. You follow Quinn into the living room where you see Elias and Brock and Jake Virtanen sitting on the couch playing video games. The dogs notice you first as you walk in and Quinn nudges Brock telling him someone is here for him before he turns around to see you. 

“Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure?” He asks as he stands from the couch. 

“I uh, I just wanted to bring you these. I figured it’s the least I could do since you got me that lucky Pettersson jersey.” He lets out a solid laugh at that. You liked it when he laughed like that. He lets his head hang back and his hand rests on his stomach. 

“Well thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.” He says as you hand him the box of brownies. He walks over to the kitchen counter and pulls the lid off.  The smell of freshly baked brownies starts to fill the room, and the other boys are at the counter before you know it. 

“Oh shit. Those look good.” Jake says as he eyes the baked goods.

The boys are quiet for the next couple minutes except for some humming and “yum” sounds that escape between bites.  A couple dozen brownies is apparently no match for four hockey players. You swear half the box vanishes in front of your eyes as they compliment you on your baking abilities. You mentally thank your mom for the perfected family recipe that you practically have memorized. They make friendly conversation, besides Quinn who has remained rather quiet, except for offering a few side comments or sounds of agreement. Eventually Elias asks you more about how your first game hockey game went. 

Elias is observant and incredibly well spoken, and he’s making what could have been an awkward situation a very pleasant one. He guides most of the conversation as Brock becomes more comfortable with the dynamic of you being there with his other friends. It’s cute how close Brock and Elias are. Even just standing in the kitchen you can tell the two of them have a bond that’s different than the ones between the other boys. Brock is sometimes shy and blushy when the two of you talk, but with his friends he’s more bold and sure of himself. 

The small talk is getting thin, and you’re about to politely end the conversation and tell them you should go when Jake asks how you and Brock know each other. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do, and you look at Brock who is standing next to you. Before you can decide how to answer Brock replies simply, “We went to UND together back in the day.”

“I guess we don’t really know each other very well, but we had some mutual friends.” You try to add and clarify.  

“Oh cool,” Jake replies, not really giving it much thought. “So are you liking the city so far?” he asks. 

“I like it a lot , I just haven’t had a lot of free time outside of work to explore. But, my co-workers finally like me since I know all about hockey now, and the one girl in our office is my best and only friend!” You laugh at yourself a bit, because you know it sounds a little sad that you’re a young twenty-something with zero signs of a social life. It earns some laughs from the guys too. 

“You should come out with us next weekend, you gotta experience Vancouver’s night life! Plus, we’re celebrating my dog’s birthday!” Jake exclaims, and you can see Elias rolling his eyes and Brock and Quinn are both laughing while shaking their heads. 

You look between the boys, a bit confused, “Your what? Your dog’s birthday?” 

Jake laughs too when you seem so confused about it, “It seemed like a good excuse to go out. Gotta keep it loose, ya know?” He seems serious about this and you can’t help but laugh. The guys explain that they don’t get out too often during the season, and some of them don’t even like going out, but sometimes it’s good to just let loose with the boys. Jake is one who particularly enjoys a good night out, and so occasionally when the boys haven’t frequented a bar in a while, he comes up with “reasons to celebrate.” Elias sounds like a dad when he says that they all just go along with it to make Jake happy, and Jake looks like a little kid when he rolls his eyes at them. He’s also quick to make the point that they always end up having a good time. 

“You obviously don’t have to come, but I think it’ll be fun, and you should bring your friend. Her name’s Jade, right?” You’ve talked to Brock about Jade a couple times in the past, but you didn’t really think he would have listened that intently or that he would remember your co-workers name. It’s nice knowing that he does. 

“Yeah, it’s Jade. I guess I could ask her if she’s free and let you know.” You tell him, still contemplating if you even want to go out to some busy club on a Saturday night. 

*

“So, uh— What are you doing this weekend?” You ask Jade, your co-worker as you walk into her office. She’s the only other girl in your office, and you’ve become good friends over the last few months. Her dark hair and dark features match her bold and strong personality. Jade constantly bugs you to get out more, especially on the weekends, but you usually curb her requests saying that you’re still getting settled into the new city. This excuse was wearing thin since you’ve been here almost four months now, and you knew you would have to give in to her requests soon. Instead, you’ve opted to invite her to go out with Brock and his friends this weekend. Or rather, pray she would go with you because there was no way you were going alone. 

“I don’t know, probably nothing because my friend is a loner who doesn’t ever leave her house.” Jade looks over at you with a knowing expression causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Your loner friend actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out this weekend.” You say mimicking her cadence.  “That guy from college who lives in my building is celebrating his friend’s dog’s birthday, so him and some of their friends are all going out.” When you explain why Brock’s friends are going out you realize again just how ridiculous it sounds, and you know it’s not really why they’re going to a bar to get hammered, but you relay the information anyway. 

You told Jade about “the guy from college” that you had run into in your apartment building, but you didn’t tell her that the guy was Brock Boeser. You were sure she knew who he was, even if she wasn’t shy with her discontent with sports. She’s just not a sports person, but anyone in Vancouver would immediately recognize the name of one of their biggest players. All you told her was that you had gone to UND together and that you had never really been friends, just that you had mutual friends. 

She never asked more about who he was, but she did ask if he was cute. You couldn’t lie, it would be sinful to do so about a man who was as good looking as Brock, so you told her the truth. You also told her how good of a guy he was and that he never hesitates to start a conversation with you. Since then, she has asked for regular updates on your interactions together. Even though you withheld some crucial information, you still told her about how he liked talking about hockey and that he had gotten you some Canucks gear to wear to the game. When you told her about that she insisted that he liked you, and part of you wanted to believe that, but another part of you knew that you and Brock still barely knew each other. 

He seems really sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he still has plenty of girls vying for his attention. Girls who are prettier and smarter and nicer than you. When you think back to those brief interactions with him it still gives you a feeling of anxiety. It’s the kind of anxiety that you get when you remember something embarrassing you did as a kid or when you’re trying to fall asleep and you remember that you said “you too” to the barista who said “come again!” Either way, you weren’t convinced that your limited interactions warranted any feelings on either of your parts, so you continued to try to suppress your growing feelings for him.

Luckily, Jade was happy to oblige your request of going out. She asked if your friend had any cute single friends, and while you weren’t quite sure if they were single, you said yes figuring that one of them had to be.

“Y/N, It’s me!” You hear Jade come in through your apartment door that you had left unlocked for her. It’s Saturday night and you’re getting ready to go out with Brock and his teammates. You still haven’t told Jade who he is, and you’re hoping she doesn’t freak out when she finds out. 

“I’m in my closet!” You shout back to Jade as she makes her way through your apartment. She finds you sitting inside your walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear, “I’m having a crisis. I have no idea what I should wear.” You look over at her precisely curated outfit that’s perfect for a night out. She looks hot and it’s just enough to not be overdone. He hair is flawlessly sleek and her make up looks like an artist painted it on. 

“Stop moping. You’re just nervous because he’s cute and you like him. Go make us some drinks and I’ll pick out your outfit.” You don’t put up a fight, knowing that she’ll probably be able to piece together a great ensemble that you never would have thought of. Your strengths were probably better suited for making cocktails anyway, so you go to the kitchen and whip up a couple of drinks. 

On your way back to your room you turn on your “going out” playlist that hasn’t been touched in ages, and when the first drop of alcohol touches your tongue you automatically feel less anxious. She’s right, you totally have a crush on this guy, and you’re super nervous about going out with him and his friends. What’s worse, is that this was pretty much a pity invite, and him and his friends feel bad that you don’t know anyone else in the city.  

Brock’s night was going somewhat similarly to yours. When Elias got to his apartment for the pregame he found Brock standing in only his boxers with a pile of clothes covering his closet floor. Elias couldn’t help but laugh at him. He hasn’t seen Brock act this way about a girl in a long time. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure if he’s ever seen Brock act like this. Brock was sensitive, but he wasn’t anxious like this. He wouldn’t get tied up in things like what to wear or what to say to a girl. He did however, have the issue of falling way too hard way too fast, ending up in situations where girls left him after they got what they wanted. Over the years he’s learned how to guard his heart a bit better, and his friends, Elias especially, were always there to protect him. 

Elias likes you. He liked you the minute he met you. He was intuitive and was a good judge of character, which made him and Brock a good pair. Brock has a tendency to trust a little too much, but now Elias is there to help guide him toward the right people. When Brock introduced you to Elias, he could immediately tell that you were a good person. He could see it in your eyes, and in your genuine appreciation that Brock would recognize and say hello to you. Elias liked that you were sprightly enough to make a joke about knowing who he was. Most of all, he liked how Brock talked about you. Elias immediately recognizes when Brock has had a conversation with you before practice or a game. He comes in with a little pep in his step, that causes some of the guys to question if he got laid the night before, but now Elias recognizes that he must have seen you on his way to work. Brock gushes about your interactions and about how cute you are when you explain the hockey things you learn.  The day that you told him Elias was your favorite player Brock was so excited to tell him. He wasn’t even mad, he just loved how light hearted willing to joke around you were. 

Brock occasionally thinks back on the times he saw you after that first night at UND. He thinks about what would have happened if your boyfriend hadn’t been waiting for you outside of your dorm. It’s not that he thinks he would have gotten lucky or that you would have cheated on your boyfriend with him, it’s just that maybe if you had had a bit more time to get to know each other you could have at least become friends.  And maybe that friendship could have grown into something more and you would have broken up with that asshole to be with him. Brock thinks about what could have been, but he also knows that hindsight is 20/20. He doesn’t consider himself a superstitious guy, but he can’t help but think that you came to Vancouver for a reason. 

When your wardrobe crisis has been averted, you’re fully dressed in skinny jeans and a cute top that’s revealing enough but doesn’t exactly come right out and say “I want to have your babies right now.” (That’s how Jade described it, anyway.) The two of you have had a round of drinks and you decide that it’s probably an appropriate time to head up to Brock’s. You didn’t want to get there too early and be the only ones there, so you made Jade wait it out in your apartment until it was at least thirty minutes after the time he had said to come. 

Brock texted you letting you know the door was unlocked, and when you get out of the elevator you can already hear music playing from behind his door. “I can already feel it. This is going to be fun!” Jade tells you excitedly as you reach out for the doorknob. You laugh thinking about how she has no idea she’s about to be drinking with a bunch of professional hockey players for the night. 

When you open the door you see some of the guys you’ve met mulling about, most of them with drinks in their hands. Brock comes up to you almost immediately. Without even thinking he wraps you in a hug, and it feels so natural even though you’ve never had any sort of physical interaction with him. Your suspicions were right, he gives the best hugs, and you wish that you could stand there in his warm arms forever, but it only lasts a second before he’s pulling away and turning his attention to your friend who looks likes she’s surprised to see Brock Boeser hugging her coworker and Elias Pettersson coming up behind him to say hello. 

“Okay, you didn’t tell me that “your friend” was Brock fucking Boeser.” She doesn’t even try to whisper it, and it’s kind of what you love about her. She just expresses herself freely, and it’s honestly so funny when she says it.  It has Brock’s head falling back as he lets out a laugh. 

Brock and Elias introduce you and Jade to the other guys who are in the apartment. There are a couple girlfriends among them and even though they all look like they just walked out of an instagram ad, they all seem genuinely nice and aren’t nearly as intimidating as you thought they would be. You don’t get too much time to mingle before Jake informs the group that the “birthday party” is ready to move to the bars, followed by packing into various Ubers. 

When you’re all at the bar, a few other guys show up, some single and definitely ready to mingle, but to your surprise some have even brought their wives. The drinks are flowing and you’re actually having fun. You notice that Jade and Jake have spent a lot of time talking, and he offers to get her a drink before they head off to the bar. You laugh, and shake your head as she turns back to give you wink before heading off with the hockey player. 

You turn your attention back to the guys standing around the table, when one of them asks you, “So, how do you two know each other? I feel like somebody said you went to UND?” It’s Brandon Sutter, you didn’t recognize him when Brock first introduced you, seeing as most of the photos you’ve seen of him include a hockey helmet covering most of his face. It’s probably the alcohol— no, it’s definitely the alcohol that has you responding to his question, “Yeah, we went to UND together, but we didn’t really hang out or anything, I think everyone just thought I was massive bitch.” You laugh, but you can see some confusion setting in on Brock’s expression. Brandon laughs too, not thinking much of what you said. 

“What do you mean?” Brock asks. He never thought of you that way back in college. He knew that guy you dated was jerk. He dimmed your light, and that wasn’t your fault. 

“I don’t know, I just figured you guys all thought I was kind of a bitch because I just hung out with my boyfriend all the time.” You don’t really know what else to say, thinking back to those days where you would follow Owen around like a lost puppy. 

“I don’t think anybody thought that, we just thought your boyfriend was dick.” He says, and before you can say anything else he adds, “No offense. He just didn’t seem like he treated you very well. That night he yelled at you in front of the dorm when he found out you went to our party left a pretty bitter taste in my mouth.” 

“Sounds like a dick, to me.” Quinn says matter-of-factly. You’re sure it’s the alcohol for him too, he’s been more talkative in the last hour than he has been in the two other times you’ve seen him. 

“Yeah, he was.” You answer back.

“So I guess you’re not still dating this guy, are you?” Brandon asks. You can feel sets of eyes all resting on you now, like you’re about to reveal a big secret. 

“No no, we broke up right before senior year of college. I dated a little in grad school, but when I found out I was moving to Canada I didn’t really bother with trying to find boyfriend.” You tell them, as they nod in response.

The rest of the night isn’t as serious. Jade and Jake tear up the dance floor, and when she nudges you to signal she’s leaving with him you tell her to wrap before she taps it, earning a laugh and wave goodbye. Brock stays by your side the entire night, neither of you wanting to join the others dancing. His arm stays perched on the back of the booth you’re in, while you listen to JT tell some elaborate story from their recent road trip. 

When Brock sees you yawn for the third time in a row he asks if you’re ready to head home. “Yeah, I’m tired. I’ll probably just head home soon.” You think he might offer to go back with you, but you don’t want to assume. Instead of yelling over the loud music he just nods and pulls out his phone. He tells the boys that you’re both heading out and they all say goodbye before Brock nudges you out of the booth. 

On the car ride home he asks you what you thought of the boys, laughing when your first response is that there are just so many of them. “It’s like trying to keep track of puppies. They’re there one second and then they’re off doing something else the next,” You laugh at yourself thinking about how many of them probably have undiagnosed ADHD, or maybe some of them are diagnosed. “But it’s cute, you guys are like a little family.” This earns one of those genuine Brock Boeser smiles. He’s proud of his little family. He loves them all, and he’s glad that you like them because he can tell they like you too. 

That night out leads to a few more texts back and forth, and eventually to full on conversations that go one for days at a time. One night he asked what you were doing and you told him you were going to watch the Battle of Alberta game. You had heard a lot about this rivalry since you embarked on your hockey education, and you figured you should see what all the hype was about. To your surprise, Brock asked if he could join you, and the two you spent the night watching hockey from your couch. 

You hadn’t watched a game this intense before, and when Matthew Tkachuk drops his gloves to fight Zack Kassian, Brock can tell you’re on edge. You knew there were fights in hockey, and you had watched a few clips on youtube, but it seemed more real watching it in realtime. You wondered what it would be like to see something like that in person. As the two players are ushered off the ice, you can’t help but wonder if Brock would ever find himself in a situation like that, and when you ask him if he ever fights during games he chuckles a bit before he answers, “No, I’m not really the fighting type. I think it’s better for everyone if I leave that up to guys like Zack and Jordie.” 

You’re not totally convinced by this, and you don’t like that the thought of Brock in a fight makes you feel so sick. He can sense your hesitation and he wants to try to ease your mind, “When fights like that break out, it’s usually because both players have agreed to it. You can see that they’re talking right before, they’re asking each other if they want to do it.” He narrates as the fight replays on your TV. “Occasionally someone will still throw a punch even if the other guy says no, but that’s not common. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that you have to stand up for your team, so most guys who are asked will fight, but I’m not usually the guy in that position. I haven’t fought once in the NHL, and I plan to keep it that way. I’d get rag-dolled by both of those guys.” He says pointing back to where the players now sit in their respective boxes.

It’s nice to know that Brock hasn’t fought anyone before, but you still worry about him getting hurt. What if he was the one who got caught by a bad hit? You can’t keep thinking about things you can’t control, so you try your best to shift your attention back to the game. 

You and Brock find yourselves in each others apartments more often after that. The two of you will make dinner and watch a game, or just watch TV for the night. Occasionally you walk down to the coffee shop on the corner together or walk over to the park with Coolie and Milo. You’ve started to become friends, and you feel like Brock is letting you get to know him more and more everyday. The conversation is easier, and the flirting is probably more noticeable than either of you thinks it is. Your positions on the couch have drifted from opposite sides of the couch to having your thighs touching while his arm sits, resting behind you across the back of the couch. He always greets you with a big hug, and lately you’ve noticed his arms lingering around your body a little bit longer than the time before

He hasn’t made a move yet, and you haven’t either. You think that maybe he just isn’t interested in getting closer, and you’re admittedly too self-conscious to try to make a move yourself. Tonight os just like any other night that the two of you spend together but you don’t notice that Brock is pretty far gone in his thoughts. That may be because you’re lost in your own as well. A few minutes later his voice brings you back to reality, “Are you okay?” You look up from where you’ve been staring down at the wine glass in your hand. You’re sitting at his kitchen counter, and he’s standing on the other side of the island looking back at you. You tell him you’re fine but you can see that he doesn’t buy it for a second. 

“You know you’re like a really good guy, right?” You ask him, after taking another sip of wine. 

He smiles back at you with a bit questioning in his eye, “I mean I’d like to think that I’m not too bad.” He says back. 

“No, Brock. You’re like really good. You help old ladies at the grocery store, and you talk about your nephew like he’s your own kid, and you’re nice to me when you really don’t have to be.”  You try to tell him just how genuinely good he is. You wish you could explain it more eloquently and you wish you could show him how good of heart he has. 

“That just sounds like normal people stuff,” he replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

He would say something like that, and think that normal people were just as nice as he is, and maybe they were, but the people that you’ve met throughout your life have somewhat tainted that idea for you.

“I think maybe you don’t realize how good you are.” He says back, looking you directly in the eyes. “You’re a good person, and just because I knew you back when you dated some jerk in college, doesn’t mean that it has any impact on how I feel about you now.” He’s so serious in this moment, and not at all like the usual lighthearted guy you’re used to. Somehow he knew just where your insecurities laid. He’s so genuine and honest sometimes that it hurts and the butterflies you feel in your stomach are getting harder and harder to ignore. 

The two of you don’t talk much for the rest of the night, and instead settle in a comfortable silence while Brock catches up on the episodes of Gossip Girl that Elias watched without him. Brock isn’t paying attention to what is happening on his TV. His mind is way too busy thinking of what he’s going to do next. The guys have all been pestering him to get a move on, saying that he’ll miss his window of opportunity with you, and he knows that they’re right. If he’s lucky he hasn’t missed his opportunity yet, but if not, he might just be screwed. 

He doesn’t even notice when his eyes shift away from the screen and move to rest on you. He’s taking his time, studying every feature, taking in every soft curve of your face. He loves the subtle crinkles on the sides of your eyes that deepen when you smile, and it’s even better when it happens because of something he said or did. If he could, he would make sure that smile stayed on your face for every second of the day. Your hair flows naturally without being fixed and he knows that you often let strands fall in front of your eyes when you’re too concentrated on your work or like now, when you’re invested in the show that you’re watching. 

Without a thought, and on instinct alone, Brock slowly moves his hand up toward your face and softly tucks the strand of hair behind your ear. You’re a bit caught off guard at first, but you remain still as you feel his fingers linger on the side of your neck. Eventually you let your eyes meet his and you realize just how close you are to him. The two of you stay like that for a minute, staring at each other, taking each other in. It’s too easy to get lost in Brock’s ocean-like eyes, and you swear you hear the enchanting sound of waves crashing on a beach.  

You’ve been staring at each other for what feels like too long, and you’re about to pull away when you feel Brock’s hand on the side of your face again. He’s slowly inching toward you and his eyes are still glued to yours. He’s searching for any source of panic or concern in your eyes, but he doesn’t find any. Your heart has taken over at this point and you can’t keep yourself away any longer, before you lean in and your lips finally meet his. 

Kissing Brock feels like everything good in the world. It’s feels like the first time you road a bike or the first time you tasted ice cream. It’s new and invigorating and yet you feel totally safe and secure. Before you know it, you’re deepening the kiss and Brock lets you lead him to where you’re comfortable. It just so happens that you find comfort when you reposition yourself so that your legs are straddling his and his hands are resting on your hips. It’s only when your hips shift on top of him and he can’t help but let out a deep moan that also he makes himself pull away from you. It’s then when you start to panic, and think that maybe this was a mistake, maybe he’s realizing that now. 

“I don’t want you to think that I just want this.” He says as he motions to the small space separating your bodies. “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing…” he mutters out, like he’s a bit embarrassed, and nervous that you won’t want the same thing. 

“Brock, the only reason I wouldn’t want this is if you didn’t want it. But if you do, then I do too.” You say steadily. Brock smiles and it’s one of those big toothy smiles he only shares when he’s truly happy. You can’t say anything because you’re just as elated, so instead you lean down to kiss him again. 

*

It’s only been a short six months since that night on Brock’s couch, but now you get to call his bed your own, and when you come home to your shared apartment you’re greeted by your beautiful blond boyfriend and your two dogs. Brock insists that you’re their adoptive mom now, and to make it official he bought the two of you matching hats that say “Dog Mom AF” and “Dog Dad AF.” You both wear them when you walk your fury kids together and even though you tell him you think they’re cheesy he knows that you love them.

Brock is somehow everything you need him to be. He’s strong when you’re not and he makes you laugh when you’re sad, but most of all he’s your steady companion. It’s crazy now, thinking back to when you met him. You were just a kid, barely out of high school, and you really hadn’t had the chance to think about what you actually wanted for your life. 

Then you graduated, went to graduate school, and started to find out who you were without a boy to dictate the ins and outs of your life. When you were given the opportunity to move to Vancouver you saw it as a new beginning, but you didn’t realize that it was going to be a gift to more than one part of your life. Your work life and your career goals were finally falling into place and that just left one more thing—your love life. You had stopped worrying so much about finding a boyfriend along the way as you focused on yourself, but when Brock Boeser reentered your life you couldn’t ignore it. 

Brock’s reemergence was a surprise to say the least, but now you both see that it was a gift of a second chance. When you first met, neither of you were ready for the kind of commitment you now share with each other, and you know now more than ever that those years with Owen and the years you spent alone were all worth it, because when history repeats itself you have the power to change the narrative. 

[nessinborderland]

Be Mine (03)

Pairing: Niragi x Reader / Chishiya x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Omegaverse

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: You were able to stay unbounded throughout your life. You didn't want an Alpha; you didn't need one. You would rather die than to give yourself to some random male. But the man that saved your life thinks differently.

Warnings: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Finger fucking, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Drama, Developing Relationship, Past Abuse, Scars

Notes: Would like to thank everyone that has been liking, reblogging and commenting on this fic, I see ya’ll and I love you. It means the world to me <3 I’m so glad people are liking my lil Niragi work. My dm’s and ask box are open if you ever feel like saying hi and/or scream over stuff in general with me lol. Enjoy!

AO3 Link        Masterlist

You had woken up to an empty bed the next morning. You had laid there, staring at the ceiling and rewinding every moment of the last twenty-four hours in your head, over and over. How things had changed so fast. How so much had happened already. You didn't know if you should feel sad or relieved by Niragi's absence; you weren't sure if you wanted to face him after what had happened last night. You still remembered the look in his eyes, his promise, how he made you feel. It was all so...overwhelming.

A week has passed without you speaking with Niragi. You barely caught a glimpse of him beside the occasional moments where you see him from afar with his group of militants, usually coming from or going on raids. You tried to talk to him on several occasions, but he was out of sight before you could get close enough. You also changed rooms after that first night, and part of you was hoping to see him barge in to take you back to his room. But it never happened.

He is avoiding you.

That or maybe he is usually that busy. Either way, you don’t like how this whole situation makes you feel. Yeah sure, maybe you aren’t exactly being the most approachable person either, but you are...scared. This is all so new for you. His scent has practically disappeared from your skin, and you can feel yourself getting restless again. Especially when he is close.

You don’t see him, but you can feel his eyes on you. You can smell the peppermint in the air every time he is close. You usually walk around the hotel alone or just stay in your bedroom. Walking around by yourself is nerve-wracking; the constant whispers, the stares, the way people either avoid you or get way too close to you. But you can feel him always close by, watching you.

Chishiya.

You honestly don’t know if you should feel safe or afraid. Afraid that he will use his influence as an Alpha to take you as Niragi did the first time you met. At least Chishiya hasn’t tried hunting you down yet. Even though stalking you around like a cat chasing a mouse isn’t much different.

You’re now in a car with Ann, exhausted, wet from head to toe, but alive. Another game where your skills were evaluated; another game where you won without particularly impressing her. You always feel like you’re alive out of sheer luck and the help of others. It bothers you more than you dare to say. You have already been evaluated in games of Clubs and Diamonds, and you’re sure you would be dead if it wasn’t for Ann and the other players.

You can’t understand how people can be so smart at these hell games. Yes, you were successful at solving the riddle that allowed you to win the game of Diamonds, but since when was that impressive? You would still have been eaten by that shark in the game of Clubs without everyone else’s help.

“How are you holding up, Kenji?” you ask the young man sitting beside you. His arm is bandaged with a t-shirt already drenched in blood and his face is pale. He turns to you with a half-smile.

“Alive, thanks to you,” he says, moaning in pain when the car rides over a bump. “Thank you for that, by the way. For coming back for me.”

“It was the right thing to do.” you shrug with a smile, “Besides, I almost got eaten too.”

You can feel Ann’s eyes on you through the rearview mirror. You wonder what she’s thinking. It’s like you’re back in high school, waiting for an important evaluation. You hate it.

The car finally parks in the Beach’s parking lot and you get out, helping Kenji to his feet before two men come to take him to the infirmary. You’re walking away to get inside when Ann calls your name.

“A lot of people wouldn’t have done what you did,” she says. “That was brave of you. And stupid.”

“Uhh, thanks?” you stand there awkwardly as she seems to assess you through those big sunglasses of hers. “I just-”

“What do you see in him?” she asks after a pause, interrupting you. “You have nothing in common.”

You don’t know what to answer; shared interests and personality traits are not exactly what attracted you to each other. You shrug, “Wolf things I guess.” It’s not exactly something easy to explain. You also would rather not give it too much thought.

Ann hums, shaking her head. “Just be careful,” and walks away before you can even think of an answer.

You’re about to make your way inside when the sound of tires screeching makes you look back. The militants arrived from the games. You instantly see Niragi as he gets out of a vehicle, and you desperately want to approach him. He makes his way to the entrance at a fast pace, rifle on his shoulder as he’s followed by the rest of the militants. His pace falters when his gaze falls on you, but he doesn’t stop as he passes by you without a word.

“Niragi!” you’re calling before you can think twice.

He stops in his tracks, making everyone behind him stop too. More than twenty pairs of eyes lock on you as you stand there, heat growing on your cheeks. Why the hell did I call him, you think to yourself before clearing your throat.

“Hmm, could I speak to you? In private?”

He sighs. “I can’t right now. I’m going back out,” he says in a dismissive tone. You can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes; you worry if he’s been getting enough sleep lately. “We’ll talk when I get back.” and with that, he turns his back on you and walks away, followed by his group.

He’s definitely avoiding you. You wonder why; was it all the rejecting? Maybe he finally realized you are more trouble than pleasure. Maybe he regrets his promise to you, made in an inebriated state?

It was your disgusting scars, a mean voice in your head whispers.

You flinch. Whatever it is, you hope that he will at least be straightforward and honest with you. Eventually.

You try not to overthink it as you get to your room and go straight to the bathroom, getting rid of your wet clothes before jumping in the warm shower. The thing you probably like the most about the Beach is the showers. That and the good food; there’s always a tray of delicious meals delivered to your room three times a day. You can definitely get used to those small luxuries.

You finish your shower just in time to receive your dinner tray. You eat your meal in bed, a book you found while outside laying open on your knees as you take occasional spoonfuls of your rabbit stew. The sound of laughter and loud talking makes you frown for the third time in half an hour. One of the things you dislike the most about the Beach; the constant partying.

You give up on the book and decide to sleep, hoping that your exhaustiveness will win against the noise of your next-door neighbors.

It does not.

You’re knocking on their door moments later. A man opens the door, clearly beyond drunk, if his breath and slurred speech are anything to go by.

“Could you guys please keep it down?” you ask. "I'm trying to sleep." The man stares you up and down with a smirk, and you give a small step back.

“Yo, guys guess who came to pay us a visit!” he says behind him. You can see three men sitting at a table, playing what you guess is poker, several beer bottles scattered around them. You think you recognize one of them as part of the militants. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Isn’t that Niragi’s bitch?” “Ask her if she wants to join us!” is what you hear them say above the laughter. Yes, bad idea. You put your arms around you, wishing you were wearing something more besides your cotton shorts and Niragi’s shirt.

“Listen, just keep the noise to a minimum, that’s all I’m asking.” you quickly say before turning around to walk back to your room. A hand grabs your arm before you can take more than a couple of steps.

“Why don’t you join us?” says the man. His friends stand behind him, a look in their eyes that makes you shiver with apprehension. “We could show you a good time.”

“Thanks but no, thanks, I’m just trying to get some sleep.”

“You can sleep here, we don’t mind.” he retorts with a pull to your arm. “C’mon-”

“Haru, this isn’t a good idea,” warns the guy you had recognized. “She’s with Niragi.”

Haru laughs and pulls you closer, ignoring your struggle. He sniffs your hair. “Then he has been doing a shitty job at fucking her.” he pulls at your shirt, “Isn’t this his? She doesn’t smell like an Alpha at all,” he chuckles, “And didn’t you say that he ignored her today? I don’t think he’ll care if we get his sloppy seconds.”

“Let me go!” you pull your arm from his grip and face the taller man. “Niragi is not here to kick your asses, but I am.”

“Oh look at this, the little Omega has claws!”

“So do I.”

You freeze. So do Haru and his friends.

You smell him before you see him. Peppermint and rain.

You turn around to see him a few meters behind you, standing casually with his hands in his pockets. He looks bored; like he’s just passing by and there’s an inconvenience on his path. But his eyes…

“Chishiya-”

“You aren’t very smart, are you?” he interrupts, walking slowly towards you. “Harassing an Omega when there’s an Alpha around. It’s not acceptable back in the real world, what makes you think it’s acceptable here?” his eyes flash with something you recognize. You also notice the golden ring on them, giving them a more animal look. “Now you can either let her go or-.”

Haru releases his grip on your arm and takes a step back before Chishiya can finish his sentence.  

“We didn’t do anything to her, man,” he says, hands raised. The man trembles slightly, eyes cast on the ground. “We were just messing around, that’s all.”

Chishiya chuckles and nods, “Of course, of course. Just remember what can happen if you mess with her again.” one of his hands leaves his pocket to scratch his neck, almost mindlessly. You gasp when you see the claws, the changed hand. “I would hate to get blood on my white hoodie.”

The men scatter back into their room without another word, tails between their legs. You stand there looking at him, involved in his scent. After more than a week without an Alpha, having him so close is not doing you any favors. His presence is unmistakably wolf, his scent stronger by his show of dominance. He barely had to try; Betas just instinctively know not to mess with Alphas. You start feeling hot, and you curse yourself; please not now.

“Are you okay?” his voice gets your attention.

“Uh-hm, yeah I am,” you stutter a little, “Th-thanks for the help.”

He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. You feel hypnotized; like you’re under a spell. He smells so good, and you’re so horny, and he’s the only thing making you feel safe now. You think of Niragi for a moment, until your wolf pushes the memory aside with a huff; Niragi is not there, you’re still unclaimed, and there’s an Alpha right in front of you.

You jump into his arms before you’re able to overthink things even more. His arms envelop you as your lips touch, and you feel that amazing electrifying sensation every time you touch an Alpha. His lips are soft on yours as he kisses you. His hands are surprisingly warm against your skin.

“Alpha- ” you moan into the kiss.

“Bedroom,” is all he says as he pulls you with him to your room. His lips are still on yours as he closes the door with a kick before making you lay down on the bed. His body covers yours in an instant, his hands roaming your body while his lips suck the skin of your neck. Even his kisses make you feel pleasure, and you whine as his hands go under your shirt to fondle your breasts. “Your skin is so soft,” he whispers with a pinch to your nipple. “I have been wanting to touch you since I first laid my eyes on you.”

“I- I want more,” your pussy clenches around nothing as you feel him hard against your stomach, “Please, Alpha...more,” you don’t care about how you sound. You just want that sweet release only an Alpha can provide. Niragi’s face shows up in your mind’s eye, but you ignore it; he wasn’t there for you when you needed it. Chishiya was.

His hands move to untie your shorts, sliding them down your legs to uncover your wet cunt. He sits back on his heels, hand on your thigh as he stares right at your naked core. He’s more expressive now than you’ve ever seen him before; his eyes burn with lust, his bottom lip between his teeth. You whine as he stays still, pushing your hips up; you want him to fuck you, not to stare at you.

He chuckles and licks his lips. “Open your legs wider for me,” you immediately do as he says, craving his touch. His hand slides lower until his fingers are tracing your slit in up and down movements, making you moan and instinctively close your legs. “Open,” he says with a glance at your face before leaning over your center. His breath is warm against your swollen clit.

You shiver as he flicks his tongue over your sensitive bud; it feels so good, and you want more. Your hands grip your pillow as you moan in time with his licks, almost letting out a scream when he sucks on your clit. No man had ever touched you like that; they were all inside you and over after a few minutes of thrusting. Even Niragi had gone straight to business. But fuck, does it feel good.

“Chi- Chishiya, oh my god- “ you manage to say before you’re interrupted by two of his fingers entering you. They curl inside you as his tongue keeps working wonders on your clit. You can feel an orgasm growing, toes curling at the pulling sensation in your core. You’re so close. “Please keep going, don’t stop.” you practically beg as he finger fucks you.

He stops.

You open your eyes with a displeased grunt to catch him looking at you, lips glistening with your juices. He smirks, “We’re just getting started,” he says, pulling you by the legs so your center is pressing against his crotch. You moan again at feeling him hard against you with only his swim shorts in the way.

You sit up to undress him off his hoodie, something he lets you do as he devours your lips. He suddenly pulls you up against him until you’re practically sitting on his lap. You grind against him, trying to put out the fire inside you. His mouth kisses down your neck to your breasts, without fully undressing you. You try to take off the shirt, but he makes you pause.

“That’s his shirt, isn’t it?” you nod and he huffs out a laugh, unbuttoning the first buttons only, “Keep it on,” he says before closing his lips around a nipple. You close your eyes and just enjoy the sensations he provides you. Your mind goes back to Niragi; how his tongue piercing felt against you as he sucked on you too, or how his hands never stopped pleasuring you. You almost grunt in frustration at the memories; he doesn’t matter now.

“Alpha, I want you inside me,” you beg as you keep grinding on him. It’s starting to feel like torture. Your hands slide down to work on his shorts, “Please...please.”

“Easy there,” he chuckles, pushing you back down on the bed. “We have time. Be a good girl and stay still,” he says as he gets rid of his shorts in a swift movement, now completely naked in front of you. You glance at his cock, hard as wood in between his pale thighs, a bead of precum sliding from the tip. Your mouth waters; you desperately want him to fuck you, you think as your pussy clenches around nothing.

You open your mouth to say something but hesitate, trying to follow his command. You wonder how can an Alpha have so much self-control; he should be deep inside you by now. It’s beyond frustrating. He finally covers your body with his, and you smile at the sensation of his skin on yours; it feels so good. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you kiss him with ferocity. It hurts how much you need him.

You finally feel his tip at your entrance, and then he’s inside you with a sharp thrust of his hips against yours. You scream at the sensation; so warm, so full, so unbelievably pleasurable. His thrusts are slow but firm, each hit of his pelvis against your clit making you see stars. His face goes to the side of your neck, and you feel as his teeth graze the skin, sucking and biting; right over the fading marks Niragi left on you a week ago.

“Go faster,” you whine as you push your hips up against his. You want him to fill you up to the brim; like Niragi had done. “Please Alpha, fill me up. Make me yours.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his pace gets faster, and you finally hear him make a sound since he started fucking you. His face is still hidden in the curve of your neck, but his hands clasp around your thighs, pulling them up until you’re practically folded in half. You finally feel him deeper, hitting your g-spot as his shoves get gradually harder.

“Tell me how much you want me to knot in you,” he grunts against your ear. “Tell me you want me.”

“I- I want you,” you whine. “I want you to knot in me, and fill me up with your cum. I want you.”

He kisses your jaw, thrusts getting even faster. You can barely think; all you want is to come and for Chishiya to do the same inside you. You want to feel him as he shudders, hear him as he moans and you milk him dry. His hand goes to cradle your cheek, and you finally see his face as he locks eyes with you; his white hair sticks to his neck and forehead due to sweat, and his eyes are more gold than the usual dark brown. However, an uncomfortable realization sparks in you; there’s only lust in his eyes. No care, no adoration, no imitation of something resembling love. Nothing like Niragi’s eyes had looked at you. Your wolf pushes those thoughts aside once again, and you close your eyes as you focus on the man currently thrusting in and out of you. He’s what matters now.

Your orgasm hits you like a wave, toes curling behind his back as you clench around him in pleasure. You feel him as he comes too, hands squeezing your thighs with enough force to leave a bruise. However, you gasp when you feel him pull out with a hiss, and he finishes spilling on your belly and breasts.

You lay there as he finishes with a grunt before laying down beside you, both of you panting furiously. The fog in your brain soon evaporates, and you have to control the impulse to run out of your own bedroom. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? First Niragi, now Chishiya. All those years of self-control wasted. They meant nothing. You were just pushing back the inevitable; the day you would be claimed with no real ability to even choose by who. Your wolf doesn’t care, but you do. The last thing you want is a relationship like the one your parents had.

But you still ended up fucking two different Alphas in a week; it’s not like you have a choice.

Chishiya moving beside you pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s looking at you with his usual expression; cold and with a pull at his lips that gives the impression there’s something that only he’s smart enough to understand. It annoys you just a little. You guess it shows on your face because he’s full-on smirking as he sits up.

“Feeling regretful, are we?” he says as he retrieves his shorts, putting them on, “I figured you would.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” you say in a low tone, sitting up with a moan. His come sticks to your thighs and runs down the skin of your breasts and belly. You sigh when you notice it stained Niragi’s shirt too.

“Why would I?” he shrugs, putting his hoodie on, “I can’t control this thing much more than you do. Besides- ” he says, shooting a glance at your torso, “Thought it might be fun.”

You furrow your brows at him. “This isn’t about me, is it?” you ask. Things kind of start to make sense now; his constant presence near you, the shirt he wanted you to keep, “This is about Niragi.”

His eyes lit up with something like amusement. “If I get to claim an Omega while pissing off Niragi then I’m doing something right.” he starts walking towards the door, “Don’t misunderstand though; I will fight to claim you when the time comes.” He closes the door behind him.

What have you done? You feel a sudden urge to cry, but push it back; you are done crying about this. So you just let a few tears fall before standing up and heading to the bathroom, wanting to get cleaned up as soon as you possibly can. You groan when you see yourself in the mirror, covered in love bites and cum.

You wonder how Niragi will react when he finds out; because he inevitably will. It wasn’t unheard of Alphas to fight to the death over an Omega; you just wish that isn’t what is about to happen. You don’t think you can live with that.

You step in the shower for the second time that night and vigorously rub your skin, trying to erase any and every sign of Chishiya off your body. Mission impossible, of course; his scent is still all over you as you get out of the shower. Next, you try to clean Niragi’s shirt. At least that one still smells faintly of cinnamon and wood.

As you should too, remarks the voice in your head.

You barely sleep that night.

You feel like a zombie the next morning and, as per usual, you stick to your room. You’re particularly into avoiding people today. Well, two people. So you keep to your room and jump between reading, to napping, to overthinking until you get a headache and then fall asleep.

A sudden knock on your door wakes you up, and you notice it’s almost night outside. You trip on your way to the door, opening it to reveal Chishiya on the other side. You scowl and move to close the door in his face, but his foot stops you.

“What?” you ask.

“We’re in the same group tonight,” he says, raising a piece of paper. “And before you say no, remember that you’re still under evaluation.”

“I have enough visa days,” you say, forcing the door on his foot. He doesn’t budge. You sigh and count to ten. You can do this; just another game. “Fine. But tell Ann that after this I’m only going out when I need to.”

You grab your jacket and get out, following Chishiya. You don’t say a word and neither does he. Your body feels his presence though, and you’re sure he can smell it in you. Smell himself in you.

You get in a van with your group, a bunch of people you faintly recognize but know no names. Chishiya seats right at the front, and you cringe as everyone else in the vehicle clearly knows everything that happened between you two. You hear Niragi’s name being whispered around, but try to ignore it, focusing on the road outside as you drive around looking for a game.

“Look there!” someone exclaims.

Koishikawa Botanical Garden.

The whole place is completely dark as you walk through the main gate, the familiar sound of the barrier closing behind you making you tremble with apprehension. A sign at the front says no weapons allowed, and you watch as two of the people in your group leave their weapons behind. Not really a good sign.

A single street lamp casts light on a table right next to the reception. You follow your group as they approach the table, but your attention is focused on your surroundings. You remember being there as a kid; hard to imagine that the beautiful open space full of trees and flowers of every species is now a game arena; a place of death. You wonder what exactly is the game that awaits you.

You focus your attention on the table, retrieving a phone and staring as it does the facial recognition thing it always does. It’s apparently a big game; there are already more than ten people waiting to play, and at least fifteen phones are still on the table.

You sit on a park bench while you wait, bracing yourself against the chilly night air. Chishiya is leaning against a street lamp right in front of you, and you know he’s staring, even though it’s dark and he has his hoodie up and covering his eyes. Your mind keeps rewinding the last twenty-four hours and you try to focus on something else with no success. If you’re not thinking about that, you’re thinking about the imminent game; both make you want to cry and run.

People slowly keep coming in, and you notice as the phones vanish one by one that the game is almost at its full capacity.

A sudden ruckus at the gates snaps everyone’s attention to the entrance, and you swear your heart stops as you see Niragi running in your direction with the most terrifying expression you’ve ever seen on him. He looks furious. Absolutely terrifying.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out!” he screams as he gets closer. You notice his eyes are locked on Chishiya. His eyes; they aren’t human. Neither are his hands, now curved into claws. The other man doesn’t seem scared in the slightest; on the contrary, he looks like he’s having fun.

“Niragi, don’t- “ you scream as he lunges himself at the shorter man. Chishiya is fast though, swiftly dodging the punch before kicking Niragi in the stomach and stepping away.

Niragi huffs and doubles over before standing straight with a growl and trying another swing at the other man. Two men that got in with him try to corner Chishiya, but he just dodges them like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Not so bad without your gun, are you?” asks Chishiya in a mocking tone.

“With or without a gun, I’m still going to fucking kill you.” Niragi growls, “You fucked with the wrong wolf.”

Chishiya huffs a laugh, “Actually,” he says with a smirk, nodding in your direction, “I fucked the right wolf.”

Niragi’s eyes finally lock on you, and it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. Only now his eyes are filled with something that resembles betrayal and pain. You hate it. You look down, trying to make yourself small; you don’t want him to look at you like that. Never.

“I’ll deal with her later,” he says in a cold tone, and you can’t help but flinch. He approaches the table and retrieves the last phone, eyes still on you. “Now I- “

You’re startled when cheery music starts playing all around you and the big screen you hadn’t noticed at the roof of the reception lits up.

“Registration has closed,” says a feminine robot voice, “The game will now commence.”

You look at your phone as it lits up.

Difficulty, Ten of Spades.

Game, “Akazukin: Red Riding Hood.”

Next Chapter

[kandulce]

🌻🌻 :D

Pak technology isn’t unique to Irkens. The history may have been meticulously obliterated, any evidence snobbishly labeled as ‘lost’, along with ancestors and sister species. Nature, however, did not comprehend intent. Even of her favorites. Nor did she comprehend pride anymore than the stark fear of company in the emptiness of space.

Planets still orbit undisturbed, far far far from any space accessible even to The Massive. Chance still occasionally gapes open, swallowing one side of the universe, and granting access to another. Ancient, forgotten paranoia of predation, reignited with renewed force and a fierceness uncontested.

And still, freshly graduated Red gets his growth spurt just in time to be the Tallest of the lowly runts, and to be consequently promoted Commissioned Officer to the squad being sent to the front lines.

They're not even gonna serve complimentary doughnuts.

How do I explain this abandoned little passion project…

In which the fresh recruits are being proudly sent to the front lines, as they are encouraged to feel. Red very actively does not share this pride, and very actively understands this is not something to Share With The Class. Still, he wants, more than anything, to be a good, responsible soldier.

His very own squad gets assigned a delinquent Taller just days before deployment, and it becomes rather clear why the creepy, off-putting jerk was kicked from the Cool, Taller kids table.

Secretly, Red recognizes shared beliefs and, to his horror, understands some of the dishonorably reprehensible and self-preserving behavior the Taller carelessly and openly displays. This, and the last shitty cafeteria meal he’ll likely ever have, are shoved far down as down can go as Deployment Day arrives.

The planet stinks, glowing paks that aren't paks contort and deform the local fauna, along with some fellow squad members. Whatever information Command had been fed was clearly and hopelessly wrong, and it was the starry-eyed elites who would pay.

Someone in charge, or stupid enough to have a false tone of confidence carry over the staticky radio, ordered some last-ditch semblance of the original plan; throw your plasma then your pak legs into the enemy and hope you make Irk proud.

It was the Taller’s natural convincing wiles, Red will convince himself, that causes him to commit the most criminal, despicable act of desertion. The charisma that had always been present, and not the small unnatural, unheard voice that whispered, better them than you when the various looks of shock and betrayal die from his squad’s loyal, gullible eyes.

Red turned, followed Purple, and had forgotten each of his subordinates names before coily, living metal could even finish wrapping around their still bodies.

There was no use in the guilt Red didn’t feel; not three rotations, seven close calls, and fifteen arguments later did one of those power leeching parasites sneak up and manage a brief but fatal blow to Red’s pak.

Purple killed it back, but that didn’t take away the damage already done. It did make the weird look he gave Red even weirder, as those little shits had been of a particular anxiety to Purple during their visit.

Whatever. It wasn’t Red’s problem anymore, and the nightmare world finally ceased.

Until it didn’t and pain and sensations both unknown and missing become forefront and center to the awareness Red had, quite quickly, gotten used to being departed from.

His legs, both warm and cold, wouldn’t respond, his eyes focused and unfocused on everything wrong, and worse of all there was another voice in his head. An annoying one that Red would have preferred the sickly, unnatural parasitic paks over.

In this new confusing, incongruous state of sensation, memories, thoughts, and shitty opinions that weren't his flowed past, just within reach. Through them, a new understanding for his situation, and the asshole he was apparently strapped to, came to light.

Eventually, after a couple of near-deaths to curb their bickering, both got used to jointly operating their pak legs, and Red learned to shut up long enough for Purple to concentrate on their surroundings.

Skills and blueprints a respectable soldier really shouldn't know, even one of Purple’s height, floated through Red’s awareness. If Red passed the boring, awkward time of his immobility to copy some of it to his own memory, it was really Purple’s fault.

Besides, the unencrypted knowledge of Paks, and apparently the tightly guarded secret that they can be connected together, had saved Red’s life.

Some more close calls, horribly, utterably boring moments, and some truly stellar entertainment where Purple’s life choices and survival strategies could be mercilessly judged, and eventually, impossibly, a stray ship came into view.

An Irken ship. Ready for takeoff out of this hellhole.

Red pretended to not notice, and even more so, ignored his own understanding, of Purple's momentary hesitation to pull the connection. There’d be enough charge to last through to the repair bay, and the commotion of war would cloak them both from scrutiny.

Still, even as awareness slipped from Red once again, a silly, and surely defective emotion flickered as Red sensed Purple's gaze, Purple's secure hold on his fractured, defective pak. And then nothing.

Red powered on, logged online, and for a moment memories of his own body muddled with someone else's, and Red couldn't tell which was the normal and what was the damning. Miraculously, he passed the verbal, technical, and physical evaluations Curiously, he was given a deferring gaze from the tall-ish technician, and even better, was assigned a research field team of High Standing.

It must have been his valiant service for the empire.

Attendance was called, and it wasn't until most of the way through that Red realized someone familiar was next to him. It took him even longer to recognize the dissonance between then, and the last time he’d seen this Irken.

Purple just so happened to be exactly at antennae level. What a coincidence.

Whatever, Red was taller anyway.

[flowerflamestars]

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

[pricemarshfield]

moments like these

A Figayda angst/hurt/comfort fic. Requested by @sapphic-tuesday even though they only requested it because I love Figayda. (ily bestie) Read on AO3 here.

Prompt: Figayda, angst, hurt/comfort, “You don’t need to stay.” “I don’t need to. But I want to.”

The forest is dark and damp and the worst fucking place Fig has ever been, and she's running as fast as she can to get away from herself. She'd point out how it's way too on the nose if she had any breath left, but as it stands, it's all she can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slower and slower.

Eventually she has to just collapse into the nearest bush, hope somehow that's enough stealth even as the crack of the branches seems to echo out for miles and miles. There's a long, long beat, where she thinks, just for a second, that maybe she's done it. Maybe the other her isn't too perceptive, either.

She hears an oddly pitched laugh from right behind her ear, as though she isn't lying on the ground, and when did the branches tangle around her leg? Where'd her bass go? Why did none of her friends even seem to care that someone else took her place--

Fig wakes up with a start, sits up, hits her head against her ceiling which is, of course, the living room floor. Her horns scratch it a bit, but thankfully, her mom won't ever see it. Her crystal says it's 3 in the morning when she checks it, and fuck, she's gonna be stuck in here for awhile if she can't pass back out.

She could send a quick text to the Mordred group chat (the manorlings, despite Ragh vying for 'OWLBEAR HYPE HOUSE') and ask if anyone's up to let her out, but then there'll be questions about why she's up, so she just concentrates on mage hand until she nails the chord and the ceiling opens.

The house feels too empty with everyone asleep, too stifling when she can't make any noise, but there's not exactly anywhere else she can go. Her days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to concerts aren't nearly as fun now that she misses her friends the whole time. Also, now people recognize her for being one of Solace's biggest stars or whatever, and that's just kind of a hassle when she's not in the mood for attention.

The living room couch is an old, cracked leather thing, moved from Jawbone's apartment. It's not comfortable in any traditional sense, but there's a groove in it that fits her perfectly, and that's nice, in its own way. Sometimes she misses the couch in the old house. It got burned to hell in the attack on prom night, though, so. The whole house did, honestly; when she went home after everything, the window in her bedroom was shattered, glass all over her bed so that she had to pick up each piece, vacuum up what small pieces she couldn't see. She still woke up with a couple cuts on her legs that she didn't have before, but it was home, even if the posters and the pink wallpaper were both singed, even if the purple comforter she'd had since she was a kid didn't smell like it used to.

The old Faeth house never really felt like home after her horns, sure, but Mordred...

She does like it here. Loves it, when everyone's crowded around the table, Adaine arguing with Kristen about some minute difference in casting, Jawbone telling a wildly off-color story to a confused-but-interested Aelwyn, Sandra Lynn making sure Ayda has enough food on her plate while she blinks back fiery tears.

But it doesn't change the fact that she lived here for all of a day before spring break, and right now the hallways and secret passages and tall ceilings all feel ominous, not exciting anymore.

She turns on the light before her mage hand dissipates, scrolls through the games she has on her crystal. Most of them are things she's had on here back when she liked unicorns and glitter and all those girly things that she never got around to deleting.

It's something to do, at least.

The bright colors are nostalgic in just the wrong way, and she makes it through two minutes of matching pop rocks and cake slices before she's scrolling through the games again, on-edge for no goddamn reason.

"Fig?"

Part of her relaxes against the couch before she's even finished processing the voice as Ayda. "Hey! I didn't think you were staying here tonight."

"I wasn't," Ayda says, looking at her with an expression she can't read at all. She's in a deep blue chemise, like she'd been sleeping before she walked through the enchanted door into Mordred. "I--may I sit?"

"Yeah, of course," Fig says, patting the spot next to her. "Always, babe."

Ayda cries a little as she sits, and Fig wipes the tears away. The first time she tried, when she was a normal tiefling and didn't wear the title of Archdevil, it stung a little, like stepping into a too-warm bath. Now, it feels just like the hint of warmth against her hand, uniquely Ayda and not at all painful. (Which is also uniquely Ayda, to never freak Fig out even when she's in this shitty mood.)

"So," Ayda says. "I was in Leviathan, as I needed to--well, still need to, I've merely decided the task isn't as important--I'm getting sidetracked."

"Yeah," Fig says, and when Ayda stiffens, says, "Not bad! Not a bad thing! It's cute."

"Oh," Ayda says. "I--sorry," and bursts into tears again. Fig wipes them away, kisses her cheek just 'cause she can, kisses the other one because she can feel Ayda's face get even warmer.

"No worries," Fig says, too late, because she's not--this is still new to her. "So what's going on?"

"As you know, I am a divination wizard, though not an Oracle like Adaine, our best friend." Fig nods. "But sometimes my dreams have--not prophecies, but looks into the present, or even occasionally the past."

"Okay," Fig says. "Is there, like, a slumbering demon lord underneath Mordred?"

"No," Ayda says. "I asked a ranger I know in Leviathan to check before he left on a journey to Sylvaire. Unrelated to the Nightmare King. I checked, just to be sure, because I am sure none of us want to deal with that again."

"Mmhm," Fig says, willing herself to keep breathing slow and easy and not tense up like she wants to. It's just Ayda talking about preventing further Nightmare King stuff. The Nightmare King doesn't even exist anymore, they're Cassandra, they're cool. "So, uh, what'd you see in your dream?"

"You," Ayda says. "That isn't uncommon. I dream of you often. You're in more of my dreams than not. Is that strange? Should I not have said that?"

"Not strange," Fig says, sure her cheeks are red rather than pink. "Just--I'm flustered, okay, give me a second."

Ayda nods at her, not smiling but face relaxed in a way that suggests the same feeling. Fig grabs her hand just to ground herself, squeezes it once. There's a moment before Ayda squeezes it back, like she's thinking about whether it's the right thing to do.

"Totally normal," Fig says, just in case.

"Good," Ayda says with one long exhale. "I was worried."

"You know, it doesn't matter to me if what you do is 'normal'," Fig says. "I like you whether what you do is normal or not!"

Ayda nods. "I want to finish my thought, but after that I want to kiss you. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You could kiss me and then finish the thought?"

"I would forget," Ayda says, like she doesn't remember everything, like Fig is enough to distract her. Fig can't quite meet her gaze, then, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She squeezes her hand again. Ayda squeezes back immediately. "Um. I'm distracting myself. What was I talking about?"

"Your dream."

"Right. Thank you, Fig. I dreamed about you, and I think it may have been--it was as though I was standing at your bedside. I know it was a dream and not sleepwalking, because I can't actually stand in your room--it's too short and I don't want to set your house on fire. But you seemed upset, and while I don't know if that was real or a dream or not, I couldn't--I couldn't just sit in my room and Leviathan without checking."

"Oh," Fig says. "Um. I'm fine."

"Hm," Ayda says. "You know, you were the one who told me that if people say they're fine, it very rarely means they're fine. I don't understand the logic of it at all, but I trust your insight."

"It's stupid," Fig says, and then, in a twist, bursts into tears herself. "God. It's stupid, I don't even know why I'm upset? Like, it's literally nothing, nothing is going on, I'm just dumb--"

"You are not dumb," Ayda says, and Fig hates herself all the more for the panic she can hear in her voice. "You have taught me so much, and if it matters to you, then it's not stupid. Fig?"

"Yeah," Fig says, voice embarrassingly choked up. She clears her throat as best she can, which isn't very well, since she's still actively crying. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't know what you know," Ayda says. "But I know that when I cry, you wipe my tears away, and I'm going to do the same for you, unless you want to stop me, in which case I won't."

Fig doesn't move, lets Ayda wipe away her tears even though it makes her want to cry more, someone being nice to her right now. "Thanks."

"Any time," Ayda says with the weight of a promise and not at all like the platitude most people would mean. "Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't. I often don't want to talk about the things I'm going through when I'm still going through them."

"I don't," Fig says, because the idea of explaining the nightmare and Mordred and her old house being destroyed and feeling so, so unmoored and stuck all at once makes her want to tear her own hair out. "I don't--you don't need to stay. I'll be okay. If I'm not--if I can't talk about it, you don't need to stay."

"I don't need to stay," Ayda says, carefully, and Fig grips her hand tighter without consciously meaning to. "But I'd like to. If I can."

"I meant it when I said always," Fig says, still not looking at Ayda because she can't.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," Fig says. "I always want you to stay."

Jawbone walks into the room on his way into the kitchen, sees two teenagers holding hands and crying and slightly-burning his couch, and decides he can just get water from the bathroom instead of the kitchen. He's not one to interrupt a moment.

[matthewtkachuk]

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

[refinedbuffoonery]

I + Can’t + Lose + You (2)

masterlist. Read it on AO3. 

A/N: Did I take my time on this or what? Yikes. I’ll try to get the next update out much faster. Enjoy! 

*****

Riley had to admit, she was having the time of her life on this impromptu road trip with Mama. 80s music blasted from the truck’s speakers, and she and Mama danced in their seats. But Riley knew their fun was coming to an end the moment she spied the sea of brake lights in the distance. 

It took no time at all to catch up to the traffic. Every vehicle packed on the freeway sat at a standstill. 

“How do y’all live like this?” Mama asked incredulously. “There is no reason for this many cars to be on the road.” Riley chuckled. 

After another half mile of crawling through bumper to bumper traffic, Riley was finally fed up with it too. “Okay that’s it,” she announced. “We’re taking the back way.” 

LA streets were slow, but nothing was as slow as the 10 during rush hour, and they’d left right at the beginning of it. Avoiding the freeways like the plague, Riley wound through the city streets, flooring the gas through every yellow light. 

After a particularly risky one, Mama questioned, “Who taught you to drive?” 

Riley grinned ear to ear. “Jack.” Mama rolled her eyes and double checked that her seatbelt was buckled. Before long, they were back on the freeway, zooming toward the desert. 

In Indio, they stopped to get gas and use the restroom. From here to Phoenix, there was just a whole lot of nothing. Maybe some cactus, tumbleweeds, and the occasional Joshua tree if they were lucky. 

Although, Riley doubted her luck, considering she was driving to Phoenix in a truck with crappy air conditioning in the last week of July. She regretted not changing out of her favorite black Van Halen tank top into one that was a lighter color. 

By the time Riley exited the gas station’s convenience store armed to the teeth with snacks, Mama had finished filling up the gas tank and was now leaning against the tailgate, waiting. “You’re still driving,” the older woman said. Riley sighed. Of course she was. 

Riley jumped at the sound of a door slamming open behind them, almost dropping her armload of snacks. A guy wearing a navy blue hoodie sprinted toward an old Bronco, clutching something to his chest. He dove into the car and sped off. Riley and Mama winced at the squeal of the tires as he skidded out of the parking lot and back onto the road. 

The sole convenience store employee had chased after the thief to no avail. Dejected slump curving his shoulders inward, he stared after the long-gone car. 

Wordlessly handing the snacks to Mama, Riley cautiously approached the employee. He was just a kid, 25 at the most. “Hey, I’m sorry that happened.” She tipped her head toward where the Bronco had been parked. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” he asked incredulously. “Of course I’m not okay! That was the third one today and my boss is going to be fuc--pissed and it’s all because I can’t see in the back anymore because the first guy smashed the security camera with a can of Pringles which he then stole.” He had the wild look in his eyes of a furious customer service employee who was about to explode but couldn’t because they were, well, a customer service employee. Riley pitied him. 

“Well, I can’t do anything about the thief, but I think I can fix your security camera issue.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Riley wasn’t totally sure she could fix it, but she’d seen Mac build and fix enough cameras over the years she figured it was worth a shot. “Can you show me where it is? I’m Riley, by the way.” 

“Marco,” he replied, holding the door open for her and Mama. Marco led her to the far corner of the store. Back here, everything a customer did would be completely concealed from the cashier. Mounted from the ceiling, the security camera’s shattered lens didn’t do much good. 

“Can I take it apart?” 

Marco looked skeptical, but he said, “It’s not like you can break it any more.” 

Riley unhooked it from the wall and began taking it apart. Aside from the shattered lens, it wasn’t actually broken. She could fix it if she had a camera. 

Riley froze. She did have a camera…

God, when did she turn into Mac? 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered as she cracked her phone open. Riley didn’t bother checking to see if she had any notifications first. They were about to disappear forever anyway. Mama’s eyes widened, but Mac would’ve been proud. She held up her unusable phone and wiggled it. “In this line of work, always get the insurance.” 

“You’ve spent too long with that MacGyver,” was all Mama said, but Riley didn’t miss her impressed smirk. 

The hardest part was breaking her phone. Riley prided herself on having the lowest phone replacement rate, which she knew was only because mission success relied on her tech actually working. Mac only sacrificed hers when he had no other option. 

Riley also knew Mac picked which phone to sacrifice based on who would have the most dramatic reaction. So, she dutifully handed it over every time wearing a serious expression, refusing to give Mac the satisfaction of being annoyed. 

Connecting the phone camera to the security camera wiring was easy enough. The finished product looked janky as hell, but Riley was pretty sure it would work. “Alright, go check whether it works.” 

Marco wove his way back to the counter. A few seconds later, a shrill “It works!” echoed through the convenience store. 

Mama smiled. “Good girl. I’ll meet you in the truck.” 

A rush of pride filled Riley--the same one she got every time she MacGyver-ed her way out of a problem. Fixing the security camera hopefully would put an end to Marco’s shitty day. 

She met Marco by the exit. “Thank you!” the kid said, throwing his arms around her in an overenthusiastic hug. Riley stiffened at the contact and patted Marco’s shoulder. He let go, none the wiser to her discomfort. 

“You’re welcome,” Riley said. “Have a good rest of your day.” She exited the convenience store and walked back to the truck. 

**********

Mac was alone in the war room when Riley’s location disappeared off the map. 

Gone, in the blink of an eye. 

“No,” Mac said to himself, voice catching. Her location last showed her at a gas station in Indio, but she could be taken anywhere from there. There was a whole lot of nothing and no-man’s land for her kidnappers to make her disappear in. 

Watching the tracker cut out finally pushed him over the edge. Mac succumbed to all the worst case scenarios that were threatening to incapacitate him completely.  They know who she is, and they’re forcing her to hack something. Or maybe they don’t know who she is, what she can do, and they just grabbed her off the street because she’s pretty and...Mac couldn’t finish the thought. 

Without anyone there to stop him, Mac let himself get absorbed in his own head. I’ve lost her, for good this time. She’s gone. Riley’s gone.

Why the hell hadn’t she sent him a clue? Every time she got kidnapped, she always managed to give him a clue about her whereabouts. Riley was one of the smartest people he knew. How did this happen? Who the hell took her? 

I never told her I’m in love with her. 

God, what if he never got that chance? Or what if something really bad happens to her and he’s too late to stop it and she loses her faith in him? 

He had to find her. And when she was safe and healed and at home he’d tell her. Mac stormed out of the war room, nearly running Matty over on his way out. 

“Where are you going, Blondie?” she asked. 

“To get Riley back.” 

He didn’t stop walking until Matty said, in the gentlest possible voice, “Mac.” 

Her tone was the only reason he turned around. If she’d spoken in her Matty The Hun voice, it would’ve fueled him to keep walking, but something about the knowing gentleness made him pause. He turned to look at her, every emotion he felt about the situation and about Riley plain on his face.

 “Okay,” she said, giving him a small nod. If she didn’t know about his feelings for Riley before, she definitely did now. 

Mac ran to his truck and sped off. 

**********

Matty added Mac’s location tracker to the screen in the war room. Like a true Californian, he skipped getting on the 10 completely and stuck to the secret back ways he’d learned over the years. Like Riley, he sped through every yellow, but eventually he got stuck in a long chain of red lights. 

Despite the fact that one of her two best agents was MIA and the other was out of his mind with grief and fear, Matty smiled to herself. Mac would find Riley; they always managed to find each other, against all odds. And when they finally reunited...maybe some things would finally be put on the table. 

Good things, Matty decided. She’d always suspected their relationship might go down this road. For years, Mac and Riley unconsciously gravitated toward one another. They stood unnecessarily close together, they constantly flicked their gaze to the other, they kept tabs on the other’s emotions. 

Because of that, she’d rarely put them undercover together as a couple because of the romantic potential. If they were ever going to move past their obliviousness and develop feelings, Mac and Riley deserved for that to happen on its own, without a bunch of charades in the way. Although, given the details they’d both left out from their reports on the op in Monte Carlo, it might’ve been just the thing to finally push them together after all this time. 

All of the chaos of the last year must’ve brought new, deeper feelings to the surface, because after defecting to Codex, Mac and Riley grew closer, though they remained guarded with the rest of the team. Even if they didn’t recognize it, their relationship was changing, hopefully for the better. With the hands they’d been dealt in life, Mac and Riley deserved that kind of lasting happiness more than anyone else she knew. 

Eyes still trained on the screen, Matty whispered, “Go get her, Mac.”

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

This is a bit random but if characters from your fics lived in the Atla universe what element would they bend? Personally I think Lily would still have all her powers which would result in people thinking she's the avatar even though she's not, Obito would be a firebender, Minato an airbender and Lenin dearest would be a waterbender/bloodbender/maybe the avatar?. This is just the vibe I get tho-

Who needs bullet points when we can do a far too thought out AU that spans multiple fandoms/recursive works that will never happen? 

More to the point, elements in AtLA is a mix of personality (we see earth benders as often brash and stubborn, water benders as adaptive, etc.) but also simply genetics. So, while I get that’s kind of the point of this post, it’s a bit weird to me to assign an element solely on personality. 

So with that, let’s get started.

The Setting

Just to make things fun let’s make our AU take place sometime between Sozin’s first comet and Roku’s death and Aang awakening from that iceberg. The air benders have been wiped out, seemingly with no survivors, the South Pole has been invaded and the water benders from there captured and brought back to the Fire Nation, many of the colonies in the Earth Kingdom have been established, but the North Pole and great cities in the Earth Kingdom still stand.

The Avatar hasn’t been missing for one-hundred years yet, but he’s been missing for decades and people are coming around to the idea that maybe he’s really not going to show up. 

Wizard Lenin/Tom Riddle

In this AU we’ll give Tom Riddle a slightly more traditional shitty background. Since we can’t really have a Tom in the AtLA universe he’s going to have the AtLA generic equivalent name that canon even jokes about: Lee. Lee is the mixed heritage son of a Fire Nation lord and a water bender from the south pole who grows up in a Fire Nation orphanage. And yes, this does happen in the absolute worst way you can possibly imagine, one of the imprisoned water benders from the south pole is raped.

As for Tom (Lee, you get the idea) arriving at an orphanage instead of being imprisoned/taken in as a son, well I’ll leave that to imagination but we can imagine a relatively compassionate guard, a dash of luck, or perhaps someone being an idiot and thinking “oh just dump it in an orphanage, there’s no way it will turn into a water bender too”

So, Tom grows up in an orphanage and looks just a bit... different from everyone else and is clearly not purely from the fire nation. I’m imagining much darker skin (and POC Tom Riddle is the weirdest thing in the world to contemplate, but here we are) and the pale blue eyes.

Tom grows up, dreaming probably of entering the military and winning himself glory, prestige, honor, and clawing out of this impoverished life he was born into. He undoubtedly desperately hopes he’s a fire bender, as not only is it cool but they have the best chance of making it in the world, and probably stays up late for many nights fruitlessly attempting to shoot fire out of his hands.

Unfortunately for Tom, sometime when he’s probably around eight or so, turns out he’s actually a water bender. Naturally, Tom has a huge meltdown and existential crisis as this means something’s terribly terribly wrong. More, all his hopes are ruined, as while a non-bender can make it a bender who is not a fire bender is a foreigner and traitor to the state.

Tom runs away and being a precocious child is able to make it on his own and about the country probably pulling off Toph-like scams. Eventually he runs into a much younger Hama who has just escaped prison and not yet started on her scary old lady adventures of imprisoning random villagers in caves. Hama goes, “of course, yes my child, I knew your mother” and gives Tom the whole horrible rape tale along with “I will teach you everything I know including my scary blood bending”. So Tom learns scary blood bending, probably stays with Hama a few years, and then realizes Hama isn’t going anywhere.

Hama’s content kidnapping random people into caves. At this point, angry and suddenly very pro-water bender Tom wants to murder the Fire Lord and his entire goddamn family and put himself in charge. Go big or go home, am I right?

So Tom leaves, Hama probably saying, “Come back any time, my beautiful murder child” and probably goes exploring the world in search of how the hell he’s going to bring down the Fire Lord. He also probably murders his entire father’s family and steals all his money, but that’s a different story. I imagine he goes to the North Pole where he learns that, as much of a water bender as he is, that he’s the son of someone from the Fire Nation closes pretty much every door to him. He’ll always be an outsider and the North Pole is very frosty towards him.

According to Hama, the South Pole is in shambles, so Tom probably doesn’t even bother going. 

So Tom probably goes and bums around the Earth Kingdom, loitering in Ba Sing Se and Omashu, looking for that damned Spirit Library in the desert, etc. for a good number of years as he works to perfect his water bending and make himself an instrument of death.

And then he meets an alien and everything changes.

Lily

Tom probably manages to wander around the spirit world at one point in his late teens and probably almost gets eaten by something terrifying. While he learns much it’s not really anything useful and is more in the “too cosmic horror for Tom” variety. More than that though, something follows him back out.

When he comes to back in the real world there’s this thing sitting next to him that looks enough like a person but also like someone told a gifted artist what humans look like and they got it mostly right but also went a little nuts. It’s a girl, a few years younger than him, who has flaming red hair, absurdly green eyes, pale skin, and facial features he can’t recognize for the life of him (Lily still looking western in this to up the ante of ‘she’s an alien folks’).

Tom sacrifices his dinner to it and hopes it doesn’t eat him.

It explains that it’s a tourist from another dimension, beyond even the Spirit World, and that it’s come to see what the mortal world is all about. Tom is naturally very weirded out but at this point decides to roll with it.

Except it doesn’t leave and clearly expects Tom to play tour guide.

He does, reluctantly, because he doesn’t want to be eaten but he also sort of gets used to the thing. Then, one day, it starts bending multiple elements with utter ease and Tom is at first flabbergasted and horrified (only to remember that spirits can do what they want and aren’t like lowly mortals who can only bend one element) and then he gets the idea.

The Avatar, lazy bastard that he is (and Tom might be a little more than slightly bitter that he himself is not the Avatar), appears to be MIA and not coming back any time soon. The entire world it seems is waiting for the Avatar to come and save them. But, Tom says to himself, who needs the Avatar when you can just have an Avatar. An Avatar and, of course, her water bending master.

Thus, the scheme is set, Tom will teach this weird alien thing how to a) act like a goddamn human in public and b) water bending and together they will pretend she’s the Avatar and got lost in the spirit world a few decades ago (which accounts for the youthful age and the weird appearance) and use this to gain allies, topple the Fire Nation, and eventually give the throne to Tom.

Lily, who doesn’t know the difference between being a tourist and taking over a nation, goes along but is basically this story’s answer to Uncle Iroh always getting distracted by Pai Sho.

Haru/Dead Last

Given that they’re in the Earth Kingdom, and that Lee picks up water bending insultingly quickly which makes Tom fume in rage, they go to pick up an earth bending master/spread the word that the Avatar has returned from her multiple decades long vacation. 

Along the way they probably run into Haru, who is the world’s most useless excuse for an Earth Bender. As always, he’s so average looking you can barely remember what he looks like beyond “generic earth bender”. 

They probably watch him for two seconds, Lily asks if this is it, and Tom Riddle says, “what a joke”. 

Minato Namikaze

Given that all the air benders are dead we’re going to make Minato a very talented earth bender (it is also very weird to imagine a dark haired/dark eyed Minato, but I suppose we’re going to roll with it). This also, to me, does fit his personality a little better as while he is a leaf on the wind kind of guy he also does dig his heels in and get very stubborn now and then.

Minato’s young, younger than Tom (Lee), but he’s incredibly talented and clever. To keep his shinobi background mostly in tact I imagine that Minato is a swiftly rising member of the Dai Li, stationed in Ba Sing Se, but who occasionally goes on intelligence missions to the other feudal powers in the Earth Kingdom.

So I imagine Lily and Tom run into him unnervingly frequently, probably first meeting him off duty in Omashu where he does his “extremely polite and friendly local guide” routine to show the pair the city (never mind that Tom insists he’s been to Omashu plenty of times goddammit). Despite this, Lily and Minato become friends, Lily easily confessing she’s the Avatar (which Minato at first thinks is a joke, even if she looks strange, then goes ‘oh my god, it’s not a joke). 

Eventually Minato is stationed to spy on them under the guise of teaching Lily earth bending. So he joins the gang. Tom, who knows exactly what’s going on, is not amused while Lily is just happy to collect another friend who will actually play Pai Sho with her. 

Kushina Uzumaki

Kushina is a earth bender, hands down. I debated making her a water bender (because whirlpool) but that personality is just pure earth bender material. Besides, I can just picture her so easily coming from Kyoshi. 

So Kushina’s an earth bending Kyoshi warrior, who while ten times as powerful as Minato, also lacks any of his control or cleverness. Kushina has undoubtedly left Kyoshi, abandoning their neutrality, to join the war and kick some fire bender ass.

She does this but along the way frequently runs into the gang where she annoys the ever loving shit out of Minato (her new rival) and claims that Avatar Lily is her new idol.

Rabbit

Rabbit is a mysterious spirit from Lily’s past that she refuses to talk about except in the darkest of terms promising doom and destruction the likes of which the world has never seen.

No one knows how to react to this. Or what a plain old ‘rabbit’ even is.

Tobirama Senju

Because no story’s not complete without Tobirama, I imagine he’s a stuffy waterbender and scholar from the North Pole who Tom is miffed at as the man refused to teach him even more water bending. Tobirama naturally feels that the day he teaches a blatant spy is the day he goes and drowns himself. 

Later, when Tom has picked up the Avatar and Tom rubs it in his face, Tobirama probably reluctantly spends a day or so teaching them something/fighting off the hordes of Fire Nation soldiers on their tale (it’s not Avatar if the gang isn’t constantly chased by fire benders).

Obito Uchiha

Obito is the answer to a fire bending instructor. Obito’s a firebender and the youngest son of a wealthy Fire Nation lord. However, Obito’s the black sheep of the family that everyone hates, a late bloomer when it comes to his bending, and is seen as bringing dishonor on the family.

Itching to prove himself, Obito becomes a soldier and goes to the Earth Kingdom, and eventually decides the best way to earn recognition and restore his honor is to capture the newly resurrected Avatar. Congratulations, Obito, you’re this story’s Zuko. 

Obito, while not the most talented fire bender at first (though as he gets older he gets dangerously good at it) is extremely clever and becomes the largest threat to the gang. 

That said, Obito actually does grow to like Lily quite a bit and begins to realize honor doesn’t actually mean that much to him and he doesn’t even really like his family. He doesn’t even dislike the concept of the Avatar and thinks the world probably does need one right about now.

So after a whole bunch of chasing them around the globe, thinking about his family, and being forced to almost kill the Avatar now and then he eventually defects and volunteers himself as fire bending instructor.

This is met with suspicion on all sides but he and Lily are bros so he wins.

Avatar Roku

Needing to pick up air bending, Lily probably fakes it until she makes it for a while, but eventually runs into Avatar Roku’s wandering spirit taking vacation from an ice cube.

He’s alarmed, but Aang’s trapped in ice, so if someone’s going to substitute then great.

To everyone else it just looks like Lily’s constantly talking to herself, playing Pai Sho with herself, and miraculously picks up air bending out of absolutely nowhere.

Also anyone close to Lee probably figures out she’s not really human/the avatar at this point, but they’ll take what they can get.

And This All Results In

Lily learns all the elements, there’s probably some big battle, then Lily gives some ridiculous speech about world peace that has nothing to do with anything and while the Fire Nation is defeated, Tom is not in fact made Fire Lord and remains merely the Avatar’s humble water bending instructor.

Instead, if he’s alive at this point, the crown goes to Iroh and he’s given a council of angry Earth Kingdom people who tell him to behave or else. We can give Iroh niceish things sometimes. That, or, hilariously, Obito becomes hokage/Fire Lord being distantly in line for the throne and doesn’t even know how that happened or what his life even is right now.

The colonies are the same mess in canon so something like Republic City probably eventually comes about.

Still, there’s peace, and probably statues to the gang all over the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes (while the Fire Nation grumbles and remembers the good old days when they controlled the world). 

And then Aang eventually wakes up extremely confused and confronts Avatar Lily noting, “Hey, I’m the actual Avatar” and Lily after a suspiciously blank pause explains, “I said an Avatar, never said I was the Avatar”

So, that’s that. If anyone wants other specific characters added into this mess feel free to comment. 

[kagetsukai]

OTP ship questions

So... this ship questions list has been making the rounds, and since I’m neck-deep in trying to finish up the story for Sam and Benji, I’ve decided to fill out ALL OF THEM. In one go. I’m extra, sue me.

(under a cut cuz I actually like you people) :P

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

Sam moved to Wayhaven and into Benji’s apartment complex. They didn’t start talking until Sam was getting mugged while on her run, Benji jumped in to help her, and then she punched him on accident. Benji does like to call it “love at first punch”

2. What was their first impression of each other?

Total heart eyes on both sides. They are both total cuties and they were eyeing each other before they actually started talking. Benji thought Sam was a little withdrawn and grumpy, while Sam thought Benji was really weird for grinning like a maniac all the time.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

I mean, Tina was the driving force from the very beginning and super invested in those two idiots getting together. Once it was apparent how cute Sam and Benji were together, the entire damn town wanted them to get/stay together. Sam’s cousin Liz was like “please enjoy yourself with the man”. Hell, even Benji’s ex was happy for them!

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Benji. The man wears his heart on his sleeve AND is incapable of holding back. He also has more experience with knowing what such emotions feel like so he can recognize them quicker. He’ll also claim that he fell in love with Sam the moment she punched him, so there’s that.

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Both of them, actually! There’s a time limit on how long Sam will be staying in Wayhaven so both of them knew falling in love was a very bad idea. But they are so well-suited for each other that it was inevitable.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

I think there would be an overwhelming “hell yeah!” on both accounts, because of how strongly they feel for each other. Sam would feel a sense of relief, because she grew up hearing stories of how her sperm donor (aka bio dad) just impregnated her mother and left her behind, so knowing Benji would actually stay and love her would be a happy news. Benji would be ecstatic to know Sam is his soulmate and would probably tell everybody who stopped long enough to be told. Deep down, he’d still doubt himself and the knowledge, because he has a long history of abandonment. Even with regular reminders, he’d still be afraid that Sam would decide one day that there had been a mistake and leave.

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Sam would become a bonafide workaholic with a limited number of friends - to Liz’s constant frustration. If she managed to find someone that she liked well enough, she’d probably settle down with them eventually, but maybe not feel a great passion for them. Just a decent, average life in California.

Benji would have gotten together with Felix and have a happy, fulfilled life with him. He’d probably get turned into a vampire at some point, too.

GENERAL

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Benji initiated it. Sam rejected the idea of dating at first, but after some cajoling, she agreed to keep going out with him.

2. Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

The first date was very casual and not really an official date - they went for dinner at a crab shack. Their second date was a little more dressy, with a dinner and a movie, and they both put in more effort into everything.

3. What was their first kiss like?

Amazing. Sam got a little tipsy and decided to leave a lipstick print on Benji’s neck as a way of “flirting”. Since the man is a slut for neck kisses, he took that as an invitation to have proper kisses and smooched her senseless right there and then. Sam did NOT complain.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

Sam had never had sex with a man before Benji (only had experiences with women), so it was a big deal when it happened. Benji made sure to take it slow and gave her a fantastic first-time experience.

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Sam is 5’10 and Benji is 6’3, so there’s about 5 inches of difference between them. There’s about 2.5 years of difference between them in age.

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Sam ends up having a decent relationship with Rebecca, after some time. It’s a little difficult to interact with someone who is barely around, but Sam tries to be nice all the same (since it’s important to Benji). She definitely has a much closer relationship with Benji’s found family, Tina and all the older ladies who appointed themselves Benji’s guardians. They all love Sam dearly and the feeling is mutual.

Benji has a fantastic relationship with Liz and her husband/kids. The kids in particular looooove hanging off Benji and using him like a jungle gym. Benji and Liz have this pact of sorts where they would murder a bitch in order to protect Sam from harm - and be each other’s alibi, too. They did start off on a slightly wrong foot, but it got cleared up quickly. That being said, Benji is not fond of Sam’s extended family - they can be challenging.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Benji, always. He’s the resident extrovert and will behave like a shield for when Sam feels overwhelmed with crowds or situations.

8. Who gets jealous easier?

Benji. He rarely acts on the emotion, though. At the beginning of the relationship, he’d just get quiet and in his own head a lot; later on he’d casually bring it to Sam to make sure he has nothing to worry about. 

Sam still gets jealous, though it’s not as common. After all, her man is fucking sexy and *of course* women would want to poach him. Gotta stay vigilant.

9. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

They are BOTH culprits of that one. Very often those are VERY explicit things, but mostly it’s just passing comments or even just sexy glances. Those two are *into* each other.

LOVE

1. Who said “I love you” first?

Sam, strangely enough. Having your life flash before your eyes sure makes you more willing to take chances with love ;)

2. What are their primary love languages?

Sam

Give: Acts of service, touch Receive: Quality time, touch

Benji: Give: Quality time, touch Receive: Touch, quality time

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Benji, hands down. He’s a cheeseball.

4. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

As often as they can get away with it. They are both touch starved idiots with a variety of abandonment issues, so being glued to each other is a natural state for them.

5. Who initiates kisses?

Benji, more often than not. He craves that physical reassurance from Sam ALL the time.

6. Who’s the big and little spoon?

Benji will want to be the little spoon as often as he can get away with it. He loves being held and having his hair played with, so settling half of his body into Sam’s lap is literally his favorite thing. That being said, when they sleep, he’s usually the big spoon.

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

Hiking and being active. When Benji was recovering from his stint at the hospital after Murphy, Sam would go with him on hikes to make sure he wasn’t pushing himself too much physically. Then they never stopped. Benji loves going places to photograph Sam for the millionth time. They will also go to the gym together, if their schedules align. They also love doing the couch potato things together: watching movies/Netflix or him playing video games while her feet are draped all over him as she reads her current murder mystery.

8. Who’s better at comforting the other?

Sam might be just a little better at it than Benji, but only because he has shitty impulse control and often will blurt out things he shouldn’t. Sam will generally sit and listen to Benji, cuddle him, pet his hair, etc. Benji will do similar things, but his need to crack jokes about inappropriate things gets him in trouble relatively often.

9. Who’s more protective?

Benji. He would NOT hesitate to murder a person in cold blood to keep Sam safe. It’s not exactly a healthy thing, but we all know the man needs therapy.

10. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Benji is a cuddle monster and would be wrapped around Sam 24/7 if allowed. That being said, since Sam is a little reserved about verbalizing her feelings for him, anytime she says “I love you” first, he feels absolutely ecstatic.

Sam’s family wasn’t a very outwardly affectionate people, so she’s not used to either type of displays? That being said, since Benji is always a walking furnace, she absolutely loves when he gives her cuddles. It’s her favorite thing.

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

*opens up their playlist*

Camila Cabello - Easy Amber Run - I Found Dermot Kennedy - Power Over Me X Ambassador - Unsteady Hozier - Work Song

12. What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Benji calls Sam “baby” all the time. She usually just calls him Benji, but also occasionally “mi carino” or “my love”. Pretty sure he dies every time she calls him “my love”.

13. Who remembers the little things?

I feel like they’re both pretty good about remembering the little things. Sam is better about remembering significant dates, but that’s because she has a digital calendar and isn’t afraid to use it :P

DOMESTIC LIFE

1. If they get married, who proposes?

Benji is the one who proposes. It happens on a random night while getting ready for bed, while they’re both in the bathroom in their bedclothes. It’s adorable and very them.

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

The wedding would most likely happen in Wayhaven. I can’t imagine either Benji or Sam wanting a huge ceremony, but since they’ve become the town’s favorite lovebirds, it kind of goes out of control. Once some of their supernatural friends get involved, it really goes a little crazy. It ends up happening at a city park so it can fit all of the attendees. Some of Sam’s family flies in from out of town. Tina is Benji’s best “man” and Liz is Sam’s matron of honor. Benji absolutely loses his shit when he sees Sam in the wedding dress walking down the aisle and totally disrupts the ceremony to try to kiss her out of turn. Other than a ridiculous number of people there (seriously, probably at least half of the town shows up), it’s a pretty chill party, with lots of remembrance of Sam’s mom and Benji’s dad. Let’s just say it was a good day :)

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

There are a few AUs for these dorks, but in most of those they have two kids: a girl and a boy. Ella is precocious, outgoing, clever, and energetic. Liam is a giant cuddle bug with a gorgeous smile and a big heart, who prefers to tinker with things in a workshop than get involved with his older sister’s shenanigans.

4. Do they have any pets?

They eventually end up with two dogs that they take on their hikes. They only have one dog for the longest time because apartment living isn’t exactly conducive to pet ownership. Once they get a house, they expand their menagerie. There might be a stray cat they sorta adopt, too.

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

Sam, hands down. Benji is a giant pushover for his wife and children, and would let his kids climb all over him, as long as they were happy.

6. Who worries the most?

That really depends on what about. Benji is perpetually worried about keeping his family safe and provided for. Sam has anxiety about a variety of small things and it’s not hard for her to worry about random stuff.

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

Depends on the bugs. Benji loathes spiders so Sam’s in charge of removing those. Sam absolutely cannot deal with centipedes and roaches, so Benji gets to kill those.

8. How do they celebrate holidays?

When it’s just the two of them, they either go visit one of their friends in town and spend it with them. Once kids arrive, they do holidays at home and tend to go big in the food department. Rebecca is always invited, but it depends on whether she can make it that time or not. They like it when holidays are warm and filled with happiness/laughter.

9. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Benji. If he’s not working that morning, he would not want to leave the bed and would do everything in his power to keep Sam in there.

10. Who’s the better cook?

Sam. Benji isn’t terrible at it, but Sam is so much better that he rarely bothers with it. Also, Sam tends to treat cooking as stress relief (chopping veggies is great anger management), so he lets her do the thing in peace. That being said, if she’s too tired to cook, or it’s been a long day, or the kids are demanding her attention, Benji feels comfortable enough in the kitchen to take over and make dinner.

11. Who likes to dance?

Sam, hands down. Her mom loved to dance so she grew up around it. Unfortunately, Benji has two left feet so she doesn’t have many opportunities to flex those muscles (outside of occasional slow-dancing in the kitchen). She will occasionally drag Tina out for a night of dancing and go to a salsa club. It can really hit the spot.

[donvex]

Does zukka fit a flower shop/tattoo shop trope? No, absolutely not. Am I writing head canons for it anyway? Yes, because I want to, and I said so, so I’ll make this work

-zuko loves the arts. Has loved the arts since he was young. He passion starts in the theater, and that’s where he starts to branch out

-maybe, just maybe, he leans away from theater a little bit because of his dad

-he doesn’t really talk about it, but he knows that he ended up going into his field because it was a little bit more masculine

-it takes a couple of years and a lot of therapy for him to separate his history with his dad from the work he very much loves to do, even if he started for all the wrong reasons

-but he’s good at it

-he’s a really good fucking tattoo artist

-zuko does almost exclusively in blackwork

-on occasion he does spot color, and ok of course his signature spot color is red, because its BOLD

-but he really really loves blackwork

-there’s a flower shop on the same block as the shop he works at

-but lets get this straight sokka absolutely does not own this flower shop

-aang does. Sweet sweet aang, who’s a vegetarian, who gifts his beautiful girlfriend katara flowers every other week despite the fact that its literally from his work

-katara loves it no I do not take criticism

-sokka just likes to stop by to bully aang hang out

-a lot

-its also because katara hangs out there so often and sokka just really loves his sister okay

-plus sometimes he brings his work (he’s an engineer, what a smart boy) and works in the back room, paperwork and math and all the administrative stuff

-there’s a little restaurant around the corner that the gaang goes to all the time, its cozy and warm and they don’t mind when their group gets a little too rowdy because they’re nice and they tip as best as they can for young adults in these trying times

-anyway every single person in the goddamn world works on this street okay

-yes this restaurant is iroh’s. We like it that way

-iroh is very nice to them and they are very nice back

-zuko does live in the area but come on, cities are big, you don’t run into people you know ALL the time

-even when they hang out at your uncle’s restaurant all the time

-zuko also has weird hours. He kinda sets up his own schedule, especially around his clients appointments

-but one day zuko is at the shop and a client is a no show, which always sucks even though he has their security deposit, so instead of sulking and going all the way home, he grabs his bag and heads to iroh’s

-settles down in a corner there, out of the way, with a sketchbook and headphones in so he can work on a flash sheet

-his uncles presence is warm and inviting just like his restaurant and zuko feels better just for being there

-and then, even over his music, he hears someone go “hey! He did my tattoos!”

-and zuko looks up to see the gaang, only one of which he recognizes - ya know, cuz you kinda don’t forget doing a massive body-scale blue arrow tattoo?

-and aang didn’t really intend for it to become anything, he was just excited, but zuko also isn’t sure because he’s awkward so he does say hi

-and the gang just kind of hovers over his flash sheet for a while and invites him in and somehow he ends up at their usual table

-(maybe its because he’s AT their usual table, he realizes. Small world, everyone wants the corner)

-now let’s not forget

-sokka is a bisexual disaster

-zuko is beautiful and sokka kinda wants to hate him for it? He doesn’t but he would love to

-also he doesn’t see any tattoos on zuko so he’s skeptical like aang are you SURE you didn’t hit your head

-toph is delighted no I did not forget her she just is too good of a character for me to write her justly

-but anyway she punches sokka (with affection) any time he voices too much skepticism

-on a different day, sokka goes in to zuko’s shop, because he’s around and he wants to see it for himself

-he isn’t allowed to watch zuko work of course, but he does get to watch zuko come out with a finished client and take some pictures of it

-it’s very impressive, and okay, maybe he DID do gang’s tattoos

-which just means sokka is smitten

-zuko is also smitten do not worry. They are both disasters

-zuko gets adopted into the gaang and they start to hang out. Their shops are so close, they love iroh, their ages are similar, and they get along after enough time. Its nice. Zuko likes it

-one day it rains, and gets really humid, and its fucking hot. So zuko finally takes off that dumb beat up leather jacket he always wears, only this time its not covering a long sleeves shirt, he’s wearing a tank top

-and sokka takes it back because zuko not only has tattoos, but they WORK for him

-zuko doesn’t have any shitty tattoos, because he spent so long dreaming of the theater and thinking that he couldn’t have tattoos if he ever wanted to be on stage, that by the time he finally acknowledged that his dreams had changed, he was working with and around tattoo artists and could afford to jump straight to full on intricate sleeves that took several sessions each

-it is the only good thing his father has ever given him. Jk he doesn’t credit his father for shit and somewhere in this universe there is room for his father to go to jail. Its already happened, and he’s sure he’ll have to tell his new friends at some point, but not now. He doesn’t wanna

-anyway his tattoos are beautiful. And all botanical

-they all have little scientific names nestles between the branches and stems, it dips below his clothes line, but they’re gorgeous

-pretty much everyone wonders why the fuck he doesn’t show them off, but he shrugs

-“I do, just not. here.”

-he likes to be recognized for his OWN work on his street, by his shop. Not for the work that’s on him

-aang is very excited and begs him in that way where you don’t REALLY have the option to say no to come look at his flower shop

-zuko does, its very pretty

-sokka pays attention to all the flowers and colors he likes

-color was hard. Zuko only does blackwork, how is he supposed to know which color flowers to give him?

-if he ever asks zuko out. Which he’s gonna at some point, because aang may be happily oblivious (or is that just his own way of playing the game? Sokka never knows) but katara is onto him and he has a limited amount of time to ask before katara does it from him

-they meet at the shop, the whole gaang, but this time everyone shuffles out early to leave the two dumb boys alone, and sokka asks to walk zuko home

-“idiot! You’re supposed to take him OUT not HOME”

-but the walk is nice and sweet and then, sadly, too short

-but sokka does make it a habit

-eventually he gives zuko a package and dashes away after their walk

-its a picture frame, with a bunch of pressed flowers, collaged in with snippets of poetry. zuko can tell they’re from different books, because the sizes and kerning and fonts are all different, and that’s a nice touch of detail

-when he looks them up, he finds a couple of them are from plays, not poetry books, and he binges the plays

-it also comes with a note from sokka that says “you get what I’m saying, so just. Text me if you wanna talk about it”

-he does text sokka

-they go out on a very nice date to a restaurant that ISNT owned by zuko’s uncle, and then go out on many more dates after that

-aang is always happy to give sokka discounts on flowers. sokka’s favorite thing to do is (have aang) make bouquets up of the flowers zuko has tattooed

-(Occasionally, when he gets The Zuko Bouquet, he tells aang a new flower to add to it. aang doesn’t ask, but he does smile. He’s very happy for sokka)

-(turns out zuko’s entire back is covered in tattoos too. sokka is going to lose his mind)

[salemroleplayhq]

❝You aren’t much, I said one day to my reflection in a green pond, and grinned.❞

MEET…

Johnathan Adamik 

Age: 36 

Birthday: April 23rd, 1984 

Gender/Pronouns: Cis-male / he/him 

Hometown: Great Bend, Kansas 

Length of time in Salem: 1.5 years 

Occupation: Fisherman 

Faceclaim: Jake Gyllenhaal

HIS STORY

trigger warnings: child abandonment, military mention, death mention, attempted murder, near-death

His first name implies nothing, and his last, maybe even less. John: a colorless everyman name, when it's called, it doesn't make a sound, it's an echo.

It's a name that has claimed him from its genesis through the mouth of a father who seemed to name him by coincidence. What was an accident of noise to the passive ear of a god was the first voice that reverberated in his head. An echoing permanence he'd always answer to even after his father leaves him, his siblings and mother behind.

Just as the conception he'd been named, his father leaving was merely another incident, even if the tightly coiffured women that his mother flocks with on Sundays were domestically inclined to imply something else. Some kind of implicit tragedy under the speckle-clouds of their powdered sympathetic humor (little boy, big man, you’re not making trouble are you, you’re takin’ good care of your momma ain’t ya, little man of the house now…). It doesn't matter though, like most things in life, noise and all- that's how it goes. If you couldn't accept it, either way, it will make sense of itself regardless, and to him that's enough to be made of living.

How things go is how his mother charts the life that continues on beyond the stagnant echoes. And how could she not? The day after his father left, his mother, red faced - the color flushed to a forgotten youthfulness in her cheeks - crams the last box into an old rat colored clunker of a car. She'd decided that they were going to have to move to someplace smaller and though he doesn't remember what he'd said, it must’ve been something childish. But he remembers her eyes, darkly translucent and certain, looking at him when she goes well baby that’s just how some things go, don’t it?, echoes of unnamed prairie borderlands in her accent as it liked to remind itself to her sometimes. Only twenty-four, four children, and nothin’ else much to her name besides the car on a countdown to a wreckage (and that would’ve been a real tragedy), far away where she didn't quite belong in a town with nothing much but the sluicing river naming it. Great Bend, Nowhere.

After that, with a sense of resigned certainty is how he carries on with his life, the way most would in a living where days were another day after each, when they can barely afford to simply be let alone live beyond each one. Being smart enough, and being that ambition for as long as he'd understood it - past a time when he could stand in class to mumble I-umm--want-to-be-a-doctor-or-scientist-or… - was not something that could be afforded. Like his mother said, that's how some things go. So it goes that as soon as he could, he marched up to a recruiter- some matchbox patriot salesman of the hour on a quota beat, to be signed and shipped off without the complimentary pitch.

Then continuing on, to march with the rest of the other canned green tin men, distinguished in the patina of the Navy. In the blind, geared maws of The Machine though, every batch is the same. Being a tin man among other green tin men at the bidding of pressed suits assembling a conveyor tongue belt of necessary wars. It's necessary in wars that there must be a creed, streamlined from the veined hands into the synthesized consciousness of the tin men they move so the job (and it is just a job to him) comes assumed with ambition (that isn't his) because wars require dignity to be justified and it is presumed that having ambition dignifies. What else is more dignifying than a man who dies for it? If he were to argue, he'd say it's not ambition that dignifies, it's dying that does, but throughout the years the hands that pull the levers and turn the bolts of The Machine will occasionally drape a flag over a casket and say this is why it’s necessary.

So life goes on, more things that whatever else could be said- or wouldn't be said by him- simply happens. Deployments. Cycles of shittiness. Waiting and more waiting. Then the lapses in between, incidents made into whisky-blather fodder at a shithouse bar during happy hours. Then there are days when he's alone that he feels as if he'd woken up from an embryonic coma, realizing he's got hands that carry everyone's will but his own. Duty had become him. He'd once heard a chaplain drone on that service to man is service to god, but there's not much of god in the places he's been and still he's only got his hands.

One day he wakes up again after returning from a deployment, and wakes up to nothing. Nothing to return to either. It's less a delayed epiphany and more of a clarity that couldn't be ignored- finally seeing and not just looking behind peering half-lids. After living half-asleep, years of answering others to a name given to him from someone with a severed chord, he leaves the Navy. Distinguished, but not in any way that will say anything about him. Not anything that really means.

When he thinks of epiphanies- tries to picture them- it starts as a nacreous core, undefined, bursting outwards into a vague sensation that meant it was already too late. When he thinks of epiphanies he sees a bullet.

They'd called him Saint.

When he was still tinted with the dress fatigue greens he'd been diseased by a strain of prodromal benevolence that degenerated into terminal cynicism. Because you can't be a saint without looking at your fellow men to be able to say you still recognize them.

And he did look at the one that shot him, and he understood. Because to look is to still recognize in spite of your fellow man, and betrayal isn't hard to understand because it's one of the oldest acts in the history of humanity.

So a particular day goes that he's: ratfucked, someone gets angry wrong, the right person has a gun, so the tip of his right ear gets blown off, and he isn't meant to be alive. Then it follows that he disappears before someone learns to correct their mistake- scrounging up whatever measure of life he still had into a bag and a truck and no definite destination besides a road that will go and go. From one place to the next.

He ends up in Salem eventually, where the epiphanies are no longer like the ones he'd come to know- they're more like the afterwaves of one, like trying to familiarize to a place that will always be unfamiliar, ripples from somewhere in the vastness. At least here it's the right place for lingering ghosts. There aren't really days of waiting, more like something else that waits for him. Either way, they're days he can call his own- a kind of living, at least, and besides- people usually don't think to ask what else a fisherman is.

PERSONALITY

+   conscientious, dependable, patient

-   cynical, stubborn, reticent  

Johnathan is played LIFFI

[lemonadesoda]

Part 2 of the Hide and Seek meta

There’s a bunch I didn’t say in the first meta post because it would have been spoilers, but now the fic is done, so here you go, more random behind-the-scenes that no one asked for but you’re getting it anyway

every writer knows there’s at least one part of writing the story where you hate the story, and for this story, that was chapter 11, which very nearly got away from me. In the first go around, when MJ and Snatcher have their conversation, Snatcher had too explosive of a depressive breakdown and revealed too early that Hat Kid had died in one of the Death Wishes. MJ was pretty furious, considering how big of an asshole Snatcher had been to them like 2 days ago in chapter 9, it led to a big argument and I had to walk away for a few days and figure out whether I was taking the story in the right direction.

on that note, the second half of the story was easily twice as hard to write as the first, my increasingly busy schedule notwithstanding. In the first half, the characters are all pre-turning point, but after chapter 10, I had to work to keep them true to their personalities but this time With Character Development

certain events were planned from the beginning, while other things came up on the fly either as I wrote or in response to reader comments

for example: the lullaby was not in the original plan. A reader commented they wanted Snatcher to sing, and my brain didn’t let it go.

another example: while Snatcher’s anxiety attacks were planned, how it intertwined with his expended magic and lack of souls was spontaneous. I realized when writing his breakdown in ch 9 that as a ghost, his stress couldn’t express itself in almost any of the classic physical symptoms, so he ended up getting phantom pain, dissociative episodes, and extreme fatigue

the legal arguments in ch 17 were mostly planned, but the actual details of the argument, in terms of actual debate points, I came up with largely on the fly, and it is a lot of good fortune that everything worked out so well

part of why I wrote this story in the first place was because I wanted to explore the progression of character change especially in Snatcher, because in other fics I read, he either starts off nicer than I expect or stays meaner than I expect for way longer than I think Hat Kid really deserves to put up with. Moonjumper probably overtly changes the least, mostly because I needed one character who was neither a literal child nor an emotional basket case.

since a lot of people have commented that they like the characterization, I will attempt to elaborate on the methodology

o shit there are sub bullets hell yah

for each of the characters, there was always an underlying feeling that I kept in mind that would act as my compass for how I wrote them

it helps that they all have very strong pre-existing voices in my head, and I play all the dialogue through their vocal lines to make sure it sounds feasible

again, echoing the previous meta, Snatcher’s underlying waypoint feeling is shame. In the first half, he reacts with defensiveness or awkwardness and denial when confronted with that feeling. In the second half after his turning point, he acknowledges that his love for Hat Kid is stronger than the fear of vulnerability he has in expressing it and in fact he becomes kind of clingy and hovery toward her. Instead he channels his bad feelings into repression by hiding his struggles from her instead. It takes him a while to feel like he is allowed to be happy, but eventually love overcomes that too.

HK’s underlying feeling is loneliness. In the same turn, she both craves and distrusts affection. This is discussed in ch 5. Once she decides Snatcher has earned her trust, the loneliness translates into feelings of responsibility. Her choice to go after Vanessa in ch 13 was motivated by the fact that she felt like a burden because Snatcher was caught between her and protecting the forest and she assumed it was her job to go and fix it. It takes a lot of convincing for her to realize she doesn’t have to take charge of a situation, and ch 17 was a culmination of her arc in that she basically played no active role in saving her ship, and that was intentional. It was important for her arc to end in being saved by her parents in a situation where she felt helpless.

MJ’s underlying feeling is basically straight up just love. They’re motivated even early on by the fact that they care about HK and initially it fuels their frustration with Snatcher because they thought he was bound to hurt HK if he kept being such an ass and it allows them to stand up to him to some degree. Even after that though, they would frequently bow out initially to keep the peace, unless HK meddled to convince Snatcher to be nicer to them. However, they also fundamentally still cared about Snatcher too, and realizing he had an opportunity for happiness in front of him, was determined not to let him crush it. Eventually, their sense of love translated to their own existence, which they had always been kind of ambivalent about. MJ wasn’t sure how much ownership they had over their identity, but taking on a role as HK’s parent gave them a good enough sense of self that they were able to better embrace the idea of Themself as a concept. MJ was the hardest to write at all times because I needed to make sure they were getting enough chances to have their own struggles and anxieties as well as their own fulfillment. I put a lot of work into them, but if I were ever to revise this story, I would put even more work into them.

Of the 3 mains, I personally think MJ is actually the funniest. They have a very dry sense of humor.

I see everyone noticed the pet names, so yes, MJ prefers “my dear” and “little one” while Snatcher sticks with “kiddo” most of the time but will occasionally go for the one hit KO with “sweetie” when he’s feeling real mushy

the hardest part of writing ch 17 was balancing how I wanted to portray the Captain. While I very much didn’t want to give the sense that her caretakers were good people, I didn’t want to portray them as cruel evil monsters, to the point that they would have crushed any sense of joy HK could have. A lot of the backstory was excluded from the actual text, simply informing how I wrote her character, but basically her caretakers were largely just a combination of selfish, neglectful, and resentful of having to look after a child when they were more interested in their work. The Captain himself does recognize through the discussion that HK is genuinely really happy and well cared for on Earth, something he’s aware she could never be in his and the others’ care, and so that one bit in the end is a hint that he does genuinely acknowledge on some level that they were shitty caretakers, that he did fail her as a guardian and that she deserves better.

Okay that’s plenty long, so I’ll stop.

[dykexanderharris]

heartache, i’ve heard, is part of life

(kennedy/willow, heavy mention of tara/willow)

Post-Chosen

It’s May and it’s only been a couple weeks since you watched her hair turn white with magic and felt centuries of the slayer line run through you. It’s May and she hasn’t said it but you think it’s been one year since the last woman she loved died. You have a few reasons for thinking that.

One of the big ones is that it’s May and You’ve learned that May being Apocalypse Month is one of the Scoobies’ favourite jokes. Since Willow was the cause of the last Apocalypse, you figure Tara probably died almost exactly a year ago. There’s also the thing where Xander and Buffy have both been big with the hovering for the last few days. You get wanting to be with friends after a near-apocalypse, you’ve spent a lot of time with Rona and Vi since Sunnydale turned into a crater, but Xander and Buffy have nearly attached themselves to Willow.

But the biggest hint is the way Willow is quiet. In the few months that you have gotten to know her, Willow has been a lot of things, most of them amazing, a few of them kind of terrifying. None of them is quiet. She can be shy occasionally and she can overthink which can look like quiet, but you can always tell that it’s not actually quiet since her eyes do this really cute and expressive thing where it kind of looks like she’s trying to figure out the worlds secrets.

Right now she looks quiet. She talks with same vernacular that you’ve grown so fond of and she smiles at you every time she catches you staring. But she looks quiet and her eyes don’t look complicated at all and there’s sadness there, more than usual. You’re not worried in the stressed and panicking sense, you’re just worried in the concerned that she isn’t talking to anyone about her dead girlfriend.

You recognize that you are definitely someone she can come to, but that she probably wouldn’t be big for conversing with her girlfriend that she accused of making her forget about her dead girlfriend - turning into the man she killed or not -about said dead girlfriend. So, you hope that Willow’s talking to someone but you have an inkling that she’s not going to talk to Buffy or Xander since they both have more recent dead loved ones. You doubt she’d talk to Daw, especially since Dawn has been kind of an asshole to both of you since she realized that the two of you aren’t just screwing because of your common experience of pre-apocalypse lesbianism. You wish you had her confidence, because even you aren’t convinced of that fact.

Th point is, you care, a lot, about Willow. And whether it’s been a year since Tara died or if the grief is just heavier now that there isn’t magic recovery or a First Evil to fight, you want to be there for her. So, when she comes out of the bathroom and into your room, towelling her hair, you just smile at her and invite her to come sit with you.

You listen to her breathe for a while as she flips through a handwritten journal, leaning your head on her shoulder you recognize most of the handwriting as Willow’s but there a more hurried and loopy script running through the pages along her steady and colourful words. You feel when her cheeks life with her smiles as she reads and thanks to your newly enhanced slayer hearing, you can hear the frequency with which she starts swallowing when she comes across full pages of the blue and loopy words.

Feeling her shift as she runs her finger along the edge of the page you shift with her, looking up to her. Softly, you ask, “Tell me about her?”

When Willow looks down, the same quiet in her face as the last few days but a small confusion, you clarify. “Tara. And only if you want to. I know you say you two were private and I respect that, but grief is hard and it’s harder when you don’t talk about it. So, if it’s okay with you, you can tell me about her. Or I can get Xander or Buffy and you can talk to them.”

Willow smiles at you and you really wish this warm feeling in your chest would stop popping up every time she looks at you because you don’t want to be the stereotypical lesbian who says I love you on the third date but she makes it easy. And she pauses and swallows again, and then she closes the journal and looks at you. And she says, “Are you sure?”

And you’re not, because you have this tendency to get jealous about stupid things and you don’t want to put yourself in a place where you might end up jealous of a dead girl and that would be stupid. But you say yes anyway because the hope in her eyes makes it clear she needs this. And Tara sounds like a good person from every account you’ve ever heard about her, plus you’ve got that whole loving Willow thing in common, so she seems like the kind of person you would’ve wanted to know if you could’ve.

With your confirmation, Willow tells you about her. She tells you about her as in the way that she loved horror movies even though she basically lived in one. You learn that Tara used to always get on both Willow and Dawn’s backs about eating healthy but she always kept gummy bears in her backpack in case it turned into a bad day. You listen when Willow admits that Tara thought the two of them were dating weeks before Willow realized she was gay and she laughs with you when you tease her.

And then she tells you about the journal on her lap. It started as just a catalogue of demons and meals and spells and little anecdotes from her daily life but eventually became the story of her and Tara, written out in their own handwriting. Willow mostly tells you about Tara teasing her about how she writes like she talks - in circles until someone tells her it’s okay to stop. You smile into Willow’s shoulder when she points to a period after a run on sentence that lasted over two pages long that is a different colour that the rest of the pages.

She goes through each page and tells you some of the stories and keeps some to herself, and from Willow’s account you can see how everyone views Tara as a perfect person because she seems pretty amazing. But then, a couple months into the journal, Willow starts flipping through pages written in black ink - an odd occurrence when previous pages were pinks or sparkly blues or lime green - with incantations and spells and ingredients and frustrated scribbles. You feel the way she tenses and she tells you about Glory who had made Tara go literally crazy and how she spent days pouring over texts just trying to find something to bring her back and how because of that Buffy died. You don’t correct her, it’s a different battle for a different day, but you do relish in her smile when the loopy writing is back.

There’s a page with some stranger ingredients and Willow tells you it’s the spell that brought Buffy back. You note the different coloured question mark next to the ingredient “vino della madre”. Now Tara’s notes are smaller than before, things like ‘dork’ when Willow pours over how much she loves Tara in the pages. you laugh are surprised that you have felt no jealousy, just sadness that Willow, and everyone, lost her. But you watch as Tara disappears from the margins, not abrupt like last time, but slower, until her only input are small drawings. And eventually she’s gone, and there’s a page that’s been scratched out but you see the way it bleeds onto the next page and figure it wasn’t the prettiest breakup. Willow confirms to you that it wasn’t, she tells you every step she took that ended up with her turning into a terrible and abusive person.

That’s one of the things about her that scares you sometimes, but you don’t need to think about that now. Willow flips through more pages, some of them black, some with colourful writing and fewer and fewer with spells, some with small self-affirmations. And you tease her for it and she blushes and you love her, in all your own stereotypical lesbian glory. She gets to the last page of the journal. Not the last page in the physical journal but you can tell it’s the last one in the way she looks at it.

And the last pages are all Willow, one is about a serum to help Buffy and the other two are about Tara. And then, proving your theory about the day she died, on a page dated May 7th, 2002, in purple ink is one sentence. ‘I love you, always, even when I’m not around.’

Willow gasps as she reads it, and you watch her gasp turn into a sob and she starts crying. You didn’t expect this conversation to end anywhere else, so you hold her and tell her it’s okay until she calms down. She shakes her head, as if to deny what just happened. Then she shrugs, “I’m sorry. It’s just, this,” She points at the journal, “and a couple pictures are the only proof that she was ever...”

She trails off and you get it. You don’t get it, but you think of Amanda who was younger then you but who reminded you of your sister so much and now she’s just a body in a hole that the government plans to fill with cement with no proof that you ever even knew her. You know, somewhere with her is Anya and Spike and Tara.

But Willow’s wrong, because Amanda is the one who encouraged you to forgive Willow, and wherever this goes, Amanda is part of the choices you make. So you kiss her cheek and place you hand on her other one, wiping away the tears there with your thumb. And you nod, “You’re right, she was a whole person and now all that’s left is notes in a journal and a couple pictures. But you forgot something.”

At Willow’s confusion, you continue. “You’re still here, and Dawn’s still here pissed off on Tara’s behalf. She’s gone but she’s still here. So, yeah, it is unequivocally shitty that she doesn’t get to be here so that the world gets to know her. But the world gets to know you and Dawn and Buffy and everyone else that got to know Tara. And I think, that’s plenty since she’s supposed to be my competition or whatever and I think I might like her more than I like you.”

Your last words are teasing and Willow smiles at you, though her eyes are serious. She leans her forehead against yours, running her hand through your hair and sighs wetly. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

And you smirk at her. “I did actually, but thanks for the ego boost.”

It’s easier like this, when you can say serious things but end the conversations lightly and don’t have to sit with the discomfort. Willow shifts to kiss you and is crying when she pulls away. “Thank you.”

And you could say it now, that you love her. That you’ll follow her wherever she wants to go once the apocalypse hangover is gone. But as much as you’re comfortable being a stereotype, you’re not an idiot. You’ve been given what you consider to be the extraordinary gift of getting to date Willow Rosenberg, most powerful witch in this hemisphere. You’re not going to mess that up with as something as stupid as saying you love her off the hinges of a conversation about the dead love of her life. So, you just smile.