#anyway have some hopeless fools for Valentine's

[kodyisover]

can't worry about holding his hand if your hands are full

( On Twitter )

[melancholyhigh]

CRUSH CULTURE.

ft. college au!leon x reader

synopsis. you fuck up at being leon’s wingman, ruining his chances of getting a valentine’s day fuck. he’s frustrated and takes his anger out on you.

tags. 2.8k words. smut. mean!leon, lowk angsty, reader is kinda pathetic, angry fuck, dry humping, cunnilingus, dom!leon, rough sex, unprotected p in v, degradation, name calling (bitch, whore etc.), happy ending (?).

note. i’m sorry for being so inactive and rarely being online. school sucks so bad. i hope you guys can accept this as a formal apology. (let’s ignore that this is 2 days late.)

masterlist. reblogs & comments are highly welcomed :3

You aren’t the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. You're sick of seeing everyone fall in love, watching lovers exchange cheesy gifts and bashful smiles. You’re sick of people pretending they love each other more than they actually do. No, you’re sick of being left out.

You were a hopeless romantic, chasing love only for it to fall flat. You were obsessed with finding your other half, the person who would cherish you as much as you treasured them. You didn’t know if you loved love or just the idea of it, but it wouldn’t matter.

You’re only hopeless as you help the man you liked hook up with someone at a shitty college party.

It’s pathetic, truly, chatting up some sorority girls and putting a good name out for Leon while he stood beside you. You didn’t get why he couldn’t do it himself. He was handsome, albeit a bit awkward, but so were you. It’s why you two got along anyway. Leon was watching as you tried to get the drunk girl’s attention on him. Throughout the night, your wingman skills had only failed. They either did not pay attention to you or paid too much attention to you.

You were sick of it. You would have preferred staying in your dorm room and rewatching one of your favourite rom-coms. But you were only a fool, trying to help your friend out. It hurt more being there with him as he lamely tried to pick up girls in front of you. You didn’t know what was more pathetic, his terrible jokes or the state you were, absolutely heartbroken that he wouldn’t give you the time of day he’d give to random girls.

Maybe it’s faith’s cruel way of commentating on your desire for love by making you play cupid for the only person you seem to care about more than yourself.

You and Leon had something special, or you had hoped so. You met in your first year of college. You were both fucking awkward that you had to initiate the first conversation. Majoring in similar subjects, you both had gotten along well. You would even say you were best friends, but you knew deep down you always wanted more.

Ever since you first met, you found him enthralling. It only got worse as you got closer. Learning more about him seemed to solidify your pining for him. You were the only person he talked to, and vice versa. You confided in each other, maybe more than what close friends should, so it was only inevitable that he would share with you that he wanted to lose his virginity.

You had looked at him perplexed. Leon was pretty attractive, and maybe you were biased, but how had no one fucked him? You’ve seen the way girls look at him, blushing when he even glances at them for a second.

That is when Leon told you he planned on trying to hook up with some girl at the party, and he wanted your help because he knew he would fuck up somehow. You had humoured him. Nothing more romantic than taking a random girl home on Valentine’s Day and fucking her brains out.

–-

“It’s not that serious, Leon,” you groaned for the umpteenth time. You were both walking back to his apartment after unsuccessfully trying to hook him up with some sorority girl. He was grumbling behind you, pissed and sexually frustrated.

“It was your fault.” You roll your eyes at his statement. When you reach the door of his flat, you observe as he clumsily takes his keys out, trying to open the door. He finally manages to open the door, and you enter, taking your shoes off before settling on his couch.

You watch him beyond amused at his predicament as he paces back and forth in front of you.

“Why did you have to mention that? They were so into me before you fucked it up,” he huffs, stilling his movement to glare at you.

“C’mon, Leon. I’m sure they couldn’t give a fuck that you’re a nerd,” you said, repeating the same word you had let slip when you were praising your beloved best friend. You peered back up at him, acting casual as if his icy gaze didn’t have your heart beating wildly against your chest. You rarely saw him angry, and when he was, he never directed it to you.

“You ruined my chances at finally getting laid. I don’t know how to talk to these girls. You’re the only person I have.” He’s frustrated with you for fucking up whatever chance he finally had at popping his cherry. Even though logically it’s not your fault nor your duty to get his dick wet, he didn’t want to take responsibility right now.

“I think you’re overreacting,” you sighed, standing up and moving towards him. You try to put a comforting hand on Leon’s shoulder, and he shrugs your touch off him. You don’t take it to heart. He’s a few inches taller than you, head slightly tilted as he looks down at you.

“Yeah? Well, now I have no one to fuck tonight.”

“I can change that,” you quip, and you instantly freeze at your own statement. You part your lips lightly in shock as you observe Leon’s reaction. It was a freudian slip, and it seemed to be happening more often than you’d like.

He continues looking down at you with furrowed brows as he tries to comprehend what you said. He thinks this might affect your friendship if you even mean what you said. He was horny, being teased all night by pretty girls in skimpy dresses, only to be denied, fucking furious too.

“Really?” He responds, somehow stepping closer to you. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you try to back up, only to be pushed against the wall by him. His stare is still cold, piercing through you. He’s still pissed at you.

“Are you still mad?” You mumbled, your back flat against the wall of his living room. You knew the answer. You just wanted him to say it. Maybe you found his mean side more attractive than you’d like to admit. It was so rare to see him like this — a usually composed man so broken.

“Yes, I’m still fucking angry. Do you want me or not?” He seethes. You squeeze your thighs together at the tone he uses. You were so pathetic, getting wet at him berating you, but any attention was good attention.

He notices your reaction, grinning to himself. “You backing down?”

You shake your head no in response.

“Beg for it then. Beg for me to fuck you. That’s what you want, right?” He says, mocking you. It’s as if he knows how deep your desire burns for him, how badly you’d do anything for him if it meant he noticed you. His hands grasp your face, his fingers squishing your cheeks together as he forces your head back against the wall so you look up at him.

“Please, Leon. Fuck me. ‘M all yours.” You plead through pursed lips. Your eyes are glossy, and he’s laughing at your desperate nature. He would have never expected his best friend to be a whiny mess within his grasp.

He lets go of your face before leaning down, capturing your lips into his for a needy kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, and a surprised gasp escapes you. Teeth clashing, you’re whimpering desperately against his lips as you entangle your fingers into his soft golden locks. His hands trail down to your hips, gripping them as he moves his body against yours.

You let out a soft moan, and he pulled apart from the passionate kiss. Both your lips are swollen and covered with your shared saliva. He continues to grope your body eagerly as he pushes you further into the wall. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear you.”

Biting your lip, you try not to let any moans slip free while he toys with your sensitive body through your clothes. He hooks one of your legs over his hip while he explores your body. He grinds his hardening cock against your crotch, and the action does little to quell the ache inside you.

Your back arches off the wall, your head tipping back as you try to buck your hips to his. Digging your nails into his shirt, he hisses slightly, but your movements don’t get past him.

“So fucking desperate,” he moans loudly.

He continues to rock his clothed erection against your cunt. The rough fabric of your pants provides enough friction through your damp underwear to your clit. Your hand clamps around your mouth shut, suppressing your whines as you near your climax.

Leon’s eyes close while he groans lowly at the pleasure coursing through him as he ruts against you. He wants so badly to feel your dripping cunt against his throbbing length. Just as you’re about to finish, he pulls away, panting, and the feeling in your core dissipates.

“I want to fuck you properly.” You’re unsure if he knew what he had just done, but with the smug look he’s giving you, you’re positive it’s on purpose.

You push yourself off the wall of his living room, and with trembling legs, you follow him to his bedroom. You were familiar with the area and used to the messy appearance while you two were either doing work or binging shows. But it’s different now, he’s going to fuck you dumb in it.

You both begin to rid yourself of your clothes once you’re inside. You’re fully nude, lying flat on Leon’s mattress, and your skin feels tacky with sweat as it clings to his soft sheets. Leon is only in his boxers, precum staining the fabric, as his strong palms spread your bent legs apart to admire your bare pussy.

You realise that this is most likely his first time seeing one other than in porn videos he jerks himself off to. He marvels at how wet you are, your folds glistening with your slick. Leaning down, he buries his face between your thighs, lapping at you.

His tongue teases your entrance before slowly moving to your clit. He alternates between sucking on your sensitive nub and lapping at it slowly. He looks like he’s concentrated as he focuses on pleasing your cunt, his brows furrowed and his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs.

You can’t help the moans and sighs that slip past your lips while he eats you out. The pleasure is nearly dizzying as you grip the sheets. Your hips are bucking against his tongue, and Leon groans as you use his face. He’s not so subtly grinding against the sheets, his cock painfully hard as he fails to relieve the sensation.

Tentatively, he slurps at you, drinking in your essence. The wet, sloppy noises your cunt makes are embarrassing, but he’s obsessed with it and your taste. It’s addictive. He sucks at your clit roughly, adoring the reaction you give him. Your tummy clenches as he pays attention to your throbbing bud. Your sounds are getting more frequent as your orgasm quickly approaches you.

When you finally come undone, your thighs are quivering around his head as he revels in your release. He parts from your cunt, his lips coated in your cum like lip gloss as he licks them clean. Trying to collect yourself, your chest heaves as you pant heavily.

Leon slips his boxers down, revealing his hard-on. His cock was flushed red and dripping with precum as he stroked it. It was average in length but quite thick and prettier than you had imagined. But you shouldn’t act surprised.

You let out a whimper when he slid the tip of his cock through your folds stained with your cum and his saliva. Your pussy was overstimulated, spasming as he teased your entrance with his head.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he groans, gripping your hip to steady himself. The heat of your cunt was welcoming as it tried to suck him inside you. His tip touches your overly sensitive clit. He was quickly losing his composure, desperate to fuck you open.

You both moan simultaneously when he fully enters his length inside of you. Your walls were sucking his cock deeping into you, filling you up to the brim with nothing but him.

You had not imagined your first time with Leon like this. You daydreamed of him taking you out on a cute date before undressing you and then fucking you slowly on a bed littered with rose petals. You did not anticipate that he’d split you open on his cock as a last resort taking his sexual frustration out on you. You can’t complain with how good he’s fucking you, even if it’s out of spite.

He begins thrusting his cock in and out of tight pussy, groaning. You feel each ridge and vein of his cock as he fucks the shape into you. You sometimes forget how well-built he is, usually concealed by his clothes, sweat dripping down his muscular frame.

“Your cock feels so fuckin’ good, Leon,” you gasped out loud, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you out of his fat cock.

“This was your plan, huh? You wanted me to fuck you, whore.” He says as he punctuates each word with a thrust.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock presses against you deliciously. You did want him all to yourself, but you wouldn’t go as far as to sabotage him. You’re unable to answer him, too drunk on his cock bullying into that one spot inside of you.

“Answer me, bitch.” He huffs, gripping your jaw and positioning your face to his. He looks into your eyes only to note how they can barely stay open. His hips stutter at your fucked out expression. He was so fucking close, his abs flexing, only holding out so you can cum first.

“Y- Yeah, Leon. Want to you all for myself,” you stammer incoherently, tears collecting at your waterline as he pounds into your oversensitive cunt. Your walls grip around his cock sporadically as you near your climax.

“You like me too, then?” he mocks through clenched teeth. Your pussy hugs him tightly, and he thinks he might never want to leave your warm embrace.

“I’m so close,” you cry out, your body squirming in his hold. Your peak was rapidly approaching as he continued his assault on your pussy.

“Answer the question then you can come,” he whines, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, leaving marks as he nears his peak.

“Mhm! Yes, I’ve always fucking liked you, Leon.” You cried out, eager to expose all your secrets to him if it meant you came. As you climax, your pussy milks Leon’s cock as it gushes around him.

“Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum,” Leon moans, his voice breathy as his orgasm crashes after yours. He doesn’t know if it’s the weight of your confession or the whimpers that escape your throat that send butterflies in him as he spills into you. He kisses you one last time, moaning into you as he rides his high.

Pulling out, he collapses right next to you. You’re both panting, covered in cum and sweat. A wave of exhaustion overcomes you, and you hope he doesn’t bring up what you said amidst fucking. You’re content pretending it didn’t happen if it meant you wouldn’t get to face your fears.

“Thank you for uh,” Leon trails off, and it's like a switch flipped. He’s bashful at mentioning that he had just lost his virginity as if he wasn’t calling you a whore a few minutes ago. Turning to his side, you come nearly face-to-face with him once again.

“Mhm, you’re welcome, I think.” You’re still unsure how you feel about the situation. Finally, you had fucked him, but what significance did it hold to him? Your eyes flutter shut, sleep finally overcoming your wrecked body. You expected the same would happen to Leon, but you were wrong. Leon was in deep thought.

Leon calls your name, cutting your sleep short. You snap your eyes open, sitting up, you await his question with your arms crossed. He looked uneasy, but you’re too drained to question why.

“Did you mean what you said? That you liked me.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at your form.

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled in response. What was even the point of lying anymore? His cum was dripping between your thighs. What is the worst he can do? You think you can already guess his response. Guilt was eating at you. He wouldn’t be in this position if you did what he wanted. You added, “Sorry for fucking up your night.”

It’s quiet, and you’re nervously trying to gauge his reaction until he breaks the silence.

“I think I found someone better,” he responds. You laugh at the mere absurdity of the entire situation.

“It took fucking me to find that out?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

[togegiri]

✎ᝰ ❛ THIS SWEETNESS IS JUST MADE FOR YOU ❜ — yuuta okkotsu. toge inumaki. megumi fushiguro. yuuji itadori.

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ content. The many woe's of being inlove is valentines day, so what kind of sweet treat do they make for you?

₊˚⊹ ᰔ warnings. gender neutral reader. you/your and they/them pronouns is used. (name) will be used. petnames is used (my love - yuuta , darling - megumi , my sunflower - yuuji). tooth rottening fluff.

note. kind off early for valentines day but I wanted to write it anyways! happy early valentines day people <33

— THE PREPARED TYPE. 乙骨憂太 | okkotsu yuuta

[ "happy valentines day (name), here you go, usually girls give out the chocolates but I wanted to do the giving! I didn't want to buy just chocolates so I made chocolate chip cookies! I hope you love them my love.. y- you don't mind if I call you my love right?" ]

A gentleman to the boot. A week before valentines he has already been planning on what to get for you. He wanted to give you something meaningful that you'll love. Thus the idea of baking cookies came in.

A chocolate chip cookie to be exact. Although he doesn't know baking that much, he asked for his friends' help, pandas, toge, maki. Although when he asks for their help all he gets is “I don't know how to bake,” or “bonito flakes” in toge's language. 

Thus he opted to get baking lessons which was worth it because he learned how to bake cakes, and different types of desserts that he can surprise you for any occasion.

While in the baking lessons he was a little slow but the teacher didn't mind at all. He had to apologize a lot due to the small clumsy mistakes he does but nonetheless he was able to learn through his mistakes.

He gifts you the chocolate chip cookie with a white paper bag and light pink ribbons and laces. He tried his best to make the packaging look adorable which ended up to be cute and great! 

He also bought you some pink tulips. The day of the valentines day he was worried you wont like the cookies he baked or worse your allergic to something in the cookie. So he had to ask in advance if your allergic to anything before he gave it to you.

When he gave the cutely packaged cookies and the tulips he gave you an awkward smile. As you feel your body feel hot as he blushed a little seeing you take the cutely packaged gift and the pink tulips.

“Oh uh… umm since you said you dont have any allergies h- here! happy valentines,” he gives it to you as he awkwardly chuckles feeling pink dust forming in his cheek. Slowly you take the cutely packaged sweet treat, “I hope you love it how much I loved making it for you.”

“thank you yuuta,” you smiled, giving him a small peck in the kiss, making his eyes widen. His whole face covered with his blush, “your welcome my love,” he gave you a kiss back. Yuuta feels as if his mouth has been overfilled with the sweetness of the chocolates as he looks at you. He truly is a lovesick fool isn't he?

— THE AWKWARD TYPE. 狗巻棘 | inumaki toge 

[ “uhh… k- kelp… tuna tuna,” ] 

He's a hopeless romantic. Although quite awkward as I'd like to think when he's in love, he'll love hard to the point he feels nervous and shy around them. He had to take three shopping trips in three whole days because he feels as if the things he bought are not too worthy for you.

Unlike yuuta he just followed a youtube tutorial and winged it the day before valentine. It was a lot of trial and error. Yes he woke up panda just to force panda to try the first failure of his creation.

Panda thought he was poisoning him after eating all of his onigiri. Yes the cursed corpse puked it out after. Toge has to be up all night to make those chocolate soufflés for you. The ending was a messy kitchen, a panda who looks like he's about to enter heaven and see Jesus, and a perfectly done chocolate soufflés.

He wrapped it in a minimalistic way, a red wrapper and a pink ribbon on the chocolate soufflés and made a small cute note on it drawing a chibi of yourself and him holding hands. 

He hopes the chocolate soufflés were to your liking and the love letter reaches through your heart. He'll hide under his collar once you get the gifts he has given you. He wants to run away, kiss you, or give you a kiss then run away after! 

In short he doesn't know what to do and just short circuits but tries his best to stay where he is as you took his declaration of love.

As you take the valentines gift you smile at him seeing the love letter attached to the wrapped treats. He blushed a little trying to hide his face with his collar as you read the letter he wrote.

Dear (name),

I love you, I know I can say it aloud like anybody can. I do hope my actions can speak through the words I badly wanna say. I love you dearly. 

You smile at him, bringing him to a hug. The cursed speech user's eyes widen at this as he awkwardly hugs you back putting his head on your shoulder feeling his whole face hot and embarrassed. “I love you too toge!” He nodded his head as he hugged you tightly making you giggle hugging him back tightly. 

Words may not be said but actions are much louder to toge's love for you. 

— THE COOL HEADED TYPE. 伏黒恵 | fushiguro megumi 

[ “I hope this isn't much, I hope you aren't disappointed, I'm not much of a flower type of guy but I hope this love letter will suffice, happy valentines day d-.. ahem! darling..” ] 

He knows how to bake and is a perfect boyfriend at this point. Although he's quite stoic and a private person you loved him nonetheless. As for valentines day presents he already planned them in advance.

He personally doesn't like giving flowers but prefers to give you a love letter or love notes. He made some chocolate truffles for you but when gojo saw him baking he immediately annoyed megumi to let him join baking which he denied multiple times.

Gojo ended up eating some of the truffles as megumi forced him out of the kitchen. The way he decorated the packaging was a simplistic style. A cute pink wrapper with red ribbons decorating it. As he gave it to you, same with the cutely decorated letter scented with his favorite perfume.

Particularly he wasn't embarrassed more on the nervous side, afterall he value what your likes and dislikes and wants the best for you. 

“Tell me if you don't like it, I'm gonna remake the one you like, okay?” he says making you chuckle as you take the gifts he gave for you, “silly megumi, I'd eat it even if I'm allergic to it if it came from you,” 

The raven haired male chuckles, “stop being an idiot I would never let you eat something you're allergic too,” you grin as he gives you a small peck in the cheek as you hugged him close. 

— THE SUNSHINE TYPE. 虎杖悠仁 | itadori yuuji

[ “I got you tons of things, if I'm being truthful I almost forgot about it so I kinda panicked and bought lots of things! I hope you like what I get for you, my sunflower!” ] 

He almost forgot about it until nobara asked what he'll get for you. His eyes widened as he looked at nobara in panic as the brunette girl looked at him in defeat. He forced the girl to help him as nobara fighted for her life to not be in yuuji's shit. 

Ended up helping him in the end as they looked around a patissier shop where he ended up buying brownies for you. He also requested for the workers to wrap it in a super duper cute way! pink wrapper, red ribbons, with white frills, and cute heart designs on it.

He also bought you a cute hello kitty plushie, a bouquet rose and a letter. Yuuji Itadori is going all out for this because he felt guilty and almost forgot about it. He will say it to you too once he gives his presents to you. Apologizing, looking like a kicked puppy.

You chuckled as you let it go, making the boy grin and pepper you with kisses.

“I’m still sorry I almost forgot about it…” yuuji whined hugging you close nuzzling his head onto your shoulder making you chuckle, “it's fine, I still love you yuuji, I don't mind if you forgot about it,” the pink haired male pouts. “That's not good, if I forget any event I'm gonna be angry at myself for that because I want to shower you with all my love.”

“You already do those yuuji, everyday you shower me with your love,”

“that's true I still want you to know I love you with every anniversary, valentines day, birthday, christmas—”

“yeah, yeah, I got it yuuji,” 

He chuckles, hugging you closer, loving the warmth you two make.

“Good!” 

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋  . . .  (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares. 

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

[strawbrryrush]

I'm mobile, but here is my hidden valentines event starter and plotting call!! Imma limit it 3 request per mun pls, and a limit of 4 per muse so I don't cry. Anyways i hope this isn't too bad- but I'm FAR behind oops ♡♡

Elena Gilbert - going with elijah mikaleson- will be trying to get into this man's suit.. and will be drinking her aunt has no humanity on and is spooking her let her live. 0/4

Eric Northman- going with faye chamberlain- going to judge this event- clearly his club could do it better.- will be woofing and acting a fool for his wife- or fiance ?? Whatever he's committed. 0/4

Homura Akemi- going with madoka kaname! Homura; after the maze deserves a break.. and to have fun and dance with her ?? Girlfriend, she doesn't know what they are but knows madoka looks stunning - and she has butterflies. Bonus points if u get her tipsy it'd be funny. 0/4

jinx - going with stu macher! Not a shock- will probably be wreaking havoc and enjoying what the place has to offer.. im always down for jinx angst if anyone's offering :)) 0/4

nami - going with sanji!! Will be scoping the place out for some thievery - maybe don't tell sanji but come on it'll be a great investment !! Also low-key probably gonna be keeping an eye on the rest of the straw hats- they're idiots but she cares for them. 0/4

richard gecko - going with aerith! She's gorgeous he wants to eat his girlfriend up- will be enjoying his time with her. But also richie can use every and any plot please PLEASEE PLEASEEE lmk what u wanna do let's!! 0/4

Tifa lockhart- blind date with cassie ! Will be trying to have a good time- looking gorgeous while doing so. Why not get tifa tipsy it'd be fun! 0/4

lip gallagher,- going with rikki.. let's be real these kind of parties aren't really his thing- he's trying to live a life of sobriety so no drinks for him or I'll throw hands >:[ jk jk but he's trying to have a good time - even if he feels out of place. Let's make some friends!! 0/4

mabel pines,- in need of a date if any one wants to plot that! She's a sweetheart who will start a drinking game and lose and be plastered - come on it'll be fun.. imagine drunken kisses and waking up like what happened ?? 0/4

martha hatter - sunshine baby- in need of a date again if you wanna try anything lmk!! A true hopeless romantic will dance with your muse and make sure they're safe ! 0/4

nezuko kamado,- going with evie ! Her first masquerade party I can feel she's gonna be nervous, but will have fun or try to!! 0/4

harriet hufflepuff, - going with lily ! Eyes only on her girlfriend and she doesn't really do parties so they'll be ?? Awkward but lily does bring the best out of them who knows. 0/4

amber freeman , - going with Tara! A party girl at heart is gonna love this! Will try to be on her best behavior she doesn't wanna lose her gf buuut it's such a great opportunity for some stabby stab.. but alas she'll be good or try. 0/4

misa amane ,- in need of a date is a gothic baddie - will probably feel like she's making aly jealous but lbr KSLSLS she isn't but give this girl a time to let loose !! 0/4

marceline - in need of a date. A vampire Rockstar, a baddie, Will make this the funnest date ever 0/4

elaine st john, - going with henri.. going to be reserved - unless she gets hungry.. plenty of options u know - what's a little blood break. 0/4

harley quinn, -unsure of her date status! Pure chaos as usual- will be getting wasted and messing around. 0/4

edward elric,- went with ling as pals no homo! He's gonna stick out like a sore thumb - the coat stays on >:[ ur lucky he put on a suit.. it 100 percent ill fitted and is too baggy on his legs, but sh; he will be a grump. He doesn't want to be here.. but alas he's here and no short jokes unless u wanna lose ur knee caps.. or ur ankles 0/4

knives chau, - in need of a date.. legit give her a fun and pure time. 0/4

princess peach- in need of a date.. will be having fun! 0/4

Yor forger - going with shanks! Dressed like a goddess- kind of nervous but once she drinks.. it's signing up for disaster - will probably break some things on accident because she doesn't know her own strength. 0/4

Himi , - in need of a date.. a legit fiery sunshine - give her a nice date night ! 0/4

tabitha haworthe ,- in need of a date ! Will be fun! Ur muse will learn horror movie facts! 0/4

azula, -in need of a date is horribly jealous that Cindy has a date that isn't her.. but wont admit it might accidentally light a curtain aflame.. idk it'll be fun 0/4

isabelle, - needs a date- my baby girl is so cute needed a break from work.. maybe get her tipsy 0/4

draculaura , - needs a date... a vegan vampire who's the sweetest I swear she'll make a great date!! Tho she might catch feelings a little fast- shes a hopeless romantic like that. 0/4

Samantha giddings,- blind date with Zola!! Going to feel ridiculous she even did a blind date but will make the most of it!! 0/4

beth greene - blind date with Melissa! Pure pure angel- I don't think she's ever been to a dance before- deserves a wonderful time 0/4

Calcifer- going with drizella! U can't miss them he's in a red suit- will have a lit time.. punns idk 0/4

Carmy'- going with Sydney! Thankfully so he doesn't do fancy parties - he's stressed- count how many smoke breaks he's take.. u already lost count - will be confused on why he thinks sydney looks gorgeous but like all his emotions that shall be bottled up. 0/4

[kathyprior4200]

Haven Hotel characters

 Heaven’s Princess Coercia Egnam glanced down at her long list of meeting attendants and characters that she was about to address: (her handwritten notes included)

 Princess Coerciona (2P Charlie) *Most important*

Phalla (2P Vaggie) *Hopeless romantic butterfly*

Devil Grit (2P Angel Dust) *Serious stiff spider*

Stalaro the Techno Angel (2P Alastor the Radio Demon) *Sob story sissy*

Klutzy (2P Niffty) *Lazy maid*

Core (2P Husk) *Hyper fool*

Cherubs Pub and Chub (2P Razzle and Dazzle) *My loyal guards*

Lucius (2P Lucifer) *Dad*

Lilian (2P Lilith) *Mom*

Sivart (2P Travis) *Some guy*

Sir Anguis (2P Sir Pentious) *Stuttering scaredy-snake toy maker*

Berri Blossom (2P Cherri Bomb) *Modest mundane dame*

Catie Carejoy (2P Katie Killjoy) *Soft bitch*

Ron Wrench (2P Tom Trench) *WW1 news guy*

Baker the puffer fish (2P Baxter the anglerfish) *Mad scientist fishy fish*

Jazzy (2P Mimzy) *Chubby singer lady*

Joygrand the Heaven-cat (2P Crymini the deviant hellhound) *Who the fuck are you?*

Raa the Koala angel (2P Roo the kangaroo trash Aussie demon) *Who the fuck are you?*

Iris (2P Rosie) *Day of the Dead Barbie*

Valentine (2P Valentino) *Blueberry pimp wimp*

Nil (2P Vox) *TV guy*

Ashen (2P Velvet) *Harley Doll angel*

Nestlings (2P Egg Bois) *Meh*

Nathan (2P Seviathan) *Old friend*

Elsa (2P Helsa) *Meh*

Beth (2P Bethasa) *Meh*

Fred (2P Fredrick) *Meh*

Holly (2p Molly) *Devil Grit’s spider sister*

Ragno (2P Arackniss) *Devil Grit’s spider brother*

Henry (2P Henroin) *Devil Grit’s father*

Alliv the blue tough tabby cat (2P Villa pink girly poodle) *Don’t even fucking know*

Thin Tenders (2P Fat Nuggets) *Potential snack*

Archangels (2P Archdemons)

Anti-Exorcists: White demon beings who convert angels into demons each year. Great source of entertainment.

 E.L.F. (2P I.M.P.) not to be confused with C.H.E.R.U.B. the sheep love spreaders and revivers

D.E.V.I.L. (2P C.H.E.R.U.B.) murderers, hate-spreading black rams

Docile (2P Blitzo) *Some childish leader*

Tirred (2P Moxxie) *Serious one*

Timmid (2P Millie) *Wallflower*

Sunna (2P Loona) *High pussy*

Mia and Tia (2P Tilla and Barbie Wire) *Circus twins?*

Samael *Punishing BDSM angel*

Menadel (2P Stolas) *Swan prince, Quartet’s father*

Flora (2P Stella) *Quartet’s mother*

Quartet (2P Octavia) * Swan princess, bubbly teen*

Mayberry/Juneberry (2P Mrs. Mayberry) (Former Human)

Mary (2P Martha) (Former Human)

Ralph (2P Ralphie) (Former Human)

Ollie (2P Eddie) *Brat kid*

Bio Wizz (2P Robo Fizz) *Circus conspiracy?*

Kiva (2P Verosika Mayday) *Zealot*

Woo-Hoo Land Mascot (2P Loo-Loo Land Mascot) *What a creep*

 (More to be added)

(2P Zoophobia characters)

More characters to be added

 “Alright my subjects, tell me something,” Coceria began as she filed her sharp claws with a knife in a tall leather chair framed by black wrought iron. Her black spiky crown was on her head as usual. An angelic spear rested by the throne. Below her was a large crowd seated in comfortable chairs, many of them in shades of blue and green. “How the flying fuck am I supposed to remember all your names?! I bet half of you guys are insignificant background characters. And the majority of you haven’t even been featured in the show yet!”

 “You mean the Hazbin Hotel show? About our counterparts?” asked Stalaro, holding up a white rose for Coercia. Soft classical music played from his blue microphone staff. The pansexual blue man was occasionally stealing glances at Devil Grit’s fluff.

 “That’s irrelevant right now, you sad sack of stag shit!” Coercia yelled. Stalaro’s rose wilted in his hands and the music scratched to a stop. Tears were forming in his large blue eyes and his fluffy ear tuffs were drooping. “B-but I’m talking about my show: The Hazbin Ho…”

 “Haven Hotel,” Phalla corrected.

 “Right, Haven Hotel! And there’s also that spinoff show Helluva Boss.”

 “Heavenly Boss,” Docile corrected her. The elf sat with his colleagues next to a flyer which read, “Efficient Lifesaving Fellows: We revive and keep mortals alive! Sign up today, 33% off.”

 “Whatever,”Coercia brushed them aside. “Anyway, normally I wouldn’t care much about you guys, but now that I have formed the Haven Hotel, Phalla figured it should be a good time for us to introduce ourselves. Or more precisely, me to talk to you all.”

 “A practical first start,” Devil Grit mentioned with a nod. He was a dark gray faced spider with small green dots below his eyes. His suit was black with green stripes, along with a green bow tie. “Just make sure that everyone stays at least six feet away from me. Social distancing is a safe standard, and necessary precaution.”  

 “I do love making new friends!” Phalla smiled, fluffing her long black hair with teal ends. A glowing green X was over her right eye and a teal bow was perched don her head. “Don’t you, Klutzy?”

 The small blue cyclops angel narrowed her large eye. “Friends. Oh joy.”

 “I must say, Coerce dear,” said Lucius. “I don’t really approve of your hotel and your idea. If the council finds out about your attempt to promote rule-breaking activities…”

 “Banishment to Hell? Or to my room?” Coercia asked, hands on her hips. “Not the end of the world. And my name is Princess Coerciona. I prefer my full title.”

 Core, the friendly white cat, rolled his eyes. He shuffled a few cards in his furry paws. “She’s no fun.”

 “I heard that, cat!” she called, making him flinch back a bit.

 “We raised you better than this,” Lilian added.

 “Oh really?” The black haired princess stood up and turned toward her mother. “You’d rather I be some bubbly musical loving princess who wants to spread “joy and redemption” far across the land? Ha! No. A true ruler commands fear and respect in their subjects. I’m sure Hell’s king Lucifer would agree.”

 Pub and Chub, the naked flying babies grinned in agreement while fine tuning black electric guitars in the background.

 “We do not mention that name,” Lucius began but Coercia was ignoring them again.

 “Lucifer may be a traitor to Him but at least he had guts. If His teachings weren’t so flawed, I’d still be promoting them wholeheartedly. As for my position…maybe another princess may someday take my place, but that’s not gonna happen if I manage to be princess of both realms. But now I’m here, in this lovely, shiny…fake excuse of a paradise with wackos like you. Still, someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

 Phalla giggled while Core pat a sobbing Stalaro on his blue back. He wiped his face as his monocle glinted in the sunlight under his left eye.

 “Your uncle Metatron wouldn’t approve of your attitude,” Lucius added.

 “He wouldn’t even notice, considering he’s too engrossed in his record-keeping,” countered Coercia.

 Nearby on another part of the stage, the ocean-like angels Elsa and Nathan whispered to each other.

 “I don’t understand it,” Nathan said. “Here I was, promoting goodness for everyone, but Coercia laughed at my ideas and pushed me around. And we even went to Heaven High school prom together.”

 “Lucius wanted our two families united, so we could have a higher standing,” Elsa added. “You dating the princess would’ve helped. But sadly she broke up with you and now here we are, envious.”

 “Don’t remind me,” Nathan sighed. “It’s not like I was the one abusing her and mocking her ideas. At least she didn’t run off with a sinner girlfriend to further tarnish her family reputation. Ugh…restraining societal standards affect us even here.”

 “Or maybe…she’s not much of a romantic person to begin with,” Elsa suggested.

 “Not all aromantic and asexual people are cold-hearted,” Nathan said. “She’s just one bad apple.”

 Coercia seethed at them, briefly letting out her black feathery wings and white spiked halo over her head. She spoke in a high-pitched angelic language before retreating back to her regular form.

     “I hate it when she swears,” Elsa muttered.

  Coercia turned to the crowd. “Alright, let’s begin.”

[memoriashell]

hey i really like you ( can we go out? )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru, techincally some background Ishimaru / Oowada, Makoto gets a few lines, and Syo’s present for a bit in the begining.

crossposted on ao3

Notes: hello here's your late day five of @tokomaruweek​ week!! valentine's day prompt!!

the format for the texting section might look a little funky on tumblr since there’s no easy way of aligning right side / left side text but hopefully it’s obvious enough who’s texting what.

heads up i'll be skipping day 6 for now probably! i’ll come back to it when i’ve finished the rest of the week, i just might get stuck on it for a hot minute and i’d like to get the rest of the week out of the way first since i'm already behind.

anyways it's probably also noteworthy to mention that this drabble works on the basis you have a basic understanding of the cultural differences in how japan celebrates valentine's day. i was originally going to try and incorporate white day into this drabble instead of just mentioning it but i wasn’t super happy with how this one was turning out anyways and figured it was best to just get this out as it is!!

i also feel like i should clarify bc that i realize the way i characterize toko in everything this week has made it seems like she hates kiyotaka’s guts but honestly i think they’d be real close!! i really like them as two outsider kids who can relate to each other. they are two sides of the same narrative coin and in this essay i will /j anyways please understand she rags on him from a place of ( platonic ) LOVE. and also bc they r both my cc’s i could never be that mean to either of them. well. no meaner than canon is to them.

edit: forgot tws. nothing super huge bc it's mostly fluff, but it does refrence bullying ( although would you consider faked love confessions / etc as bullying? it's just cruel :( anyways. )

Summary:  valentine's day has never been good for ugly girls ( and hopeless romantics ) like her.��

Valentine's Day. Every girl’s least favorite day.

Or, well, at the very least, her least favorite. Uh, one of her least favorite holidays? Then again, it’s not like Touko really has a ‘favorite’ in the first place, so maybe her point is moot— but she’s getting side tracked here.

One would presume that a romantic like her, an author who writes romance for a living, would live for a holiday that's practically centered around love and romance, but they would be wrong. It’s a miserable reminder of a day for her who has practically been scorned by the idea of relationships. It is a bitter reminder of failed loves and societal norms that she’s never been able to meet.

( Ugly. Rude. Awkward. Unsociable. So what if they’re right? Who is she to tell them they’re wrong? )

If it is not for the fact that she is pretty sure Ishimaru will be at her door if she doesn’t show up, she would probably skip class today. Oh, to be a confident gay man on Valentine's Day and not a closeted lesbian who feels the need to meet heteronormative societal norms. It’s unfair because not only is he ( mostly ) unaffected by this kind of holiday, he’s probably one of the people who care the least about the delicate social intricacies ( and romanticism ) of a holiday like this one. If nothing else, so she can’t say she envies the position this puts Oowada in, because Ishimaru would probably just see this as a learning moment. Anyways before she sounds too envious of her peers for getting their shit together, she just wants it to be unknown that she thinks it’s really unfair that he would get to judge her reasons for wanting to skip school.

( Actually, if she fessed up the deep-seated issues related to why she’d rather not have to be present on a day like today, the last thing he’d do it judge but that’s not really something she wants to acknowledge right now )

Moving on.

Despite the fact that, internally, she is making a fuss about a holiday, she suspects that most of her class probably doesn’t really care about these things. That doesn't mean she feels any less pressured to conform. It’s not like any of them would want chocolates from someone like her anyways, so it’s not like she really needs to be worried...

It’s not the end of the world, stop being such a debbie downer! Syo butts in, ever so helpful. By which she means is very, very unwanted and unhelpful. All the same, they ( unfortunately ) have a point and if she has to put up with this shitty day then at the very least she’d like to have breakfast before someone sees fit to break down her door.

You technically don’t have to do anything. Syo sounds almost too enthusiastic to help with the ‘issue’ at hand.

Using you to escape my problems isn’t always a viable strategy. Touko rebukes. Nor is it a choice, usually.

Only because you try and make yourself as miserable as possible by making things worse for you.

She has nothing to say to that, and instead focuses on braiding her hair to be passably presentable.

“Fukawa-san?” Oh, what she wouldn’t give to not have to hear her name today. Granted, Touko doesn’t think hearing her name being called on any given day is usually a good sign, but it still feels too early in the day to willingly put up with anything and shoots a glare at Naegi, standing in front of her desk. It probably doesn’t help that he sounds nervous for some godforsaken reason, but that’s technically not out of the ordinary, and she’s pretty sure Syo has something to do with that. “Sorry, uh...I was going to try and catch you at your locker this morning, but I guess I must’ve missed you, huh?”

She gives him the most deadpan, withering stare she can muster at the moment as if to say obviously. She’d even turned up to class early because she figured that dealing with whoever else would be in class would be more manageable than having to deal with anything going on in the halls ( because Hope’s Peak is not a normal school and god knows if something can go wrong, it will, and she is not having any of it today ). She assumed that if she looked busy, anyone with any common sense would leave her alone, but Makoto is not the brightest, clearly.

It still kind of throws her for a loop, however, that he chooses to approach her today, of all days. If she were anyone else, or if this exchange happened in any other context, she is sure that him acting like this on Valentine's Day would seem like it was setting up for a love confession. If it weren’t for the fact that Naegi already had a partner so, that’s probably not an issue— not that that would be a theoretical issue, because hey it’s not like Naegi was likely to be the kind of person cruel enough to fake a love confession. That’s definitely not something that’s happened to Touko before and gotten her hopes up only to be horribly crushed and definitely not the reason she’s been particularly defensive today. Nope.

( Yeah, okay, she’s not fooling anyone, but thankfully the only one aware of this is herself. And Syo, but both of these things are clear givens )

It occurs to her that Naegi hasn’t said anything, waiting for her to say something to him, and she grits her teeth irritably. “Wh-What? Spit it out already.”

“Err...are you...” He starts to say something and then seems to think better of it, sheepishly ducking his head for a moment before holding a bag out to her. “Sorry. Komaru asked me to bring these to you. Kirigiri-san had to convince her to not try and sneak into the main building just to bring these to you herself.”

It takes a long minute for her to process what he says before snatching the bag from his grip and holding it close to herself. Friendship chocolates...? That’s probably what’s in the bag. Which is a pretty nice thought in itself— Touko doesn’t usually get gifts like this. It almost makes her not want to touch the bag and ruin the illusion, refrain from eat whatever’s in the bag: but honestly if she doesn’t, Syo will probably make sure to savor it, so she won’t even pretend like that’s an option.

( There’s a part of her that feels a little guilty too, that she hadn’t even considered that Komaru might do something like this and have something prepared for her in return, but if she’d made something and not gotten anything then she’d look like a fool, and it’s not like she would’ve been able to get it to her easily anyways, so she really shouldn’t feel guilty about accepting it, but— )

“I’m glad you like it. She was kind of worried about how you’d take it.” Naegi speaking breaks through her current train of thought and is he still standing here? Had she been stupidly smiling to herself? How embarrassing!

“It’s n-n-not like that...and what kind of person do, do you take me for, anyways...!” Well, if she had been showing any sort of positive emotion on her face, she isn’t anymore. Touko takes this as an opportunity to shove the bag into her book bag, before anyone can notice. For some reason, he looks vaguely disappointed. “I was...ugh, I was just th-thinking that it was surprising she’d trust you with it given the, the track record with how your l-luck turns out!”

Makoto opens his mouth to refute this but thank god someone calls his name from the doorway, and she takes that opportunity goes back to her books before he can try and say anything further to her.

touko-chan!!!!

makoto said he gave you my gift successfully so i know u got it

i think

i didn’t expect u to thank me or anything but it’d be nice

pls tell me u got it right

did u at least read the note i left in there for u

Does Komaru not have homework, or what? She could at least give her a few minutes to try and get a word in. It’s not her fault math is a bitch and Touko is too stubborn to maybe talk to one of her peers into explaining the subject to her.

                                                     Yes, by some miracle I did manage to get it.

                                                                                                             Thanks.

                                                                                        You’re a good friend.

                                                                                                               Sorry.

                                                                                         Is that all? I’m busy.

That is not all, apparently, because Komaru forgoes texting to call her directly. If it were anyone else, she’d ignore it; but since it’s her she figures she can probably talk and do math at the same time.

“So you didn’t check the bag at all?” Komaru speaks before she can even consider greeting her, and Touko rolls her eyes despite the fact that she cannot see it.

“Hello to y-you too. Uh…honestly, I shoved it in my bag earlier and...and haven’t checked on it since. I assumed it was j-j-just candy, and it’s probably safer hid from Syo there.”

“Ugh! I told Makoto to mention to you that I put something else in there. And there’s a box for Syo in there too!” She can practically hear her pouting through the phone line. “Well, uh— I guess that’s fine since you’re busy...? Just check it when you get the chance, okay? Please? I promise it’ll make sense.”

“I got it, I got it. I’ll take a break once I finish this up and check it out. Good enough for you?”

“Mhm! Thank you Touko-chan! I’ll let you go now, so you can focus. Bye!” If Touko wasn’t mistaken ( but probably is ), she sounded almost nervous, the way her words come out in one rushed breath.

Admittedly, now she’s too intrigued by whatever had Komaru pressed enough to make sure she was aware of it, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to focus now, so...opening the bag it is. She grumbles and groans to herself for a moment, stretching as she gets up from her desk to grab her bag.

She hadn’t really noticed at the time, but now that she thinks about it, there’s some definite weight to this thing, more than she’d expect from some candies ( even now knowing that apparently Komaru had accounted for Syo as well ). Not much though, and she probably would’ve just passed it off for the box the sweet is stored in if she were to really think about it, but now she figures that’s probably not the case. Touko peeks inside the bag a little hesitantly— curiosity wins out over anxiety in the end, and spots what appears to be a small booklet along with a box of chocolates.

Oh god.

She braces herself because, this is probably some kind of manga if she knows Komaru and ( unfortunately ) not a mini-novella but otherwise has no idea what to expect. And once she opens it, she has to thank whatever higher being made sure Makoto didn’t say a thing to her about it because there’s absolutely no way she would have been able to keep a straight face if she’d looked at this in class.

One, she forgot how generally talented Komaru was at this type of stuff. Obviously, still room for improvement, but not nearly as bad as Touko would have thought. Two, this is not really a manga, but a fucking thinly veiled love confession, complete with the most casual ‘Hey I really like you, can we go out?’ Third, she’s extremely glad Komaru did not insist on being on the phone while she checked this out because she does not think she can coherently answer that right now.

In fact, it takes Touko a good half hour to calm herself down enough before she can even consider texting her a response. There’s no way she’s embarrassing herself any further by calling her about it, even if that might have been a more meaningful exchange, but like Komaru just confessed to her through manga so clearly they’re already past that point.

                                                                                                     You’re a dork.

                                           I hate that you’re using your talents for this though.

:)

thats not a no?

                                                                                                          Not a yes.

                         Very tempted to make it a no for making me suffer through this.

touko-chan;;;;;

be gentle to my poor heart if ur gonna reject me :(

                                                                                              Ugh. I was kidding.

                                                                                                      Yes you idiot.

                                                    Just don’t use manga for this stuff next time?

ok!!!!! :)

actually i promise nothing

lol sorry ♡

                                                                                                  You’re the worst.

hehehehehe >:)

i love you too!!

are you busy this week??

let’s meet up!!!

                                             Some of us care about our grades. As should you.

                                                            But Thursday and Friday are lighter days.

                                                                      Yeah yeah. I like you or something.

thank uuuuu ♡♡♡

She chews on her lip as she rereads the message and mulls over it as she tries to ignore the flip-flop of her stomach. It’ll be fine. She’ll just aim to have something planned out for White Day in return.

[lloydskywalkers]

So on the incredibly rare occasion that I do write romance, I have the ability to write one (1) single romance and that is all, and that’s Dumb Fools in Love. Which hopefully fits here, because it’s Glass Girl’s namesake day, so i gotta at least try for @speedythecat, it’s what she desERVES.

(happy valentines this is disgusting fluff anyways i love u speedy)

Lloyd likes the way construction paper sounds. It’s kind of therapeutic, the sound it makes as he drags the scissors through the middle. It’s even more satisfying when he uses them to start stabbing gaping holes through the paper, because he went and ruined the stupid heart shape again, and now he’s running out of pink and red construction paper that doesn’t look like he took a vicious katana to it and went crazy.

“Stupid scissors—”

He doesn’t know if Rain even likes pink or red that much, Lloyd reminds himself dismally, as he untangles his fingers from the scissors. Just that they’re thematically appropriate to the essence of the holiday, or whatever, and they apparently must’ve been the only two colors that existed when whoever came up with Valentine’s Day was around. He hasn’t even found actual purple in any of the little cards he’s seen, just some floral lavender.

Lloyd glances down to the pile of pink and red paper strewn across the table in front of him, then back to the instructions he’s printed out for himself. Then back to the paper.

Maybe he can just like, die instead.

Lloyd is about ninety percent sure that he can’t be the only person to ever look up “how to make Valentine’s Day cards” on the internet before, but it still feels like a crushing blow to his pride and an overall dumb move in general as he does.

But he’s only slightly desperate right now, and he really doesn’t want to reach fully desperate, so he’s willing to suck up his pride if it means not totally ruining his girlfriend’s hopes and dreams by giving her a sub-par and ultimately disappointing Valentine’s Day card that looks like he doesn’t even understand the holiday in the first place.

To be fair, though, he kinda doesn’t.

Like, Lloyd knows what Valentine’s Day is, obviously. He’s not an idiot. He’s just…never really participated in it…as a person. It seems like all the others have cute little stories of getting paper cut-outs and candy hearts in grade school (which he can get behind, if there’s candy), but Lloyd’s experience in grade school was general scorn toward anything love-related at all. Valentine’s Day was well out of the question. Lloyd didn’t even know it existed until he walked straight into a street stand that looked like red and pink had thrown up all over it, before being drowned in like, twenty-dozen bouquets of roses.

He’d been an awful brat of a child then, so at the time, he’d dealt with it by kicking the stand over and being totally grossed out. Now, however, he’s left wondering if those bouquets are worth the money, or if he should invest in the slightly bigger ones they sell over on the east side stands.

How the tables have turned, Lloyd sighs miserably to himself, struggling to peel another stubborn strip of glitter glue from his hand where it’s dried there, sparkling mockingly at him.  Finally digging the glue free, Lloyd brushes his hands off and glances down at his paper.

Go for handmade.

Well, that one’s easy, ‘cause there’s no way Lloyd’s physically bringing himself to walk into a store and buy Rain some cheesy card with a bunch of generic hearts on it. This, of course, leaves the problem that Lloyd now has to come up with the card, and the only thing that’s coming to mind are generic, cheesy hearts.

Hmm. Lloyd taps the edge of the table, humming beneath his breath. He can draw pretty well, but he’s not like, an artist. Not like Cole is, or anything. Lloyd is a lot better at cartoon characters and funny little caricatures of the others than he is, say, detailed roses or something.

Rain likes cats, right? he muses. He could draw a cat, and then maybe have it holding a heart, or something. That’d be kinda cute, maybe. And then he’d get to make some awful pun like “you’re paw-sitively purr-fect”—

Lloyd slams his head down on the table. Nope. This is why he’s not allowed to come up with the idea himself. He’s worse than all the awful grocery store cards put together.

Something in his nose tickles, and he sneezes, sending up sparkly dust all around him. Lloyd blinks, then bites back a moan. Belatedly, he realizes he’s just dunked his head in glitter dust.

It could’ve been the glue, he tries to comfort himself.

Figuring he’s already doomed, Lloyd makes peace with the fact that he’s just going to live the rest of his day resembling a blond disco ball, and lifts his head to return to task, squinting at what’s next on the list.

Make it personal.

Again, that one should be easy too, because it’s Rain. But what’s supposed to count as personal? Is it like, I-love-you personal, or here’s-a-reference-to-inside-joke-number-fifty-eight kind of personal? Should he do both? He and Rain have too many inside jokes, though, it’ll take him half the day to pick one, and he’s already running out of time. Rain’s supposed to be back at noon, and Lloyd does not have that kind of time to kill.

He drums his fingers against the table-top, staring at the outlined drawing of Rain his fingers have absently started sketching out, right next to his doodles of little cats and a mini-Overlord raging terror on the glitter glue scattered across the paper.

Lloyd frowns at the last one. Oops. Well, he can’t give her this now.

“Is that supposed to be the Overlord? You can’t give Rain that for Valentine’s Day.”

Lloyd jumps half a foot out of his chair and slams his knee into the table just so that his entire leg goes dead, his shriek of surprise strangling off as he chokes on the erupting cloud of glitter dust.

By the time he winds down coughing, wiping the reflexive tears from his eyes and glaring, Kai is just staring at him, mildly concerned and whole lot unimpressed.

“A little warning, please.”

“I’ve been standing here for five minutes, bud, it’s not my fault you’re in dreamland.” Kai glances down at the table-top of scattered construction paper and glitter dust, and his mouth trembles, like he’s holding back laughter. “Are you…trying to make a card, or mass-murdering our construction paper supply?”

Lloyd feels his cheeks go scarlet, and he sputters. “I’m not — no, I’m just—” He waves his hands in the air, wishing he could disappear. “Valentine’s Day,” he finally says, haplessly. “Rain. Card.”

“Ah,” Kai says, nodding. He eyes the butchered pile of paper. “It’s going…good, then?”

Lloyd buries his face in his hands, groaning. “I keep ruining it. I’ve never done Valentine’s Day before, Kai, this is a disaster. Rain’s gonna hate it.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Kai says, sliding into the chair next to him, patting him on the shoulder. “Rain’ll be fine with…whatever…you end up making. It’s not that big a deal.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like she’s going to get horribly upset because you butchered her favorite holiday and dump you for some chump with better taste.”

Lloyd freezes dead, his eyes widening. He has not yet considered this option. What if he does ruin Rain’s entire holiday with his awful gift? What if, by completely disrespecting her last name’s namesake — thing — she does get horribly upset and runs off with like, Ariya to the desert or something, and—

Kai blinks, then his eyes go wide. “Lloyd, wait — no, it was a joke, Lloyd, don’t get that look on your face — Nya!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

And that’s how Lloyd ends up cornered by his entire team at the kitchen table, covered in glitter dust and currently living out his worst life as they try to decide the best way for him not to totally sabotage his love life in one go.

“Honestly, I never really got Valentine’s Day,” Kai remarks. “I didn’t get the whole grade school experience as much, since we homeschooled for the most part. It’s just a lot of hearts and chocolate and flowers and stuff, right?”

“Um, it’s a lot more than that,” Jay rolls his eyes. “It was classroom warfare. Your like, entire life status was measured by how many Valentines you’d get. It was totally lame,” he scowls.

“I dunno, I always got a whole lot,” Cole muses. “I could never figure out why, though. I wasn’t super popular, or anything...”

They all stare at Cole for a beat, where he stands haloed beneath the kitchen lights in all his wavy-haired glory.

“Hopeless,” Jay sighs.

“This isn’t grade school, though,” Nya says. “This is Lloyd’s actual relationship, which we are helping him with, so let’s hear actual helpful stuff, please.”

“Again,” Kai shrugs. “Flowers. Chocolate. Hearts. Bam, you’re good.”

“For crying out loud,” Jay groans. “How do magazines keep labeling you the smooth one.”

“Hold on, he’s got a point with the chocolate part,” Cole points out.

“Of course, you would choose that part to focus on,” Zane sighs.

“Guys, enough,” Nya cuts over them. “I said helpful stuff, not the most generic ideas ever. I mean, chocolate’s nice, but Lloyd’ll probably eat it all before it gets to Rain anyways—”

“I would not!” Lloyd protests.

“—and the card’s gonna be the focal point, so hearts are covered.” Nya glances down the pile of butchered construction paper in front of Lloyd, and winces. “We’ll, uh, help you with that part. But first, let’s plan.” She tugs a half-torn piece of construction paper toward her, uncapping a marker. “What all does Rain like, for starters?”

“Well,” Lloyd pauses, thinking. “She does like flowers, and — no, no I am not going to ask Lief for help, no way, not a chance.”

“Just a suggestion!” Jay throws his hands up in defense. “He’s her friend, though, so he’d probably have some ideas, y’know?”

“So. Not. Worth it.”

“Okay, okay, geez.”

Nya rolls her eyes, but scribbles ‘flowers — not from Lief’ on the paper anyways. “Good, but that’s still pretty standard stuff. Anything else a little more creative? Something that really says Rain to you.”

“She likes rocks,” Lloyd nods.

The marker squeaks violently on the paper, and Nya makes a dying sound in the back of her throat. Kai breaks into snickering, and Jay whacks him on the shoulder, giggling.

“There you go, bud, perfect Valentine’s gift. Give her a rock.”

“No,” Nya says firmly, glaring at Jay. She then turns the glare on Lloyd, who immediately shrinks lower in his seat. “Rocks, Lloyd, really — okay. Okay, do you know anything else she likes? That’s not rocks?”

“Uh, she likes…glass?” Lloyd says, weakly. “And um, seashells. And tea, and — she really does like rocks, I’m serious! Like, cool ones—“

“You are not giving Rain a rock for Valentine’s Day!”

“A cool rock!”

“That doesn’t make it any more acceptable!”

“Ughhh.” Lloyd slides down in his chair with a dying moan, throwing his arms over his face. “You ruin everything. She likes those little paper cranes, I guess. And, uh…”

“You,” Zane reminds him. “She likes you. Therefore, she will most likely love anything you give her, since it’s from you.”

Normally, Lloyd would just scoff at that, but Zane’s voice is so sincere it actually helps, a little. Lloyd sits up in his seat a bit, his crossed arms loosening. “Well…”

“Yeah! So why don’t you just draw her a cat that says like, ‘you’re purr-fect’, or something?” Jay suggests. “That sounds like you.”

Lloyd slams his head against the table, once again accidentally dunking himself in glitter dust. He can’t bring himself to care this time, because the whole world apparently just knows him for terrible puns.

“Stop being so melodramatic, you’re going to remind her of her brother,” Nya clips. Lloyd chokes on his tongue, and dissolves into a fit of manic sputtering as Kai claps him on the back, encouraging him to breathe.

“—was just a joke, Lloyd, don’t take her seriously.”

“—time and place, Nya, time and place—!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It takes several disastrous attempts and more than a few marker wars — Kai in particular is sporting some spectacular pink sharpie marks along the side of his face, and Lloyd’s got streaking red marks across his forearms as the price for protecting his own face — but Lloyd end up with one brightly-colored, cursive-lettered Valentine’s card for Rain.

He’s feeling pretty confident in it, actually. It says everything he wants it to say, while looking pretty but dignified, and it’s only got one cat on it, so he’s — he’s pretty sure Rain will like it. A lot more than any of his other disastrous attempts, he assures himself. Now all he’s gotta do is grab the flowers Nya made him promise to get, and according to both Wikihow and his family, he’ll have the perfect Valentine. Armed with that knowledge, Lloyd strides confidently for the kitchen table to grab an envelope.

Only to freeze dead when he comes face-to-face with Rain, who’s bent over studying said disastrous attempts from earlier, that he’s left out in full view on the kitchen table like a complete moron.

Rain’s currently got one of his first attempts in her hands, her finger tracing the little design he’d drawn. Her hair’s down right now, all silvery and smooth and falling over her face, so he can’t see her expression.

Lloyd is highly considering running for the hills by like, hurling himself out the kitchen window, when Rain turns around, the end her nose still red from the outside cold, freckles standing out more than usual on her cheeks. Lloyd freezes in place.

She holds up one of the ruined cards. “Are all these...for me?”

Lloyd’s soul makes the executively wise decision to exit his body right then.

“They’re — I — no, they’re for, uh—”

Lloyd’s mind backfires. Shoot, he can’t say they’re for someone else, they’ve got ‘I love you’ and other sappy stuff all over them, what’s he supposed to do—

“They’re, uh, for my grandmother.”

Rain raises an eyebrow. “Your grandmother…named Rain,” she says slowly, reading the name that’s brightly plastered everywhere.

“Her name’s Rain too,” Lloyd tries, weakly.

Rain raises her other eyebrow. She wordlessly holds up one of the cards, pointing to where “Rain Allira Valentine” is highlighted. Lloyd mentally makes a note to murder Kai later as her finger slides down to the “Mr. Rain Valentine” right below, her lips trembling as she tries to hold back a snicker.

“Um.” At least she’s laughing, Lloyd tells himself. She hasn't run off to the desert yet. “I have a better one for you, I swear. Those are just — really, really bad first attempts, which you were never supposed to see, ever.”

Please forget they ever existed, is on the tip of his tongue, but Rain’s expressions softens, her eyes fond as she looks from the cards to him.

“I don’t know, these are…kinda sweet,” she admits, her cheeks going a bit pink.

“Oh,” Lloyd says, his own face heating. “That’s! That’s good, I guess. I mean, this new one’s — it’s a whole lot better, though, and uh…” He frantically rubs the back of his head, trying to get his brain back online and working properly again. Unfortunately, the action sends a tiny shower of sparkles raining from his hand, and Lloyd remembers in horror that he never got that glitter dust out.

Rain smirks, biting back a laugh. “Hold on,” she says, stepping in close. “You’ve got some — here.”

She pushes a hand through his hair, her fingers gently tangling through the thick blond strands before pulling away, leaving her fingers stained in glitter dust. She gives a tiny snicker, then brushes at his hair with her other hand, neatly sweeping a shower of glitter dust from it before carefully tousling his hair back in place.

“There,” she says. “Now you don’t look as much like a disco ball.”

“Maybe I wanted to look like a disco ball,” Lloyd says, petulantly. “Lloyd Disco Ball Garmadon, that’s me.”

“Then I’d have to make you another Valentine’s card,” Rain says, and Lloyd finally spots the envelope she’s been keeping behind her back. “Because I definitely messed up your middle name, if that’s the case.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “Wait, you got me one?”

Rain freezes, looking unsure. “Um…yes? That’s kind of…the point, right? You give Valentine’s to people you lo—like—um, love.”

Lloyd’s definitely red now. “I-I probably wouldn’t know,” he finally stammers. “Darkley’s wasn’t too big on Valentine’s.”

Lloyd immediately wants to hit himself, because Rain’s here being sweet and talking about love, and he’s bringing up Darkley’s like a motor-mouthed moron. And now Rain looks sad, and is it too late for Lloyd to pitch himself out the window—?

“Well, lucky for you, I know all about it,” Rain suddenly says, firmly. “You’ll just have to spend the day with me, so I can give you the run-down.”

“That I can do,” Lloyd grins brightly in relief.

“It’s a date, then,” Rain beams, before her smile hitches in laughter. “And you, um, you have more glitter. On your cheek.”

Lloyd wipes quickly at his face. “Oh, come on — did I get it?”

“No, now you’re just — okay, stop, I’ll get it, hold on.”

Rain steps nearer again, brushing her thumb across his cheek once, then again. “There,” she nods satisfied. She doesn’t move back, though, standing close enough that Lloyd can count her freckles, and see every shade of teal in her eyes. There’s a hint of a smile left on her face, and Lloyd swallows. This would probably be like, the perfect time to—

“For FSM’s sake, kiss her, you moron, she’s totally set you up for it—”

Kai’s voice cuts off in a strangled choking sound as Nya throttles him while both Rain and Lloyd go scarlet, and Lloyd makes another mental note to murder Kai a second time later.

“Wanna go out?” Lloyd suggests hastily, his face flaming. “The candy’s probably not gonna be on sale yet, but I bet we can get someone to cut us a deal.”

“Yes,” Rain nods fervently. “Let’s — out. Go out. Of here, sounds good.”

“Great,” Lloyd says, then snatches both their jackets from the hook before fleeing, Rain trailing behind him as they sprint past the others, stifling laughter as Lloyd desperately avoids making eye contact with anyone. Rain’s muffling giggles too, though, and Lloyd can’t help breathing out a laugh as he flings open the doors tumbling out into the chilly February weather.

“So, I have a question,” he says, as their footsteps fall into pace down the street. “What do you think of like, rocks as a present?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Is it like, a cool rock?”

“I mean, hypothetically? Yeah, a super cool rock.”

“Well, if it’s super cool. Then that’d be a good one, I guess.”

“I knew it—!”

[idcnticxl-1]

@dirtylimerick​ said:

Nova & Sean ♥

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - I truly think that Sean and Nova could be together for the long haul. Even if we stayed true to the events of the film, I don’t think Nova would give up on her relationship with Sean? If anything I could see her perhaps bonding to him in their trauma. It would be hard no doubt and the long distance if he goes to St. Louis would be an adjustment at the very least but Nova would want to put in the work necessary to stay with Sean.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - So fucking quickly. These two fools are such hopeless romantics. 

How was their first kiss? - I don’t think we’ve ever talked about their first kiss! But imagine it was very soft and sweet. I think either of them really could’ve initiated it, perhaps it happened on one of their dates.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Sean.

Who is the best man/men? - Derek (if we’re going the noncanon route), maybe Rowan if he’s old enough. Not necessarily a Best Man but Bowie could be one of the Groom’s Men.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Jenna of course. Maybe a couple of Jenna’s friends that Nova gets along with.

Who did the most planning? - I’d like to think they planned together.

Who stressed the most? -  Nova funny enough

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -  Honestly I can’t think of anyone who they would not invite? At least not from Nova’s perspective. I think even if Sean joked about not having Don at the Wedding that Nova would gently talk him into it. Perhaps mention that it’s not fair to his mother to exclude her husband or something.

Sex:

Who is on top? -  honestly?? surprisingly i actually think Sean is. I know I usually talk about how Nova get nervous and cagey but I think she trusts Sean and feels safe with him to the point where she’s actually okay with it. 

Who is the one to instigate things? - Sean, but Nova initiates more make out session. 

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - If you don’t count for foreplay probably 15-20 minutes on a good night.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - I think Sean would wanna make sure Nova cums as much as he does, but Nova kinda struggles with it and she really hates the way she reacts when she does (crying) so she’d probably stop him. 

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Nova has a genuine phobia of being pregnant so if they were having a child “naturally” it would be through surrogacy. While canonically I don’t think Nova would want children, for the sake of this meme, I’ll say they’d have 1. 

How many children will they adopt? - They definitely Psuedo-adopt Jenna’s kid who is their goddaughter anyway. They are super involved in her life (as much as any aunt/uncle can be) and They are the BEST aunt and uncle in the world.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - definitely Sean. Nova very nearly threw up the first and only time she tried to change Jenna’s daughter’s diaper. 

Who is the stricter “parent”? -  honestly i dont think any of them would be?

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Sean.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - they both do, but Sean is more likely to actually pack them.

Who is the more loved parent? - Jenna’s daughter definitely love’s Sean more, it’s the Irish accent. Their kid I don’t think has a favourite. 

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?- They both do.

Who cried the most at graduation? - I think Nova (both for Jenna’s daughter and the kid i created for the sake of this meme.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Nova. Sean probably lectures them but Nova isn’t above subtly reminding Sean of his own run ins with the law and telling him he should go easier on the kids.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Sean

Who is the most picky in their food choice? -neither i don’t think.

Who does the grocery shopping? - They go together, unless they’re busy.

How often do they bake desserts? - Nova likes baked goods on special occasions 

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? -Salad

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Sean

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Nova.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Nova, which is why she doesn’t cook.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Both, but Nova has more time to clean.

Who is really against chores? - neither.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Both

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Sean but only if he’s in a rush.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - I think both. 

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Nova because again being her own boss she has more time on her hands. She puts all spare change in a little jar by the door.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Sean

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Both. But Nova doesn’t mind going with the dog on 

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Nova definitely goes hard on Christmas maybe Valentine’s day. I could see them maybe doing Halloween too. 

What are their goals for the relationship? - Nova wants someone who will be there for her, someone who she can talk to and always go to if she needs something. 

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - I think Sean. Nova tries to let him rest for a long as he can since he doesn’t always get to. 

Who plays the most pranks? - I don’t see them as a couple that does pranks on one another. They’re playful in other ways. 

[gunslingertales]

Saving grace || A.M - Chapter 1

Story summary: Arthur struggles with his guilt and his loyalty towards the people he always thought of as family. He starts questioning the life they’ve been leading lately and wonders if there’s still a place for him somewhere out there in a world that’s so quickly chaning. Then he meets a woman with fire in her eyes and gold in her heart who seems equally lost in the great unknown that’s life.

Chapter One: “ Foolish thoughts”

Chapter summary: There’s a little Ranch just south of Valentine and the owners owe the Van der Linde Gang some money. Arthur is send to collect the debts thought instead of money he finds a sick and frail old man and a woman ready to fight for the people she considers her family.

Likes, comments and especially reblogs are more than appreciated ♥

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

A thick heat rests upon New Hanover as Arthur rides his horse through the fields and valleys, the sun beating mercilessly down on him. It’s a dry heat, one that clings to your lips and eyes and makes them feel like sandpaper.

A thick heat rests upon New Hanover as Arthur rides his horse through the fields and valleys, the sun beating mercilessly down on him. It’s a dry heat, one that clings to your lips and eyes and makes them feel like sandpaper.

He’s not really one for this weather, then again, he’s not itching to get back into the snow either. Those days up in Colter, holed up in those dingy little cabins not knowing whether they’d starve or if the storm would kill them first, they’ve left marks on all of them. Every time he looks around the camp he can see faces filled with relief yet guarded. It’s like no one really believes that luck might finally be on their side.

Dutch keeps repeating his mantras of “Just have faith” and though he’d die for this man, lately Arthur’s been wondering what exactly he’s supposed to have faith in. Life just ain’t what it used to be. The world, ain’t what it used to be. And maybe it has outgrown them. Maybe times ain’t meant for folk like them no more. He’s not gonna voice those thoughts though, not to Dutch or anyone else. Sometimes your own thoughts can be your undoing. So they stay in his head and in his diary. And anyway, what good would it do to undermine Dutch’s plan? It would just cause problems and unrest in the group. Then if they fall apart where would that leave him? They’re all he’s got. Mary ain’t taking him back anytime soon, that train had left years ago. There’s nothing else out there for him. He ain’t no rancher. Can’t fish really well. Hell, even though being out with Charles helped him get better, he ain’t turning into a hunter anytime soon either. He’s not bad at it but he can’t make a living from it either. This life, robbing and plundering and doing — well bad things, this is all he knows. All he’s ever known. Maybe, he thinks, life hasn’t outrun the group. He can see John, dull as he may be, turning his life around and becoming a rancher maybe. Mary-Beth, nose stuck in a book at all times, could make a great writer if given the opportunity. Hell, even Pearson could find employment elsewhere.

But him ? Nah. Maybe life hasn’t outrun the group. Maybe it has just outrun him.

Silly thoughts. Silly foolish thoughts. Thoughts he can’t afford. Not right now. He can’t grow soft right now. He’s got work to do. Work he ain’t particularly fond of but work nonetheless. Goddamn Strauss and his lending business. Though it may be legal it ain’t right. The fool is playing bigger fools for money they don’t have.

There’s a voice in the back of Arthur’s head nagging him about it. Telling him to just turn around and let Straus do the dirt work himself if he’s so keen on making business with desperate people he should be the one dealing with the consequences of his actions.

The idiot would probably get himself killed in the process though and while that wouldn’t be much of a bother to Arthur himself, he’s quite certain Dutch does not share that sentiment.

So once again he’s the one fixing other people’s mistakes.

There’s a small ranch just south of Valentine, close to Cumberland Falls. It ain’t big by any means but it’s calm and quaint and for a split second Arthur wonders if this could’ve been the life for him had he decided to stay with Mary and leave the gang behind. Probably not, Mary wouldn’t want to be a rancher’s wife either.

As he hitches his horse, Mouse on the closes tree, Arthur can already spot the poor fella Thomas Downes raking the ground by his crops. It’s not nice work, collecting debts.

The man is lanky and thin and he looks frails. With every step Arthur gets closer to the fence, he can hear the man coughing and wheezing. It ain’t right, beating money out of a sick man. It ain’t right at all.

“ Mr. Downes? Mr. Thomas Downes? “

“ Yup, that’s me.”

The man looks up at him with a smile and his words sound so goddamn chipper. It’s worse beating nice and friendly people. If they’re assholes, well, it ain’t so bad then. Least it doesn’t leave a sick taste in his mouth afterward.

“ You owe me money.”

The smile falls from his lips as realization dawns on him.

“ Oh, no no no - I “

Arthur steps through the gate, a terrified Thomas Downes facing him, rake in hand and ready to fight. What a nuisance, Arthur thinks. In the best of all cases, this man is sick, and in the worst, he’s actively dying, he’s not going to win any fight. Though Arthur commends his bravery, it’s a foolish attempt really.

He slaps the rake out of the man’s hand as if it’s a piece of straw. “ Really? Threaten me, would you? “

A deliberately placed punch straight to the jaw follows his words and immediately knocks the skinny man off of his feet. As he sits in the dirt, Thomas Downes looks up at Arthur through fearful eyes. It ain’t right.

“ Please. I have a family, sir. Please. “

It’s not fun to have them begging if they’re nice folk. Nonetheless, Arthur grabs the guy by his collar, lifts him up just a little. “ I don’t care about your family. You borrowed money from my business partner Herr Strauss. You owe him. You took the money, he wants it back. “

Downes cowers at Arthur’s feet like a beaten dog, there’s hopelessness in his eyes and desperation.

“ Where’s our money? “

“ I don’t have it. “

“ Sell your place. “

“ We already owe more than it’s worth. “

“ Well, that’s too bad for you then. “ Arthur lets out one of his signature grunts and is about to hoist the man up to his feet when a loud voice catches his attention.

“ Hey, you. Stop! Stop! Let him go! “

Arthur turns just in time to see a woman run up to him, her red hair pulled into a thick braid that hangs over her right shoulder, a few wildflowers intricately woven into the braid. Her appearance is one of sweetness and innocence though there’s a fire in her eyes burning brightly and her steps are fast and fierce.

“ This ain’t none of your business, Ma’am. Your husband owes us some money, I’m just here to collect what’s rightfully ours. “

“ He ain’t my husband. “ the woman hisses at Arthur, as she pulls Mr. Downes back to his feet and leans him against the fence. There’s blood dripping from a cut above his eye that the woman quickly wipes away with a handkerchief. “ I work here. “

“ Well, then it sure ain’t none of your concern. I just want my goddamn money.”

“ You’re not gonna find it here. Can’t you see he’s sick? The ranch ain’t doin well either. “

“ I don’t care, lady. We ain’t your idea of charity. “

“ So what ? “ she asks and steps up to him, her eyes burning with anger and wrath. She’s so close, Arthur can see even the smallest of freckles as they cover her cheeks like stars in the clear night sky. “ You gonna kill him cause he can’t pay back the few lousy dollars he owes you? “

“ If that’s what it takes. Ain’t no dollar lousy for someone who got none. “ he tries to reach around her, to grab Mr. Drownes again and instill a little more fear, get some cash out of him even if it’s not all he owes. Though the woman doesn’t have any of it, she steps back into his path, shielding the sick man from Arthur’s rage.

“ Stop!”

“ Woman, get outta ma damn way.”

“ No! “

“ Ma’am, I ain’t the kind of guy that slaps a woman around but you’re going on my nerves real bad. “

“ You are free to leave. “

“ Not without ma money!”

“ Okay, okay, “ she holds her hands out in front of her in a gesture to calm him down. Like he’s a wild horse stomping his hooves and bucking up on his hind legs. “ I’ll pay. I don’t got no money but I have something else. If I give it to you, will you leave him alone? “

Arthur considers it for a moment. For a second he wonders why it matters to her. Why she’d give her valuables for a family that ain’t hers. But then again, he’d give his life for Dutch and Hosea and the gang, and ain’t none of them bound to him by blood.

“ Is it worth anything? “

“ It’s worth good money. “

“ Then yes. “

“ I need to get it, follow me then. “

It’s not a question, it’s a demand. It’s really not her place to make any demands but Arthur doesn’t mind. As long as she’s giving him something valuable he can live with the attitude.

The woman gives Thomas Downes another look-over, making sure he’s fine to stand on his own before patting his arm affectionately and turning back towards Arthur.

Little fly-away hair sticks to her skin that’s slick with the summer heat and the sun reflecting in her eyes turns them a vibrant shade of blue. It’s quite the sight, a girl like her turning into a real firecracker.

She stomps past him, dirt clinging to her boots as she hikes her skirt a little higher. Her clothes are quite something, Arthur thinks. The skirt is a blue and grey gingham pattern and her blouse is white and flowy with several colorful flowers embroidered onto it. There’s some frilly stuff hanging from the sleeves and the collar. Quite … something. But hell, what does he know.

“ Lemme tell you, Ma’am. Ya better not try any funny business. I ain’t here to joke around.”

It’s not that he distrusts her in particular. It’s that all his life he’s been taught not to trust anyone except those closest to him. And even that seems questionable these days. His mom died before he could even really get to know her and his dad, he was a good for nothing bastard. Hosea and Dutch, those are the people he trusts. Charles, too. Even John with his hot-headed ideas and big dreams. But not strangers. Never stranger no matter how nice. No matter how beautiful.

Trust makes you vulnerable. Vulnerability kills you. Or at least it chips away at your heart until there’s nothing left.

There’s a small building a few steps away from the main house, not more than a shed really but there are several patches of colorful wildflowers growing by the path leading up to it. Though he doesn’t know her, Arthur can see her living here. With the flowers out front and the sun shining through the one small window.

Arthur feels uneasy as she lets him step into the shed. There’s a bunch of old photographs sitting on a cupboard in the corner and some hung up on the wall behind her bed. It’s been a while since Arthur’s stayed at an actual house, even longer since a place felt like home, if ever. He’s not quite sure if he ever had a  one to begin with. Maybe his home’s the prairie.

But this, this place feels awfully homely. It’s bursting with personality and character.

With a groan, the woman reaches down and lifts one of the floorboards, picking up a small wooden box, adorned with several little amber stones. There are words engraved into the lit of the box though he can’t make out what they’re saying.

“ You know, “ she says as her fingers fumble around in the small box “ you ain’t a very nice man. “

“ Never said I was. “

It’s no lie. He’s not a very nice man. He’s robbed people, killed them. He’s beaten an old sick man for a few lousy dollars. He’s not living with false perceptions of himself. He knows exactly the kind of man he is and it ain’t a nice one. But to say the words don’t affect him is a lie. They do, for they are the same words he’s heard from Mary so many many times. Back when he tried to be a nice man. For her.

“ Here you go!” the woman pushes something into his hands before stuffing the box back beneath the floorboard. “ That should be plenty enough. “

Slowly, Arthur opens his hand to reveal several pieces of sparkling jewelry. Two sparkly gold earrings and a ring with a big red stone. Granted, Arthur doesn’t know the first thing about jewelry but even he can tell this stuff is worth a good dollar.

“ It was my mama’s. Was hoping one day I’d find a husband and he’d propose to me with that ring but I — I guess that ain’t happening no more. “

The fire in her eyes is gone and has been replaced with an infinite sadness. The uneasy feeling returns to Arthur’s stomach. It just ain’t right.

“ You ain’t gotta be doing this. They aren’t your debts. “

She lets out a deep sigh before looking back at Arthus, blue eyes brimming with honesty and sadness.

“ Life ain’t so easy, you know? The Downes are the only people I got left. Thomas isn’t doin’ well. If God has mercy on us he lets him live for a few more weeks. That’s the time I got to try and find a new place of work. Edith will lose the Ranch soon as Thomas is in the ground. The goddamn bank is already circling around like vultures. Her and Archie will go west, stay with some family of hers. I’ll be alone then. And the world is cruel to a woman who’s got no husband and no work and no possessions. This family helped me out when my daddy died and I had no place to go, this is just me returning the favor while I still can. “

“ You the maid or something. “

“ Or something. My daddy used to own a general store in the heartlands, close to flatneck station. We used to buy produce from the Downes. Then my mama died and my daddy — well I guess part of him died with her. Things didn’t look so good for us no more but the Downes always did good by me. Always made sure I had food on the table. Then, when my daddy died, they took me in. First I was taking care of Archie, their son, then when he was old enough I started helping around the house and with the crops. It’s why I cherish them so much, why I wanna help ‘em. Don’t even wanna think about what comes next. “

His heart is constricting in weird ways. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. Mercy is not something he can afford. Rich people can. Nice people too. But not him and not the gang. Life just feels so strange lately, like the world has shifted just a little. Enough to throw things out of proportion but too little to make any immediate impacts.

“ Sorry to hear that, Ma’am.”

“ Please don’t call me Ma’am. Makes me feel mighty old. “

“ I’m sorry … Miss ? “

“ Everly. May Everly. “

“ Well, then I’m sorry Miss Everly. I don’t mean no harm, I’m just doin’ ma job.”

That’s not the truth but sometimes it’s easier to tell little lies than to be entirely honest. He’s sorry, that part is true. Sorry that life ain’t being good to her either lately. But he did mean harm, to Mr. Downes at least. Had she not stopped him, worse things could’ve happened. Way worse things.

“ I understand. Just wish your job didn’t entail punching people into the ground. “

Arthur averts his eyes and lets them run up and down the pattern in the wooden floorboards. It’s one thing to be faced with our own shortcomings when your mind is screaming them at you but to have them laid out for you by someone else, a stranger no less, that’s quite a different story and it’s not pleasant.

“ We all gotta survive somehow, I guess. “

“ Maybe you’re right. Maybe we ain’t so different you and I. The world seems like it don’t want either of us no more. “

“ Maybe so. “

A soft hand is placed on Arthur’s arm. So gentle and kind and Arthur wonders how long it’s been since he last felt the touch of a woman. Quite a while if you don’t count the bath-girls at the saloon. He hates the fact that this is where his mind wanders. Ain’t no way this woman would ever even entertain the thought of showing him any affection that rises above a friendly pat on the arm.

“ What’s your name? “

“ Arthur. Arthur Morgan. “

“ Well, Mr. Morgan. Please take the jewelry and let the Downes live how little time they got left in peace. “

“ You sure? “

She nods, sending more hair to pull out of the neat braid and some wildflowers to fall to the ground.

“ But, if I can allow myself to make a request. Could you make sure the ring goes to someone who needs it? Maybe a couple in love. Someone looking to surprise their wife. Just — don’t just pawn it off please. “

“ I’ll keep it in mind. “

“ Thank you, Mr. Morgan. “

A silence settles upon them heavily just the way his heart feels right then. Heavy like the stones that seem to rest inside his stomach for a while now.

“ Have a good day, Miss Everly. Sorry, it has come to this. “

“ Yeah, me too. “

The acidic taste of guilt sits on the tip of his tongue as he steps back outside and walks the path down towards where Mouse is munching away on a patch of grass. Wildflowers are flanking his sides and with every step he takes, his conscience and his heart grow heavier.

When his eyes look up from the ground, Arthur spots another horse grazing next to Mouse. A beautiful Buttermilk Buckskin stands in the midday sun, fur shining like golden silk. It’s a gorgeous horse.

“ Oh, I see you met Beans. Sorry whenever he’s around other horses he naturally gravitates towards them. “

It’s not surprising to him that this horse belongs to May. Though he doesn’t know her at all, has only had one conversation with her, something about her intrigues him. There’s a mystery to her. A certain depth. The way she’s looked straight into his soul when she talked to him was both comforting and scary. Usually, the only person who even understood a tiny bit of his inner working was Hosea and even then with him, it was mostly a guessing game that sometimes hit the spot. Mary-Beth always had an open ear for his problems and seemed to understand whenever he chose to share but her head was always up in the clouds so it was hard to tell if she really understood or if she just repeated pretty words from those books she devoured all the time.

“ Beans.”

“ Yup. I got him when Archie was little, he helped me name him and it kinda stuck. Sorry, he’s bothering your horse. Lemme take him inside the barn. “

“ Nah, it’s alright. This is his home. Mouse doesn’t care anyway. “

“ Mouse? Well, that’s a cute name. Didn’t take her for a Mouse since her fur ain’t gray but … it’s cute. “

“ Sure. “

He doesn’t tell her that the only reason the horse is named Mouse is because back in the day, when they were still young and foolish and in love, Mary had read to him from a book her father had given her. It was about some girl who falls down a rabbit hole and then ends up in some weird fantasy world. He doesn’t remember a thing from it but the fact that there was a Mouse in this story. So his lovesick heart named his new horse after a character from a book the woman he used to love once read to him. Amongst fools, he really is the king. Mary probably doesn't spend a single second thinking of him and he goes around doing stuff like that.

“ Well, you take care Arthur Morgan. And get Mouse some sugar cubes from the money you make from my jewelry please. “

Arthur lifts himself onto this horse and tips his hat towards May as she leans against her own horse, fingers combing through the black mane.

“ I can do that. You take care too, Miss Everly. “

She bids him goodbye with a smile, one he is most definitely undeserving of. Even after taking something valuable from her, her mother’s ring, her dead mother’s ring, she still grants him a smile.

Life ain’t never been fair to him but he had never deserved for it to be either. Arthur knows he isn’t a good man by any means, today has only proven that further. But her, with her wildflowers and her Horse with the funny name, she seems like no bad thing has ever come from her. Life, Arthur thinks, should favor those who do good. That would only be fair.

But when has life ever been fair.

The encounter stays on his mind way into the night. At the campfire, as Javier strums along on his guitar and sings some Spanish song neither of them has heard before, his thoughts wander back to May and what she said about them being not so different. If only she knew. Women, Arthur has experienced, often don’t seem to grasp the severity of his wrongdoings, of his bad deeds. They like to see him for a romantic version of what they perceive an outlaw to be. He ain’t none of it though.

He looks around the campfire at the familiar faces. This is the first night they all got to come together and celebrate being down from the mountains and out of the snow. There are smiles on everyone’s faces and a mutual sense of belonging falls upon them. This, Arthur thinks, is why he chose this life. The community. The loyalty. The love.

Sometimes you have to fight against the restraints life gives you and find your own path. Find your own family. And he did that, all on his own. In Dutch and Hosea and yes, even fucking Marston. These are his people and if the world don’t want them, at least they’re going down together. A luxury miss Everly doesn’t seem to have.

“ Stop with the silly thought, Arthur!”  He scolds himself. “ That ain’t none of your business. Nothing you need to get involved in. You got enough on your plate as it is. “

And he tries to stick to that, he really does. Silly, foolish thoughts are a luxury people like him don’t get to revel in.

Only that’s not entirely true for the next several pages of his diary are filled with sketches of beautiful wildflowers, a horse with golden fur and a black mane. And a girl with flowers in her hair and eyes a bright sky blue that hold the fire of a thousand flames.

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 9

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 9: And then, the tides turned.

That morning, John was sitting in his room upstairs, in Shady Bell, thinking and staring out the window. He was thinking about his conversation with Arthur from the day before, when they had been in the grave yard, pondering the meaning of their existence as men outside the law. Down in the yard, he could see Jack, having woken up maybe half an hour before. He was with the dog, and they were minding their own business. Jack was like that. He minded his own business. He had a stick and he was drawing shapes in the mud leftover from the storm, and the dog was just lying there, with his little face on his paws, watching. Much of the camp was still sleeping, Abigail among them. He’d shared a bed with her that night. They had only slept. They had not touched. He knew it would be a long time coming if she was ever going to touch him again, but he could wait. She was waking up now, pushing the dark hair out of her face, looking around as if she could not remember where she was. When she saw him, she propped up onto her elbows and sighed. She smiled, wearing her night clothes, which she had sewn herself many years before. He remembered her doing it.

“Hey,” he said. He had been whittling a little horn out a piece of wood. He set it down on the windowsill now.

“Where’s Jack?” she said.

“Downstairs,” said John. “Don’t worry. I can see him from here.”

She nodded, reassured, and swung her bare feet over the side of the bed. They dangled a little. She was a short woman. “I ain’t slept like that in…years.”

“Yeah,” said John, smiling. “You was out cold.”

She blushed.

“Abbie,” he said. He turned toward her in his chair, with real conviction.

“What is it?”

“We need to talk,” he said. “Can I—?”

She seemed to read his mind. “Yeah,” she said, looking concerned. “Come on over here, John. It’s fine.”

He got up, joined her on the bed. He gathered her hands up into his, looked down at the shapes their palms made, like a little nest.

“What the hell’s the matter?” she said. “You seem so serious.”

“I am,” he said. He looked at her. “I am, Abbie.”

She waited, her cheeks still flushed from sleep. “What’s going on?”

“We need to get ready,” he said, nodding to himself. “Abbie. We need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

"For leaving. You, and me, and Jack.”

“Leaving?” she said. “John, you’re scaring me.”

“No, don’t. Don’t be scared.”

“Where we going to?”

“I don’t know,” said John, shaking his head. “I ain’t—I ain’t thought it that far through yet. I only just got to the realization last night.”

“What realization?”

“That this—this gang. This whole thing. It ain’t good, Abbie. Not no more.”

The sun was getting brighter, poking through the tupelos, coming in through the window now, and lighting her face. “You saying you wanna leave the gang?”

“Yes,” he said. “I am. And I want you and Jack to come with me, for us to be a family.”

She got real quiet now, like she was soaking in something. She glanced toward the window. You could hear Jack now, shouting for the dog to follow him. Sadie was there. She said, Hey Jack. Come help me feed the chickens, okay?

“Is this because of Arthur?” she said. “I mean—is it something he said to you?”

“It is,” said John. “He’s making me realize, it ain’t no picnic here no more, Abbie. Jack got kidnapped. It just ain’t safe.”

“I know,” she said. “I know, and I agree with you.”

“So you’ll be ready. To go. When it’s time.”

“When’s it gonna be time?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said John, still with her hands in his. “I just don’t know. We need some money, probably. We need a place to go.”

“Where is Arthur, John?” she said. “I saw him leave last night, real late. He rode away from the camp. He’s been so…distant. Where is he?”

John cleared his throat, searching her eyes. She was genuinely curious, and she still had not taken her hands back and this was encouraging. It emboldened him. “Arthur is in St. Denis,” he said. “That’s where he’s been.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He, uh. He sort of met someone.”

“Met someone?” said Abigail. She got real bright. She looked happy. “You mean like, romantically? A woman?”

“Well, no,” said John, taking a deep breath. “I mean…like, a man. It’s what you’re thinking. It’s romantic, but it’s a man. And I’ve met him. He’s real decent, Abbie. He’s good. He’s rich, like. High society, from Philadelphia. He’s a nature photographer. His name is Albert Mason.”

Abigail was just staring at him, like she didn’t know what to say. She had these eyes that looked sort of like melting ice caps. Her features may have been a little stark to some people, but to him, were like a home. He knew them so well. “Arthur is getting on with a high society nature photographer?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “They met, maybe a couple months back? He was helping him with a project and I guess it just sort of…evolved.”          

She looked down at her bare feet, then to the door. “Sweet Jesus. I had no idea.”

“Me neither,” he said. "Well, I mean, not till recently."

“Does he seem happy?” said Abigail. “Arthur?”

“Yes,” said John, seriously. “He does. And I think—I mean, Albert, he’s got money. They could go anywhere.”

“You think Arthur is gonna leave,” said Abigail, looking back at him. “That’s why you wanna leave.”

“I wanna leave, because it ain’t safe. Not for you, and not for Jack. But yes. I think—I think that Arthur is gonna leave, Abbie. I can’t say where to, but I can say why.”

Outside, you could hear the birds chirping as the camp roused into life. Pearson put the coffee on, and somebody was cooking what smelled like bacon over a spit. Javier was bringing in the day on his wistful guitar, and for a moment, it was almost bucolic.

“It’s sort of romantic,” said Abigail. “Don’t you think?”

“I guess,” said John.

“Big tough guy, Arthur Morgan, outlaw, gunslinger, getting swept off his feet by some rich guy from Philadelphia.” She laughed to herself. “It figures. What’s his name again?”

“Albert Mason,” said John.

“Albert Mason,” said Abigail, looking down in silliness. “Same initials even. What’s he like?”

John shrugged. “He’s real nice,” he said. “I don’t know. Calm, and generous. He cares about Arthur, a lot. You can tell. He likes tea.”

“Is he good-looking?”

John laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Oh, you’re such a tough guy,” she said, fooling. She pinched his cheek, and shoved him in the shoulder. “John Marston. Well, maybe one day I’ll meet him myself, and I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Maybe you will,” said John.

They watched each other closely, in the warm light pouring through the windows from the late morning sun. “Does anybody else know?” said Abigail. “About Albert?”

“Just Mary Beth,” said John.

“Hmm.”

John knew what she was thinking. “Yeah. I know. It’s a whole…thing, isn’t it.”

“She’s been carrying a torch for that man,” said Abigail, fussing with her hair now, putting it in a braid over her shoulder. “I’ve always known. I told her he’s hopeless, time and time again, but she never heard nothing of it. Anyway, she’s too damn smart for this sort of living. I always thought, if I could read and write like her? I’d be out of here in an instant.”

“You can read just fine,” said John. “You’re getting better.”

She waved him off, embarrassed. “Oh, I read like a moron.”

“I’ll help you,” he said. “We can practice more, if it’s what’ you want.”

This undid her a little and she looked at him like she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The sunlight made her cheeks look golden. She finished with her braid, laid it flat. She said, “Maybe some night? When there’s time of course.”

“Sounds good,” said John.

The next day, Arthur and Albert had gotten on their horses and rode north to a ridge above the Kamassa River, where they camped in privacy amidst the enchanted forest and the marshy air in the foothills of the eastern Grizzly Range. As had been their plan from may weeks before, they were finally on their hunt for moccasin flowers, which Albert had been wanting to photograph for a long while. For the time being, however, it was sundown and they had already had their dinner. Arthur was deep inside him, their bodies pressed together, making indents in the earth at the foot of a tall and unwieldy White Oak tree. Arthur was a gentle species, but Albert urged him that night. Emboldened by the natural world and the freedom of the woods, he wanted them both to get past the brink and with enough encouragement, Arthur brought them there, jagged and moaning. It was like he didn’t know what hit him. It went on. It took a long time, and Albert felt proud and undone, exhausted once they finished. It was ecstasy. Arthur leaned forward to steady against the tree. He pressed his lips to the back of Albert’s neck, pushing away the hair and the sweat, catching his breath. They kissed, pondering, processing what had just taken place. When they both surfaced from the rubble, Arthur pulled out of him, slowly, and Albert shuddered in the aftermath, collapsed to the earth and they held one another until the sun was all the way down behind the trees and they were too cold to stay undressed any longer.

Back by the fire, they wore their regular clothes again, leaned against a big, hardy rock as they shared a joint of hash and smoking tobacco. Together, they blew the smoke into the air and grew bleary-eyed from the drugs, falling deeper and deeper in love as the night washed over and through them. After a while, they fell asleep. The night was quiet, and their bodies were warm. But Albert woke up at some point when the fire got low. He was thirsty, anxious. He leaned forward to stoke the flame and lit another cigarette and let Arthur continue to lean against him, eyes closed, his breathing long and even. Albert ran one hand through Arthur’s hair, where it curled behind his ears. Even as it looked dingy in the dark of the evening, it would be gold by morning again, almost flaxen, bleached in highlights from the sun. He almost couldn’t take it, the things he was feeling.

He hadn’t told Arthur yet, about California. He knew why, as he sat there by the fire, smoking his cigarette. He just wanted things to stay simple, a little longer. It felt limitless, physical, full of romance and also speed. He had never been taken so quickly by anyone. It messed him up, in a good way, and it made him certain about what he wanted. As he pondered the future now, Albert feared that Arthur would reject him—any suggestion that they move forward, leave this place. Arthur held so much, so tightly within himself. Pain, history. He told Albert little of his life. It’s just who he was, as a man, and Albert accepted him. There was no way to bridge this part of Arthur, not completely. Of course, certain elements of his heart could be coaxed free. He was generous, and loving, full of warmth when they were together, but that was feelings. It wasn’t feelings that Arthur struggled with, strangely enough. It was the choosing. Albert could meet him halfway, and he could wait. He could wait forever, he thought, but he did not want to wait. He would, but he didn’t want to. He put the hair behind Arthur’s ear, finished his cigarette, and waited. He read a little, trying to clear his mind. In the distance, you could hear the coyotes. It was a beautiful place.

About a half hour later, around midnight, Arthur roused, suddenly. He sat straight up off the rock, as if he had been woken by a nightmare. He looked around frantically and placed his hand on the pistol at his side. Albert was startled at first but just clasped one firm hand to Arthur’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay.”

Arthur came to, shook his head out, immediately. He went almost limp, back against that rock and he took a deep breath. His eyes were a little wide, glazed over. He was breathing fast. “Shit,” he said, his chest rising and falling. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you have a bad dream?” said Albert.

“No,” said Arthur, digging the heel of his palm in his eyeball. “I mean, not really. More like, I just don’t normally fall asleep like that, so hard, not out in the wilderness.”

“Yes, I know,” said Albert. “But it’s okay. Everything’s all right, just where you left it.”

Arthur closed his eyes and set his head back, taking deep, even breaths until he settled down. “What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight,” said Albert. “I woke up a little while ago. I couldn’t sleep.”

“What you been up to?” said Arthur. He plucked a cigarette from the brim of his hat. He lit it and smoked, hanging his head between his knees. He seemed all right now, just weary.

“I’m thinking, mostly.”

“What about?”

Albert took a deep breath. “About you,” he said.

Arthur grinned, glanced up at him, smoking that cigarette, looking canny in the firelight. “You’re pretty smooth when you want to be, Mr. Mason.”

This made Albert laugh to himself. “I try.”

Arthur studied him then, his blue eyes washed out to gray, but even still, his focus could rip right through. “Al. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just—I’m torn about something.”

“You know you can tell me anything,” said Arthur. He flicked the cigarette.

“I know.”

“Then go ahead,” said Arthur. “I’m listening.”

Albert removed his cigarette case from his pocket. It was silver and very fine. He withdrew one, lit it with a match, then offered the case to Arthur who declined. He just smoked then, absentmindedly as he looked at the fire. He scratched an itch above his eyebrow, listened to the loons, going off in the distance with the coyotes. He looked down at the cigarette case, which he held in one hand. He was running his thumb over its delicate engravings: E.L.M., it read. Elijah Lawrence Mason, his father. “Do you remember how I told you that I got a letter from my mother the other day,” he said.

Arthur nodded. He had his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah. You said she’s doing well. What’s her name again?”

“Cynthia,” said Albert, flipping the case open and shut, then putting it away in his pocket. He smoked.

“Cynthia Mason,” said Arthur. “What was her maiden name? I’m just curious.”

“Ruffalo.”

“Ruffalo. So she’s Italian?”

“By half. Her mother was French.”

“I see,” said Arthur. “That’s very American of you.”

“What about you?” said Albert.

“I don’t know much,” said Arthur. He plucked a long piece of grass from the earth, began to shred it into ribbons with his fingertips. “My family, they lived here as long as I can remember. I think my grandparents, on my father’s side—they came from England. They was farmers. But my mother’s side, I don’t know.”

“Do you remember her maiden name?”

“No,” said Arthur. “I know I saw her buried. I remember the funeral. It even said it, her maiden name, on the tombstone, but I can’t remember.”

“You were little,” said Albert. “It’s all right.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. He tossed the grass into the fire.

“Where is she buried?”

“Baker City,” said Arthur. “Oregon. That I do remember. It’s near the Blue Mountain range. Pretty country."

“I’ll bet. Have you been back there, since she died?”

“No,” said Arthur, shaking his head, growing distracted. He didn’t go on any further, and so Albert changed the subject.

“Arthur,” he said after a minute.

“Yes.”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Go on,” said Arthur. “I told you. I’m listening.”

“A long time ago, when we first had that drink together, in Valentine.” He smoked. “I mentioned that my mother may be moving to California. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Arthur. He was coming back from a distant place. “Why?”

“Because she is moving to California,” said Albert. “Finally. She said so in her letter. My uncle, he bought a ranch near the Monterey Peninsula, but he’s taken a wife, apparently, and moving to San Francisco. He’s left the ranch to my mother.”

“That sounds amazing,” said Arthur. “When’s she headed out?”

“Soon.” Albert took one last drag, studied his dirty fingertips, the burned out cigarette, flicked the nubbin into the fire. “It’s a big ranch, with water, stables, a couple different homesteads, privately arranged. It’s on a cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, near a town called Carmel-by-the-Sea. She has invited us, Arthur. To come out, to live there. That is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The sky seemed to stop turning, rotating on a dime. Arthur was giving him a look. He had that wrinkle in his forehead, the one that only popped up when he was totally confused. “Come again?”

“After the gallery opening, this Friday, my purpose in St. Denis is very…up in the air,” said Albert. He removed the cigarette case again, took out another cigarette. “Things can change, if we let them. We have a place to go. Both of us.”

“She knows about me?"

"Yes," said Albert. "She does."

Arthur seemed lost for words. "Al."

“Yes?”

“Why the hell are we talking about this now?” said Arthur. “Midnight, in the enchanted forest. You brought up your mother’s letter yesterday morning. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because,” said Albert, sighing. “I panicked. To be perfectly honest, I was terrified.”

“Terrified?”

“That you would say no,” said Albert. He lit the cigarette. “I just—I know you, Arthur.”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t know a lot about your gang and what you do, but I know you.” He smoked, fanned the smoke out of the air. “You’re a loyal man. You value your relationships—with John, his family, Mary Beth. God knows there must be more.”

“And?"

“And I’m asking you to leave them, and to come with me, to California.” Albert cleared his throat, shook his head over and over again through the smoke. “I love you so much,” he went on. He was lost, in his own idiotic rambling. He closed his eyes to get lost further. “I want you, selfishly, to myself, to be with me, to let me take care of you. But I know there is a chance you’ll say no. And if that is the case, then I want you to know, that is okay. If that is the case, then I’ll stay. We don’t have to go to California. Not now. We can wait, or stay indefinitely. I’d like to get out of that apartment. It’s too small. So maybe we can lease a bigger place, in the city, or we can buy a place, or buy a cabin outside it. If that is what you want, to stay, then I will stay. I can make that work. But I don’t want you getting shot, or getting hurt anymore, Arthur. It worries me sick. Every time you walk out the door, every time you leave. So if it is the case, that you want to stay, then we need to...talk about that, honestly. Figure something out so that I know, rationally, what to expect. Or else, we can leave. I won’t lie. I want to do this with you. I want to go west, and I did before we met, but more than anything now, I just want to be with you. I want you to come with me, as it is a chance at a new life, privacy. A home. I want you to come with me, Arthur. I want you to let me keep you safe. I will stay. I will do whatever you want, whatever it takes, but know that what I want is for you to leave, with me.”

All around them, the wilderness was breaking into pieces. It was atomizing, becoming all of the same things from the distant places they were born. Albert glanced at Arthur who was staring down at his hands. He always seemed to be doing that, looking down at his hands as if they were the source of all his wisdom, and all his strife. The loons and the coyotes cried distantly, and the stars overhead swam around like little fish in a dark sea.

“Okay,” said Arthur, out of nowhere. He nodded his head, as if resolved.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I want to go with you.” Arthur was looking at him now like it was no big thing, his hair gold from the casual firelight and falling in his face. “When do we leave?”

Listening for this chapter: “Passenger Seat” by Death Cab for Cutie (youtube | spotify)

[dreamgloe]

vanilla, letters & melt

prompt: vanilla, letters & melt (this prompt list here)

words: 4.56k

warnings: fluff, slightest bit of angst

notes: so this is really late but….better late than never, right? I’ll just keep it in the valentine’s day theme. ;) despite how long this took, i’m so happy to be writing some cute namjoon while writing some angsty namjoon (his chapter in ‘half of my heart’ has put me T H R O U G H  I T)

tags: @joonieblossoms

mini playlist: fools by troye sivan | call your girlfriend (robyn cover) by clara mae | sponge by clay best friend by ikon

-x-

There were only two sounds in your apartment. One was the loud crashing noises of the Netflix romcom you’d decided to play with a hard press of your forefinger. Afterwards, you tossed the remote to the floor, not caring where it landed. The second was the scraping of your spoon against the paper carton of Tahitian Vanilla ice cream from your favorite neighborhood spot.

You told yourself that you hated this holiday, that it was a consumerist weapon holding people hostage in the name of love. If anyone asked you, you were boycotting and Galentine’s Day was the only holiday worth celebrating. Celebrating womanhood with your girl friends with copious amounts of sparkling rosé was the only draw to this time of the year.

However, that was a damn lie.

Not only were most of your friends in relationships, you actually loved Valentine’s Day. Well, you did. You loved the idea when you were in a relationship, which you had been in until about a month ago. It wasn’t as if you were certain that Choi Sungwoo was the one for you but you did spent the better part of eight months committed to him, his work functions–which you hated–and to trying your best to not demolish his ass in Overwatch every time you played with him. He was funny when he wasn’t trying to be and he was never ashamed to hold your hand in public. The sex was great, you knew there were no complaints in that department.

But…obviously something wasn’t working for him when he told you that it was over. He admitted that there was someone else. He said that he had feelings for someone at his work and he didn’t want to continue to lead you on if he was interested in someone else. He also said he wanted a chance with this person. He didn’t want any “what ifs.”. You couldn’t hate him for being honest but you hated him on principle anyway.

He wasn’t even a coward, you thought to yourself, stabbing your spoon back into the ice cream. You paused, looking into the carton. It was missing something, and with that thought you walked to grab the chocolate syrup out of the fridge, the kind that hardened on top of ice cream. Flipping the cap and squeezing it all over the ice cream, you only stopped when the top was almost completely covered. Flipping the cap back into place, you didn’t even bother to put it back in the fridge.

You just didn’t care.

It was at that moment that you were glad your roommate, Namjoon, wasn’t back. To be honest, you weren’t even sure what he was doing. You were just happy that he wasn’t home to watch the sad scene of a gross ice cream concoction and some pretty abhorrent Netflix romantic comedies.

He’d also broken up with his girlfriend around five months ago but he’d been dating his girlfriend as long as you’d known him which was a little over two years. If it was a competition, you knew he’d won hands down. You liked her too and were sad for him when she dumped him.

And that was pretty big of you, too, because when you first met Namjoon, you might have had a teensy crush on him. Teensy being an understatement. Who wouldn’t? He was smart, kind, tall, and had one of the best smiles you’d ever seen in your life. But the two of you quickly fell into a friendship, one that you’d rather die than ever mess up.

Knowing he was sad, you did everything you could to cheer him up. Museum dates, pounds and pounds of barbeque. You even went with him to see all those foreign films he liked even though you hated them. You should have better taste, having studied French Literature. You met Namjoon in a Modern French Philosophy class for crying out loud! However, you’d always been a sucker for girl gang movies and romantic comedies. But…you couldn’t bear the crestfallen looks across your roommate’s face so you did your best to cheer him up even if it meant sitting through a handful of painful German films.

At the time, you couldn’t bring yourself to pry into why she broke up with him. He’d tell you if he wanted to. That’s what you told yourself. Namjoon had been busy the last month but he tried desperately to be there for you as well. He watched a handful of dramas and even the latest season of Alexa & Katie with you on Netflix. Two things he hated and he did them for you. For that, you were grateful but it didn’t stop you from shovelling your way through the pint of ice cream in front of you, knowing full well you had two more in the freezer.

Obviously, you couldn’t help but soften at the thought of Namjoon holding your hand and giving you tissues as you cried your eyes out watching fucking Alexa & Katie, a show aimed at middle school girls. He wasn’t the best roommate in the world but he was definitely one of the best friends you have ever been lucky enough to have.

Why did your bout of loneliness have to bubble up on a day that was both the epitome and antithesis of loneliness, though? Couldn’t the universe give you a fucking break? You were still holding the carton of ice cream in your condensation covered hands, spoon in mouth, feet up on the coffee table when Namjoon walked in. You’d been so absorbed in your ice cream that your surprise caused the metal spoon to clack against your teeth harshly, causing you to spasm. “Ow,” you said, more to yourself, “Goddamnit!”

“Oh…hey Y/N,” he said, lugging his messenger bag off his shoulder and then onto the ground as he approached the edge of the couch. You sighed loudly, putting the spoon into the carton and placing the whole thing on the table. “Namjoon….” you said, a hint of whine, “don’t just…er….enter the apartment like that. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“So sorry, Y/N. Next time I won’t exist in my own apartment,” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms while looking at you, not being able to help the small smile that spread across his face.

“Thank you,” you say, “I’d appreciate it.” You said it seriously but you couldn’t help the smile that eventually followed too. You played with the blanket it across your lap, smoothing it out. You didn’t expect him to be home. But honestly, where would he be? Both of you were single on Valentine’s Day. You should have thought of that. It had been months since either of you had been relationships, where would you both be going?

There was a moment before you spoke. “Care to join me?” you said, motioning to the nest of blankets, dvds, snacks, and strangely, more than one Apple TV remote. He heaved a heavy sigh before he kicked his shoes off and said, “If we’re doing this, I’m getting the wine.” After grabbing a bottle of red and two glasses, he finally sat down on the couch with a big plop, getting under the blanket with you. He poured you a glass, handing it to you now that you no longer were holding the tub of ice cream. The two of you did a cheers and he leaned back into the couch, hi shoulder touching yours.

He let you finish off the romcom you were watching before the two of your poured over old DVD’s. He’d convinced you to settle on Notting Hill, claiming it was one of the best romantic comedies of all time. You argued and said it was borderline boring, to which Namjoon just scoffed. However, you did your best to conceal the tears you were crying towards the end. Namjoon decided not to rub it in your face because you looked so sad. Soon enough, you found your hand in his. His was warm and it only made you cry more. “Hey…” he said softly, pulling some tissues from his pocket.

You were crying and it wasn’t just the movie. You were sad and lonely as hard as that was to admit to yourself. You missed sharing something with someone, you missed holding hands like Namjoon was currently holding your’s, you even missed playing damn Overwatch. You thought yourself a very independent person and you hated yourself for crying because you were alone on Valentine’s Day. The thought itself drew a choked sob out of you and with your free hand, you furiously wiped at your face.

Taking the tissues, you sloppily dabbed at your face, warm with tears and more than two glasses of red wine. “I’m literally the most pathetic person on planet Earth right now,” you said between sobs, “You don’t have to hold my hand, Namjoon. Thank you, but you don’t have to.” You waited for him to drop it but he only interlaces his fingers into yours more tightly. You looked up at him as he started to speak again. “I want to, Y/N,” he said, taking a deep breath, “What’s this about? What’s going on?” You couldn’t even be annoyed with him because he looked so concerned.

You gave yourself a few moments to breathe before you answer him. “It’s just….I don’t know if I miss Sungwoo or…” you said, trailing off.

“Or what….?” Namjoon asked in a concerned voice.

“Or if I’m just hopeless, awkward, and desperate for love!!!” you exclaimed dramatically. It only took Namjoon a second to get the FRIENDS reference. He laughed, intertwining his fingers with yours. The two of you still couldn’t get enough of syndicated FRIENDS reruns on basic cable.

He leaned his shoulder into yours as you took a deep breath. “But in all seriousness,” you continued, “I know it sounds dumb…but…it’s so nice to be liked, to be wanted or needed or whatever…” You looked down at your lap, blinking your eyes a few times.

“I get that,” he said softly, lukewarm fingers now starting to just slightly condensate in your grasp. Namjoon was rarely this affectionate towards anyone. However, in the last month, the two of you had spent a plethora of your time that you were not working on your dissertations, with each other. At your behest, a lot of it in front of the television with junk food, which contrasted to the time after his breakup. But you two had different tastes.

You liked sitting shoulder to shoulder with Namjoon on the couch, crying your eyes out to preteen multicam comedies on Netflix. But you weren’t sure why he’d put up with you. You just came to assume it was because he was concerned after your break up with Sungwoo.

“Ugh, sorry,” you say, shaking your head, trying to shake out of it, “Do you want to pick the next movie? I’ll even watch that Hebrew movie you were talking about? Fill the Void?” You paused for a second before continuing, “That’s the one about arranged marriage right?”

“The young woman married her sister’s widower,” he said, correcting you. You nodded and the two of you settled into the couch to finish the shitty romantic comedy you were watching. When you finished, the two of you had polished off the vanilla ice cream. You took the empty carton, grabbing your second tub and bringing it as Namjoon was loading up the foreign film. Taking another deep breath, you sat down next to him.

The film was slow but stunning and you couldn’t help but getting wrapped up into it along Namjoon. Shoulders still pressed together, you felt your eyes well up unblinkingly at the emotional scenes laying before you. In a lull, you couldn’t help but speak. “Maybe I should just have my family match me up like Shira,” you said, “Easy, relatively painless, percentage chance of heartbreak significantly lowered right?”

You were just bullshitting at this point, working your way through your second glass of wine, using the last tissue from Namjoon’s pocket to dab at some of the drink dripping from your chin. You were reaching the climax in your rant when Namjoon interrupted you. “Just stop, Y/N, okay?” he said, grabbing your shoulders, only shaking you slightly, “One day, a guy is going to be so lucky that you’ve let him be part of your life. Stop beating yourself up about it. It’s a dumb holiday. You are so very much worthy of love. Trust me, I know. So shut up and let’s finish the damn movie.”

He turns away from you and back to the tv, but you can’t help but stare at his profile. Serious and hellbent on concentrating on the subtitled movie. You eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘I know?”

He let out a large breath through his nose. “Fine,” he said, getting up, “I guess I’m doing this.” You watched him as got up, leaving you alone on the coach, and made his way down the hall in the direction of his bedroom. Less than a minute later, he came back with a stack of letters rubber banded together. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he said, as if he was annoyed.

As you started to ask, he pushed them into your hands. “Just read, don’t talk, okay?” he said, more forceful than you’d really ever seen him before. This time, however, he sat on one of the bar stools a handful of feet away as you slowly undid the two skinny rubber bands.

“Okay,” you said resolutely, as you carefully pried open the first envelope. It had been dated around five or so months ago, in Namjoon’s skinny, clear handwriting. You started reading, feeling your face crease.

Y/N, I took some time before writing this because that’s what you do when someone who has been a fixture in your life, no longer is. By the time I started this, I told you that Chaeha and I broke up. Chaeha told me that she knew my heart wasn’t with her anymore. What’s worse is that she wasn’t even mad. I denied it to her, told her that I only loved her, but she knew better. I don’t know when it all started but…I’m pretty sure you’ve always been more than a friend to me. Two weeks to come to terms with the fact that she was right. 

That was only the first letter. There were definitely more than ten letters in the pile and one by one, you opened them. He had written to you once a week since his breakup with Chaeha. A few of the letters were just Namjoon talking about his day, a short trip he took with his parents, the weekend getaway you took with your mutual friends. However, they all revolved around thoughts of you, even if you weren’t present at the time.

You could feel your eyes and face soften. On one hand, it was all too much and the other, not nearly enough. As you picked up the latest one, dated two days ago, you couldn’t help but look over at Namjoon sitting on the stool by the counter. He looked at you as if to encourage you to keep reading but there was something in his eyes that didn’t want yours to leave either. Always an eloquent speaker, his letters spoke volumes beyond what he could physically say.

February 12th, 2019, February 12th, 2019. Two days ago.

I’m sure if you ever read these, Y/N, you’ll have figured it out quickly by this one.  You’re so smart and that’s probably one of reasons we get along so well, why that Modern French Philosophy class was the best class I’ve ever taken at this place. Probably one of the reasons why Chaeha and I ended, even. The day I wrote about in the first letter, Chaeha told me it was you. I didn’t completely admit to myself but I’ve had five months to think about us and I can now confirm. I can confirm my feelings. I still am not sure when it all happened but it did. I fell in love with you along the way of our friendship.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the letter, trying to absorb all the information thoroughly but as quickly as possible. You finished, and turned to look at Namjoon over the couch. Your eyes growing softer, wider, and a bit wetter.  

Knowing what was going on but not really knowing how to comprehend, your words faltered in your mouth. “What is–? Why–? Really–?” you said, only being able to form a few short, questioning words. You were emotional and a little buzzed already and now ….you were pretty sure your best friend was telling you that he broke up with his girlfriend five months ago because he was in love with you.

Snapping your head towards the kitchen to look at him, you were sure that you probably looked pretty lost. The expression on his face was serious but not hard, his chin between his forefinger and thumb. You wanted to move, to be able to look him closely in the eyes as if that act could provide you with answers. To be honest, you were overwhelmed and for a moment you thought you might just burst into tears. Where was all of this coming from?

The only thing you could do was hold up the stack of haphazardly opened letters. Not as in “I want to give these back” kind of way but in a way that says “I want to talk about these but my mouth and brain aren’t making the connection with one another.” He sloughs out of his chair and rejoins you back on the couch. You turn to him sideways, one knee up on the couch. You jester to him with the envelopes on your hands but a tight grip on them. A grip that might imply you don’t want to let them go, that if you do…what you just read will disappear.

“I know,” he says, “I know…it’s a lot, but it’s not–” He looks into your watery eyes and you can just tell he wants to stay more, that he probably has this eloquent speech or explanation planned out. He always knows what to say to you, what to say to other people. Where you were often speechless and stuck in your own head, he had a way with words that rivaled many heads of state.

You sighed and swallowed. “Tell me, then,” you manage to say, not quite knowing what is possessing you, “tell me what these letters haven’t.” Your knee brushed Namjoon’s thigh when you readjusted yourself next to him, placing the stack of letters on top of where your leg brushed his. You tried to remain as calm as possible for him, so that you could listen to him, but you were shaking. You couldn’t help it and you did your best to conceal that fact, by holding your arms to yourself, even though you didn’t want to look as if you were closed off from the conversation.

Once he started, you could only listen. The way he put into words possibly years of feelings…your heart was fit to burst. He’d been your friend for so long and you had built a relationship on being friends and roommates that you were more than satisfied with. Well, at least…that’s what you thought until the one person it also included flipped your world upside down with his confession.

“…You know I loved Chaeha. I was with her for half a decade,” he said, almost as if he was pleading. You nodded because it was true. He loved Chaeha. You loved her too…obviously not in that way but you’d grown close to her in the past two plus years of being Namjoon’s friend. She’d never…she’d never even given off any vibes that she didn’t like you, that she didn’t trust you, or that her boyfriend of five years might possibly be in love with another woman aka you. That thought hurt you too.

“I know, Namjoon,” you said, “I know you loved her so much. But why? When? How? I–I’m sorry. I’m not the articulate one in this friendship.” You held onto your own fingers so tightly, you knew there might  be the possibility that they might bruise.

“I don’t know when it happened but here I am, fucking hopeless and in love with my best friend. Those five months taught me that Chaeha was right and that…she was right to dump me. I couldn’t continue to be in a relationship with her–even if I really cared about her because at the back of my mind, I was always thinking about you.” he said, finally shifting to face you, taking your shaking hands in each of his.

Never thought you’d see your best friend’s gaze falter, never thought he’d ever be at a loss. His hands were as warm as they were before but they felt different. This is what you were afraid of. Things changing between you. That’s why….whatever “little” crush you had on him when you first met, you pushed it aside. There was never going to be a way that you’d let Kim Namjoon slip away from your life. You had always recognized that you found him attractive but he was Namjoon, the PhD candidate with cartoon character pyjama pants and the guy who you’d let in the bathroom while you were in the shower so he could pee.

He still liked you after that and it confused you even more. “Not to sound like a broken record, but why me? What is it about me?” you asked. You were genuinely curious and confused. You weren’t a mess, per say, but you and Namjoon shared every streaming service and refused to purchase cable tv because you were on a budget. Chaeha had been beautiful, smart, and a fantastic career and life going for her. Why was your roommate looking at you like you held the fucking universe? Why was he taking a step closer to you right now? Why were his eyes bigger and glassier than you’d ever seen them before?

Why was it that when he squeezed your hands in his and he finally looked at you in the eyes, you could feel all the confusing puzzle pieces finally fall into place? Could he see the light bulb go off in your brain?

“What isn’t it about you?” he said, suddenly smiling more brightly than he had since he walked through the door, “One, you’re my best friend. Two, without you I would starve. Three, I realized you have always made my heart do this.” He took one of the hands he was holding and put it on his heart. It was beating rather fast. You could feel your fingers press into the shirt covering his chest, looking for some kind of anchor to keep you on this earth. Now that the two of you were closer, you could feel the light breeze of his wine breath on your face.

Of your own accord, you moved the hand on his chest to the juncture of his neck and shoulder in attempt to not pull him to you but still bring him closer. The only sound you could hear was the foreign film in the background and the sound of your own ragged breath. “What are you thinking?” he asks so quietly, that if it wasn’t silent, you wouldn’t have been able to catch it.

“It’s just that…the feelings I have…I have…I have pressed them so far down because of how much our friendship means to me, how much you mean to me…that I’m just trying to wrap my head around this,” you rambled. Your thumb rubbed at his jaw, reveling in the warmth and softness of his skin there. “Did you know…that I had a crush on you when we first became friends?” you said, not being able to help but chuckle at yourself a little.

“No,” he said, looking down at you.

“But you were with Chaeha and you two were really cute and I wanted to be your friend so bad that I–” you said but in a fast moment, were cut off by Namjoon’s lips against yours. You wanted to cry because you’d thought about it more than you wanted to admit. Repressing your crush on Namjoon was now going to take its toll in the form of big soppy tears that were pooling in your tear ducts.

Pressing your finger into his jaw, you used your hand to bring him closer, a sob stuck in your throat. You used a little more momentum than you had thought to and Namjoon ended up half on top of you as you fell back into the large, squishy couch cushion. His hands were soon around your waist and your arms slipped around his shoulders.

After coming up for air, you managed to get out “Sorry, I’m all emotional. This is all so good but a little much. I just…you overwhelm me…in a good way.” You tacked that bit on at the end because it was true. The very thought and feel of him right now consumed you.

“Please don’t feel pressured to say or do anything you don’t want to,” he said earnestly, “That’s the last thing I want to happen. Your friendship, regardless of this, means everything to me.” You smile, bringing his lips back to you. When you pressed him even closer to you, Namjoon eagerly maneuvered so that you were underneath him on the couch. His fingers brushed your bare sides while yours dipped under the collar of his t-shirt.

He melded to you like you had been there all along.

“I said it earlier but…Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he said, that big, happy doofy smile blooming across his face.

“You too, Joon,” you said, biting your bottom lip before pulling him in closer. The two of you remained tangled up together for several more minutes until eventually, you ended up on top of Namjoon. When you finally separated, the movie was over and you decided to clear up all your mess on the coffee table except for the wine.

As you reached for the tub of ice cream in order to take it to kitchen, you peered inside only to be disappointed. “Goddamnit, the ice cream melted!” you said annoyedly. But before you could walk to throw it in the trash can, a pair of arms looped around your middle as a chin pressed into your shoulder.

“So did I,” Namjoon said into your ear. You couldn’t help but chortle at the cheesy line. As cheesy as it was, it was still lovely. You wrapped your arms around his and leaned back into him as you help the condensation covered melted tub of ice cream. When his lips reached behind your ear, you leaned forward to place the tub on a surface, not wanting it all over the carpet.

Smiling at that moment, you promised yourself to never call Valentine’s Day a consumerist holiday ever again.

[desperationandgin]

Knowing (Jamie x Claire; Fraser’s Ridge)

Also read on AO3

Rated: M, light smut

Author’s Note:  In looking to be sure I was at least somewhat historically accurate in regards to Valentine's Day, I discovered that Colonists began exchanging handmade cards in the 1700s! There was obviously nothing so commercial, but by the 17th century, hand-made cards and lettered Valentine's messages were being written and exchanged. Shakespeare even mentions Valentine's Day in Hamlet! So, this may be taking some kind of liberty but it looks like there would be at least some basis for it being plausible Jamie would know what Valentine's Day even is. That being said, the 'holiday' is mentioned exactly one time but today is a good excuse to post some fluff :3

***

She can feel it, the moment he’s awake and watching her. Most mornings, like this one, she pretends to still be deeply asleep, keeping her breath steady and even so that he can have his fill of her. Some mornings he prays quietly in Gaelic and the low murmur of his voice does make her drift, the lilt of his words as good as a lullaby. Other mornings, the tips of his fingers glide feather lightly across the apple of her cheek and he whispers that he loves her, engulfing her in his arms and close to his heart. Those mornings, his fingers eventually relocate so that they glide through her curls until she finally ‘wakes’ and stretches languidly along the hard lines of his body.

Then there are the mornings like this one when he has to be up for one reason or another, not lingering in bed and leaving her to roll over into the warmth his body leaves behind. She can hear him, footfalls light as he moves around their cabin; adds logs to the waning fire to bring it back to life. Cracking an eye open, Claire watches him at their table, four eggs juggled in his hand, thickly cut slices of bread in the other. Before he can turn and catch her watching she closes her eyes again, smiling to herself as she pulls the quilt up higher over her shoulders. As she listens to him move she tries to guess what he’s doing. There’s a moment of soft clattering where she can practically sense him freezing and looking back to be sure he didn’t wake her as he grabbed a skillet. Four soft cracks come next, eggs being put into the pan before he moves over to the hearth and sets the eggs to fry.

From there, she does sleep, she must, because the next thing she’s aware of is Jamie kissing her forehead softly.

“Sassenach, open yer eyes.”

She stretches, letting out a soft breath and prying heavy lids open to look at him, smiling softly. “Jamie.” Wonderful smells assault her nose and she sits up a little on her elbows. “Did you cook?”

“Aye, I did. And ye can stay there,” he informs her, getting a pillow situated behind her back so that she’s propped and he can bring a plate to her in bed. She’s shown him how bread is sliced and cooked again (toasted, she’d called it), so along with eggs is the slightly browned bread, ham, and strawberries.

“Jamie, what….” Not that he doesn’t often dote on her, but breakfast in bed isn’t something they typically do in an effort to keep ants from their sheets.

“‘Tis Saint Valentine’s Day, Sassenach. I did no’ forget.”

As her face softens and heart aches, she realizes she did, though not completely. She remembered days ago and then forgot. Still, for now, she indulges in breakfast for two with him, sharing quiet laughter and trading kisses for berries. But after breakfast is finished, Claire pulls him down into a kiss that’s less playful and more intention filled. “May I thank you?”

His lips curve against her own. “Did ye have somethin’ in particular in mind, mo chridhe?”

“Mmmm, that’s for me to know and you to find out,” she teases, pushing him up and urging him to reverse their positions so that he’s flat on his back. Leaning over him, her hair curtains them on one side as she grins and then leans down to kiss him deeply now, tongue gliding across his as her hips drop to make the lewd movements he loves so much. “You always come up with the most incredible ways to spoil me,” Claire murmurs, pressing her lips to his neck now.

Jamie’s hands move up and down her back slowly, pushing at her shift until she raises enough for him to lift it over her head and drop it to the bed beside them. “It’s no’ hard to come up with things I’d like to do for ye. Though I dinna think I’ll ever wait for a certain day to tell me when to do them.”

“When have you ever waited for a special occasion to spoil me rotten?” she asks with a laugh, pushing his shirt up and over his head now in return, hands moving up and down his chest. “You spoil me every day.”

“Do I?” he asks, the question filled with a little more surprise than he means for it to be.

“Do you truly not realize it, Jamie?” Claire asks in disbelief, going still as she looks at him.

“I’m no’ as concerned with wondering if ye ken how much I love ye, if that’s what yer askin’,” he adjusts. “But I still always wish I could give ye more.”

Looking at him as if he’s truly hopeless, Claire shakes her head. “Still a fool,” she murmurs before taking his hand and kissing the center of his palm tenderly. “I’ve told you before I don’t need anything else from you. You gave me a daughter, Jamie.” After a quiet lapse of silence, she adds: "Two of them.”

Swallowing thickly, Jamie reaches with his free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Ye deserve to never want for anythin’.”

“What else could I possibly want? I have you, and you built me a home. A home for us.”

“Ye gave up Brianna and Boston for me.”

Claire looks at him, truly speechless for a moment before shaking her head. “You gave up both of us. For twenty years, Jamie. You gave her an incredible life, you let me go and I became a doctor so that now I can help here, in this time, where I’m needed. How can you doubt it?” She pauses, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Do I tell you enough, Jamie?”

His reaction is an immediate frown of confusion. “What?”

“I know I don’t say the words often, that I love you, But I--”

“Claire, no.” He doesn’t even let her finish before pulling her down into a kiss that’s urgent and desperate. “Ye dinna have to say it.”

“I should.”

Jamie sits up now and pulls her with him so that she’s straddling his lap and his hands can lightly cradle her face. “Mo nighean donn, I ken it every time I…” He hesitates only so that he can kiss her again soundly and then press his forehead to hers. “When I see the scars on my hand, I ken it. The love ye poured into fixing no’ only my wounds but my verra soul as well. I ken it when ye slip yer arms behind me and kiss my shoulder at the end of the day. When ye keep me company as I do chores around the land. When I come home and there ye are on the porch, watching for me. As soon as ye see me yer face lights up wi’ so much joy I want to run to ye and bury my face in the side of yer neck. Claire, I ken ye love me. So much that ye pretend to be asleep when I whisper to ye in the mornings.”

Shock is slowly replaced with quiet sheepishness. “You’ve known I was awake the entire time?”

“Ye’ve never been a strong liar, even when ye dinna speak. The way ye breathe is different when truly sleeping.”

“But you say those things anyway,” she points out, raising a hand so that her thumb can glide across his bottom lip softly.

Kissing that thumb, he smiles. “Aye. After twenty years apart, I realized there was no’ a thing I ever wanted to keep ye from hearing again. ‘Tis only easier when I let myself believe ye to be sleeping.”

Softly, Claire kisses him, speaking quietly against his lips. “I do love you, Jamie Fraser.” Slowly, her hips rock against his, gasping when he presses up in return.

Groaning softly at the warmth of her, Jamie nods, lips dragging across her shoulder now as his fingers glide down her sides. “I love ye, Claire Fraser.”

Raising her hips just enough, she sinks down so that he can thrust home, driving every thought out of her as they move together; a single heartbeat, two souls wound together around one another. Her head bends so that it tucks to the side of his neck, breathing him in as their bodies move in tandem. She clings to him, hands at his waist as she feels his move to rest just under her breasts at either side of her. “Jamie.”

“I ken,” he replies, breathing ragged. Dropping his head, his lips press to her shoulder, repeating his words, that he knows, he promises he does, and he moves faster, harder into her even as one hand drifts between them to touch as he moves, wanting to feel her shatter against him.

He doesn’t have to wait long as her fingernails dig into his hips, a sharp cry echoing on the walls of their cabin. She loses her rhythm, everything fading into a frantic blur as she shudders and tightens, body enveloping his, losing herself to the pleasure and pressure and the way he clings to her. She feels him cant his hips up once, twice more before spilling into her, her name a groan on his lips. They eventually still, hands grasping for one another until he lays back against their pillows, taking him with her so that she can lay tucked against his chest.

“Do ye ken it, as well?”

Claire takes a moment, letting her heart slow a bit before raising her head to look at him, a smile soft on her face as her thumb glides across his chin.

“I do know it, Jamie.”

***

End Note:  I haven't read the books beyond Dragon Fly in Amber. I'm aware there's a scene (I think?) when Claire worries she doesn't tell him enough, that she loves him. I have no idea how similar this is, but I'm hoping it's plenty different!

[loveandwarandmagick]

Rose-Colored Boy

yeah ,, i used a paramore song for my title ,,,, it’s cool we’re ignoring that

anyway this is my first fic n’ woW it took me almost the whole day to write this and i really hope you all enjoy it ! happy valentine’s day babes <3

summary: baz is in love and hates valentine’s day for this reason. intro the love of his life who ruins his plans to have a pity party with his aunt, with his own disaster on his hands. baz helps, like a lovesick fool

word count: 3,611 (lmao wow that’s a LOT)

   Valentine’s Day used to be Baz’s least favorite and most favorite holiday.

   Although classes weren’t ever canceled to celebrate the day, (that’d be an absolute nightmare with all the bloody couples at Watford), Baz remembers his father offering him the choice to stay home every year without fail. “Oh Basil,” he’d say, not laughing, but there was amusement in his tone, “It’s not like you’ll do anything important in your lessons anyways.” And they hadn’t, not in all the years that he’d missed. When he returned the next day, all the teachers remarked on how he’d missed out on making cards. As a child, he didn’t think to miss it, only relished in the break from making pink paper cards with the teachers and sealing the envelope with a charm that would unfold the card like origami. 

   Even if that break was spent being tugged along by his Aunt Fiona through the pink and red swarmed aisles of cheap candy and watching her shove multiple things in a cart at once.

    Then after his fifth year - the absolute worst year- when all he could do was figure out that his feelings for Snow were so much more intense than he thought, coming home on Valentine’s was basically an obligation. He wasn’t stupid enough to spend all day in classes with the great love of his life, who was also his worst enemy, and on top of that, his roommate. Watching him parade around with his new girlfriend, and by default due to her status, Baz’s second worst enemy, was not at all worth it. Not even to escape Fiona’s lovelorn quest to buy every single piece of Valentine’s Day paraphernalia in the supermarket.

     It wasn’t a sudden thing. Finding out that his feelings were just as intense as they used to be but on the opposite end of a spectrum was a slow thing to come. It was in December, perhaps. When the cold forced him inside earlier than usual and put Snow to sleep as soon as the sunset. He’d spend hours in bed staring at Snow, loathing everything he was. Everything he had; a gorgeous face, a future, a destiny. He’d had more friends than he could count on both hands, and Baz had only two. And besides friends, he’d had people who’d simply enjoyed being around him, who wanted to be in his life. Perhaps it was the magic, but maybe it was just him.

     He drove himself insane with the wanting until his thoughts had shifted to wanting Simon. Yes, Baz was undeniably jealous of everything he had, but it was also the boy. His sweet smile and his freckled face and that lovely voice. And though it may have not been a quick realization, as soon as he figured it out, it tormented him. Simon haunted his thoughts and his room, throwing glares and stammering arguments back at Baz, who’d started them. If only to hear him say his name again, to be addressed if only for a moment, by the boy he loved.

 Utterly in love, and oh, so hopeless.

   So he finds himself now, in their seventh year at Watford, packing his trunk for the ride to Fiona’s apartment, (she’s decided to stay in and wait for the day after to buy clearance candy.) Heaven knows who she’s been heartbroken over for the past seven years, but Baz doesn’t exactly feel entitled to ask. As someone who’s living through the definition of unrequited love though, he figures that he’ll leave early to surprise her. Maybe they’ll rent a rom-com. “Or maybe,” he can hear her say, “We can go out and make fun of the couples. For culture, of course.”

 He shakes the grin off his face at the thought, as his thoughts inevitably run back to Snow and his lovely relationship, still going two years later. There were times when Baz thought he had a chance. Times when Snow would stare at him from across the room, every room. When instead of arguing back, he’d only remain silent and turn over on his bed, facing the wall. Baz has only guessed that things had ended with Agatha, but they appeared fine the next day, hands clasped and polite smiles shared over breakfast. He’d know, he watched them constantly. To no avail, he should add.

 So much for celebrating, he thought bitterly, biting his cheek as he shoved his last item carelessly into the trunk and closing the lid with a resounding thunk.

   Baz looks over at Snow’s empty bed, cursing his feelings and his thoughts and stupidly beautiful boys like Snow himself. He drops his head down onto the case, groaning at the dull pain in his head. Then again, a third thunk. Except, not from Baz slamming his suitcase shut, or from his dramatic, hopeless head drop on it either. This one is louder, coming from right outside their door. Before he can even spell the door open, the sound turns into incessant pounding, and suddenly the door swings open and in barrels Snow.

    Because Baz’s life is so gracious as to see him thinking of the bloody person who got him in this situation in the first place and to drop said angel right into his lap. Well, onto the floor in front of him. The love of his life is currently sprawled out on the rug, about two feet from Baz’s feet. He’s breathing hard, looking down at his hands like he’s shocked that they’re even there. Though it wouldn’t surprise Baz if they weren’t. (Snow’s shit at most spellwork.) He still won’t look up at him. Baz doesn’t even think that Snow knows he’s in the room, which wouldn’t make sense as he’s quite literally at his feet.

“Snow.”

Simon jerks his head up, blinking wildly up at Baz. Oh.

   He’s got tears in his eyes, which is alarming on its own. But there are little pink buds all over his face that look like - flowers? Whatever they are, he looks entirely unpleased with it. Baz could laugh because it’s truly a ridiculous sight, but seeing Snow cry sends him to his knees to marvel closer at his face. Truly, idiotically in love. Or maybe just idiotic.

   “I can’t imagine what sort of curse someone placed on you that would cause you to get such a terrible case of acne, Snow,” Baz sneers.

   Snow just makes a choked sort of sound and peers into Baz’s eyes, which makes him suck in a breath because Simon’s right there, and Baz is right here and completely hyperventilating. He focuses his eyes on a flower right between Snow’s blue eyes, noticing that the petals are the same color as the pink blush decorating his freckled face. The flowers are small, resembling tulips that haven’t bloomed yet.

  “Baz?” His voice is soft. Baz is pretty sure that he’s swooning. Dev once told him that his eyes gave away everything. “They tilt down at the corners when you’re into something,” he’d laughed, although they had been talking about lavender tea at the time.

  Crowley. Baz is sure he’s looking every bit of the mess that he feels, and still hasn’t responded to Simon, who’s staring at him intently. He probably should respond, instead of marveling. “What in the world did you do to your face?” He asks, which is a start. Perhaps a terrible one, because he really has no time to be wasted if he wants to make it before the traffic starts up, and he and Snow don’t exactly make a habit of sharing stories, so he’s not expecting much of anything except a sharp response.

   But Simon’s still sitting right in front of Baz, (so close that he can count just how many blooms are on his face - seven in total) and also Baz really doesn’t want to leave; he never wants to leave Simon. And then, surprisingly, he starts rambling. Not the standard routine of stammer, stutter, and pout that usually accompanies his constant arguing, but a full-on stream of words pouring off his tongue. 

  The blush gets darker every time he takes a breath. “Agatha spelled me. Some weird truth spell that wouldn’t work because it sounded too much like a compulsion spell. Then I had tried it and of course, it worked but she warned me about moderation in my tone because it was a very literal spell. And I told her that I knew that because of course, I did, but then I ended up covered in flowers and they keep popping up if I don’t tell the truth and I don’t even want to tell the truth but I don’t want to be a walking meadow by the time I get rid of it!”

  He breathes. Blushes harder. Damn him and his stupid flustered face. Even the flowers are changing colors to match the darkening of his cheeks.

“And of course Agatha just stares at me, saying ‘There you go Simon, even the romance is a disaster with you!’ Which is unbelievably rude in general, but on Valentine’s, it’s even worse and I really wish I’d stop telling you about this because I hate telling you about anything but I can’t find Penny-”

   A flower, a tiny pale pink one, pops up on his cheek. Both boys’ eyes go wide. The flower rapidly changes colors to match the other ones.

“Where’s the lie, Snow?”

“There’s no lie, I’m not sure why that happened, erm-”

Another flower sprouts from right above his eyebrow. His eyes squeeze shut.

   Baz’s chest flutters hopefully, idiotically. Because part of that statement, the part that matters and could’ve most definitely been false, is about hating Baz. Well, hating to talk to him. He’s not sure whether or not to take advantage of this, considering that Snow’s very distressed, and he just wants to make Snow feel better. Then again, he supposes he could do it while flustering him more, (flustering looks good on him.) Simon’s looking down now, having moved slightly away from Baz in his panic to backtrack on the statement. He’s playing with his hands.

“Snow.”

  “Pitch,” he says back. Indignantly, like he has the right to be upset while Baz is fighting every urge in his body screaming at him to hold those nervous fingers in his own hand, to calm him down and help him get rid of this spell.

Traffic is going to be hell when he leaves.

“Simon. Are you alright?” “Not at all.” And then, “You called me Simon?”

Baz frowns at him. “Is there a problem? Would you like me to address you as Snow?”

“Well yeah, it feels natural. I’m used to it,” he murmurs, looking back up at Baz. And then: not one, but two flowers.

   He breathes in sharply and mutters something under his breath. Okay, it’s not natural! I’m used to it but still-” A flower. On his chin. Snow looks like he’s about to burst into tears. 

“I like it when you call me Simon,” he says, gently. 

   No flower, but one of the ones on his forehead unfurls just a tiny bit when he says this. Baz is preoccupied with pretending that knowing this as the truth doesn’t make his breathing halt in his chest a bit, so he doesn’t exactly notice it when Simon shifts closer. Or how he can literally feel his eyes softening, his face nearly smiling, his head shifting just a bit closer to Simon’s own. The traitorous, hopeful, body of his has a mind of its own.

 “Oh Merlin, please help me,” he says, worrying his lip between his teeth. Baz thinks that he’d like to do so too. 

   He’s deliberate with his words, careful. This moment feels like glass, it’s too delicate to be shattered by carelessness. This is Snow being vulnerable. This is Baz loving it, loving him. “Simon,” he starts, “one of your flowers is bigger than the other.” Simon sniffs hard, and Baz thinks that maybe that made things worse, so he rushes along with his theory, (which is completely selfish and hopeful.) “No, it’s not bad, I don’t think. What spell did you cast?”

  He shakes his head, brow creasing further, “I can’t remember, something “pink colored-” he trails off. Baz shakes his head back, mirroring Simon and laughing softly to himself. He’s never heard anything like that, but flowers have to bloom before they’re picked. And when Simon told the truth, the flower opened up slightly- “Try telling the truth. Just true statements, things of that like.”

   For someone who is on the verge of tears, Snow deadpans excellently at his suggestion. “Oh come off it, just try it.” He sighs, shifting away again while Baz screams (in his head) at the distance between them. “I am in this room with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

    No flower shifts, nor does a new one appear. Baz glances down at his watch and figures that he’s really going to be stuck in traffic for a while. If he ever even leaves, (although no one could pay him to leave right now. He supposes that Fiona can wait another day for their pity party.)

  “Agatha mentioned that it was romantic, but I can’t think of any way that an anti-lie spell could help us in the romance department. We both knew that our relationship needed help anyway,” he mutters, and the flower on his cheek opens up about halfway. Simon’s eyes go wide as he sniffs again, harder this time like he’s crying. Baz tries to ignore the way his chest turns into a vacuum, sucking up all the air in the room at hearing Simon say this, at the tulip bursting open on his cheek. He tries to and fails miserably.

  His voice cracks as he starts, excited and bubbly and every bit as nervous as he feels, “Simon, say the truth. Just say what’s on your mind - I think that’s what it is!” He’s nodding rapidly and Snow’s doing it too, and the pair of them look like two deranged bobble-heads but this is working and Baz can’t lie and say that he’s not excited to help too. “Holy crap, Penny’s going to flip when I tell her about this!”

   One pink tulip starts to shift, and Simon’s eyes are shining. He’s beaming, so relieved that he’s laughing and falling forward. Closer to Baz. So close that his curls are falling onto Baz’s chest and Baz has to stop himself from touching him. (He could, he wants to.)

“I’ve never been so relieved in my life!”

“Agatha breaking things off with me felt better than being in our relationship did.”

“Valentine’s Day sucks anyway!”

  One by one, the petals unfurl, giving way to huge roses. So, not tulips then. Simon’s stopped laughing since then, but his eyes are still shining. All that’s left is the rose on his shoulder; the rest fell off as soon as they bloomed fully. Baz’s heart is beating erratically in his chest, mostly about everything he said about Agatha. The only thing running through his head is “breaking things off with me,” on repeat.

  “There’s one left,” he remarks.  Quietly, and once he feels like he can speak without squeaking. So that Simon doesn’t remember that they hate each other. So that Baz can entertain his heart, just a bit. “I said everything that’s been on my mind since the morning, I can’t imagine how I could get rid of it.”

A spot where an old flower just fell from starts to grow red and Simon frowns.

   Baz raises an eyebrow. “I’d be careful there Snow, you don’t want another case on your hands.”

   Simon raises one back. Baz breathes in and out, like someone who didn’t just have a mild heart attack. Baz tries to sound steady as he speaks, “I’m sure you’re meant to say everything on your mind. So out with it.”

   “I don’t think I can uh,” Simon starts, every bit the stuttering mess that he is. “It’s just weird? Like, I don’t think that I could say something that wouldn’t change things in like, a really, uh, weird way?” He flushes again, the rose on his shoulder beginning to quiver the slightest bit. Baz nods encouragingly at him, scooting closer so that their knees are touching. “That’s fine Simon, I just need you to say it. Not that it isn’t lovely to watch you suffer at the hands of your own mistakes.”

   At this, Simon’s head snaps up and he scowls at Baz, who is fighting back his own soft smile. There’s some feeling in the air, something like tension. When Simon’s hand comes up, Baz thinks that he’s about to get punched, but very slowly. And then Simon tilts his head to the side and lets his fingers wrap around a loose piece of hair framing Baz’s face.

   Fuck being punched, this is being hit by a car. Baz’s heart is slamming against his chest and surely he’s making the most idiotic face but none of that matters because Simon Snow is practically playing with his hair and Baz Pitch is dying slowly. He looks down, dropping his hand. “When I got closer to you, I did it on purpose. I felt like I needed to thank you for helping me out.”

“Just now, I grabbed your hair because I’ve never noticed it until just this moment and I really wanted to touch it.”

Baz is currently thanking every single possible entity that he didn’t leave sooner.

    “One time I read a book and one of the quotes was about thinking something and finding it very hard to unthink. That quote crossed my mind for whatever reason and then I thought about how much I really didn’t hate you at this moment. And well...”

     He shrugs, looking up at Baz who is very, very aware that their lips are too close together, closer than before Simon started talking. Simon’s eyes are shining blue, and his face is all spotted red from where the flowers fell out, and his eyebrows are honestly shaped quite terribly, but Baz has never been more in love and he thinks he might kiss him. It might be worth it, even if Simon pushed him away and cursed him horribly for it. But he did say all that. 

    “Look, I kinda really want to kiss you? So I’m going to do that if that’s alright with you?”

     Simon’s leaning in and Baz is really trying to not hyperventilate and suddenly, the rose on his shoulder puffs out, scattering rose petals all over Baz, who is trying very hard not to cry as Simon collapses into giggles next to him. “Oh the look on your face, Baz! You looked like I’d shot you or something,” he laughs, dragging a hand through his curls as he brushes rose petals from his shirt.

    “Yeah well Snow, excuse me for being surprised that you would take your pranks to a romantic level,” he sighs, standing up and stepping over Simon, who’s stopped laughing abruptly and is scrambling up to his feet.

      “Hey, no wait, you git!” He’s reaching out to Baz, who is gathering his trunk faster than he’s ever done anything and is really hoping to get out of the door before he starts crying, like the moron he is. The absolute fool that he’s always been, to love Simon and to have hope in the first place. “Baz can you wait?”

   “No, I can not,” he hisses back, wanting nothing more than to kiss this ridiculous boy and never see him again. Simon throws his hands up, going over to him and taking him by the shoulders and Baz lets him because he’s weak and hope is a thing very alive in his chest. “Snow,” he says.

    “I already told you that I preferred you call me Simon,” he frowns, letting go of Baz but stepping closer all the same.

“Snow-”

    “Simon,” he says again, touching his forehead to Baz’s. It only works because he’s on his tip-toes. It works because Baz has stepped closer too. He opens his mouth, fully planning to never say the name “Simon,” again, but said boy cuts him off once again. “Don’t say anything,” he whispers, inching so close that their lips are brushing with every word that he speaks and god, Baz is absolutely hopeless, “Unless it’s my name,” he finishes, finally pressing their lips together.

    Simon’s hands are in his hair and he’s smiling, Baz can feel it, so he pulls away gently. “Simon,” he says, smiling. He kisses him again, harder this time until Simon starts giggling.

   “We don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, feeling every bit like the lovesick fool he is.

   “Okay,” Simon says back, biting his lip. Biting back another sunshine grin.

Baz glances down at his trunk, still leaning on the wall. So does Simon.

  “Are you going somewhere? I wouldn’t have minded it so much when I thought you hated me, but in light of recent events, I think that maybe you could be my valentine?”

To: Fiona

i’ve got plans this v-day, Fi. i take it you’ll manage without me?

From: Fiona

was just about to cancel on you for my date tonight. have fun without me, alright?

To: Fiona

will do

From: Unknown Number

Would you please let Simon know that the spell is called “Rose-Colored Boy,” and that it’s for confessing since he let his phone die so carelessly and asked me to help? Thx - Penelope Bunce

To: bunce

i’m not going to ask how you got my number, bunce. will lend him my charger 

[hekate1308]

Going Steady

Destiel Valentine’s story. Enjoy!

Dean Winchester had always known that in order to preserve what he chose to call the freedom of choice, rather than his brother who persisted in naming it “a profound fear of commitment”, he would have to make sure that both he and his current partner would have to abide by certain rules, and until now, it had always worked. No sleep-overs, no meeting the family, and no anger if one happened not to be available.

It wasn’t that he was against a monogamous lifestyle per se, or that he never wanted to get married; it just happened to be easier for him not to have to consider a partner in the mix. His work as a homicide detective kept him busy, and he had to be the world’s best uncle and most awesome BFF to boot.

So really, he had no time for romantic entanglements.

Cas, when he had first met him, had enthusiastically agreed with him. Really, they were a match made in heaven; the cop who now and then felt the need to burn off some energy after a long shift and the artist who was up at all times of the day and night anyway.

Not that you would have guessed from looking at Cas. The guy invariably wore a trench coat and what seemed to be the same suit, and he never had his hair under control. Although part of that might have had to do with Dean spending a got part of their time together running his hands through it (so he had a thing for dark-haired man. Sue him). He’d more than once contemplated sending him to Crowley or Charlie for fashion advice, but the last thing he needed was them ganging up on him.

So far so good. A hot guy agreed to be Dean’s friend with benefits six months ago, and ever since then, he hadn’t had the time or need to go out looking for one-night stands.

Great. Everything was going great.

Apart from the fact that… well…

Somewhere along the line, the rules had been thrown out the window. For example, they spent most of their nights together, switching between apartments.

And there was this slight hiccup where Dean just happened to accompany Cas to his brother’s wedding last month. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have a plus one and asked him, now, was it? And he looked damn good in a tux. Cas had just needed some arm candy.

Not that his family seemed to have agreed. Dean was invited to Amelia’s birthday party in two weeks’ time.

Cas hadn’t said anything against it, though. Just like Dean, he had never done much to enforce the rules.

Again, so far so good. After all, if they were in agreement, and it seemed that they were, why should he care too much about the rules?

It only left him with a slight dilemma concerning Valentine’s Day. Because, well, Valentine’s Day was very much about couples and commitment, wasn’t it? At least if he happened to be seeing someone, and Dean and Cas certainly saw each other… regularly…

“Darling, I am not exactly the poster child for functioning relationships. What made you think it would be a good idea to ask me about this?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because you’re a lawyer, Crowley, and if I ask Sam, I’ll only get another lecture.”

“Which you won’t be getting if he finds out you asked me for advice instead of him?”

Dean sighed. Having a fling with one of Sam’s colleagues or rather rivals might not have been the best of ideas, but it had been fun and Crowley was still one of his best friends. “I just don’t want to screw things up, you know?”

He realized he’d said the wrong thing when Crowley actually put his glass of Craig down. “Say that again.”

“I – I don’t want to screw things up.”

“Dean Winchester. Are you telling me you actually want to be with him?”

“Well, I – I don’t want things to end” he said rather lamely.

“Come on. You have never been one to lie to yourself” Crowley pointed out correctly. “You know exactly what you want, you just don’t wish to admit it.”

“If I had wanted to hear the truth, I’d have gone to Sam.”

“No, you’d still have come to me, Squirrel, we both know you can’t help yourself where I am concerned.”

“Don’t I know it” he replied, winkling at him.

Crowley grinned back. “Now, are we going to be adults about this or not?”

Dean sighed. “Didn’t think you’d ever jump on the get Dean Winchester off the market train.”

“Oh, trust me, that’s the last train I would ever willingly leave town on but” Crowley shrugged. “You have been very happy lately. Tehri is no denying that. So, despite my burning jealousy, I have to admit he’s good for you.”

He didn’t exactly look like he was dying of a broken heart.

“Alright” Dean said. “I’m going to invite him to dinner on Valentine’s Day, make my patented burgers…”

“He won’t stand a chance” Crowley deadpanned.

“And then I’m just going to tell him that I’d like us to be exclusive.”

“Shakespeare himself couldn’t come up with a more romantic proposal.”

“We didn’t say anything about proposing to him yet.”

“Next year, then. Good to know.”

Sometimes, Dean wondered if all his friends happened to be slightly insane by accident or if he wasn’t strictly speaking normal himself.

Cas accepted his invitation with that gentle smile of his that made his eyes look up, and Dean dared hope it would all end well.

After all, he had the evidence to proof that Cas was into him, right? He certainly raised no objection to them spending so much time together, and he’d enjoyed dancing with him at the wedding, Dean was sure.

And Cas loved his burgers, he’d shown him that often enough.

So Dean bought the best meat he could find and prepared himself for Valentine’s Day.

And if he just happened to buy more condoms too, well, he just happened to be a hopeless romantic.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas” he said, kissing him as he let him in. They had not yet exchanged keys, but if everything worked out… “How did it go?”

Cas had been negotiating the terms for another one of his exhibitions. Dean had accompanied him to the opening nights of his last two, and they had been successes. Of course they had. If you asked Dean, Cas was the most talented artist of their generation.

Then again, he might have been a bit biased.

“Good. The exhibition is going to open next month.”

“Hell yeah. Knew it would.”

Cas smiled at him, then frowned. “Is everything alright?”

Dean sighed; of course he’d noticed. “Got a case today. Open and shut, but… domestic violence.”

Cas winced, then drew him in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” It struck Dean that it probably wasn’t very romantic to tell him about something like this on Valentine’s Day. “It’s good to see you” he said honestly.

Cas pulled back, smiling. “It’s good to see you too.”

Another point for the He is going to say yes side.

Dean grinned. “I made burgers.”

“I love your burgers.”

“I know.” Dean almost let an And I love you slip out, then thought better of it.

They ate mostly in silence, apart from Cas’ moans that really did nothing to calm Dean’s heart.

“These make me very happy” Cas told him at one point.

“I’m glad” he answered, wishing he could hold hid hand, but Cas had both firmly wrapped around the bun. It would have to wait.

Eventually, they were finished and Dean got out the champagne. Perhaps not exactly the subtlest of gestures, but he wasn’t going for subtle. He was going all out for happily ever after.

“You are spoiling me” Cas told him as they were cuddling on the sofa.

“Yeah, well…” Dean cleared his throat. “Cas, there is something I have to tell you.”

He stiffened. That wasn’t good.

“It’s nothing – bad, I promise.” Man, where was the speech he’d prepared for this? He’d decided he was going to be suave and charming, but apparently it wasn’t to be. Well, he’d have to go with honesty. “We’ve been doing this for a while.”

“Six months, three days, ten hours and” Cas looked at his watch “Seventeen minutes.”

Wow.

“Yeah, and so I was wondering… I like you a lot. I just wanted to ask if we could, you know, try the whole boyfriend thing. Being exclusive. Going steady.” There. He’d said it.

Cas was looking at him with wide eyes and as the seconds ticked by, Dean decided that the chances of this ending well were dwindling, so he tried to backpedal. “I mean we don’t have to, what we have is just fine by me –“

But then his lap was full and Cas was kissing him and then he whispered “Yes” against his lips.

“Yes?” Dean asked stupidly.

“Yes, Dean. I would love to be your boyfriend.”

Well, he decided as he took Cas’ hand and led him to the bedroom, that had been easier than he had anticipated.

“Dean?” his boyfriend (boyfriend) asked the next morning at breakfast.

“Yeah, Cas?” he asked, immediately pretending that he hadn’t just dreamily watched him making coffee.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

He threw him a mock-glare. “I meant another question, Mr. Teacher.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Stop distracting me”.

“I am not distracting you.”

“Yes you are” Cas grumbled. “It’s unfair how good you look in the morning.”

Dean grinned. Cas was not a morning person, but he wouldn’t have him any other way. “I can try and look uglier, if you want me to.” He didn’t care that he was probably looking like the cat that got the cream., Mostly because that was exactly how he felt.

“Why yesterday?”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you decide to ask me to “go steady”” got his quoty fingers shouldn’t have looked as adorable as they did “yesterday of all days?”

Dean blinked. “Dude, you know.”

“No I don’t, that’s why I am asking.”

“Cas, it was February 14.”

Cas tilted his head to the side. “And?”

Sometimes, Dean could swear that Cas lived on another planet. “Valentine’s Day? You know?”

“Oh.” Cas thought about that for a moment. “I didn’t realize. I just thought you wanted us to have a nice evening together, as usual.”

“But you’re not… mad or anything, are you?”

Maybe it was a bit late to remember Cas ranting how some holidays were just overhyped opportunities for people to fool others into buying stuff they didn’t need.

“No. Oh God, no” Cas kissed him, then grimaced. “It’s only going to be rather cliché to tell people that Valentine’s Day is our anniversary.”

“Oh I am sorry, Mr. Great Artist, I will make certain to propose at a more exclusive date.”

They looked at one another, the blushed and tried to change the subject.

One year later

Despite the jokes Crowley loved to make, Dean was not going to propose on Valentine’s Day. There was no reason to even celebrate it. Technically, their anniversary lay six months before that date anyway.

So, when he came home to find Cas having made dinner, he didn’t think much of it. They took turns cooking anyway.

But later, as he was putting away the dishes after having washed them despite Cas’ protests, his boyfriend cleared his throat. “Dean?”

“Yes?”

He turned around to find him kneeling down, holding a small box.

And as cliché as it sounded, he was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat. “Cas? You do know what day it is?”

“Our anniversary” he said simply.

Oh, of course he knew. But what did Dean care whether they acknowledged the date or not?

It was far more important to answer.

“Come up here, I need to kiss my fiancé.”

[eotheria]

The World of Eotheria According to Lady Valentine

Part 16: The Sultanate of Etrana

And now we come to the third of the three greater human nations: Etrana. Though they are roughly on equal footing to Kresnik and LaCroix in terms of size and military strength, they have long chosen a stance of non-intervention when it comes to assisting their neighbors to the west, prefering to concentrate on their own internal affairs instead. This has not endeared themselves to Kresnik or LaCroix, particularly when both nations are at each others’ throats and just waiting for an excuse to go to war.

Etranan people make up the vast majority of the human population in their own nation, unsurprisingly. The people of Etrana are generally tall and muscular, with dark mahogany skin, curly black hair, and dark eyes. LaCroixians and Northerners, described in the previous chapter, are also known in Etrana, but are comparatively rare, making up roughly one out of every twenty humans in Etrana.

The founding of the Sultanate is a relatively recent development compared to the other human nations. In the past, the region of Etrana was the focus of a great many wars between three distinct provinces, Dumabail (northwestern Etrana), Nurhatlar (southwestern Etrana), and Az’zashtun (eastern Etrana). The three provinces would be unified in a single nation as a result of what is now known as the War of Unification. The seeds were actually sown in 633 BGE, when the Kordran Empire attempted an invasion of Nurhatlar and Az’zashtun. The two nations joined forces to fend off the hobgoblins, and soon after turned their blades to another common enemy: Dumabail. The province of Dumabail surrendered after a six year long war, and the Sultanate of Etrana was founded in 614 BGE. The sultanate held for a long time; there had been a number of internal conflicts, but nothing that ever amounted to civil war, and once the Seven Goddesses descended, all infighting, for the most part, ceased.

Etrana takes great pride as a sea-faring nation. They were the first to discover the continent of Olbera, the New World, though little is still known about it. They also founded a number of island nations between Etrana and Olbera, all of which are territories of the Sultanate. Interestingly, Etrana has begun its own experiments into magitech research,and recently developed the first fully steam powered ship. It’s relatively primitive compared to the great magitechnology that Kresnik has produced, but by all accounts it’s effective and efficient.

The Sultanate

Etrana is the only one of the seven nations that maintains an absolute monarchy. In theory at least. In practice this power is not so absolute. Though Etrana has no diet, parliament, senate, or the like, it does have a military order called the Yellow Shields. The Yellow Shields were formed in 228 GE after the overthrowing of the infamous Mad Sultan Hayyan, a man who’d been pushed to the throne by his family despite showing signs of mental illness at an early age. Among his acts, he ordered the murder of his entire family out of sheer paranoia, accused an order of Nahaniel worshipers of conspiring with the Kordran and ordered them burned at the stake, and, most bizarrely of all, insisted that he could fly. Hayyan’s successor, an Etranan statesman named Farhad, signed a law to grant the Yellow Shields emergency powers if ever the sultan of Etrana were to overstep the bounds of his position.

The problem is that Farhad never thought of a way to police the Yellow Shields themselves (he had thought that, being devout Nahaniel worshipers, the Yellow Shields would be beyond such temptations). This arrangement worked out well for the first hundred years or so, but eventually the Yellow Shields realized that there were plenty of loopholes to allow them to grant themselves emergency powers whenever they wanted and take control of Etrana if need be. As the old saying goes, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. No less than three sultans have been overthrown by the Yellow Shields since this law was put into place, and not all of them for particularly good reasons, and the Yellow Shields have, on several occasions, used the mere threat of taking control to get the sultan to do whatever they wanted. That’s not to say the sultan is completely hopeless. The Yellow Shields can be tried and convicted of treason if they go too far. It’s just that it’s very difficult to find proof of such, and every attempt to change the law to reduce the power of the Yellow Shields has been met with swift resistance. It doesn’t help that more and more these days the Yellow Shields have been rumored to be receiving direct funding from some of Etrana’s wealthiest, which may well make them pawns of the filthy rich.

The current sultan, Alhazad ak’Khim, age 44, is no stranger to this game of political intrigue. He’s well liked by the people, but not so much by the nobility and the wealthy. To his credit, he has worked towards compromise. The Yellow Shields and the wealthy have conceded to a number of tax reforms to improve the lives of the poor. However, there is one thing they absolutely will not budge on: they refuse to take any part in the current political struggle between the Kresnik Empire, the LaCroix Union, and the Kordran Empire. Most in Etrana see the struggle between Kresnik and LaCroix to be a matter between the two nations. Although King Arthur IV of LaCroix tactfully warned the leaders of Etrana that Kresnik would not stop with LaCroix, most feel that much of Kresnik’s hostility towards LaCroix was LaCroix’s fault. After all, LaCroix was the one who built a union and fortified their borders simply because they feared that Kresnik was looking their way next. And while Etrana has no love for the Kordran Empire, they not see them as an immediate danger. Of course, the fact that Etrana does not share a border with Kordran might have a lot to do with that.

Enemies of Etrana

That’s not to say that Etrana does not have its own struggles. They absolutely do. Minotaurs, vile worshipers of Rakkadi, demon lord of violence, have taken hold in northwestern Etrana, in the fertile grasslands. These minotaurs were forced out of LaCroix by their ancient enemies, the gnolls, and regularly raid Etranan villages in the name of their deranged demon lord. However, not all minotaurs are vicious and violent. Some of the more peaceful minotaur tribes that denounce Rakkadi were also displaced from LaCroix and found their way to Etrana, and while many Etranans give them a wide berth, they are more than happy to lend a hand in dealing with their more violent brethren.

A much greater threat to the Etranans are the lamia. These beings resemble centaurs somewhat, though with the lower body of a different creature entirely, usually a feline, though goat and antelope lamia are known. The lamia make their homes in the deserts of northern and central Etrana. Like minotaurs, lamia are worshipers of a demon lord. In this case, the lamia worship Saya, the demon queen of desire. Seductive creatures by nature, lamia are quite hedonistic, seeking to surround themselves with beauty and slaves. But don’t let this fool you into thinking them weak. Lamia are masters of illusion, misdirection, and mirages to deceive and destroy their foes. And when they need to throw down, they’re very capable of such. There are four known tribes of lamia, but all of them are allied with one another and have effectively declared war on Etrana, seeking to take what they consider their ancestral homelands. The Etranans have been at war with the lamia for centuries, but have never rid themselves of these creatures for any long period of time. Every time it seems they are defeated, they return, stronger than ever. The fact that a lamia can disguise themselves as a human (and very easily at that) might have had something to do with it. The only fortunate thing about the lamia is that they detest all other races, including the Rakkadi worshiping minotaurs, detailed above.

The Sphinxes

There are very few things in Eotheria that give me pause. Some of my fellow vampires conspire against me, but even if all of them fought me at once I would not consider them a major threat. The insane worshipers of the Primordial Chaos are too disorganized for me to consider them any more than fodder. The Church of Galan, for the most part, knows better than to meddle in my affairs, and I have no fear of their goddesses. Even the light of the sun does not harm me as much as it once did.

And then there are the sphinxes of Etrana. These damnable creatures! They act as guardians of lost treasure troves of knowledge, claiming to be the servants of ancient gods unknown to all in Eotheria. They allow only the worthy to take of their treasures; and no, you're not worthy in their eyes. Trust me. if you believe yourself to be so, by all means, go to a sphinx's lair and let them ask you an unsolvable riddle. Even if you give the correct answer, odds are they won't be happy with the way you answered and will eat you anyway, or they'll tell you that answering correctly didn't guarantee they wouldn't eat you. They are a pain and a half to deal with, since they always know when you're lying, and it's all but impossible to tell what their intentions are. Their morality is bizarre to say the least. Most accept that morality is on a dual spectrum of good and evil, and law and chaos. Nowhere on these spectrum do sphinxes sit. If they follow any rules at all, they are rules of their own making that we cannot hope to comprehend. None of this would be all that annoying if not for one glaring problem. Reality has no rules where a sphinx is concerned! Gravity? Causality? Time and space? They laugh at such things. Attempting to fight a sphinx is folly simply because they don't have to kill you; they can simply force you to rapidly age backwards or deposit you in one of the elemental planes, never to be heard from again.

If there are any limitations to a sphinx's reality bending power it is that it is limited to their lairs (and mercifully they almost never leave them), and that they are bound by the Primordial Ban as everything else is. My outsider wizard acquaintance told me that sphinxes on other worlds are indeed the vault keepers of the gods that the Eotherian sphinxes claim they are. If this is the case, and if the sphinxes were around since the creation of the Primordial Ban, perhaps this is why they act as they do. Perhaps the weariness of the ages and the lack of any divine command from the outer planes has driven them as insane as they behave.

Either way, I can not even begin to fathom the amount of knowledge that the sphinxes have. For all I know they could very well teach Mephis, Demon Lord of Knowledge, a thing or two. They may know everything about Eotheria; when the Primordial Chaos will next awaken, who created the warforged, what became of the dragons, the nature of the gods of Eotheria, and many other secrets that I would love to know the answers to. Sadly with the vault keepers being as unhinged as they are, that knowledge may never leave the lairs of the sphinxes.

Nahaniel, the Navigator

With the Etranans having a passion for seafaring, it was only natural that their goddess would be a goddess of the sea. Nahaniel is represented as an Etranan woman, barefoot, wearing a long yellow scarf over her face. Said to be more capricious and mercurial than her fellow goddesses, Nahaniel embodies the wind: gentle and refreshing at her best, terrible and destructive at her worst. Despite this, she is seen as a benevolent goddess. She is often referred to by Etranans as “The Navigator”. Seamen who set sail from port always give prayers to Nahaniel, that she may guide them to a safe passage.

This finishes up Etrana. In the next chapter I will talk about the four lesser nations, beginning with Creat Pristan.