#because she could because she prefered the look of it bleached its such a normal human thing to do

[anxiously-going]

It's late and im exhausted which means my mind going off wandering in odd places and this seems as bad a place as any to share those wandering thoughts.

I recently went home for the holidays and told my mom about joking around with one of my managers, whom I love, that ended with said manager telling me I have Mexican ears. I didn't know what that meant, and my mom said she didn't know either, but I definitely have a Jewish nose, which I got from her father.

Now here's the thing (not really this is a side tangent). I've expressed to my dear mother, whom I love, that I've always been confused when visually clocked as having Jewish heritage before. Like, we were stopped in front of a shop once and asked if we were Jewish and when we walked away I was like "how did that guy know?" and this woman has always shrugged me off, but now all these years later, it's my nose shape. Couldn't have told me that a decade ago when asked the first time?

My sweet mother told me that while it's not necessarily big, it is a Jewish nose shape, but she'd never heard of Mexican ears.

Now, I have heard that both the narrow, hooked noses and the very round noses are both common stereotypes of a "Jewish nose", and as I was staring at my sleep deprived, and recovering from illness face in the mirror tonight, I found myself wondering if different stereotypes were more often associated with different sects of Judaism and if figuring out which stereotype I most looked like might indicate which sect my grandfather came from, if I anyone else have ever recognized my Mexican ears, and if I actually have a Lantina-stache, or if that is another Jewish trait that has gone unrecognized.

[thegracelessfaceless]

*slithers in*

Can I request some Helen headcanons? Just like general dating him and maybe some nsfw if possible.

@mutat-ad-astra , ₐᄂᵣᵢg𝓱𝚝 yₒᵤ'ᵥₑ 𝚍ₒ𝚗ₑ ᵢ𝚝 𝚗ₒw. ᵢ'ᵥₑ 𝚋ₑ𝚌ₒᗰₑ ₐ 𝘴ᵢᗰ𝐩 fₒᵣ Hₑ��ₑ𝚗 . W𝓱ₐ𝚝 𝚍ₒ yₒᵤ 𝓱ₐᵥₑ 𝚝ₒ 𝘴ₐy fₒᵣ yₒᵤᵣ𝘴ₑᄂf??

(づ￣ ³￣)づ

ꇙꄲ ꇙ꒐ꋊꉔꏂ ꓄ꁝ꒐ꇙ ꉣꄲꇙ꓄ ꉔꋬꂵꏂ ꄲ꒤꓄ ꇙꄲ ꒒ꄲꋊꍌ, ꒐'ꂵ ꍌꄲ꒐ꋊꍌ ꓄ꄲ ꅐꋪ꒐꓄ꏂ ꋬꋊ꒯ ꉣꄲꇙ꓄ ꁝꏂ꒒ꏂꋊ'ꇙ ꋊꇙꊰꅐ ꒐ꋊ ꒐꓄ꇙ ꄲꅐꋊ, ꍌ꒒ꄲꋪ꒐ꄲ꒤ꇙ ꉣꄲꇙ꓄ ❤

ᕼᗴᒪᗴᑎ ᗝ丅Ꭵᔕ/ᗷᒪᗝᗝᗪƳ ᑭᗩᎥᑎ丅ᗴᖇ ᖇᗴᒪᗩ丅ᎥᗝᑎᔕᕼᎥᑭ ᕼᗴᗩᗪᑕᗩᑎᗝᑎᔕ

(With a fem!SO)

♡Let's just get canon out of the way real quick.

♡Helen is very calm and quiet

♡He isn't very expressive and doesn't speak much, but when he does, he's always the picture of the perfect gentleman.

♡If something doesn't concern him, Helen is pretty apathetic towards it. However, if it's something he cares about, Helen will be very passionate.

♡His parents treated him as a pet or toy, and this caused Helen to have repression issues.

♡He won't show emotion towards a person unless they show emotion first, then he will reciprocate. This is essential to remember as Helen's significant other; you'll have to make the first move every time.

♡Helen's a Libra. His birthday is October 1st

♡Helen's parents were so excited when they found out they were going to be parents. That night, Helen's mother dreamed that she had a beautiful baby girl with delicate features, the deepest blue eyes that she had ever seen, and coal black hair so fine that it looked like dark lace against the baby girl's alabaster skin. She woke up certain that she was pregnant with a baby girl that looked just like in her dream. Mrs. Otis went into labor and delivered a baby that indeed looked just like in her dream, but it was a boy. So they decided to continue on and name him Helen, and raise him as they would a little girl.

♡This treatment continued until he started school at six. Then his parents decided to dress him as and refer to him as a boy in order to not draw attention.

♡Helen still suffers from body dysphoria because of this. For a long time, Helen couldn't reconcile whether he was male or female in his mind, so he existed in a chaotic state of one, the other, both and neither all at the same time. Now- after years of therapy, and a great deal of time building his trust with Reader, Helen identifies as agender preferring he/they/it pronouns and a refined but masculine aesthetic.

♡Reader is the only person allowed to call him Helen. And even she doesn't do it often, only when she's serious. He prefers Reader to call him darling, love, honey, dear, and, if he's feeling frisky, Sir 😍. All others may refer to him by his surname, Otis.

♡Helen can be quite manipulative and his intelligence is obvious

♡While in "working" mode, Helen is very cautious of the scene he his creating, and presents every body as if it were a canvas to bear his work.

♡His fascination with blood stems from his childhood. He had always had trouble making friends, only managing one at a time and spaced distantly apart. His only childhood friend had been murdered by bullies in the park, rocks thrown at him for being friends with that "weird sissyboy kid" until one struck his temple, killing him instantly. The bullies had hurriedly buried his friend in the deep snow from the night before. Helen knew this, he had told you, because he had watched it all from his perch in a tree. After the bullies had fled, Helen had uncovered his friend and stared at his body lying in red stained snow, and the bullies later blamed Helen with his friends death. Ultimately, he had been cleared, as there had been a witness in the park.

♡The false accusations of murder didn't stop there, much to your displeasure.

♡In high school, a classmate of Helen's, one who happened to be Helen's only friend, fell from the building and died. A witness said that Helen had killed him, but no concrete evidence was found.

♡Not to say that Helen is an angel. You know he's far from that, too.

♡Later, the same year, as a freshman at university, Helen killed 17 people from his dorm building, and wounded 5 on Devil's Night (October 30th).

♡Helen was found insane by the courts as a minor and received 6 years of inpatient treatment before being released back into society.

♡He started "his work" again three years later, and then met you two years after that.

♡Helen smokes cigarettes (though not as much as Tim) and unwinds after "work" with music and a rum and Coke or whisky on the rocks.

♡Helen enjoys lofi hiphop; classical music; instrumental and instrumental covers of songs; music from the early 1960's like: Frankie Valli, The Big Bopper, the Animals, and the Zombies; and indie rock like The Flaming Lips, Harvey Danger, Dinosaur Jr, and The Smashing Pumpkins.

♡He loves discovering new music with you, listening to playlists you make him for hours. But you're gonna listen to some of his music, too and he makes playlists for you to play according to mood.

♡Helen's love languages are: quality time, acts of service, and words of affirmation. But the love languages he craves are: all of them except receiving gifts! Getting a gift is uncomfortable for Helen, especially if he has no gift to give back. He wants you to feel just as appreciated as you feel, if not more.

♡Helen thought that he was completely asexual before he met you. No one he had met had ever... Moved him in that way. And he was fine with that. Why should he mourn something he'd never even wanted?

♡And then he met you at an antique art showcase of pieces by and inspired by René Magritte. (Example here: ◎▼◎) After you spent hours together at the show, exchanging witty banter, and eventually, phone numbers, Helen found himself thinking about you that night, alone in bed. And then his mind wondered something it had never thought about anyone else. He wondered what you looked like naked. What your skin would feel like. How would you taste?

♡He frowned to himself, confused by the foreign thought for a moment before he realized that he felt sexual desire for you.

♡It still took him a long while of dating you before he felt comfortable enough to even kiss you in a sexual way. The two of you were practically engaged when he gave you his virginity.

♡Bonus wholesome content headcanon/drabble: Once you convinced Helen to bleach his naturally blue black hair. Not wanting to disappoint you, and telling himself that it was just hair, he consented and you happily set to work. An hour later, he emerged from the shower with a shock of platinum white hair 😱. He had to support himself with a hand on the back of the couch because his knees started shaking when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror over the fireplace. A long, thin fingered hand with a fine tremor lifted to cover his mouth. You knew without him telling you that he absolutely, 100%, no doubt, undisputedly hated it. His already porcelain skin had paled even more, now trembling chalk instead of bone China. His midnight blue eyes held a sort of flinching terror in them as they tried to look anywhere but the vicinity of the mantle mirror. You approached him gently and pulled the towel thrown around his shoulders loose and used his shoulder to balance you as you went up on tiptoe to finish drying his now shockingly white hair.

♡You leave Helen waiting shirtless in the living room to deal with putting his shoes and socks on and you pull on a light jacket to guard against the chill that manages to never be around when we need it during the daytime hours as you enter yours and Helen's shared bedroom. You find Helen a clean black tee shirt and pick up one of your beanies from the coatrack behind the bedroom door. This one was black with a tree frog leaping over the words Frog Leap Studios done in a typewriter font in white thread, a circle of bright blue making the frogs eye stand out.

♡You take the shirt and beanie to Helen and he pulls the shirt on. You feel a little sad that he's covering up, but there would be time to enjoy his body later. Helen sits on the couch so you can slip the beanie over his baby fine hair easier than going up on tiptoe to match his 6'2" lean frame. The bleach may have stolen its darkness, but it couldn't steal its softness. Helen's hair was probably the softest thing you'd ever touched.

♡Hair sufficiently covered, you and Helen get into your car and head to the only place open at the hour of 3:24 in the morning. Walmart. Your sleep schedule had never been normal and Helen didn't help you normalize it at all. In fact, if anything it had gotten worse, the two of you wrapped up in your own hyperfixations, leaned up against each other back to back, or one of you holding the other as one of you writes while the other draws.

♡You feel Helen's hand find your thigh and squeeze it, letting you know he's not upset with you. You reached down and covered his hand with yours, returning the squeeze and you finish out the short ride more relaxed now that you know Helen isn't mad at you. Helen follows you to the beauty section once you're inside the store. He patiently watches as you pick out boxes from 4 different companies.

♡An amused Helen watches you as you quibble with the four boxes. You shuffle through them, running through them over and over like a person considering their hand while playing cards.

♡You end up with him bending down slightly again so you can compare the dyes to his eyebrows. He thinks it's the sweetest thing that you're going through such a clear effort to fix his hair. Obviously you feel responsible for the mistake and he hates that.

♡Gently taking the boxes from your hands, he picks a random red and black one from the four you were debating between and puts the rest back on the shelf.

♡Then Helen pulls you into his arms and holds you tight and close, burying a kiss on top of your head. You smile into his chest, breathing in the scent of paint, paint thinner, lavender shampoo, and jasmine soap. On anyone else, the paint thinner smell would have made you sick. But on Helen, it just smelled like home. You two stay in your embrace, Helen swaying slightly to a beat only he could hear. A stolen moment, a stolen dance, to help ground yourselves.

♡Helen broke the hug after a few moments more, but kept hold of your hand. You walk to the checkout line and pay almost $10 for the dye. The price gave you a mild case of sticker shock, but you shook it off and smiled at the older cashier, who was beaming as her eyes moved between you and Helen. The two of you seemed to get that reaction from older people. That look of pure hope that more people got to experience the love that shone between you. You both thank the cashier repeatedly as Helen payed her the money needed.

"You two have a good night" she smiled at us, "the world needs more couples that look at each other the way you do. You look, at each other like you're reach others entire worlds."

"She is" Helen says softly, pulling me into a hug and a quick kiss, "She's my whole universe."

♡You're pretty certain that the woman's smile could not get bigger. But you didn't really want to find out, since you were starting to notice that her teeth were huge and you were starting to get squicked out by it. Helen must have picked up on your discomfort because he led you away in the protective half circle of his arm.

♡"My knight in shining armor" you croon at him as you walk back to the car, "Thank you for saving me. I am forever in your debt. However could I repay you, Sir?"

♡Helen took in a sharp breath and chuckled as he slowly let it out, "I can think of a few things."

♡"You'll have to show me when you have the time" I teased as Helen opened your car door for me. He'd taught you that chivalry was not dead, and you'd realized that it would be easier to let Helen be a gentleman than it would be to convince him that you could open your own doors.

♡You drove home and locked the doors behind you. You headed straight for the bathroom and Helen borrowed a stool from the island bar to sit on so you could reach all of his head.

♡Twenty minutes later, you threw dye covered vinyl gloves in the trash and settled an old towel around Helen's shoulders and neck to keep the dye from dripping on him. You'd clipped a pillowcase over his hair and you had just finished hitting the dye with heat to assure his hair took the dye well, absorbed it.

♡Helen smiled contentedly up at you from his spot on the stool.

♡You tilted his chin up to kiss him. He kissed you back and then sent soft kisses across your cheek and jawbone, and then kissed and nipped down your neck. Helen focused his kisses back on your lips, kissing you like the kisses would magically cure everything, would keep you alive.

♡The timer you'd set so Helen would know when to wash the dye out of his hair went off, and Helen stood

♡Having already taken off his shirt, Helen unfastened his jeans and let them slide down his legs, stepping out of them as they pooled around his feet, leaving him completely nude, comfortable.

♡instead of getting in the shower, Helen pulled you closer to the shower and used his nimble hands to liberate you of your clothes. Before you could protest, or even decide if ypu wanted to get in, Helen had pulled you under the spray of the shower and he stood in it now, extra dye streaming in lines

♡You turned Helen's back to you and massaged his scalp as the water rinsed the excess dye down the drain. When the water ran clear, you massaged some of the color protect conditioner that came with the dye and Helen switched places with you, his hands never leaving your hips so he could catch you if you slipped.

♡Helen washes your back for you and then your hair, lathering up a clean washcloth with jasmine soap and making sure not to miss a spot. Then he rubbed some lavender scented shampoo into my hair. Then he rinsed it and repeated the process before leaving some conditioner to sit in my hair.

♡Finally Helen worked some conditioner into your hair that matched the shampoo. You help Helen rinse everything from his hair and you condition his hair with the rest of the conditioner that came with the dye.

♡Showers with Helen always end up with him bathing you, his hands and keen eye not missing a single millimeter of your skin. Showers rarely turned sexual between the two of you, instead the two of you focused on the intimacy of showering together.

♡After all the soap and hair products are rinsed from both of you, Helen turned off the water and wrapped you in warm towels, quickly drying himself off and slinging a towel around his hips.

♡Helen obviously felt better once his hair was back to its natural inky darkness.

♡You could tell from the mischievous grin he wore as he escorted you to the bedroom.

AN: so I wrote on this well into the night... Fell asleep in the process a few times 😅. If you see continuity issues with the POV, let me know so I can fix it. I kept wanting to write in first person 😂

[hezuart]

That anaversary aizen looks absolutely fabulous, he looks like a figure skater xd.

I heard along time ago the last arc of the anime was being animated finally bc they pulled a 90s sailor moon were the last season was not either animated or dubbed untill decades later.

I recall near the end of the current 366 episodes there was an episode were the creapy demon ppl woke up in hell and we're all bitter, and there was the other guy who was like, iM cOmEiNg FoR u IChIgO, but then is never mentioned again after and I'm like,why? Why is lt there just plopted randomly into a different arc that seams unrelated.

And locking aizen up underground seems ok, but It deff won't hold, and he will. Escape, and he will kill, you either need that one spell from star, dubbed, the darkest spell of moon the undaunted, a powerfull dark spell that killed immortal beings, that came from best character, eclipsa, the queen of darkness.

We need that.

Or stick him I'm crystal like eclipsa was in star. Is there no one who could trap him in ice or crystal for all eternity.

How about throw him into the centre of a volcano trapped and caged , forverr being killed by heat?

I assume there's space travel, send I'm into a black whole, were a black whole don't fuckin care if your immortal or fat, you will die

:3

Yes, I love anniversary Aizen. His original octopus-butterfly hollow design was ugly so I'm glad he's back to being the fashion icon he is.

Locking Aizen up underground once is one thing, doing it twice after saying he got more powerful by just sitting there, and he escaped to battle the Quincy Soul King God... is another. I think he should have escaped at the end of the Quincy arc. That is the only feasibility.

I heard the anime is coming back for the Quincy arc as well, but because of COVID its probably going to be delayed. (I'm not gonna watch it until the Rain section of the arc then I'm dipping out. I'm only here for Zangetsu)

and funny that you mention that hell scene in the manga :)

-> spoilers for the new BLEACH 73 page anniversary chapter / thoughts/critique on it

So hey you had a premonition! Syazel .... returned? And his hole is outside of his body??? for some reason???

(I didn't understand the explanation or why / how that happens and what that means for the hollow)

And my friend and I were laughing because out of ALL the things. Kubo could do in this anniversary. He gave Syazel his dick back after going to hell. That is iconic. (that's where his hole was located, and now that its not on his body ... well...) This is the funniest thing Kubo has EVER pulled. Kudos to you, sir.

The entire internet is freaking out over Ukitake being in hell. Honestly Kubo has done far worse, and we've established that Soul Society is a corrupt system that hasn't changed, so I'm not surprised he would pull something like this.

At the same time, Kubo 1. cheated his audience. 2. continues to prove me right that he cannot bring himself to kill his characters

1. Hollows who have commit murder in their human life are sent to hell. Syazel and Aaorniero are two of these hollows, and yet, when they are killed, there is NO gates of hell scene. We see them there later in the hell chapter (which was more of a promotion for the fourth movie and I didn't believe it would hold any merit)

But the same goes for Ukitake. We never see the gates of hell take him. What, was hell late? Did hell's gates get lost like an uber before picking him up? It's bull. Withholding such vital information from your audience, not showing the gates of hell when they should pick up this soul IMMEDIATELY is ... I mean its a lie. Kubo lied to his audience.

2. Now we are told powerful shinigami are sent to hell when they die. First of all that sounds like a security threat. Wouldn't shinigami want revenge for that? Or attempt to escape? Why would they still hold loyalty after being sent to a prison of eternal suffering?

Also "Yhwach and Aizen" were the only ones keeping Hell's gates closed is way too convenient and doesn't really make any sense. I feel like Aizen should have deliberately gone to hell to retrieve powerful shinigami / hollows for his army instead of keeping it /closed/.

This is definitely a Kubo-doesn't-know-what-he's-doing-and-is -making- stuff-up-as-he-goes, but it might have a pinch of merit because of previous plot lines.... but either way, there's some big plot holes here, but again, its Kubo, so I expected nothing less.

Again, he can't kill off his characters. He introduced zombification, he introduced immortality through the hougyoku, he has Orihime and Hachigen's reversal / rejection abilities. He brought back Luppi, friggen.... a character who's entire upper half of his body was incinerated. Like.... come on. No. He's dead, you can't bring him back like that. That's a cop out and just weird. You're taking away consequences and grief.

(Also Yamamoto and Unohana deserve to be in hell far over Ukitake, they've done some fcked up stuff in their pasts unlike him)

Also Kubo's favorite character is Mayuri, which.... you're allowed to have a favorite problematic character. But Keeping said character alive and bared from the consequences of abusing his daughter, murdering innocents, and experimenting on your own squad members? Nah. Nope. Kill him, Kubo. Kill this dude.

(his weird attachment to Mayuri is probably why he keeps bringing Syazel back, since Syazel is Mayuri 2.0, but Syazel is the bad guy who does face consequences for his actions while Mayuri is not)

~

Also, I'm certain Kazui and Orihime are going to be THRILLED that their precious husband/dad is going to hell when he dies :)

(I just... Rukia teased Ichigo about leaving Orihime at home. She teased him about having a house wife who he leaves all the chores to. Orihime had two panels. She checks on her son who promised he would be at home and sleep. Kazui fcking breaks his promise like it never mattered to him and JUMPS out the window after pretending to sleep in front of his mother. ... An 8 year old... alone... in the middle of the night.)

Orihime is abandoned. She is not invited to SS, she is not informed of what is going on, her son leaves her.... I...

Orihime is a side character. She doesn't matter anymore. She hasn't mattered for a long, long time.

A part of me is glad she had little screen time, since she tends to waste it, but another part of me is embroiled with rage.

I've even see people try to defend this. "Orihime and Ichigo can't be together ALL the time, that's an unhealthy relationship!" and I'm like guys... that's not the point. The point is Orihime is not part of Ichigo's other life. Any shinigami stuff from now on is none of her business. She's going to stay at home while Kazui and Ichigo go off and save the world. Ichigo is going to be fighting by Rukia and Renji while Orihime watches from the sidelines, or worse, doesn't even know what is going on with her husband and son. Orihime is going to be uninformed and abandoned, because she has not proven she is capable of fighting by their sides(go on, @ me. I will fight this. She's a failure.), and also because she prefers a human life over a dead one. Which is ironic, because she married a dead man. Ichigo is a shinigami, and he will be one forever. god forbid she ever meets his Zanpaktou. She would tremble in fear at the monsters her husband harbors in his soul, especially when she realizes they don't care about her and would rather see her dead. (Zangetsu would absolutely kill Orihime. Not sure about Kazui, but Orihime has not accepted Zangetsu, she does not like either of them, and the feeling is assuredly mutual.) frick now I want to make a comic about this

Also still frustrated over Zangetsu's shikai / bankai regression. Kubo once again lied to his audience. Ichigo has no bankai. How ridiculous is that? The main character of BLEACH doesn't have a bankai. Insulting.

(RIP to Chad. He doesn't exist anymore. He's just gone. No mention, no cameo. Gone.)

Kazui is a demon child. That character from the novels? Hikone? They're the same character. Literally same personality, same power level. Its worse because Kazui is a liar. He constantly goes behind his parents' backs. He can summon creepy fish and creepy eyeballs and open portals like is ANYONE aware of this? How has SS not kidnapped Ichigo's son and experimented on him / locked away his powers yet? All substitute shinigami require a reiatsu controlling / spy badge to keep them in line. Where is Kazui's? Or is he just a weird fullbringer?

I was worried Kubo was gonna try and pull a knock off Boruto but luckily he kept the focus on Ichigo and the others. But that being said, Ichika and Kazui are now just... sort of there? Kazui was kinda just.... having his own adventure that doesn't matter to the plot at hand, and Ichika had some nice characterization at first but she just hid behind her dad the whole time.

I have a feeling Kazui is gonna step in at the last minute or do some major behind the scenes thing that indirectly interferes with the main plot so no one will realize how powerful and dangerous he actually is. Its sad because Ichika is the superior character in personality and likability, but she clearly is not going to have a bigger part in this.

Ichigo having a normal life after everything still feels extremely boring and uncomfortable to me. Everyone's like 'I'm still bLEACH!" but.... BLEACH just... doesn't feel like BLEACH anymore. It hasn't for a while now.

~~~

There's two new shinigami characters. Didn't care for the girl, but the Sign Language kid who talks to animals is adorable ... however... he just reminds me of Chad, and I just... it hurts knowing Chad has essentially been deleted. Chad and Orihime are officially benched. They have chosen the human world, and Orihime has given Ichigo his spawn so she has no more use/purpose to him anymore... ////sigh

~~~

Also. This is claimed to be a new "arc". So is the BLEACH manga coming back? What is happening. I thought Kubo was tired and didn't want to do BLEACH anymore. I thought Shounen Jump cut him off. People made so many excuses for Kubo and why the past two arcs have been so badly written the past 6 years and now almost everything they've attempted to defend him with has been revoked.

BLEACH is going to continue to screw up its plot lines and characters, so Its probably best for it to stay dead but I've seen a lot of Kubo stans drooling over this content, they're desperate for BLEACH's return, but its already given out all its possible revelations. There's really nothing else to top here. It's just going to make things up as it goes along ,and I'm not really here for half-assed writing like that, especially since the damage of rushing the previous manga has already been done. Kubo and Shounen Jump are riding off a money nostalgia. None of this was planned.

Honestly though.... overall feeling of this chapter, not as bad as it could have been.

Syazel stole the spotlight, and he's my friend's favorite character, so that's all that really matters.

[morphinethevaccine]

Would you want to be their roommate? (ADA Edition)

a/n: In which you're the roommate of various Armed Detective Agency members. I'm only like, half serious.

  — Dazai Osamu Boundaries? I don't know her.

Rule #1 of rooming with Dazai is understand he's a hypocrite. While he's 100% the type to read your diary, eat your snacks with zero intention of replacing them and take your stuff without asking, he does not want the favor returned. 

Honestly, Dazai prefers to have his own space. Having a roommate makes it a little hard to engage in some of his more reckless endeavors, like ignoring warning labels to mix bleach and ammonia, trying to inhale oven fumes, and womanizing (its not like he usually brings people back to his place anyway because he isn’t keen on people knowing where he lives, but the point still stands). 

Just pay little mind to the fact your toaster is missing because he tried (and failed) to drop it in the bathtub with him. Again.

— Atsushi Nakajima and Kyouka Izumi I feel a sitcom coming on.

Moving in with a stoic former murder turned do-gooder and the traumatized orphan with a self worth problem too many sounds like a scriptwriting fever dream. But hey, a positive: no matter how screwy your background is, you don't have to feel like the weird one. 

Quirks aside, neither makes a bad roommate: Atsushi is thoughtful, caring, and marginally domestic, while Kyouka minds her business by staying out the way for the most part. 

Considering the bizarre makeup of the occupants, people might look at the three of you and wonder how you manage to coexist. Maybe the three of you can even be the wholesome version of Three's Company, complete with regular misunderstandings that could have easily been avoided had someone just been more forthcoming.

— Doppo Kunikida Is this really how you want to live your life?

Has his lights on timer and 'quiet hours' he sticks to religiously. Organized to a 'T': you putting things back in the incorrect place or leaving a jar on the wrong shelf in the pantry is going to give him a tension headache. 

Definitely shouldn't be the residence of choice for messy people, those inept at reading social cues (who in turn won't know when to shut up and leave him alone), or anyone with an alternative sleep pattern. Will not hesitate to tell you off if you're running the microwave at 2 am. 

A great place for routine addicts or wayward souls in need of someone to beat order and structure into their head-- sometimes literally, but for the non-anal retentive, this is probably the closest form of spiritual suicide on this side of heaven. 

— Jun'ichiro Tanizaki and Naomi Tanizaki For those who don't value their mental health.

At first glance, not a bad place to stay. Jun'ichiro’s a solid cook, gives off everyman/boy-next-door vibes and is relatively sane (unless Naomi's in danger). Naomi's nice enough and likely a fun person to hang around assuming she's not glued to her brother's side. 

But don't get too excited just yet. Both tend to be fine, if not enjoyable to interact with individually, but the main problem with rooming with this pair is having to stomach them together. 

Imagine listening to these two doting on each other. All the time. Hearing that day after day is going to shave at least 10 years off your total lifespan, give or take. I suppose you can invest in earplugs and work on expanding your happy place, but is it really worth it?

— Ranpo Edogawa   Roommates? I think you misspelled 'parent and child’

Expect to hear "Great Detectives don't do (insert thing he should definitely be doing)" often. Could be a great roommate if he applied himself, but his laziness tends to delve into 'hand me the remote even though it's an inch from my fingertips' territory. 

Don't expect him to know how to use the garbage disposal or run the dishwasher (or be apologetic about either fact). Can't be trusted to buy groceries: his contributions are just the entirety of the snack aisle: Twizzlers, Mike and Ike's and this color changing drink he found at the convenience store. 

Pushes off things he should be doing (like his laundry) on you because 'you're washing clothes anyway' and has the frustrating tendency to only 'deduce' things you really don't want him to, like why your girlfriend or boyfriend broke up with you. 

— Akiko Yosano Not too bad, actually.

While Yosano might come across intimidating, she's largely harmless to the average joe or jane. Unless you piss her off, she has little reason to saw off any of your extremities. 

Generally speaking, she’s a normal roommate who respects your personal space (and expects the same in return, so please do the same if you value your life) and takes care of her portion of shared responsibilities without issue. Yosano isn't argumentative, but she's not one to bite her tongue, either. 

So if you're looking for a roommate who's not going to call you out if you're on some bullshit, Yosano is not that roommate. As long as you pull your weight and aren't unusually annoying, the two of you can manage a cordial relationship with minimal threats and/or bloodshed.

— Kenji Miyazawa Prepare yourself for a host of weird proverbs.

Has a 50/50 chance of calling you 'roomie' ("Because that's what city people say, right?") or something else mildly irritating. As the literal personification of its not that deep, it's pretty impossible to get him upset, which is great news for you-- just in case you happen to be the annoying one in this scenario. 

Kenji's probably the most laidback roommate of the ADA roster, who wouldn’t fight you for ownership of the larger bedroom or get salty if you monopolize the bathroom.

Bonus points if you happen to find his often bizarre stories about life in the country entertaining rather than disturbing (said stories are always told with a smile no matter how screwed up they are, of course, because this is Kenji.) Overall, not a bad person to have as a roommate unless positivity and blind optimism tend to give you hives.

[instasiswetrust]

Steve's not quite drunk but there's a pleasant buzz under his skin that leaves him feeling pliant and loose, enough to keep any unsavory thoughts at bay for the time being.

The scent of chlorine and bleach that envelops him once he opens the pool doors, familiar comforts by now, help clear some of the haze of alcohol that has befallen him from his last drink taken at the Auris that night. Or morning. He's not entirely sure.

It brings back the memories that he had been trying so hard to forget. A lavender envelope had been in his mail that day, inside of it an invitation trimmed with delicate filigree. For Nancy's and Jonathan's wedding.

A fall wedding.

The type which he and Nancy had joked about back when they were together, not long before Jonathan had joined them.

He had gone through his work with the kind of detachment that usually meant nothing was truly registering. Adam might have noticed at one point, too attuned already to the tells under the porcelain of Steve's mask, but the memory is fuzzy and he can't remember if he ever gave a proper answer to his manager's concerned query.

As soon as work was done, he had made his way to the Auris in search of something to get his mind off the pain that clutched the shards of his heart like a vice. Or rather, someone. It had been his favorite dancer's day off or something though, leaving him to spend the rest of his night watching the dancers on stage and sipping on the ocassional drink.

Something had made him want to climb the stairs to the gym's pool, though. And that's why he was here now.

"Are you drunk?" The voice that speaks has become familiar in the same way the scent and sounds of the pool has and when he looks up to meet the eyes of its owner, he finds them startled if slightly amused.

"Only a little bit." He shrugs, plopping down by the edge of the pool with his legs crossed under him. The bleach might leave stains on his Levi's but he can't really muster enough energy to give a fuck right now. "'s not that bad."

"You kind of reek of cigarette smoke and whiskey."

Yep. Definitely amused.

"Spilled some scotch on my shirt. The smoke is probably from the cab driver." Another shrug but this time he levels Billy with apologetic doe eyes. "I can leave if it bothers you."

"You're fine, I was just curious." The blonde swims closer, crossing his arms over the edge next to where Steve sits once he's close enough. "First time I've seen you up here wearing something other than your ridiculous pajamas."

"They are not ridiculous!" Steve protests at once, pouting. "And you have seen me in swimwear too!"

"Last week you were wearing bright red shorts that said Bite Me across the ass, and a t-shirt that said Friends don't lie in big bold letters with a heart-shaped waffle at the center." Billy deadpans, raising a single eyebrow. "The shirt was at least two sizes too big for you."

"They were gifts." Brown eyes narrow into a glare but the petulant pout kind of offsets the vibe.

"I thought models were supposed to have taste in clothes."

"We're supposed to look pretty while others dress us. It's not in the job description to have taste."

"So you admit you have no taste then." Billy was giving him that smirk, the one Steve called insufferable but discretly considered hot as fuck. How dare he be so sinfully handsome.

"I said no such thing!" Steve crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up in the perfect picture of snotty petulance. He could already feel the laughs bubbling in his chest, wanting to break the mock facade.

It takes only a second or two of Billy giving him an skeptical look before they are both laughing.

He had missed this kind of easy-going banter. Most of his friends he only saw around the holidays, and the environment at work was more prone to talks about weight loss and botox than anything else.

New York never slept but that only made it all the more lonely.

His sullen mood must've reflected on his face because he feels something poke at his thigh, meeting Billy's eyes when he turns to look at him.

"You didn't just come here so I could make fun of your taste in clothes, did you?"

"I-"

It's only then that Steve realizes Billy is right.

The reason his alcohol fogged brain has preferred to come up here rather than crash into his bed wasn't just some way of punishing himself even further. Not entirely at least. He had come here because it was a place of comfort for him.

And because he had a friend here, too.

"No. Not just that." Steve sighs, letting his eyes focus on the slow movement of the pool water instead of Billy's face.

"Do you..." A moment of hesitation, as if he's not sure about his words. "want to talk about it?"

Brown eyes close, keeping his focus on the in and out of air through his lungs for a few moments until he feels less like he's going to burst out crying the moment he sets these awful thoughts into words.

Makes them all the more real.

"My... exes. They are getting married. To each other." He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't do anything more than try to keep his voice steady even as the aching pain of heartbreak weighs down on his chest. "I received the invitation this morning."

There's a low whistle. It sounds like sympathy. It sounds real.

"That bites," Billy says, and his voice has a dulled edge to it. Commiseration with flavor, or something like that, but it's three am and there's nothing but cold tile and the soft wake of lit water. "Is this ... like a sudden spur of the moment thing?"

When Steve turns doe eyes to him, Billy raises up his hands, only moderately pruned, in an easing gesture.

"You don't have to answer. Just..." A pause. A beat as the swimmer looks for the right string of words. "Just trying to gauge how much of a dick move this is."

There's a laugh, dull and mirthless. A sad little sound.

“We have been friends since high school. All three of us dated for a bit longer after that. We went through some hard stuff together back in Indiana.” He shrugs, keeping his eyes closed. Tears at bay. “Was supposed to be the kind of friendship that lasted even after we broke up.”

It’s all my fault. He doesn't say.

My stupid heart and I. We ruined it all.

It takes a split second of contemplation, because, after all, they're total strangers. But once upon a time, someone gave Billy this sideways kindness and it helped. Maybe Steve and his overly fancy hair won't mind it too much.

So Billy acts on the impulse.

It's a tiny splash. Really very minuscule. Aimed and precise for the minimum impact upon the sitting duck target. But water is water. Nobody can tell tears from pool water.

"You were thinking too hard." He places the excuse on the table, sinking lower into the water, comfortable in this strange company. Even if the guy seems to be at the end of his rope. There's something about him. Like a dream you don't want to forget. "I could see the smoke. Had to cool you down."

The water is warm and yet is still enough of a shock to force Steve's eyes to open.

His first instinct is to protest, say something about the action being rude and uncalled for. Stand up and leave, most likely.

But what he sees in Billy's face — hears in his voice — is enough to give him a moment's pause. To truly appreciate the action for the small kindness it is.

This time when the tears dribble down his cheeks in quiet drops, he has something to hide them behind.

“You really think you're funny, huh?”

And if his voice is a little too wet to be considered normal, they don't have to talk about it.

"I'm hilarious," Billy says as he sinks a little lower into the water, mostly to hide his smug grin, but in part to hide away. "The girl gang that lets me tag along sometimes says so."

“Of course you are.” Steve rolls his eyes, using his fingers to brush back his mostly dry hair. He should probably wash the chlorine out of his hair before going to bed or it would be stiff come morning.

“Is that why you're trying to become a prune? For maximum fun effect?”

“Nah,” Billy waves off the prune comment. He’s hardly started his routine. Pool time ain’t over until everything has that post-workout burn and his stomach begs for food. Makes time easier to keep that way. “I just like to swim.”

Just like Tony Hawk likes to skateboard, he supposes, but understating his profession like this is one of the best parts of the job. Gotta get your kicks when you find them.

“Why? Got something against prunes?” He laughs, “They just want to help you. Healthy stomach, and all.”

“Not particularly, but they do remind me of my Nonna. She likes her prunes.” Another shrug, this time easier. Easy banter is much better than worrying about that little envelope sitting on his coffee table.

The tears have stopped too, the contacts itching slightly against his eyes. Probably from the mix of salt and chlorine. Thankfully, his cardigan is mostly dry and he takes it off to use it as a makeshift towel.

“Is that why you're always here at weird hours? You some sort of pool cryptid or something?”

“That’s only step one of my master plan.”

Billy likes the sound of pool cryptid. Sounds a lot more mysterious and fun than what he’s actually doing, which is training until he drops so the nightmares won’t kick up.

A snort, loud and sudden leaves Steve at that, straining a little in his throat. Mom would say it's undignified. Dad would say it's ugly. He doesn't particularly care either way.

“And pray tell, what would step two entail? Flooding the city?”

Cute laugh, Billy thinks briefly surprised. Much better than seeing the guy choke back tears. Let's see if he can't instigate a bit more of that amusement. It's bound to taste better than the misery the brunette wanted to wallow in.

"What kind of water-based supervillain do you take me for?" Billy, mock-miffed, places a hand over his heart and huffs. "That's so silver-age comics. And you're not even my henchman. Why should I tell you anything about my master plan?"

A finger taps at his chin, seemingly thinking hard about his answer. Steve's not particularly well versed in comics but Dustin’s done his best to keep him on the smallest of loops.

He no longer mixes Superman with Captain America, at least.

“Fair point. You don't have the looks to pass off as Aquaman.” Steve purses his lips, offering his best apologetic doe-eyed look. Although he's definitely bluffing because if there's anybody out there who could give Aquaman a run for his money it would be Billy. “And who says I couldn't be your henchman?”

"Did you fill out the paperwork?"

Everyone knows bureaucracy is the lungs of evil. Or something like that. Sue him, he was never great with metaphors on the fly.

“Honey, if I wanted to fill paperwork I wouldn't have taken modeling as a career.”

It's an exaggeration for the most part. Steve's too used to poking fun about himself these days that it doesn't sting as bad as it used. Not too much.

Billy cocks his head and lets the loaded sentence drop and drift away.

"Then guess you can't be a henchman."

“I can make killer margaritas, though.”

“I don’t really drink too much.” The nightmares get worse when he’s anything but sober. It’s better to be exhausted. It’s the easiest way. “Medication reasons.”

A little white lie that’s hardly a lie, he really shouldn’t drink with his ADHD meds, but who ever listens to that rule? Nah. Only when it suits him.

“Model thing explains your hair though. Glad we solved that mystery.”

“Fair.” Steve offers a smile, crooked and a little pinched at the edges but a smile nonetheless. “I’m not supposed to either. Nutritionist's orders.”

To be fair, he's not supposed to be drinking at all. Smoking too. It's a little hard not to indulge every once in a while, though.

The model comment surprises him. There's a billboard with his face just a few blocks down from this apartment complex. He can see it from his room. How has this guy not recognized him?

It's surprisingly refreshing.

“Hm? Oh no, the model thing has nothing to do with my hair. That's just personal taste.”

Now that Billy cares to look, Steve’s face is achingly familiar. Oh, the trials and tribulations of having attention issues. At least there’s a better reason for the weird familiarity than must just have one of those faces.

“Can’t relate.” He’s not particularly attached to any bodily feature of his. It’s a side effect, he’s told. Reassured. It's just a consequence, and nothing more. “Doing things with hair? Nah. Sounds too complicated.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing a pool cryptid would say.” There’s a story behind Billy's words. Something missing, hidden skin deep. Steve hopes the light jab helps diffuse that somewhat.

“What are you, a cop?” Billy smirks, and because he is the pinnacle of maturity, he dips under the water with an obnoxious splash.

“Asshole” Steve hisses, droplets dribbling down his bangs and into the cardigan bunched up in his lap.

With a sigh, he forces himself to get up. Might as well take that shower now.

Billy surfaces, still grinning, because even if the guy looks pissed at him, that means he’s not stewing in the past with his soon-to-be-married exes and the Hercules-class weight of baggage that relationship caused.

“Guys by the pool get splashed. No matter what time it is or how cute they are. Cryptid rules.” His smirk it's wide, tip of his tongue between his teeth. "If you weren’t prepared to get wet, then why’d you come?”

Steve shrugs, doing his best to ignore that peek of a pink tongue. “The local cryptid makes for good conversation.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” Billy makes a little show of floating back, caught in thought. “I don’t know how I feel about spectators.”

“I can stop.” Painfully honest. If Billy really wants him to, Steve would stop. He would prefer not to, though.

“Nah. I’m only pulling your leg.” Billy returns to the pool’s edge. Rests his cheek on the edge, looking up at pretty boy model Steve.

“Things get too quiet sometimes.”

Steve hums softly in agreement, feeling relief ease itself back into his bones. He would have stopped, yes, but he wouldn't have particularly liked the prospect of it.

“You come here every day? Or have I just happened to stumble in on the days you're around?”

"Almost every day. Sometimes I take this side-show to other pools." Billy cracks his best Han Solo roguish smile, levies it against Steve's still too flat smile. "Gotta keep the government guessing sometimes, you know."

“Of course, wouldn't want to get caught and all that.” A yawn gets past Steve's lips, startling him. He hadn't registered how tired he was. “I’ll keep that in mind, for next time.”

“Thank you.” Quieter. Softer. Barely above a whisper but loud enough in the gentle silence of the pool.

It comes just as soft. It's almost tender, really, as the word casts across the water and tile and the near-lonely pool.

"Anytime."

---

The next time Steve visits, it's once again 3 AM but he makes the mistake (is it really a mistake?) to bring a tin of sugar cookies with him.

"Oh shit, are you sharing, or is this all to tease me?"

Steve is sitting by one of the benches, already halfway through a cookie. “Come out here and find out.”

Billy narrows his eyes, lips pulled into a thin frown.

"Fool me once." He waggles a single warning finger and doesn't even really bother to dry off as he drags himself out of the pool to plop down on the floor next to Steve and steal into the snacks.

There are enough cookies for both of them stuffed neatly in a tin container. It's awfully pretentious according to Dustin, but then again Steve's Nonna always said cookies tasted better stored that way.

“I'm not mean enough to just eat while you watch. Yet, at least.”

"Oh just wait until you know me better." Billy chirps, shoving two into his mouth, wholesale and choking a bit.

"Robin and Carol would do that in a heartbeat."

“They probably would have a good reason too.” Steve teases, watching with amused eyes as Billy almost chokes. They are just sugar cookies he managed to scrounge up with whatever was in his kitchen. Nothing that good.

“Easy there tiger, cookies ain't going anywhere.”

"You have no idea how hungry I always am."

Steve blinks, surprised. The words come out before he has a chance to truly think them over. “I’m a good cook.”

"Prove it." It's out of Billy's mouth before he can take it back, but on second thought, he doesn't really want to. Steve's good company, or at least he has been so far.

And he hasn't had a nightmare since.

Good omens.

“You're kind of choking on the proof right now.” Maybe it comes out a little lighter, a little too surprised.

That's fine. Whatever this thing is, it doesn't seem like too bad of a chance to take.

“But if you need some more convincing, I can offer dinner too.”

Wheezing, but recovering, Billy grins up at Steve but there's a hopeful spark in his blue eyes that wasn't there before. "Fuck yeah, gotta make sure it's not a fluke."

Steve offers him the thermos of coffee he had brought with him, suddenly too distracted by watching Billy drink to remember what he wanted to ask. “Uh... When are you free?”

"This Sunday, I think. Getting back from a rapids trip that I shouldn't keep doing but like fuck am I gonna listen to other people for something dumb like my health."

“Is it like, you could die type of thing or just one of those things doctors say we should stop doing and everyone ignores? Because dead people don't particularly eat.”

"I do dumb shit because regular training gets boring and people who actually like me have to put up with it." Billy waves a dismissive hand. "But that's what it takes to get me moving on schedule so. Yeah."

It drives his coach insane because doing his reps in real rivers with real currents isn't exactly... well. It's not what everyone else does for training and given that he has passed out mid-stroke before, he can't even say the risk is just the current. But he knows that upstate rivers like the back of his hand.

Yeah, life would be way easier if he didn't have ADHD, less doctor's notes for the cause of amphs in his piss, but it would also be super boring and he'd be even more traumatized, probably. And that would suck.

Steve thinks of Indiana, and a bat full of nails. Of cliff diving at the quarry, drunk on stolen bourbon and tasting cheap cigarettes. Of the Auris with his slew of dancers most of who he's shared a bed with more than once.

He thinks he has some experience with the whole doing dumb shit just to get his schedule moving.

"I will take your word for it then." Hums, thinking back to his schedule and what he has paged in for Sunday. There was that casting thing Adam wanted him to do but it was morning. "I should be free on Sunday. Any allergies I should account for?"

“None that I know of.” Spoken cheerfully

“Great. Gives me more to work with.” And this time when he smiles, it's the most honest he's offered since they met.

---

When he finds it again, it is entirely on accident.

Adam had scheduled a trip to California for a gig, something about a new summer line of wetsuits and surfboards this company wanted him to advertise. It was a big opportunity and it was good cash too, of course so Steve wasn't going to question why they thought it a good idea to present a summer line in the middle of august. But as usual, he had forgotten to pack his suitcases until the night before, and now he was left to scramble around his apartment searching for his stuff.

So when he finds the lavender envelope buried under a few recipe books and a hoodie, still unopened, he doesn't think much about it and opens it. It's only when he's staring at the date stenciled in black calligraphy under Nancy's and Jonathan's name that he realizes what he's looking at.

Oh right. Those two were getting married.

The familiar ache in his chest is still there, but it's muted enough that he's surprised. Between canceling his exclusive membership at the Auris, and his relationship with Billy coming out to the media, he had sort of forgotten all about the wedding.

Maybe...

Grabbing his phone from the bed, he shoots his boyfriend a quick text.

How do you feel about being my plus one to my exes' wedding?

[toutallyahoe]

Everybody Talks ~ Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyuu) pt 2

requested by: --

a/n: holy shit— i had to break this one shot into three parts?!?

ugh, this is why i prefer wattpad and quotev bruuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh

you gremlins better enjoy this

part one | part two | part three

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey sugar show me all your love?

All you're giving me is friction,"

It had been already a week and a half and his soulmate finally stopped listening to the song like it was god or something. Well, his soulmate never fully stopped as his soulmate seemed to play on it occasionally from time to time but it wasn't like earlier in the week where Hajime could barely sleep or focus on anything since the song was blasting on his ears in full volume.

Hajime was thankful that his soulmate finally regained their sanity back to not blast the song on a loop twenty-four seven like a maniac.

Still though, instead of the song "Everybody Talks" by Neon Trees on loop, it was replaced by an instrumental of the said song. Not really much of a change but hey, it was more bearable with out the singer singing the lyrics so loud Hajime was sure he'll go deaf.

And yes, Hajime knows the name of the song and the band. How can he not be though when he had been hearing this one particular song again and again for a week and a half. It seemed like his soulmate changed their taste again. More or less. It was a common occurrence as the dark haired male seemed to noticed that his soulmate enjoyed listening to music a lot.

Hajime liked to think his soulmate was perhaps an aspiring musician as the dark haired male sometimes hear some songs he never heard of, even if he searched it in online as best as he could.

"Hey sugar what you gotta say?

It started with a whisper!"

Snapping out of his thoughts. Hajime sighed again when he heard the familiar song... again. It seemed like his soulmate was listening to the song again. Actually, his soulmate had been listening for it for awhile now but had had the volume down that the dark haired male could easily tune it out. But it seemed like his soulmate was trying to have their eardrums bursting again.

"And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

Shaking his head, Hajime reminded himself to focus. Currently, he had been asked by a teacher of his to deliver a box. Having nothing to do as Mondays he doesn't have any volleyball practice, Hajime agreed to take the box towards the light music club.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

The dark haired male had a bit trouble locating the club room of the light music club though. Hajime wasn't one to be interested in other extra curricular activities and other clubs as he was busy with his own club to manage. Being the vice captain of the volleyball club full of raging testosterone and hormonal boys, and having to deal with their bullshit was enough already. Hell, he even had to deal with Oikawa Tōru and that guy was the president! You could tell the stress the dark haired male had to deal with every single day.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Hajime shakes his head again as he turned his attention the the box on his hands. The box wasn't that huge nor heavy. Maybe a bit heavy and the dark haired male assumed it was some music instrument or some sheets of music notes. Either way, he has to be careful since who know what was inside and how he'll be in trouble if he messed whatever is inside the box.

"Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks back!"

Shifting his gaze from the box to the doors he was passing by. Hajime made sure to read the signs of the door to find the light music club he had to deliver the box too.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

Everybody talks, everybody talks back!"

   

It took awhile for the dark haired male the light music club room. Turns out the club room of the light music club was on the third floor, the third to the last room of the end of the building. Looking at the door of the room, it was the same as the rest of the doors of the rooms in the school. The only thing new about it was the sign on top of the door said "LIGHT MUSIC CLUB" in a very neat, bolded writing. Hajime almost passed the room for a second as everything was the same if he wasn't looking for it.

Sighing, the dark haired male noticed his soulmate was rather quite. They had been for awhile and Hajime didn't know whether to be overjoyed or not. He had noticed that his soulmate was also going silent for awhile and would normally just listen to music late at night or around the end of classes. Maybe sometimes listening in classes but mostly skipped unlike what they used to.

This really made Hajime curious on why the change of schedule his soulmate is currently doing as his soulmate was relentless and would always jam out to their song. But right now, Hajime should focusing on the task at hand. Going back to reality and cursing his soulmate— even when they are not annoying him with their music blasting in full volume inside his mind, Hajime is still getting distracted by them. Cute but also, how annoying.

Looking at the door again then at the box in his hand. Hajime breathed in and out. He did not know why but oddly enough, he felt a bit nervous. Maybe he was just stressed out? Perhaps. The dark haired male really doesn't have a single clue.

The dark haired male decided to just get this over with. Swallowing the anxiety that just appeared out of nowhere, Hajime was about to knock on the door when the familiar song came inside his mind again, but this time... more louder...?

"Hey baby won't you look my way?

I can be your new addiction."

"What the hell...?" Hajime muttered, confused and bewildered. The dark haired male swore he was hallucinating the song his soulmate was playing all the time. He had to be right or perhaps he was having auditory problems? Maybe he finally lost it with his soulmate's non-stop jamming to the song that it made him finally gone insane.

"Hey baby what you gotta say?

All you're giving me is fiction."

It took a second or two for Hajime to realized he wasn't going insane for listening on a song for almost a week and a half non-stop. No, the dark haired male realized the song wasn't only playing inside his mind, but also somewhere in front of him. And Hajime looked at the door in front of him, he knows the sound was coming inside the light music club room.

"I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time,

I found out that everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks—"

The dark haired male didn't know what had came over him or what had possessed him to do such a thing, but he, Iwaizumi Hajime grabbed the handle of the door and hastily opened it.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

The room had a cozy feel to it. It was like any room of the building in size but it had its own personality than the other rooms aswell. The window were covered with thick, black colored curtains that were shut tight at the moment. The walls were painted darker shade than the other room, a color of maroon.

Inside the room were chairs and some table on the side and most important of all, many different instrument raging from percussion to stringed and woodwinds instruments. There are mic stands and even a small podium inside the room. But Hajime wasn't focused on the room though. No, he was more focused on the person inside the room.

Inside the club room of the light music club was a lone male. This was [Last name] [Name]. Hajime only knew him because the male was the president of the light music club and had classes with his chocolate brown haired best friend.

[Name] had [Hair color] hair that was rather messy and wild looking and had its tips bleached white. [Skin color] skin that maybe held some imperfections that Hajime couldn't tell from the distance the two were in but the dark haired male noticed the [Hair color] haired male was wearing the Aoba Johsai school uniform.

Well, of course he was. [Name] was a student of the school after all, but the [Hair color] haired student seemed to had his white jacket discarded and put on a chair that was inside the room along with his bag. [Name] was standing in the small podium in the center of the room, two large speakers beside him that was blasting the rifts of the bass guitar that he was playing in his hands.

[Name] was wearing white headphones over his ears and had his eyes closed as he sang onto the microphone in front of his. His eyes closed, clueless to his own surroundings and was only lost to the music he was listening and singing too.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

Hajime felt his heart beating so fast inside his ribcage. He swore his heart would escape as he stood on the doorway of the room, frozen and gaping like a fish out of the water as his eyes widened in shock.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Was this real? This had to be a joke, right?

Holy shit. His soulmate— his fucking soulmate wasn't farther away than he had thought. His soulmate was [Last name] [Name], the president of the light music club and they were only a few steps away from each other. Not the miles and miles apart Hajime had admitted to himself a long time ago.

"Hey honey you could be my drug?

You could be my new prescription."

Was this the reason he had been hearing the song "Everybody Talks" for a week and a half now? Because his soulmate was truly an aspiring musician?

"Too much could be an overdose!

All this trash talk make me itchin'!"

It seemed like Hajime wasn't wrong about his thoughts on his soulmate enjoying music because they had a passion for it. His soulmate, [Name], was literally the president of a club dedicated to music making!

"Oh my, my,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, too much..."

As Hajime continuously stood there like a statue, the [Hair color] haired male finally noticed him when he had opened his eyes to see the dark haired male.

"It started with a whisper..." [Name] softly sang as he then stopped strumming the bass guitar on his hands and took his headphones off his ears. Instead, he let the white headphones hang loosely on his neck as he jumped of the mini podium and went towards the frozen male.

"Uh, hey?" [Name] awkwardly greeted Hajime as he stood in front of the dark haired male. "Do you need something?" The [Hair color] haired male asked as he looked at the volleyball player up and down.

[Name] knew who this was. This was the infamous ace of the males volleyball club of Aoba Johsai. The pride and joy of the school, the volleyball club was. Iwaizumi Hajime may not be popular like Oikawa Tōru (who he share homeroom with) like the rest of the other members of the club, but the dark haired ace still garnered recognition from others. He was, after all, the ace of the sport.

Now this brings the question on why the ace of the volleyball club was in his club's doorstep. Normally, no one comes into the light music club except members (who already went home as everyone Mondays are no club time for them) or close friends of the said members to watch them goof off and perform. And [Name] was pretty sure that Hajime wasn't a close friend of his members as he prided himself to actually known his fellow members in the light music club. After all, what kind a president would he be if wasn't close with his members and his members friends?

So, if it isn't any if those two, this leads to only one conclusion.

Snapping his fingers in a "hurrah" moment. The [Hair color] haired male did not paid mind on Hajime flinching a bit on the snap of his fingers as he sent the dark haired ace an apologetic grin.

"If you're here because of how loud I'm playing again, I promise I'll keep it down!" [Name] had awkwardly said as he grinned. This wasn't the first time people actually visited the club to complain how loud they were playing, or more specifically, how he was playing. [Name] was a passionate guy and it his passion also shows in his playing. And so, he sometimes gets too into his music.

"So, uhhh, don't worry!" The [Hair color] haired male chuckled but his relief was immediately washed away and was replaced with confusion when he saw the dark haired male shakes his head and avoided eye contact with him. Did he do something wrong?

"No, that's not it," Hajime had said as he awkwardly coughed and avoided looking at [Name] in his [Eye color] eyes. Why was he feeling embarrassed again? He wasn't the one getting caught singing their heart out for goodness sake! Yet, Hajime felt a bit shy which was uncharacteristic of him.

This was his soulmate though. Iwaizumi Hajime may be jumping on the gun here and was probably wrong but the inner hopeless romantic he denied that he had was desperately screaming at him that this was no coincidence.

The light music club president was singing the fucking song his soulmate was listening to and Hajime could still hear the song playing even just a tiny bit and the dark haired male could practically hear [Name]'s music on the headphones hanging lazily on his neck. And it was the same fucking song.

Clearing his throat. Hajime reminded himself to focus. He could tell [Name] about them both being soulmates after he delivered the box that he was asked to give.

"Tōrasu-sensei asked me to deliver this," Hajime had said as he finally looked at the other male and saw the [Hair color] haired male just noticed the box he was carrying. Hajime had to bite back the nerves coming back when he made brief eye contact with [Name].

Fuck, he had been waiting for this moment his whole life, so why did he feel so nervous?!?

Hajime didn't expect his soulmate to be so closer to him and be a male. Yes, the dark haired male knew the possibility of having the same sex soulmate as it wasn't a new thing really. In fact, having same sex partners are more common than what other people would think. Still, Hajime never expected this and he was having mix feelings about it.

"Oh," Hajime was dragged out of his thoughts again by [Name] with the male sporting a dumbfounded look for a second as his lips was in a "o" form. The [Hair color] haired male seemed to realized what he was here for and had flashed him a large smile. The dark haired male just noticed that [Name] actually had a few piercing in his ears and that he had really nice [Eye color] eyes that shined with energy.

"Thanks for delivering!" [Name] thanked as he carefully took the box from the dark haired male when Hajime was too busy looking at him. The [Hair color] haired male was a bit amused when he noticed Hajime blinked a couple of times when he took the box away from him. Looks like the volleyball player was lost in his thoughts.

"I had been waiting for this baby for awhile now," [Name] said as he patted the top of the box and sent Hajime a grateful smile. "So, thanks, really."

"No problem," Hajime shrugged as he nodded his head at the [Hair color] haired male. It seemed like the dark haired male was back and acting normal again. Not that [Name] would know really as he wasn't closed with the volleyball player.

"Not to be a bother but, what's inside the box?" Hajime had asked as he rubbed his hands, eying the box he just delivered. Hajime had his guesses earlier ago but he couldn't tell which of his guesses were correct really. The dark haired male noticed the male in front of him seemed to light up and beamed at him.

"Oh! It's supposed to be a surprise," [Name] had said. This caused Hajime to be more curious on what's inside the box, and [Name] seemed to actually be eager to tell as he sent Hajime a grin. "It's some stuff we'll be using in the school's festival next week!"

"Ah, is it some new instrument or something?" The volleyball player asked as he saw the light music club president chuckle while shaking his head. Hajime had to force himself to calm himself down when he saw the [Hair color] haired male sent him a wink with a cheeky grin on his lips.

"Now, I can't tell you about that!" [Name] had said with a laugh as he went to the nearest table and placed the box down. He then turned and gave Hajime another grateful smile. "It would ruin the surprise if I do."

"I see," Hajime muttered as he can't stop the small smile creeping onto his lips. "Then I'm sure it'll be a great surprise then!" Hajime said. The dark haired male didn't noticed how the [Hair color] haired male seemed to be a bit surprised with his words but he immediately grinned happily by Hajime's words.

"Oh, you bet!" [Name] said as he went back to stand in front of Hajime, holding his hand on to shake the dark haired male's hand. "Name's [Name] by the way! [Last name] [Name]!" He introduced.

"Iwaizumi Hajime," Hajime introduced himself aswell as he took the [Skin color] hand that [Name] outstretched for him to shake. A small smile on his lips as he shook hands with the light music club president.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

< prev | next >

[plounce]

what if gay CATS........... were gay PERSONS

(info on this au under the cut)

theyre all shitty young adults just kind of. getting through their early 20s as best they can. or as much as they can. maybe things will get better someday, but right now they’re kind of spinning their wheels

magic exists but like eh it’s not a big thing don’t worry about it. it’s around but like whatever. not many people have it and it’s mostly just like. a curiosity or a party trick

demeter and bombularina are together, tugger and mistoffelees are together, bombularina and tugger occasionally fwb, it’s cool and aboveboard and it’s all fine

demeter:

bisexual with a preference for women. 24 years old

semi-psychic (not as powerful as tantomile or coricopat). tends to have vague and confusing prophetic dreams

dropped out of grad school for sociology due to trauma and ensuing intensified mental illness. kind of bitter about it, but tries to get through every day. general anxiety disorder even before all that

very nervous around most men she doesn’t know & trust

currently working at a barnes & noble starbucks, which sucks. she recently became the assistant manager, which turbo sucks because now she has more work for only like a buck raise, but at least she’s getting reliable shifts

her go-to therapy is cutting her hair with scissors. her hair is fried to all hell from regular bleaching

she’s learning how to crochet because she’s decided she needs to do something physically productively creative with her hands to distract herself from Stuff

bombalurina:

bisexual. 24 years old

got her bachelor’s in english two years ago and hasn’t found a job in her field and has kind of given up on it for now

she’s been bartending for like four years, does freelance editing work on the side. will occasionally write listicles for clickbait sites if she needs extra cash

literally any extra money she can save goes to tattoos. her right sleeve’s almost done

has natural red hair but dyes it cherry red

a hedonist to cope but is also just a natural hedonist. likes a good bath

i know that like the typical thing fandoms say about female characters is “doesn’t take shit” for the girlboss points but she truly does not take shit anymore. she used to take people’s shit sometimes but at this point in her life she’s tired and she has a girlfriend to be protective of. she has a couple people whose shit she will take (mostly just tugger) but besides them (and having to practice basic customer service to keep her job) she’s tired of other people’s shit! enough!

my personal take on bombalurina is a mix between the riot grrrls of the 90s and 80s punk girls, and then a dash of the greaser chicks from grease. i saw that spiked collar and my brain went OH okay i can run with this somewhere fun. same for demeter, but less so - she just has the piercings.

demelurina:

bombalurina met demeter in college at a women’s activism club, noticed her because of her dimple piercings and was like “oh someone else with a lot of metal in her face, i’ll sit next to her”

they were each other’s first off-campus roommates and were close friends. made out a couple times, but it was mostly a lot of sexual tension. there was a lot of bombalurina staring at demeter while she or demeter made out with someone else

demeter was on and off with her high school boyfriend munkustrap and bombalurina was like “oh he’s so much more stable/calm than me and she needs that, i party a bit too much for her, i shouldn’t try anything” so she just sort of. lets their almost-there peter off

(this is all bombalurina’s internal thoughts - demeter always was interested in her, but thought she was too boring for bombalurina. so neither of them thought they could pursue it)

bombalurina graduated and moved somewhere cheaper further away from campus. they kind of drift apart

munkustrap and demeter peter off and he moves away for a job (they’re still good friends, it was a very amicable breakup) and then demeter gets with macavity, which is a deeply toxic situation for her and sucks hugely and throws her whole life really off track. won’t go into further details

she finally manages to break up with him and calls bombalurina at like 2 am asking if she can pick her up, and also if she can sleep on her couch, it’s okay if that’s not okay, she just. really needs a place she feels safe, and her gut is telling her to. and of course bombalurina says yes

bombalurina also knew macavity and had also made out a couple times with him at like parties and stuff (see: staring at demeter as she makes out with people). something about transference of feelings - bombalurina was into him for a couple moments because he and demeter had a thing.

this is due to me interpreting the song “macavity” as actually about bombalurina wanting to fuck demeter and her singing as a half-repressed expression of that. i use my really good wlw brain to reach that conclusion. it’s kind of a non-competitive version of eve sedgwick’s take on the love triangle. (<-- normal thing to say)

but anyway demeter stays on bombalurina’s couch and she tries so hard to stay on track but eventually she just has to drop out. bombalurina helps her with that too. she’s just really supportive even as demeter’s life is at its lowest point. when she gets home from bartending she gets demeter to go to sleep

she just Stays with her and makes her smile and reminds her that her life isn’t over, there’s still things in her day to enjoy, to keep her trudging forward

bombalurina is roommates with tugger at this point - he also recently dropped out and demeter knows him because he’s munkustrap’s brother, so he’s Trusted and also is like “hey it’s okay that you dropped out, im here and im chilling and you like me and respect me at least a little, and you have a bachelor’s degree at least!” (more on him later)

demeter is like “oh god ive been crashing at their place for so long not paying rent, theyre gonna ask me to leave, im such a freeloader, they wont take my attempts at paying rent” but then bombalurina and tugger are like “hey! the lease is almost up! we found a pretty good 3 bedroom, do you wanna have your own room for real?” and she nearly cries because 1. the RELIEF 2. oh my god you want me around???

cut to bombalurina helping demeter put together an ikea dresser (tugger got banished to the kitchen to make crystal light lemonade for them because he’s useless with a screwdriver) and demeter has two epiphanies:

1. i thought i was ready to d*e four months ago and here i am making a dresser to put clothes into in my new apartment where i live and feel safe and loved. im still not happy but im still alive and im making a dresser

2. holy fuck im back in love with my best friend, and ten times more than i was back then.

so she like kind of freaks out because she’s already imposed so much on bombalurina, how could she impose her FEELINGS on her like this, oh no oh no oh no

meanwhile bombalurina’s back in love with her even MORE and she’s also like no... she’s already dealing with so much... i don’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel unsafe in her own home especially after her recent relationship trauma... i just want her to feel safe around me...

you might think tugger as their roommate would be like “JUST KISS” but he is in fact pretty oblivious because he is self-absorbed. mistoffelees on the other hand..

eventually they do have a big confession of feelings after demeter has a bad day and it’s very dramatic and they make out in the rain. and it’s like. well this is a movie scene. but also im cold and damp. let’s head inside our home and get warm and dry :)

and then they go inside and and talk through everything, all their feelings (not just their romantic feelings but like ALL their feelings) and their shared histories and bombalurina is like “do you think you’re... ready for a relationship right now? like that would be a good thing for you?”

and demeter considers it. she does stop and think. and then she says, “with anyone else... probably not. but it’s you. and i feel so safe around you, and we’re already so close. you make the future feel more worth it. you make more days alive feel not just tolerable, but something to look forward to. and knowing you’ve loved me all this time... it’s nice. it’s good. i’m - i’m understating it so much, it’s more than nice, it’s just - it’s a lot. i wish i had noticed back then.” “hey, hey, don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who never said anything.”

anyway. everything works out, and they start dating for real :)

tugger:

bisexual. 22 years old

dishwasher at the same bar bombalurina works at. she got him the job. he keeps bugging her to teach him bartending tricks and on slow nights she will agree to

he dropped out of their four year, but he managed to secure an associate’s in communications before he dipped

trying to be an ig influencer hotboy and hopefully get modeling jobs from that but his phone’s camera sucks shit so his account isn’t really going anywhere. but he continues to post his low resolution shirtless selfies

trying to cope with being the failure son who does not have a fancy nonprofit job with a salary and healthcare by being self-absorbed and self-aggrandizing

it works about 60% of the time and 60% of the times that it doesn’t he’s able to hide it

he dropped out right around when bombalurina graduated and he was like HEY! ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A ROOMMATE WHO DOESN’T CARE IF WE LIVE TEN MILES AWAY FROM CAMPUS? WELL HAVE I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU: ME!

to which bombalurina (who has fooled around with him here and there and thinks he is funny little man and genuinely goodhearted, and also he has rockin abs as a plus) says munkustrap already asked me if i need a roommate and if i do to consider you, because you don’t want to move back home. in other words: yes, you little idiot

they do fool around with each other but they are both very understanding that it is strictly platonic and for fun, especially once they become roommates. they both do not desire each other for anything serious

he did have a bit of a crush on each other when they met (hot punk older girl who’s friends with his brother) but 1. it dissipated pretty quick after they fooled around for the first time because it was not a very serious crush 2. she was in the middle of being in love with demeter so she was focused on that, emotionally

he got his ears pierced a couple times in high school but bombalurina inspired him to get a couple more. she went with him when he got his nose pierced

demeter has always understood that him and bombalurina are strictly fwb, has never been an issue.

she and him like to bleach their hair together when their hair schedules line up (he bleaches his way less often then she does), but she refuses to use his fancy conditioner that keeps his hair unfried because it’s expensive, even though he tells her to go ahead and use it, please, the health of her hair is giving HIM anxiety, demeter please. please demeter

mistoffelees:

gay. 20 years old

has magic. it’s pretty good magic but again: magic is not a big deal in this concept

a bit spooky. skulks around. a bit of a bitch but also very very nice. chooses when to speak

he has postings on craigslist and fiverr about finding lost objects and people with magic. like a gig economy private detective

side job is a waiter at a fancy restaurant

sometimes he gets paid VERY well from the private detecting, depending on the client. he does ask his psychic friends (tantomile & coricopat) to give a quick glance over on some of the more suspicious clients just to make sure he isn’t finding someone who should not be found by that person.

doesn’t go to college. is roommates with his sister victoria, who’s a freshman and studying dance. moved into town with her so she wouldn’t have to live in the dorms by having a guaranteed roommate.

tuggoffelees:

the general vibe i want for these two is mistoffelees walking around town or driving around in his shitty toyota camry while tugger tags along because he’s bored and thinks this is cool as shit

the general tone of the au is “magic isn’t a big deal” except for tugger, who thinks mistoffelees’ magic and his magic freelancing is the coolest shit ever. this is mostly because he just likes mistoffelees. “there are people who can do cooler shit than me, tug” “yeah but i don’t KNOW them also theyre not as COOL as you” “you had to explain to me how instagram reels work”

idk how they met i just think tugger shows up at his and bombalurina’s apartment one day (this is when demeter has moved in but they havent moved to the 3br yet) with this dude to dash in and pick something up and bombalurina is like “uh. who’s this” “oh this is mistoffelees he’s SO GOOD AT MAGIC” [mistoffelees nods hello] “okay bye bombalurina see you at work!!!” “uh. later”

after that he just shows up a lot. sort of ambiguous if theyre dating or what for a while before bombalurina straight up asks like “hey does the dude you’re dating know we fool around” “the dude im - what?” “... the little magic guy who keeps using our hot cocoa mix. misty.” “oh. uh. we aren’t dating.” “... do you want to? because you’re kind of all over him constantly” “um. well! haha, if i wanted to, i could! haha!” “yeah get back to me on that”

tugger trying to use his ig clout to get mistoffelees more work even though 1. he has no clout 2. mistoffelees has a very stable client base. but mistoffelees appreciates the effort. the self-promo guy promoing someone other than himself... the highest expression of love...

mistoffelees is A Nonthreatening Man plus he’s pretty obviously gay so demeter is chill around him pretty quickly. when mistoffelees is over they’ll sit on the couch where demeter sleeps and watch documentaries quietly while she crochets

they both occasionally say spooky shit at the same time because magic stuff. bombalurina and tugger are both torn between “that was cool as fuck” and “god that’s unnerving”

just a lot of tugger following mistoffelees around on his jobs and mistoffelees letting him because he’s fond of him and them occasionally getting into minor peril and interesting shenanigans, but it is 90% fetch quests

i think the first time they met tugger was taking selfies in front of a hydrangea in a public park and he saw mistoffelees walk up with a shovel and start digging in one of the flower beds and he thought he was hot so he went over and offered to take over on the shoveling to look strong and masculine and he ended up digging up a skull, which mistoffelees picked up and said “thanks” and then walked away

mildly terrifying but also very interesting and tugger’s days are kind of boring and dishwashing kind of sucks as a job to do like every night and he is a person who thrives on novelty so. moth to a porchlight

i think they do start making out for fun here and there and then a while later theyre out on one of mistoffelees’ jobs and someone asks “who’s the guy with you” and mistoffelees replies “oh that’s my boyfriend, don’t worry about him” and then it’s like. “HUH? I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND?” “uh. yeah? i assumed. is that okay?” “i mean yeah of course i think you’re great! how long have we–” “oh like a while.” “oh. uh. cool!!”

they just hang out a lot. mistoffelees enjoys teasing him and enjoys his warmth and bombasticity and tugger likes watching and helping him solve little mysteries around the county because it’s always something new. they’re kind of a comedy duo. they just enjoy spending their time together and following mistoffelee’s internal magic gps to find lost dogs and lost necklaces

yeah right now this au is just vibes and just sort of. continuing forward with your days and your weeks and your months. just young adults hanging out

[peanut-butter-parkerxx]

he died his hair prank

peter decided to prank y/n by temporarily dying his hair silver..

pairing: peter x fem!reader

status: dating

peters pov

i finally found a way to get revenge on y/n and her stupid yet believable pranks, since she loves my brown hair so much, no i did not decide to cut it aunt may would literally murder me if y/n didnt so it before her, i decided to temporarily dye it silver but she doesnt need to know its temporary ;)

y/n/n and i decided to hang out in the evening since i told her i had to go run some errands for may, thankfully she believed  it, so now im on my way to go buy some hair dye....*nervous laugh*

i got the hair dye and i took all the stuff out spreading them on my bathroom counter, i decided to record this coz i dont think ill dye my hair again any time soon, plus it felt like i was filming a youtube video

"ok so i watched a couple of videos before this coz i dont wanna mess this beautiful gem up" i said reffering to my hair "im obviously not gonna bleach it, so lets hope my hair is light enough to show the dye" i prayed and attempted to put my hair in a ponytail and it looked pretty good, i watched how y/n does it on my hair everytime we do face masks but doing it for yourself is wayyy harder

*A/N: look at this cutie 🥰 anyways back to the story*

i dyed the side of my hair first getting the dye everywhere, thank god i took the bathroom rug out so it would not get stained, and then took the bun out and sectioned it

"dont let me down brad mondo" i whispered getting even more nervous than i was before i brushed the dye of the first section "i did it" i smiled proudly but then it hit me "i did  it, i did it, this part of my hair is silver! oh my god" i was panicking, what am i doing? this is a prank this is a prank its not real calm down peter

suddenly i got a facetime call from y/n

*babyyyy 💕👀 would like to FaceTime*

lit up my screen, i panicked a bit trying to find an excuse to not answer the call or at least not show her my face, but i remembered i was in the bathroom....hopefully this excuse will work

i clicked on 'accept' and waited for her to connect

"hey babyyyy" she beamed, shes cute when shes excited but her smile faded when she couldnt see me "where are you?" she asked

"im in the toilet babe, but i couldnt not answer your call" i laughed trying to act normal and backing up from my phone as much as possible

"oh" she laughed, i wanted to grab something from the counter and i thought i did it carefully but what she said, said otherwise "wait why is your hair silver?" she asked her eyes widening

"wHAT? what do you mean?" i squeeked, i hesitantly put the undyed of my hair to the frame and she sighed in relief "my hair is brown, love nothing to worry about"

"thank god, although you kinda looked like jack frost which was kinda hot....but no no no no i prefer brown, dont even think about it" she warned, i laughed at her statement, it kinda made me more confident, maybe i would look like jack frost "anyways, ill see you in a few, im almost at my house, gotta go, byeee" she said waving her hand at the camera

"byeeee" i put my hand in the frame and waved, she laughed and ended  the call...that was close

after a few curses and an hour of dying my hair, i finished! and im pretty proud of the results, lets just hope my hair doesnt fall out

*A/N: this is the only picture i found of a guy with a somewhat wavy hair so imagine this is him but with messier hair dye and its all over his hair but not till his roots, OH and silver lmao*

so i took a photo of my hair and sent it to ned, he was with me throughout the whole process coz i needed someone to talk to, i usually annoy y/n with my daily rants but i couldnt so ned had to hear me talk abt how Mrs Barbosa gave me extra homework for being late

After I texted Ned, I got a text from y/n/n

"Babyyyy 👀💕: hey Pete, where are we hanging out? My place or yours?"

I told her that she could come to my place because I got a 'surprise' for her, i knew i had to record this so i quickly placed my phone on the desk

"YOUR BITCH HAS ARRIVEDDD!" y/b barges in, flopping on the bed next to me

"h-hey y/n/n" i said laughing at her dramatic entrance but still confused on how she didn't  notice my hair, just act casual, she moved closer to my body looking at the computer thats on my lap

"what are you doing?" she asked curious "

oh nothing, just watching guys surprise their girlfriends with dying their hair a bad color"i laughed acting as casual as possible

"oh thats funny, but if you did that to m- *looks up* *big dramatic loud gasp* PETE- I- WHA- HOW-" her eyes were as big as ever, I've  never seen her this shocked "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LUCIOUS BROWN CURLS" she shouted completely ignoring my computer and sits on my lap to get a closer look

"YOUR curls?" i laughed

"yes MY curls what happened to the light brown almost hazel in the sunlight curls?" she brushes my hair through her fingers trying to get the dye out "i dont think my brain processed this yet- WAIT YOU DYED IT RIGHT? SO THAT MEANS IT'LL STAY FOREVER?" looked down her mouth parted

"isn't  that what dying your hair means?"

"HOW ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS I MEAN ITS A WHOLE DIFFERENT COLOR, AND WHY SILVER-ISH GREY?"

"I actually really like it" I said combing my hair through my fingers but she swatted it away so she could look at it more

"babe *laughs* you said I'd look like Jack Frost" I told her tilting my head

"well Jack Frost is hot but you're hott-ER I don't want you looking like Jack Frost because I said so! I love you for who you are....especially your brown hair"

"so if I told I like it you'd be ok with it?"

"Yes if you like it and it's your choice? %100"

"so what if I said it's a prank?" She was gonna nod her head coz she thought it was like the other question but then stopped midway and widened her eyes

"your kidding"

"yes in fact I am" I laugh and point at the camera and she gasps

"you..you....YOU BITCH" she punches my chest jokingly "I ALMOST GOT A HEART ATTACK AND GOT ALL SAPPY AND MUSHY FOR YOU JUST SO YOU COULD PRANK ME?!" she shouts point her hands everywhere "You know I was like scared! Coz you said you liked it and I was like, oh no I gotta get used to this no more chocolate curls, but not as in i lied I just gotta get used to it which added more pressure than I already felt!" She stated but I only laughed even more and awed

"babe don't worry"

"I HAD A MATH QUIZ TODAY" she point at herself "AND YOUR HERE LAUGHING YOUR ASS OFF?? no wait let me sit on the bed since you like when I sit on your lap"

"no no baby I'm sorry" I said while laughing, her face was hilarious

"no you're not! and no kisses till Monday" she huffs and looks at the wall, I give her ten seconds until she turns around to ask one more question, and she did

"hop on the shower we're cleaning the white of you, you Jack Frost wannabe" well more like a demand I huffed but got up with her and turned the recording off

"neds gonna love this"

Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night!

-quacksonlover

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

21. Redemption

The Ink Demon cannot redeem himself in his apostate prophet’s eyes, but luckily for him, Allison does a good job keeping it from killing him. (Set in FIFE, immediately after the Sin prompt.)

The Ink Demon, making what had to be one of the stupidest decisions ever, popped out of his Inkwell and stood to his full height, which while it was tall compared to human beings, the Ink Demon was rather short compared to the towering behemoth Sammy had become.

“Sammy, listen, I know I should’ve told you this way, WAY earlier but.. I’m Sorry.” The horrifying creature wrapped its body up in its largest pair of wings, steadying itself on a single arm as Inky tried to read the creature’s body language for either signs of approval or disapproval. Not knowing if he was getting through to it or not, he continued. “I know I really, really, really %#@!ed up with everything I did to you, I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness at all...  Maybe if I was a better person back then, I would’ve earned the praise you’ve heaped on me, but instead… *sigh* I’m sorry for how I treated you back then, I’m sorry that I pretty much… brainwashed you into worshiping me and then threw you to the side once I had what I wanted. I’m sorry that I hurt you and your loved ones for fun, And I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were nothing… I should’ve known better than to do any of that $#*!, Joey put me through similar stuff and I knew that it was &%#@ing awful when I was going through it, but I was too much of a Jack@$$ to-”

“Shhhh…” The otherworldly musician put a shushing finger over the Ink Demon’s lips which he retracted back into his wings. “It’s alright, little one. All is forgiven. No sin you have committed has been an infinite one, thus, you shall not receive infinite punishment.”

“Y-you really forgive me?! This soon?! H-how?! I hurt you the most out of everybody I’ve wronged, people who I’ve done a lot less to still avoid me because they still haven’t forgiven me… ...Does this mean you’re coming back home?”

Instead of answering him, a deformed arm shot out of Sammy’s form and straight through the Ink Demon’s chest, tearing out his heart in one fell swoop. The mouths on its arm already began chewing away at it like ravenous piranhas.

“Your sins are forgiven… but not forgotten…”

The Ink Demon ducked back into his inkwell to prevent further damage from happening to him, Allison gripped onto the inkwell tightly and ran like hell out of the ritual room. Partly to help protect the Ink Demon from the eldritch musician’s wrath, partly because she feared the beast, and mostly because the blessed bleach on the floor would eat her alive if she stayed in there any longer.

The being sped after her, moving its many distorted arms like the legs of a spider as Allison narrowly ducked and dodged incoming strikes from it, preferring to evade the eldritch monster as opposed to attacking it as like the Ink Demon, it could not be harmed by normal weapons, but unlike the ink demon, every time she cut off a hand, the stump grew and branched off to give it two more hands.

“D-don’t you think… *Cough* *Hack...* that we should try to reason with him?”

“Maybe we should,” she offered as she felt like it was too dangerous to argue with Inky during this. “But not while he’s trying to kill us in a maze filled with holy bleach!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, false angel...” The pursuing entity sounded like it was rolling its limitless eyes. “You may serve the divine, but you are not among their ranks... You will be spared, even if you believe you do not deserve it.”

“Gee, thanks Sammy...” She muttered under her breath while also rolling her eyes. “I totally believe you.”

Shortly after another close call with one the hands narrowly catching the inkwell, Allison grabbed her rope with the intent to tie the Inkwell to herself but then got a better idea.

“Inky, hold onto my waist as tightly as you can!”

She took a sharp turn, tied a lasso out of the rope, and swung it around to get momentum. Once she felt she had enough of it and sensed the upcoming pursuer, she turned and threw it behind her at the eldritch horror, almost stunned with shock and pride as she saw the rope perfectly hit Sammy’s muzzle. But luckily for her, adrenaline overcame shock and she ran between the entity’s arms and yanked the rope as hard as she possibly could.

As half-planned, the action slammed the beast to the ground. While it was still dazed by the action, The brave angel tied more of the rope around the horror’s muzzle, and jumped on its back as if she was riding a horse- -err a sheep, the creature was closer to a sheep than a horse. She jumped on its back as if she was riding a sheep made out of nightmares.

���HOLY *HACCK!* *WHEEZE!* $#*! ALLISON! WHERE THE %#^& DID THAT COME FROM?!”

“I panicked, and well…” She gestured at the rope and the beast. “When I trusted my gut, this happened.”

The beast shook the dizziness out of its head and rose on many unsteady limbs that swayed and staggered as it stood back up, almost as if the body remembered that it was supposed to be human, or at least humanoid, not whatever it was now.

One of the arms felt around its back for the Angel, and she drew her blade and put it against the musician’s throat while grabbing tightly to his left horn.

“You’ve won the battle, but the war is over. C’mon, Sam, we’re going home.”

She felt a heavy sigh come out from the beast, specifically, out of the tied up muzzle.

“Do you truly trust him? After all you have seen him do? After all he’s put everyone through?”

“We’ve all hurt people back there, all of us.” She lowered her blade off Sammy’s neck. “We’ve all done one terrible thing or another and tried to justify it to ourselves, and all of us regret them… I Don’t fully trust the Ink Demon, not yet… But I do trust that he regrets what he’s done too, and that he wants to change for the better as much as everyone else does, as much as you do.”

“I had no intent for changing for the better, I had valued the deaths of the false gods more than my own life. I expected to have my soul destroyed by the ritual, and yet, almost annoyingly, I still persist.”

“Because you believed that by destroying them, you’d set your flock free! You’re still here, because you know that you have people who want you back, people who love you and miss you, people who you inspired by your own redemption among them to change themselves for the better.”

“Including me!”

“...Including him.”

“...”

“So, would you like to see them again and go back home?”

“No. America never was and never will be my home, not even then, and especially not now.”

The angel and demon deflated partly.

“But… I’m sure I will make some visits here and there, everybody knows how to call me when they want.”

“Say Sammy… *HACKK!* About you wanting me to *COUGH* free you from an ‘Inky dark abyss you call a body’... Would… would you like me to try that, or do you have a sweet deal going on with the whole nightmare-abomination-god-thing?”

“...Well…”

-----

Weeks later...

“How’s progress going so far?”

“Uuuurrrrgghhh...!”

The Ink Demon pinched the nonexistent bridge of his nonexistent nose in frustration as his patient/canvas gave a so-so gesture.

“It’s terrible! Just terrible! I’ve managed to carve it back down to LOOKING human (most of the time), but every time I turn my back on this mother^@!&er, its got something ELSE going on, and the second I fix it, it’s got a new problem: First it was that its pectorals were replaced with a giant mouth filled with fangs that belonged to a sea monster, THEN there was the wasp problem, and THEN eyes are popping all over it like chicken pox spots, and THEN...”

“I have accepted that Eldritch demigodhood may be a chronic condition that I’ll have to deal with for the rest of my life. At least most of my humanity is restored... and this condition is one that has its perks from time to time...”

“Well, according to the tests, you’re a human being, so at least you two on the right path.”

“Yeah… Still frustrating as &$@! Though. What makes it worse is that COULD’VE done better if I did this sooner! I could’ve saved it back at the studio but Nooo, I had to wait until AFTER getting freed from that place before getting a redemption arc. #%#@ing son of a...”

“While it’s not the most... Ideal, but it’s a lot better than it’s ever been before. Thank you for your assistance.”

“No, thank you for giving me another chance.”

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 17

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 16

Next Chapter: Chapter 18

Lucie spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden trying to figure out how to do magic. It didn’t help that she had no idea what she was doing or how magic worked and instead she was just trying some methods she remembered from her favorite books. So far, nothing happened. After some time, Jessamine came outside to watch.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Trying to do magic,’ Lucie answered, a little frustrated with her lack of progress. ‘You don’t happen to have any clue how that works?’

Jessamine looked shocked. ‘About magic? Of course not, why would you think such a thing. I’m a good Christian.’

Lucie guessed she should have suspected such a thing. ‘Jess, in all the time that you’ve been here, was I the only one who could see you?’

Jessamine thought for a while.

‘Actually, no,’ she said. ‘There was someone else, years ago. The sister of Mr. Gray. She travelled to the manor shortly after my death, to express her condolences to my family, and she could see me and spoke to me.’

Mr. Gray’s sister… Her mother couldn’t see ghosts, but perhaps she was somehow distantly related to his woman and to Jessamine’s old suitor through her mother. Perhaps that power did travel in families.

‘And was there anything else she could do?’ Lucie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Jessamine said. ‘Mr. Gray always thought his sister was odd, occupied with things not suitable for a young lady. She rarely came to balls, even if she was old enough to be out and looking for suitors. But he thought discussing what his sister was up to would be inappropriate for the proper ladies present, such as myself.’

‘She must have been a witch too then,’ Lucie speculated.

Jessamine looked horrified. ‘Witches don’t really exist, do they? Mr. Gray’s sister was certainly odd, everyone knew that, but I never thought she could be a witch.’

‘Jess, you’re literally a ghost. And I can see you and speak with you, just like Mr. Gray’s sister did. When I’m near you can pick up hair brushes, which you normally can’t.’

‘All this time, you’ve been bewitching me?’ Jessamine asked, her voice small.

‘No, not like that,’ Lucie said. ‘That wasn’t something I did intentionally, and I never forced you into anything. Although I’m thinking maybe I could. Jess, my friend is in danger and I need to save him. Are you willing to help me?’

Jessamine looked reluctant. ‘What will you do to me?’

‘Just test a few things, figure out what I can do,’ Lucie said. ‘I’ve always made you stronger, I have no idea what you could do with my help.’

She looked down, resigned. ‘Alright, Lucie. I will see what I can do. What is it that you ask of me?’

Lucie looked around, and noticed a stick lying on the ground.

‘Can you pick that up?’ she asked, pointing.

Jessamine looked confused, but bent down and picked up the stick, holding it in her hands. Usually, ghosts could pick up things they cared for around her. In Jessamine’s case, hairbrushes and dolls. Lucie didn’t think Jessamine cared much for sticks.

‘That looks odd,’ Thomas, who was sitting in a garden chair next to Alastair, commented. ‘Like you just made the stick float.’

‘Yes,’ Lucie said. ‘But that’s not exactly helpful, is it? Jessamine, can you touch Thomas? Usually you’d pass through him.’

Jessamine dropped the stick and rubbed her hand even if there was no dirt remaining on her ghostly form. She walked over to Thomas, who'd stood up out of his chair, and shook his hand, curtsying politely. Thomas yelped, which indicated that he could feel her. Interesting.

‘Do gentlemen not kiss a lady’s hand anymore?’ Jessamine asked.

Thomas turned red, and lifted his hand up, taking Jessamine’s hand with him, and kissed her. To Lucie, this looked relatively normal, but Thomas couldn’t see Jessamine. This had to be awkward. Jessamine let go of Thomas’ hand.

‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,’ Jessamine said.

Lucie repeated Jessamine’s words to Thomas.

‘Ah, it is a pleasure to meet you too, miss,’ Thomas said, looking over her head instead of at her.

Lucie sometimes wondered if Thomas got neck cramps from having to look down whenever he was talking to other people.

Jessamine let go of Thomas’ hand. ‘In my day, the gentlemen certainly had better manners,’ she snorted.

Lucie started laughing. ‘Jessamine is not impressed by your manners, Tom,’ she said.

Thomas turned an even deeper red. ‘I am terribly sorry, miss, that my manners are not up to your standard. Wait, is she still there?’

Jessamine scoffed. ‘I’ll never understand the gentlemen of this century. If you can call them that. People are so contradictory. I always felt like public displays of affection are frowned upon nowadays, especially between gentlemen, even if they are very close friends. But your two gentlemen seem to be very affectionate and improper with each other.’

Lucie started laughing. She suspected Jessamine had seen Alastair and Thomas kiss each other the other day, she’d seemed very shocked by it, but Lucie didn’t realize she’d interpreted them as having a very intimate friendship. Some decades before Jessamine lived, such a thing had been more normalized though, known as the romantic friendship. Although Lucie suspected at least some of those “romantic friendships” were really concealed gay relationships. ‘Oh no, that is not considered normal in this day, but Alastair and Thomas are not simply close friends.’

Jessamine looked absolutely horrified and Lucie decided to change the subject. She did not feel like discussing sexuality with a ghost from the Victorian era, she didn’t think that conversation would end without anyone getting hurt or offended.

‘What did she say?’ Thomas asked.

‘Jess is very confused about the gentlemen of this day. Usually they are not so affectionate towards each other as you are with Alastair,’ Lucie summarized.

‘I,’ Alastair announced, ‘am very glad to live in this day and age and not whatever century this lady must have been from.’

Lucie could imagine, the modern day might still be a mess but she would certainly prefer it over being a 19thcentury lady. She imagined she would have married young, a gentleman she’d thought she was fond of, but didn’t really feel romantic attraction to, and then she’d be trapped. That wouldn’t happen to her main character Eloise though. Eloise and Mabel would find a way, although of course writing a story about a sapphic couple in the 19th century had its limitations in their happy ending.

‘So Jess can touch objects and people who don’t see her,’ Lucie continued. ‘Anyone has any other ideas?’

‘Could you make her visible to us?’ Alastair asked.

‘Jess, show yourself,’ Lucie said.

Jessamine frowned. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’

Nothing happened, at least not that Lucie could tell.

‘She looks a lot like I pictured her,’ Thomas said.

‘I thought her hair would be darker,’ Alastair commented. ‘I don’t think bleach for hair existed back then, and I’m pretty sure no one has hair that’s naturally this light.’

‘I think it depends on where you’re from,’ Thomas said. ‘Light blonde hair is more common in Northern Europe.’

Cordelia snorted. ‘Just because you used to bleach your hair, does not mean everyone who is blonde does the same.’

Thomas frowned. ‘You bleached your hair?’

‘I dyed it back to black, and it’s mostly grown out now,’ Alastair said. ‘It was too much effort to maintain, I had to touch up the roots every four weeks. It looked good though.’

‘It did not look good,’ Cordelia commented. ‘He looked like a turnip.’

Lucie’s eyes went wide. It worked. They were seeing Jessamine. Lucie was feeling a little faint, but did not let it distract her.

‘Come on, pay attention. You’re looking at a ghost for the first time in your life, isn’t that more interesting than Alastair’s hair?’ Lucie shouted.

‘Almost,’ Thomas said. ‘Have you seen Alastair’s hair?’

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s pay attention to the ghost. Alright, blonde people are real. And her dress is very nice, I always liked the bustle style.’

‘You can see me?’ Jessamine’s smile lit up. ‘Oh this wonderful. It is such a long time since a gentleman has been able to see me. And it is a lovely dress, I had it made when I visited Paris with my mama.’

She pronounced Paris the way the French did. Lucie knew Jessamine loved to talk about her gowns, although she wasn’t fond of modern clothes. She wore a green day dress with a bustle, something Lucie imagined was a bit unpractical. So many layers. Not to mention the corset.

Alastair looked up thoughtfully. ‘How long do you imagine she’ll stay visible, Lucie?’ he asked. ‘What about if you step away from here? Go inside?’

Lucie took several steps away from Jessamine, taking hold of the door to open it.

‘She’s gone,’ Thomas said.

Lucie turned around and walked to Jessamine. ‘What about now?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ Cordelia said. ‘I think once she disappears, you need to ask her to become visible again.’

‘Show yourself,’ Lucie repeated.

‘There she is,’ Alastair said. ‘She looks surprisingly human. I always thought ghosts would be more transparent like in movies.’

‘If they were, do you think I would have mistaken ghosts for living people?’ Lucie asked. ‘If you look carefully, ghosts have a bit of a shimmer but beyond that they look just like people.’

‘Living people, that is,’ Jessamine said. ‘I consider myself a person still, thank you very much.’

‘Of course you are a person,’ Thomas confirmed, indicating that he could hear as well as see her. ‘It is odd to think you’ve been here for such a long time, and always invisible.’

‘It has been very difficult,’ Jessamine said. ‘For a long time, no one could see me until Lucie came here. And modern times are so confusing. Why do ladies wear clothes that reveal their ankles at all times? Worse, the knees? In my day, the occasional ankle slip was to be expected, of course, but visibility of the calves and knees was unheard of. Have people lost all sense of propriety?’

‘Because it’s more practical to not wear floor length dresses all the time,’ Lucie said. ‘Also, no one cares about ankles nowadays. Or knees.’

Lucie did like wearing dresses and skirts, but didn’t like them too long. She was short and therefore the hem always dragged over the ground, which meant she either tripped over the skirt or got it dirty when she wore it outside.

‘But it’s so improper,’ Jessamine insisted, horrified. ‘How could people just stop caring about such things? If this continues, it will not be long until humans go out with no clothes at all and society will fall into chaos.’

‘Now that is generally frowned upon,’ Alastair said. ‘I do not expect that to happen anytime soon.’

‘It would be uncomfortable,’ Cordelia added. ‘And also very cold. The point of clothes is to stay warm.’

‘Does anyone have an idea on how to open a gateway to the land in between?’ Lucie asked. ‘Because that is different from what I can ask of ghosts.’

Cordelia frowned. ‘Maybe you could ask Jessamine.’

‘Jess, can you open a gateway to the land in between for me?’ Lucie asked.

Jessamine frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I do not understand what you ask of me.’

That wasn’t it, then. Lucie guessed opening the gateway was something she’d have to do herself. Making Jessamine visible, that was also something she did, she commanded it and Jessamine could not do it without her. Then perhaps it was about commanding.

‘Or you could ask for a gateway,’ Thomas suggested.

‘Like, open sesame?’ Lucie asked.

‘Be specific,’ Alastair added. ‘What is it that you want to happen? Perhaps Thomas is right, perhaps all you have to do is ask.’

Lucie tried to remember what Grace said, that her magic was dark magic. Perhaps she needed to ask the darkness, or shadows, or something like it? Grace had hinted at this too. Careful what you wish, you just might get it.

‘Darkness, open a gateway to the land in between that is only open to myself, Thomas Lightwood, and Alastair and Cordelia Carstairs,’ Lucie said, remembering to be detailed. Perhaps that was what Grace had warned her about, that what she asked for would happen but not the way she’d intended. ‘A gateway that will not close until all four of us made it back safely to our world.’

It didn’t look like a gateway exactly. There was just a hint of shadow, and when it touched Lucie her friends disappeared. There were no ruins here, the change was subtle beyond her friends being gone. The air was just a touch darker, the breeze a little colder. Some of the color had faded, the grass was a bit duller. There was a fog hovering above the ground. The house was still there, but from here she should be able to see her father’s car and that was gone.

Cordelia, Thomas and Alastair appeared beside her, Cordelia with cortana in hand.

‘I don’t see any ruins,’ Thomas commented.

‘I think the land in between is layered over our land,’ Lucie said. ‘So perhaps to find those ruins, I need to open a portal around where the ruins are. Or I guess we could walk there, but then we’d leave a portal open here and we’d have to walk all the way back once we find it in this world.’

‘I imagine you could open another portal,’ Alastair said. ‘But finding the place the ruins should be in our world and then opening a portal is likely safer. Come, we should get back. This place doesn’t feel right.’

Alastair had a point. Lucie looked around to the way back. In their own world, the gateway looked like a shadow. Here it was a ray of light in an otherwise dark and gloomy environment. She watched her friends step into the light and disappear and then Lucie followed.

The four of them were back in the normal world, her parents both in the garden, concerned. The gate of darkness disappeared behind her. Lucie had asked it not to close until all of them were back, she guessed on its own it didn’t stay open for long and would close if she didn’t stop it. She made a mental note of that, she didn’t want to have to open another portal while they were being attacked by something. The portal closing behind her while all four of them were back was a good way to make sure nothing else came through.

She was feeling a bit more faint than before, light headed. She should have expected using magic would come at a price, but perhaps it was like exercise and she could improve her magic stamina.

‘Where did you just come from?’ Tessa asked.

Lucie looked around for help, but figured since this was her power she was to explain it. She started with Grace visiting again, with her telling her that she had more power than she knew and that she could open a gate.

‘I figured out how to do it,’ Lucie concluded. ‘So we can go into the woods and find Grace’ skin.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want us to come along?’ Will asked.

Lucie considered it, but it was a long time since her father had fought anything and her mother had barely any experience. It wouldn’t be safer with them there. Cordelia had a sword, Lucie was the only one who could open the gateway, and Grace seemed under the impression that it was also necessary for Alastair to come, that his memory would be essential. At least one person with the sight would also be useful.

‘I think it’s better if you didn’t,’ Lucie said. ‘But there’s something else you could do in the meantime. According to Cordelia and Alastair, their father has lots of notebooks from their ancestors, and one must have described a witch similar to me. Perhaps you could call Elias, or uncle Jem, and ask for them.’

Will frowned. ‘Do you think Elias would help us now? He was so opposed to Cordelia coming here with us before.’

Cordelia hadn’t been allowed to come at first, but then her mother had moved out and taken her children with her and her father couldn’t stop her anymore. Sona had decided it would be good for both her children to have some time away and had encouraged them to go. Lucie agreed it was unlikely Elias would be any help on his own accord. She couldn’t say she understood him or his relationship with his children well, all she knew was the damage it had done to Alastair and Cordelia.

‘Father does listen to Jem at times,’ Alastair said stiffly. ‘I think perhaps he could reason with him.’

‘I’ve been meaning to call Jem anyway,’ Will said. ‘If you do not return before dinner, we will come looking for you.’

‘I could leave the gate open for you,’ Lucie said. ‘But we cannot be sure about the time. It doesn’t run the same way, we could spend only a couple of hours there and we’d be missing for a whole day. We cannot keep track of time in there.’

‘Dinnertime,’ Will repeated. ‘I won’t blame you if you’re not back, but we will come looking.’

‘Perhaps we should go tomorrow,’ Alastair suggested and Lucie wondered if maybe after this morning, he did not feel up for it and needed rest. ‘I think it is unlikely we will finish before that time, and if we go tomorrow early in the morning, it is far more likely we can finish before dinnertime.’

Lucie had to admit his line of reasoning had merit, even if she was impatient to get out there. Besides, that gave her time to practice. Cordelia returned to her practice with cortana, whereas Lucie tried asking the darkness for other favors. She practiced opening and closing gate. The gateways all worked and did what she asked of them, but it was tiring though. After four more gates Lucie collapsed onto a garden chair and took to watching Cordelia practice, too tired to get up. Perhaps Alastair had a point in postponing going for the skin, and she imagined even if he was feeling better now that he was exhausted after this morning. She’d had a break down on a rare occasion, autism and stubbornness didn’t always go well together, but never as bad as Alastair had. She knew how exhausting it could be.

Cordelia’s stamina had to be a lot better than Lucie’s, because she kept going for a long time and didn’t seem to get tired. She certainly had a weak spot for girls with swords, and Lucie made a note to use that in one of her novels. Cordelia had tied back her dark red hair in a high ponytail, and was wearing a wide shirt tucked into a pair of jean shorts, something a bit more practical than Lucie’s yellow jumpsuit. Well, it was comfortable to walk around in, but a struggle to go to the bathroom. Cordelia had begun to break a sweat, a few drips on her forehead, but that didn’t stop her. Perhaps later she’d want to go swimming to cool down. Thinking of water, Lucie realized she hadn’t drunk anything in a while. And considering Cordelia had been training for some time, she had to be dehydrated.

‘Do you want something to drink?’ Lucie asked.

‘I could use a glass of water,’ Cordelia said. ‘I always forget to drink when I’m training.’

Fortunately, Lucie was there to make sure Cordelia drank enough water. She tended to forget herself too, especially when she was busy writing. Sometimes she’d complain of a headache, only to realize she hadn’t drunk anything since breakfast.

She went inside to find Alastair and Thomas were about to leave, both carrying a bag.

‘Where are you going?’ Lucie asked.

‘Just to the lake,’ Thomas said. ‘We won’t go too far into the lake, but it’s getting too warm pretty much everywhere. Maybe you and Cordelia can join us later when you’re done training.’

‘I’ll ask Cordelia,’ Lucie promised. ‘Have fun, in the meantime.’

She returned outside with two glasses of water, putting one on the table.

‘The boys have gone swimming,’ Lucie said. ‘Thomas said we were welcome to join once we’re done.’

‘Sure,’ Cordelia said. ‘Just let me finish.’

Cordelia went through a few more repeats of her training, and then transformed cortana back into its necklace form.

‘I get tired a lot sooner than you,’ Lucie admitted.

‘I can’t do magic,’ Cordelia said. ‘I have no idea how exhausting opening or closing a gateway is. I imagine it is a lot more work than simply swinging a sword.’

Lucie guessed perhaps that was true, magic ought to have some limitations. If not, then how could Cordelia’s ancestor have defeated the witch from Grace’ story? ‘I’m curious what else I can do. Grace said something about controlling the dead and making them fight, but that seems a bit unethical. Jessamine isn’t a fighter, and I’d never make her fight something on my behalf.’

‘It depends on the situation, I guess,’ Cordelia said. ‘We don’t know what it takes to stop Tatiana and save Thomas.’

‘No, but I do need to draw moral lines for myself,’ Lucie said. ‘I feel bad for that witch from the story, and I don’t want to end up like her. I don’t want us to become enemies.’

Cordelia took her hand. ‘I’ll never become your enemy, Lu.’

‘Then I guess I’ll have to stay on the safe side of that ethical line. I know how easy it can be, to have the end justify the means, but that’s something I’d rather save for my stories.’

[poketin]

An Exercise in Observation

(can also be found on ao3 under poketin)!

Kanamori Sayaka has a sharp eye.

She’s known for it. The label on her favorite milk and what to look out for when someone’s trying to cheap out of her cashing in their favor for some of the good stuff. The way the fresher money tree leaves jut out rather than the slight sag they acquire as time passes. The guilty hunch of Mizusaki’s shoulders as she spends too long trying to make a shot perfect instead of getting things done on time.

It’s why when Asakusa fiddles and squirms in ways different than usual (and yes of course Kanamori has her comrade’s mannerisms filed away, you never know what information may come in handy for your own purposes), Kanamori notices.

Asakusa squirming is nothing new, fiddling with pencils, chewing on her rabbit, coiling in her chair then springing up when her energy needs to go somewhere, “BA-BWAA!” as she helpfully explained. Kanamori knows it helps her concentrate, lays the tracks in front of her mind’s train as it barrels ahead with anecdotes, tangents, and ideas, trying to wrangle its path before it derails and overwhelms her senses.

But Asakusa is twitching in a way that suggests she’s trying to curb her movement, only lurching slightly on the same side each time, not alternating like the blur of her swinging legs or crisscrossing ankles as she taps on the floor, but a movement devoid of silence save for a hiss between her teeth.

Irritation seizes Kanamori’s body, overriding any possibility of worry or patience as she spins herself in her chair and slams her feet on the ground, one leg draped over the other.

“What are you doing.”

It comes out as a statement because Kanamori hates pointless questions, preferring an acknowledgment that “Yes, I know something’s wrong and no amount of unconvincing jabber is going to prove otherwise, so spit it out already,” but in fewer words that can save both of them time.

Despite this, the course of action Asakusa takes is of no surprise to anyone as she tries to withhold her shock, her hat hopping off her head for the briefest moment. She turns to Kanamori with GUILT practically written on her forehead in thick, black lines. She’s either brave or stupid enough to look her in the eyes, nonetheless. Mizusaki smells danger, and hightails it out of the clubroom with the excuse that she’s going to buy them all drinks.

“W-whatever could you mean, Kanamori-kun?”

Her uniform looks fine, a smudge of dirt here and there, a grass stain peaking out behind the sleeve of her blazer, maybe even a twig in her hair if her adventure was recent enough.

Her hands are unmarred, curling and clasping at each other as they are, no bandaids, no bruising, no scabs.

Her hat’s as worn as ever, no new holes or tears, no irreversible bleach stains from a traumatic laundry mishap.

Kanamori’s gaze combs over Asakusa’s body but she doesn’t twist or turn in her chair at all. The telltale signs of Asakusa’s nervousness are what the unimaginative often call “normal.” She curls in on herself slightly, her eyes straight ahead rather than bouncing around the room finding the foundations of a fighter plane or a laser cannon in every cranny of ruffled steel, her legs hang like dead weights, hands steady in their twisting instead of squeezing love into her rabbit or bunching up in her clothes. It’s her usual self-expression that’s labeled “suspicious,” confirming for Kanamori once more that the ignorance of people has no stopping point.

Then there’s that pinched expression on her face that Kanamori doesn’t like at all.

“Did a teacher tell you off again?”

There’s been problems, Kanamori’s opinion of faculty falling somehow even lower every time a teacher snaps at Asakusa to pay attention as she doodles (as if she doesn’t get above-average marks in many subjects) or tells her to stand in the hallway if she can’t stop being a distraction.

“No, it’s been awhile since that’s happened,” Asakusa says, shaking her head. Inwardly, Kanamori notes with satisfaction that her anonymous letters about being “unable to receive proper education under teachers that see fit to constantly single out one student” have achieved their goal faster than she predicted.

Outwardly, she raises a single eyebrow.

Asakusa sighs, and before Kanamori has a chance to stop her, stands up and rolls her skirt up partway. Luckily, Kanamori’s brain hasn’t caught up quickly enough to fry itself and send heat blasting into her cheeks, so she notices the problem rather quickly.

“Mosquito bites.”

There’s an angry, swelling bump right above her right knee, with two more on her outer left thigh. With the way she leans down to tug at her socks, there may very well be more on her lower legs.

Deciding on whether to take a break and get medical help or ignore her discomfort to keep working on backgrounds seems to have been an easy choice for their director.

Kanamori stands up and makes her way over, without a sound.

“Sometimes you need to feel the grass between your toes…” Asakusa mumbles, as if that makes her case more reasonable or sympathetic.

But Kanamori is not one to pity.

She stands in front of Asakusa, who only wilts now that Kanamori is directly in front of her, and lets her fist fall onto Asakusa’s head, a common gesture of her disdain.

“And where was the bug spray in your pack?”

Asakusa jolts up, her arms crossed over her body protectively.

“To bring chemical warfare into their natural territory is a war crime, Kanamori-kun!”

Her eyes shine with such righteous indignation that Kanamori has to clamp her teeth down on the rush of fondness that floods through her. Of course the girl who once let a cockroach ride on top of her hat so it could “experience the world in an entirely new way” would never kill a mosquito that didn’t first invade her home base.

“Will it hamper your productivity?”

“Well…”

Kanamori sighs and cinches her arms around Asakusa’s neck, pulling her along.

“W-wait, Kanamori-kun! The power of my will won’t be defeated by mere itchiness—!”

Her voice becomes a muffled squeak as Kanamori tosses her onto the couch and flips open her bag. She points at the couch without looking up.

“Sit. And no scratching.”

She pulls herself into a seated position as Kanamori digs around in her backpack.

Asakusa immediately swings one of her legs, letting out a strangled note of distress as one of her larger bites brushes against the fabric.

Kanamori, now in front of her, grabs the leg in midair.

“K-kanamori-kun?!”

She could focus on the way Asakusa scrunches her mouth in bafflement or the way her brown eyes flicker between Kanamori’s own eyes and clasped hand. She could think about how soft the skin of Asakusa’s leg seems right above where she’s holding her socked ankle. She could read into the way Asakusa doesn’t jerk away from her, how she seems to trust her completely and is ready to follow her lead.

Instead Kanamori drops her leg and tries to make her voice less hoarse as she says, “Don’t move.”

She kneels down and pops the cap off the anti-swelling pain relief gel. More tenderly than she’d ever admit, she squeezes some onto her finger and rubs it on the bite near her knee. Asakusa sighs as the cool gel soothes the burning area.

Kanamori never hesitates, but she’s not sure how to approach the bites in more…intimate areas. She and Asakusa have always been on the same wavelength though, and wordlessly Asakusa leans over to roll her socks down, nose nearly brushing Kanamori’s as she straightens back up to adjust her skirt once more.

There’s only a couple bumps on her lower legs, and Kanamori gets through them faster than she wants to, what with the last few targets waiting for her.

“Asakusa-shi.”

“Kanamori-kun.”

Of all times, it’s now that Asakusa’s voice is clearest, firmest. There’s a hint of challenge in her eyes and her face is enviably clear of any blush.

Kanamori has never been one to stall on what she wants.

She squeezes out more gel, sliding her other hand up Asakusa’ leg, just barely grazing it until she reaches the spot where the final bites are. Once there, she gently grips onto Asakusa’s leg, her thumb trailing her flesh, urging her to turn so the welt is in clearer view. Asakusa obliges.

Kanamori has a good poker face even on the worst of days. Still, as she slathers gel on Asakusa’s soft skin, its coldness contrasts rather pointedly with the heat coming off her own traitorous face.

The door opens just as Kanamori is finishing up. To their credit, neither of them jump at Mizusaki’s return. Instead, Kanamori screws and unscrews the cap of the gel, cursing design flaws as she struggles to get it back on, while Asakusa hops off the couch. She smooths out her skirt and gives Kanamori a brilliant smile without a hint of their previous tension.

“Thanks, Kanamori-kun!”

She grabs a can of peach tea from Mizusaki and dashes to her desk, throwing herself once more into the spirals of far-off mountains and billowing clouds that hide them away.

Kanamori ignores the grin Mizusaki gives her as she hands off the cool bottle of milk, but what she doesn’t miss is Mizusaki whispering, “You so owe me,” as she straightens back up. They both know she’s not talking about the milk, and Mizusaki skips to her workstation before Kanamori can so much as scowl in her direction.

Never mind the fact that she’s smiling instead.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Teen Tracys

Muse is on a roll today, it seems (and I even managed to get some uni work done!).  From a conversation with @janetm74 that started over a discussion about punk!teen Virgil with a green mohawk and Eco-Warrior!teen Gordon and snowballed into, well, something a bit like this.

Random, has not been particularly polished, and I threw in a time skip rather than deal with the serious conversation.  Might write that later.

For ages, we’ve got Scott at 21, John’s 19, Virgil’s 17, Gordon’s 13 and Alan’s 9.  Three teenagers in the house; uh oh.

Scott loved his brothers. Really, he did.  But sometimes, they were just too much.  Big brother just didn’t hold the same weight as parent, no matter that he’d helped to raise all of them, and every so often his little brothers remembered that.

“Gordon, no.”

The thirteen-year-old, decked out in nothing but recycled greens, glared up at him with all the self-proclaimed righteousness a teenager could summon.  It was a lot.

“Do you know how much pollution is still being pumped into the oceans?” he demanded, not at all cowed by the fact he barely reached Scott’s chest.  “They finally stopped all the fossil fuel in the 2020s, and plastic was entirely phased out by 2030, and then the world gave itself a nice pat on the back as though that fixed everything!”

Scott had heard this tirade before.  Many, many, times before.

“Yes, Gordon, I know. Preservation of the oceans is important and that’s why this family – and Tracy Industries – does its bit to make sure nothing goes in there that shouldn’t, and is why you take part in charity events to continue to spread awareness.  I know.”  He didn’t have a problem with any of that, either.  No, what he had a problem with were the rallies.

Charity work?  Fine.  More than fine.

The rallies?  Not for an unaccompanied thirteen-year-old boy, and Scott knew they often involved illegally sabotaging places that still produced pollution.  No matter how well-meaning Gordon was, it was Scott’s duty as big brother and guardian not to let him get tangled up in that.

“Clearly you don’t know if you think that’s enough!” Gordon retorted, and Scott sighed.

“Gordon, I know more needs to be done, but it needs to be done legally, and not result in you getting thrown in a lockup, okay?  You’ve got that charity dinner with Lady Penelope next weekend, remember?”

“I can do both!” Gordon protested.  “Scott, I have to go!  It’s important for the planet!”

“Well it’s important to me that you don’t end up-”

Bright green in his periphery killed the rest of the sentence as he turned his head to see his normally sensible, reliable brother looking anything but.

“Virgil, you are not going out looking like that.”

“I can go out looking however I want, Scott.”  Seventeen years old and the teenage attitude Gordon was showing seemed to have infected his next oldest brother at last.  Virgil had been such a quiet, low-effort teenager – even more so than John, whose rebellion had been entirely digital and Scott was quite frankly afraid of what he might have done – until now.

Now, the punk phase had hit, and apparently the colour of the day was green.  Vibrant, radioactive touch-me-and-die green.  In a mohawk.

Scott tried to be the supportive big brother, he really did, but there were lines and the all-leather ensemble complete with mohawk and numerous piercings were pushing it.  Worst of all was the noise-maker he called a trike that he’d gone and bought last week despite being explicitly told not to. That had crossed the line.  There had been much shouting.  Virgil refused to return it, and spent more time in the garage tinkering with it than with his family now.

Gordon considered it an affront, and Scott wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t going to be a target for the so-called rally if Gordon managed to join it.

“Virgil, please.”

“I want green hair!”

They’d caught Alan’s attention.  Great.

“No, Alan.  You are not dyeing your hair green.”

Realising both green-themed brothers – if for two very different reasons – were both trying to slip out while Alan played distraction, Scott backed up to the front door and blocked it with his body.

“Virgil did!”

“And if his hair dye ends up in your hair, his entire new ensemble is heading straight for the recycler,” Scott growled.  Three little brothers, all at once.  It was enough to give him a headache.  Gordon shifted, a shift that meant trouble, and he remembered the current household feud. “Gordon, if Virgil’s hair dye ends up in Alan’s hair, no more charity events until you’re eighteen.”

“But Scott!”

He didn’t even care which of the three said it.  It could have been all of them.  Why couldn’t they go through teenage rebellion from the sanctity of their bedrooms, like John did?

“I wouldn’t say green’s your colour anyway, Allie.”  As though summoned by Scott’s thoughts, the fourth little brother materialised.  Finally, some sanity- “how about we try black, or a dark blue, to match space?  Maybe Virgil can help make it a galaxy?”

“John!”

Betrayal.  Betrayal of the highest order, but Scott refused to get dramatic about it because he had three drama queens in the house already and that would only encourage them.  Even if the smirk John sent his way made him want to throw something.  Or scream.

Or both.

With four brothers ganging up on him – two because they’d hit the rebellion phase, one because his brothers were, and one just because he could – Scott knew he wasn’t going to win this with his sanity intact.

“Alan, no, you are not dyeing your hair any colour.  Gordon, you are not going to that rally.  Virgil, you are not going out like that.  John, if you’re not going to be helpful, scat.”

“But Scott!”

That was all four of them. In chorus.  If half of them weren’t feuding he’d think the whole thing was choreographed.  Looking at John, he still wasn’t convinced the ginger genius hadn’t managed to orchestrate it.  He was still smirking.

Scott needed to pull out the big guns.

“If you four won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to Grandma.”

The woman was in the garden, taking a well-deserved nap away from five grandsons.  Scott didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew when he was beaten. Two brothers, he could handle. Three, tough but doable.  Four, when one was deliberately stirring the pot? Even Scott had limits.

Any hopes he might have had that the mere threat would be enough died when three defiant – and one amused, damn you, John – faces stared at him.

He pulled out his phone, gave them one more moment to change their minds of their own accord, before making the call.

“Scott?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Grandma, but can you come back inside?”

“On my way.  What have the trouble-makers done this time?”

Scott gave her a brief rundown, interspersed with varying levels of protest from each brother as it reached their turn.  By the time he was done, the woman was inside the house, regarding all five of them.

Three faces were starting to quail.  Alan in particular looked on the verge of tears, but no teenage rebellion was stopping Virgil being a Grandma’s boy and even Gordon had a healthy respect for her tongue.  John continued to look far too smug, and Scott’s internal alarm bells were ringing.

Still, Grandma was here now. Grandma would sort his brothers out and Scott could get a blissful half hour – maybe even an hour, if he was lucky – without some sort of sibling drama.

“Well, I’m not seeing any problems here.”

What.

Grandma walked straight up to Virgil and started plucking at his jacket, deftly dodging the metallic spikes as she adjusted it on his shoulders.  “When I was your age, it was all pink.  Pink leather, pink hotpants.”  She winked in Scott’s direction and the urge to scream bubbled up in his chest.  “I dyed my hair to match.”

At least his brothers seemed to be as dumbstruck as him about that, even if Scott was watching his last bastion of support crumble before his eyes.

“Your Grandpa had the most amazing Harley,” she continued.  “Ooh, what a beauty.  Such a smooth ride.  He really knew how to treat a girl, your Grandpa.”

Nope.  Absolutely nope.  Scott needed brain bleach, and an escape from the madhouse, preferably before he screamed.

With a hoarse yell that was only a yell, and not a scream at all, he yanked the front door open, all but ran through it, and slammed it so hard a shingle slid from the roof.

He stared at it for a moment before surging into a run, past the garage and that damn trike, over the front gate, and headed straight for… who cared, as long as it was away. Right then, the house could collapse or burn to the ground for all he really cared.

Scott tried to be tolerant, he tried to be fair to all of his brothers, but sometimes it was just too much to handle.

***

“Scott?”

He’d ended up sitting in a tree after running all through the woodland until his legs burned.  Apparently, that wasn’t enough to stop his grandmother finding him when she wanted to.

“Are you ready to come home, dear?” she called up.  He sighed and let his head thud against the trunk.

“Am I going to be ganged up on by my brothers over stupid things if I do?” he asked.  “Because I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“Your brothers and I had a nice long chat, and we’ve put some new house rules in place,” she told him. “Gordon has agreed no more rallies and Alan no longer wants his hair dyed.”

“And Virgil and John?” he asked warily.

“Virgil has agreed not to provoke Gordon any more, but you two need to talk about policing each other’s clothes, young man.”  Scott winced. “As for John, he knows he went too far, but just like with Virgil, you are going to have to talk to each other like the reasonable young men you are.”  There was no reproach in her tone, but Scott felt scolded all the same.

He didn’t want to go home, but if Grandma was promising no more carnage…  Scott could never bring himself to leave his brothers for too long.  Reluctantly, he eased himself out of the tree, swinging from the last branch to the ground below.

“I know you don’t like what Virgil’s done to his hair,” Grandma said, looping her arm through his. “But remember it’s his hair, not yours.”

“It’s not that,” Scott admitted.  “He can do what he wants with it; it’s that trike.  He can’t wear a helmet with his hair all spiked up like that!”

“Then you should tell him that’s why you disapprove.”  Grandma was, as always, full of logic.  “None of you boys can read minds, you know.  You have to talk to each other.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “Sorry, Grandma, I messed up.”

“You’re just worried about them.”  She squeezed his arm fondly.  “They’ll appreciate it when they’re older.”

“Will they?”

“They’re not the first teenage boys I’ve raised,” she reminded him.  “There’s nothing you and your brothers have done that your father and uncle Lee didn’t do already.”

“…Even the punk mohawk?”

“I still have the photos.”

[rjhpandapaws]

A Cup of Something Better

Ch2: Troubled Taste

Connor didn't work the afternoon shift often, but he was covering a shift for a friend. He preferred the morning shift because it was faster paced and the people at least seemed friendly. They also had normal drinks. They didn't stray too far from the menu, save for one or two. Afternoon drinkers got creative, it messed with his routine and he disliked it.

For the time being he was manning the register while North made the drinks. He tapped in two more creative drinks and looked up. The whole cafe came to a standstill, well, at least he felt like it did. The man had blonde hair that was slowly going grey with a beard to match. His eyes were light blue and held a bone deep exhaustion. He was tall and broad, and Connor loved it. He cleared his throat quietly in an attempt to collect himself before speaking.

"Hello, welcome to Hand Brewed Hope. What can I get for you?" Connor signed as he spoke more out of habit than requirement.

The silence stretched out to an extent that was almost uncomfortable before his handsome guest responded, "Huh, um, I'll take a medium vanilla latte with, uh, four shots of espresso."

Connor tapped in the drink fighting his inner repulsion, the man looked exhausted and probably needed this. But there were drinks that espresso went better with or even espresso based drinks he could have ordered. He felt eyes on him as the man paid and they stayed on him as he started on the crime against crafted coffee.

The latter itself didnt take long to make, but waiting on the espresso machine drug it out. When the drink was finished he handed it off to North since she had another finished drink to hand off anyway. He started on the remaining order and handed that one off to North as well when it was finished.

With all the customers taken care of and gone, North chose to speak, "So about that bear."

"Four shots of espresso North, he won't even be able to taste the vanilla." Connor sighed cleaning the counter with bleach and running the espresso machine through a cleaning cycle since they had down time, "He ruined a perfectly good latte."

North laughed at his misery. "He was totally checking you out."

"No he wasn't. He was barely awake." Connor argued, he doubted the man was eyeing him, just staring into space as he tried to wake up. "He'd almost be better off injecting coffee straight into his bloodstream at this rate."

"Connor, he was definitely checking you out." She pushed, "And are you really one to complain about other people's coffee taste? You drink espresso like its water."

"But I don't add it to anything else!" Connor objected, "I thought Machiatto Guy was bad, but that man was a latte murderer."

"So you're shutting down the literal embodiment of your dream guy down because of his taste in drinks? Thats just a little petty isn't it?" She held a hand up cutting Connor's argument off as she leaned back against the counter, "I saw how you were looking at him hon. I thought I was going to have to wipe your drool off of the counter."

Connor at least had the sense to be embarrassed, "He's probably straight anyway."

He was saved from North's response by the chime of the cafe door. Business mask safely back in place he greeted the first person in the cluster of customers. After that Hand Brewed Hope was pleasantly busy, not the rush he was used to, but it was still nice. It saved him from more of North's teasing, but unfortunately not from thinking about what she had said and it was eating at him. He texted Richard asking to call when he got home, in the time between when he got off work and had to leave for school.

@yayen-chan

[funkzpiel]

In collaboration with @crocro-dyle for the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang (@geraskiermidsummerminibang)! Crocrodyle is the amazing artist responsible for the illustration you see above, and you can continue to follow their amazing work via Tumblr or Instagram!

Special thank you to Smaller who was the wonderful beta for this fic!

Also available on AO3.

TW: graphic violence during hunt

Summary: Jaskier had always known Midsummer to be a night of festivities, celebration and heavy drinking - preferably with a beautiful partner to warm his bed. When a stroke of good fate landed them in a village prepared to honor the occasion, Jaskier couldn't wait to share the night with his witcher as soon as he returned from his hunt.

Then Roach showed up in town. Alone.

The wound was severe. Claws had torn into his side, piercing flesh like butter, and were it not for his armor and the very last of his wits, he would have been gored. But he hadn’t been. And the attack that should have secured the victory of the Alp that he had been hunting blessedly became its end. As long, wicked talons carved deep into his side, Geralt grit his teeth and with his elbow he pinned that eviscerating hand to his side – all the while thinking of the words of witchers before him: One must aim one’s sword with great precision, for Alps are unequaled in the art of evading blows.

She would not evade this.

The female Alp howled, the pale span of her thighs quivering as she yanked to free her hand. Nails tore through tissue. Geralt felt pain rip the air from his lungs, but he endured. He endured, because that was what witchers did. Endure until the job was done.

His silver sword would be too long, so Geralt dropped it. The Alp sneered as that silver blade sang against the gnarled roots of the great tree they found themselves entangled beneath. Lush, green leaves crooned a hushed lullaby above them, thrumming with the power of the impending shift into Midsummer. That pending change echoed in the sway of the grass, in the way the breeze carded through his hair. He couldn’t die now. Not before he paid homage… Not before he gave thanks…

“Have you given up, witcher?” the Alp hissed, lips pulling back in a cruel grin of fangs and bloody teeth. Venom pearled at the tips of her teeth. “Too weak to hold your sword?”

Let her think him weak, he thought to himself, free hand reaching back for the hilt of his silver dagger, its blade dipped in Vampire Oil and glistening with deadly promise. Let it be the last thing she ever thinks.

He plunged the knife into her neck without a single word, his own teeth bared and white as marble against his dirt-streaked face. What began as a shriek to incapacitate him in a last-ditch bid for freedom became a howl of pain, then grew wet, her teeth marred by her own blood. Black, shark-like eyes stared at him, enraged. Afraid. He anticipated that she would pull away. Anticipated one last grapple to the ground to finish what he had started. Instead she clenched her hand into his side more viciously and pulled him in. Despite drowning in the weeping of her own wound, his knife still in her throat, she bit him. Carnivorous teeth dug into his shoulder. Venom pushed into his veins. Geralt let out a strangled yowl before yanking his knife through the rest of her throat. Blood poured down his front as the Alp let him go, stumbling back. He let her, the hand he had used to pin her to his side now rushing up to check the worst of the bite.

Surprisingly superficial, he realized. But death likely hadn’t been the intention. He could feel venom threading through his veins already, black ichor spreading like a spider’s web beneath his skin – promising suffering ahead.

The Alp fell into the underbrush of the forest around them, body writhing as her heels dug into the dirt and her hair tangled in the twigs. Her ribs heaved. She gasped wetly. Slowly, her thrashing stilled.

Finally, naught was left but the hum of Midsummer’s approach in the wind and Geralt’s breathing – sharp and thready – as the venom began its work. Not for the first time, Geralt cursed his foolishness for not taking another night to brew Black Blood as he should have. But another night would have meant another innocent death, and so he took the job without it. At least then the death might only be his own.

He curled an arm around his wounded side and with shaking fingers, he whistled for Roach. His hands were nearly numb with venom as he dug into her saddlebags. He wouldn’t be able to take much, lest he trade one ailment for another. Half a vial of Swallow to stem the worst of the bleeding from his side and neck. Half a vial of Golden Oriole to dampen the venom coursing in his veins. The last of the vial fell numbly from his fingers not long after. He leaned into Roach. Felt her snuffling at his hair.

“Jaskier,” he tried to tell her, to ask her to fetch him, but all light began to wink out of his vision. Beneath his skin Alp venom sang and nightmares beckoned. Midsummer kissed his cheek with a pleasant, warm breeze. It reminded him of the homage he had yet to pay. He grasped that thread like a lifeline.

But it was too late. Between one shuddering blink and another, he was gone.

- ˑ༄ؘ -

Jaskier was grateful that – for once – their travels brought them to a sizable village right in time for actual civilized festivities. Midsummer was upon them and there was no mistaking the fact that the village was prepared to celebrate it in style. While it would by no means be an affair like the ones in Oxenfurt that he held so close to his heart, the town had a healthy population of villagers and appeared to be enough of a trade hub to have allowed the town to celebrate a little more lavishly than most. Kegs were being set up at stands in the streets. A wide range of summer wildflowers had been woven together by the women and children to wreath the town’s buildings and signs in floral drapery. Candles dotted the edges of the roads and vendor tables, all ready to be lit at dusk that night. It was an attractive enough scene at noon, but Jaskier knew that once night fell, the light of the candles and the fireflies would cast their cheery party in a beautiful, ethereal glow. It appeared there might even be a wedding planned for the night. It wouldn’t be an uncommon affair. Midsummer was known to be a celebration of life and love; how better to celebrate than through consummation?

He could already imagine the pleasant heat of the bonfire. The way it would tickle his cheeks as he drank beer and enjoyed slices of cured meats and cheeses, and danced among the townsfolk, learning the steps common to their dances here, whatever they might be. Maybe he’d even be able to coax Geralt into joining, if he were lucky. While they had known each other for years, this would be the first opportunity to spend the occasion of Midsummer together. He wondered if witchers celebrated it, or if Geralt would see it as an opportunity to rest in the inn without harassment after his hunt – not that Jaskier would blame him.

He hoped they could spend it together, though. The mere thought of Geralt beside the Midsummer bonfire, his creamy skin alight with warm oranges and yellows, sent a prickling up his spine not unlike the feeling that looking at a masterpiece painting might inspire.

Maybe he could even sneak a few flowers into the man’s white hair. Bursts of forget-me-not blue and dandelion yellow entangled in snowy locks, all cast in the flickering shadow of the bonfire’s glow—

—Jaskier visibly jumped when his thoughts were cut short by nosy lips snuffling at the back of his collar. Nearby the children giggled at the way he shrieked. He scowled at them, then whirled to find Roach pushing her long snout against his chest with a great, heaving sigh. She had been running, he realized.

Running without Geralt.

“Where is he?” he asked, all ire crushed beneath the great weight of dread falling in his stomach. She took him by the collar again and tugged, careful to mind her teeth. Jaskier needed no further prompting. He climbed into her saddle and let her take him away – all too aware of the blood smeared on the clasps of the saddle bag and the unmistakable red handprint on her neck, large and familiar.

- ˑ༄ؘ -

Jaskier found him face down in the mossy underbrush of an old tree, the sort of tree that spiraled high into the sky. He was mere feet away from a woman, her face twisted into the ugly grimace common to Vampires. Her throat was nothing but a bloody maw, open and wrecked. Already she had begun to stink of rot and death. Jaskier covered his nose and felt a weak shiver thread down his spine, nearly stealing the strength to stay in the saddle from his bones. Beneath him, Roach stamped her hooves impatiently, pawing at the ground. Jaskier gave himself but a moment to gather himself – just long enough to ensure the sight and smell alone wouldn’t make him fall disgracefully from Roach’s back – before he dismounted.

He forced himself to ignore the dead Alp. Forced himself not to take in the long red train of her hair, or how normal she had probably looked among the other villagers before Geralt had coaxed out her true nature. Instead he went to his knees beside the witcher, his name on his tongue as he reached for those broad shoulders and flipped him over.

He was paler than normal. Jaskier didn’t think that was possible, yet here they were. He looked as white as a crisp royal sheet, bleached like a bone in the sun. His neck was a mess of punctures, and with a shiver that shook him right down to his belly, Jaskier plucked a tooth from Geralt’s flesh and flicked it across the clearing. Worse yet, there was a gash in his side. No, not a gash – more punctures. Punctures where clawed fingers had made a home in his flesh. Both wounds had slowed to a sluggish bleeding, however, and a quick look confirmed his suspicions. Not far away two bottles lay forgotten in the grass. One empty, one still the littlest bit full – their contents puddled into the earth. Potions. Two of them.

At least he wouldn’t die of blood loss, Jaskier thought as he started the long, arduous task of trying to settle Geralt over Roach’s saddle as safely and harmlessly as he could. So much for celebrating Midsummer in style. Though even as that thought struck him, he found it to be more a muted old ghost than any true regret. An echo of selfishness from lonely days.

Instead Jaskier whispered a soft plea of gratitude into the air as he took Roach’s reins beneath her chin and began to lead her away.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you for getting me here in time.”

- ˑ༄ؘ -

Jaskier had wanted to return to the inn. He wanted a roof over their heads, and a tub of water to clean his hands with rather than the river, and a bed to let Geralt rest. But the thought of parading Geralt’s limp body through the village gave him pause. And furthermore, the promise of music and partying that was sure to fill the streets that night nixed the deal entirely. There would be no rest for his fickle sleeper of a witcher even if he weren’t injured. Add in potion-intoxication and fevers from his wounds, and he’d be miserable without reprieve; on edge, instincts flaring, and unable to do a thing about it.

So instead he took him further into the woods, away from the Alp’s corpse or anything the bloody battle might attract. Finding a spot to camp was second nature to him now after years of traveling at Geralt’s side. Not too close to water where prey animals and predators alike gathered. But not so far away as to make fetching water impossible. A dark, nestled nook of trees that were out of sight most ways you looked at it. There was little he could do to hide Roach, but she was – in her own right – another layer of security. She’d sense if something was wrong long before Jaskier ever would. And she’d never failed to protect herself before. So he removed her saddle, bit and bridle, and let her graze at her leisure with a soft promise to wash the blood from her coat as soon as he could.

He took Geralt’s tent from her saddle and set up a slanted covering using the trees. Something to provide a little security and buffer from the wind that night without limiting too terribly his ability to tend to Geralt. He rolled an old shirt into a tight ball and tucked it under Geralt’s head. He made sure the witcher was as comfortable as possible before he took a spare water skin and trudged to the river to wash the worst of any filth from his hands, then to fill the skin in preparation for cleaning Geralt’s wounds.

It was thankfully a far tamer affair than usual, with Geralt unconscious. No half-hearted embarrassment to make the witcher growl and sit stiff as a board as Jaskier tended to him. No self-depreciation for needing care. Geralt’s muscles didn’t fight him as he lifted his arms, legs, chest or neck to remove what clothing needed removing to do what needed doing.

Jaskier cleaned the wounds as delicately as he could. He mopped the sweat from Geralt’s brow as the man twitched, and tossed, and turned, plagued as though in the grip of a nightmare. And the reality was not far off, Jaskier realized. He had heard Geralt explain the dangers of an Alp’s kiss to villagers before. He knew the nightmares their venom could induce. He could only hope one of those vials the witcher had taken had subdued the worst of it somewhat.

He wrapped the wounds. Stitched what could be stitched and left the rest for the witcher’s biology to handle. Then he helped the man back into his clothing, left his armor aside, and shifted Geralt’s head until he had it cushioned in his lap, fingers threading through his hair.

Geralt’s eyes opened. Soft flickers of hazy gold peeking out from beneath sooty lashes. Sweaty brows furrowed and creased. The witcher moaned – a sound that was as much reaching out for Jaskier in confusion as it was reacting to the pain. Beside them, their little campfire leapt and popped merrily, painting Geralt in relief with yellows and oranges, and for a moment Jaskier nearly laughed as he thought perhaps he would get to see his witcher beside a bonfire after all.

“Jaskier?” Geralt croaked, looking up at him from his spot in the bard’s lap.

Jaskier weaved his fingers through sweaty hair – the knots long worked out – and said, “How kind of you to join us, sleeping beauty.”

Geralt frowned, but the ire melted away the pain that had contorted his face, and if Jaskier had to deal with a little ire to soothe those wrinkles away, he’d gladly do so. The bard smiled.

Weakly, Geralt lifted a hand, asking without words for water, and it was a testament to their time together that when Jaskier helped him sit up enough to drink, Geralt did not snarl or pull away. The bard held the water skin with Geralt as the witcher drank, urging him to slow when Geralt forgot to be mindful of how quickly he quenched his thirst. Geralt didn’t begrudge him the help. Communication so personal and second nature that neither had recognized when they had become so fluent in that language; only that they were grateful that they had.

When Geralt had drunk enough to soothe his throat but not so much as to upset his stomach or the delicate blend of potion and venoms therein, Jaskier set the skin aside – Geralt’s fingers trembling over his.

“The Alp?”

“Dead,” Jaskier said, “I just didn’t think we should camp near it.”

He knew Geralt would want to go and find it tomorrow when he felt better. That he’d want the head as a trophy to prove to the town he had done what he had set out to do, lest they try to swindle him. The Alp might be devoured by then. Jaskier knew that thought rankled Geralt something fierce. But he didn’t regret his choices, and he knew that while annoyed to potentially lose out on payment, Geralt didn’t begrudge him the decision either.

“Good thinking,” Geralt rasped. Jaskier felt a little plume of warmth unrelated to the fire fill his chest.

“Believe it or not, I have picked up a trick or two from you on our travels,” Jaskier preened.

Geralt’s fingers brushed over the wrappings that concealed his side, his throat, and said, “I believe it,” the words acknowledging, and the tone grateful. As close to ‘thank you’ as witchers tend to get. Once upon a time, Jaskier would have harped on the man for more. Now, it felt like everything.

“I fed and cleaned Roach. Your pack is fine,” Jaskier rattled off, this not having been the first time they’d had this conversation – nor would it be the last. “Afraid we don’t have much in the way of food, however. We’ll need to go back to town in the morning.”

“Surprised you didn’t go tonight,” Geralt said.

“Ah, yes, well… It's Midsummer’s Festival tonight. I didn’t think you’d appreciate the noise,” Jaskier admitted. He longed for a hot tub to soak in, fresh clothing and a pitcher of ale to watch the festivities with – but even so, none of those desires made him regret where he actually was or what he actually was doing. The thought of staying behind to celebrate, oblivious to Geralt lying wounded in the woods, made him shiver. It must have shown too, because Geralt’s hand closed over Jaskier’s free one on the witcher’s shoulder and squeezed.

Another unspoken pearl of gratitude.

“You said you had my pack?” Geralt asked, eyes fixed on Jaskier as though he were in the middle of deciding something.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, his own brows drawing ever so slightly tighter as his free hand moved from Geralt’s hair to his forehead, “You didn’t forget I said that, did you?”

Worry bubbled in his gut.

“Just making sure,” Geralt said, squeezing his other hand again. “I… It’s Midsummer tonight.”

“Yes, I know. I told you that. Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t feel feverish, but—”

“M’fine,” Geralt said quickly, cutting him off before his worries could spiral too transparently. “Truly. I just… there’s something I have to do tonight.”

Jaskier leaned back a little at that, surprised. He blew out an amused little breath and said, “I didn’t take you for the celebratory type, Geralt. We can just have our own party tomorrow night, if you’re that keen on it. I’ll braid flowers into your hair, and we’ll have our own little bonfire when your side looks more like flesh and less like holey cheese.”

“Lovely imagery,” Geralt deadpanned.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said beatifically.

Geralt searched his face for a long moment after that. Between them, the fire crackled innocently. Insects chirped. The moon filtered in pleasantly through the pines. But all of that paled in comparison to the look Geralt gave him. It was all at once unidentifiable, but also perhaps one of the most intimate things Jaskier had ever shared with the man. It stilled the breath in Jaskier’s lungs and left him as attentive as a deer in the field, waiting – always waiting.

“It can’t wait, Jaskier,” Geralt finally said.

“What, are you cursed to celebrate Midsummer or you’ll self-combust?” Jaskier joked, trying to ignore that lingering sense of dread that was snowballing dangerously in his gut. This was entirely unlike Geralt. Jaskier could count on fewer than the fingers of one hand how many times Geralt had sought his permission in situations like this. If he wanted to do something, he’d do it. He’d pick himself up from their makeshift camp and he’d limp off into the night, and the best Jaskier would be able to do was follow and hope he could help.

Even as their fight from the mountaintop rang in his head – long forgiven, but still haunting – he’d try to help.

And yet Geralt was not lifting himself up. If anything, the man looked as though he were on sleep’s doorstep. Jaskier brushed white locks back from Geralt’s sweaty brow and felt fear clench in his breast when Geralt closed his eyes at his touch and didn’t open them again right away.

“I’m too tired to explain, Jaskier,” he finally admitted. “And I’m… I don’t think I…”

Geralt choked on the words, still unable to admit his weaknesses after all this time. Some habits were rooted too deep to conquer and weed out altogether. But what the witcher had weeded out made Jaskier proud. So in this, he couldn’t begrudge them. They all had their flaws. Nothing was ever conquered in just a day.

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked instead.

Geralt swallowed.

“I’m supposed to do it,” he said.

“And you will. Just help me help you do it,” Jaskier affirmed.

The witcher let out a slow, whistling breath through his nose. Then, after a moment, he nodded. And he told Jaskier what to do.

That’s how the bard found himself opening Geralt’s pack – not his large, more often-used rucksack of equipment and medical items, but instead a smaller pouch he hadn’t noticed had been attached to Roach’s saddle. Inside was a small saucer with a curved lip, a handful of candles, and a pouch of recently plucked flowers. It echoed the festivities he had seen in town, but without much effort it was obvious to note that this was different. Through his studies he had a rudimentary knowledge of flowers and their meaning. Of candle colors and scents and wicks. Each and every item in the pouch had a meaning. Flowers that promised blessings. Scents that paid homage. Colors that prayed for forgiveness. Little blooms that helped the dead find their way beyond the veil. And at the bottom of the pouch a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He had nearly unfolded it when Geralt said clearly, “Don’t,” from across the camp.

Plagued by curiosity, Jaskier looked to Geralt, fingers paused. But at those eyes – so amber and dazed, yet so keenly worried – Jaskier simply nodded, and stood to place it in Geralt’s hand, still wrapped, instead. He heard Geralt swallow thickly. Felt their fingers brush gratefully.

Geralt had a lovely voice, when he deigned to use it. He spent the early hours of the night listening to Geralt explain how to weave the flowers. Which colors and blooms to use when. What to lace over what. Which to tuck where and when. Without any description of what final result to expect, Jaskier followed him on faith. Something warm stoked a fire in his chest as he realized the more they went along just how personal this must be to Geralt. He had never quite heard of anything like this. With a quick pang he realized it must be a well-kept tradition of witchers – or at the very least of the Wolves of Kaer Morhen. And he – Jaskier – was helping Geralt do it.

Once upon a time he might have thought of it as a very boring, and perhaps even demeaning, way of helping the witcher. It wasn’t heroic or theatrical. He was so much more talented than a mere man with ten fingers to weave flowers with. But as Geralt narrated him through the process and his tone turned steadily nostalgic, Jaskier was struck with how much more this simple act meant to Geralt than any wound Jaskier had ever sewn.

He made a wreath of flowers and when it was done, he held it up for Geralt’s inspection.

“Like this?” he asked.

A little bit of the tension in Geralt’s brow softened, making him look younger as he breathed, “Yes. Just like that. Set it on the plate.”

Jaskier did so. The little blooms ringed the curved lip of the plate beautifully, leaving the pale center of the dish exposed plainly.

“Now set the candles inside. First the tallest along the inner edge of the crown of flowers, then the second tallest, then the third. Leave room in the middle.”

Jaskier did.

“Good,” Geralt said between heavy blinks, “Now light a match to melt the bottom of the candles to the plate and let it cool… We can’t let them fall.”

Jaskier did. It took a few matches and a few burnt fingertips and a few curses, but he did.

“Now what?” Jaskier said after he had waited for the wax to cool, gently poking the tallest candle of the three to ensure it wouldn’t budge.

“The part you won’t like,” Geralt finally said, beginning to force himself to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait now!” Jaskier said, delicately setting the plate aside so he could scramble up beside Geralt. He had half a mind to ease him back down, but the look in Geralt’s eyes was sharp and telling. He had allowed Jaskier to do as much as possible, but there would be no persuading him to lay back any longer. Not at this point.

“It’s midnight, Jaskier,” Geralt said through clenched teeth as he forced himself to his feet – swaying all the while. “I must do this.”

The bard caught him by his elbow when amber eyes drifted, and it looked as though he might fall. Geralt leaned into him for only as long as it took for the dizziness to pass before drawing in a deep, steadying breath, his gaze falling on the bard pointedly.

“I must,” he repeated.

“Then we will,” Jaskier said simply, but he kept his grip on the witcher’s elbow tight and just as pointed. He waited, jaw clenched and shoulders set, for Geralt to argue. Instead, after a brief moment of searching Jaskier’s face, the witcher merely nodded.

Jaskier held the plate in one hand and Geralt’s elbow in the other, and together they slowly made their way into the dark with nothing but the moon, Geralt’s uncanny eyes, and the sway of Midsummer’s breeze around them to guide the way.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked only once, but Geralt did not answer. They paused when they needed pausing, pacing themselves by the rasping of the witcher’s heaving breath. Occasionally Geralt would turn his nose to the wind, sniff, and change their course accordingly. Side by side, Jaskier followed his witcher into the dark until finally the trees parted and the moon rose high above to light the clearing that Geralt had found.

It was a lake, vast and wide, at the mouth of the river Jaskier had been using for water. The lake was wreathed in trees, and in the center of its glassy surface the moon above shone brilliantly. It lit the water in a fiery glow of pale opalescence, enchanting and so much more than any pool of water Jaskier had ever seen before.

“Help me down,” Geralt said, drawing Jaskier’s attention.

“Down?” Jaskier asked. “You don’t mean…”

But Geralt just leveled him with a patient, if unyielding stare. With a little sigh of resignation, Jaskier tested the solidity of the bank and plotted a course to ease the witcher into the water. The water was freezing. His clothing would be ruined. Mud squelched beneath his boots. Water sunk into his shoes. His back arched like a cat and with his shoulders up against his ears, he tottered around to offer Geralt a hand and help him in – only to pause, hand halfway between them.

Geralt looked otherworldly. Despite his damaged shirt and muddied pants and his bloodied flesh torn asunder, he looked beautiful. In him the moonlight seemed to catch and grow – not from any magic, but from the sheer significant focus in the witcher’s face. Whatever this was, this was important to Geralt. This was no party, no night to dance to. This was tradition in a sense that most people no longer understood. This was decades of beliefs passed down by calloused hands and grizzled, spoken words. A small moment of peace and mercy in a lifetime of ungrateful, dangerous work.

Jaskier sucked in a little breath, then steeled himself. He took a squelching step forward and raised his hand for Geralt to take. He bade his body maintain its balance as Geralt’s weight made him sink further into the mud, but for once the thought didn’t even cross his mind that he had likely ruined his shoes beyond repair. Every trivial worry, every materialistic concern – all of it disappeared as Geralt took his hand and let the bard guide him into the water.

The water rose first to their knees, then just below their hips, until finally Jaskier stopped Geralt with a firm hand against his sternum. He wouldn’t let the wound get wet. That was the line he wouldn’t cross, and in the moment Geralt looked at him, the witcher seemed to recognize a fight not worth having when he saw it.

“Hold out the plate,” Geralt finally said, his hair a halo of moonlight. When Jaskier did, he formed a quick sign with his free hand, and one by one the three candles sprung to life. Then he paused.

Jaskier looked between the plate and Geralt once, twice, then asked softly, “Is that it, or…?”

From a little pouch tied around his neck, Geralt removed the bundle he had asked Jaskier not to open back at camp. He swayed in the water, tired and aching, but remained steadfast as piece by piece, he revealed a silver medallion emblazoned with a wolf’s head. It looked just like Geralt’s, only older. Older and scarred, a jagged groove slashed right across the width of it, its chain dangling weakly from Geralt’s fingers.

“We give thanks for the lives we saved,” Geralt said, the words sounding like the echo of a prayer said dozens and dozens of times across the span of centuries, “and we beg mercy for the things we couldn’t change…”

Jaskier stilled, the candles flickering delicately between them, and waited with bated breath. Afraid that any inhale too loud, any flinch too jarring might shatter the moment.

Geralt’s gaze lowered to the medallion in his hand. He ran a rough thumb over the scarred metal, licked his dry lips and said, “We pray for safe passage for our brother, and plead that his sacrifices weigh more than his sins. For he was good, and in this hard world he tried to be just.”

Jaskier’s fingers tightened on the plate. He felt the lake sway around them comfortingly, as though it were a presence all its own. This is what witchers did on Midsummer while humans drank and danced. And while he hardly begrudged the town their making merry and celebrating, it made this moment all the more painful to bear. They could celebrate because of witchers like Geralt, who saved their fathers and mothers, their daughters and sons.

So why didn’t witchers get to dance and make merry?

Instead they prayed for peace, and grace, and mercy – knowing that when they returned to the hunt the next day, that the people they protected would widely never truly thank them for it. Jaskier felt suddenly choked by the contrast. His lashes burned, but he bit his cheek and forced himself to bear it. The plate felt suddenly so heavy. No wonder Geralt couldn’t carry it alone.

With a sharp breath – a sound that struck Jaskier as resigned and weary – Geralt placed the medallion into the halo of flowers and candles.

“And finally, we ask for blessings in the coming days,” Geralt said softly as he brought his hands over top of Jaskier’s instead of taking the plate away, “so that we may walk the Path until it ends, and another prays instead.”

Jaskier sucked in a shuddering little breath, his eyes only darting up when Geralt rubbed a thumb soothingly over the backs of his hands on either side of the plate.

“Lower it down,” Geralt said softly, and as though they were lowering a man into his grave, they set the plate atop the surface of the lake. With a gentle tap, Geralt urged it on its way and they watched it drift, side by side.

It was a long moment before Jaskier could find the words to speak.

“I thought witchers burned their dead,” he croaked, his hands trembling from the weight of it all. Even as Midsummer blew a warm, soothing breath across the back of his neck, he shivered. Geralt didn’t take his eyes off the plate as he thought over that, leaning into Jaskier the longer they stood in the lake – the mud slowly giving way beneath his feet.

“We do,” Geralt said. “But we do this too.”

“You deserve better,” Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed.

“Perhaps,” Geralt said, voice trailing away as the plate became a pinprick of light in the night. “But doesn’t everyone?”

Jaskier looked at him then. Took in the profile of this man – this man who had his childhood stripped from him to protect the very folks that abandoned and condemned him daily. Felt the weight of that injustice. The beauty of that sacrifice. The urge to write swelled within him. Ballads to convey the witcher’s plight. Rich, round words to even the scales and turn the tides.

And yet he knew that Geralt would not want that. That Geralt would not want to share this rare glimpse of peace with the world. This moment was for witchers and their tiny found family. And so the ballads faded, and the songs bled into silence, and instead all Jaskier could think to say was this:

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Geralt.”

“I’m sorry it’s no feast,” Geralt said weakly, wryly, as though he had been afraid of what Jaskier would think about this witcher’s tradition in comparison to the parties he was used to.

“Midsummer is a celebration of life and love,” Jaskier said, holding Geralt’s gaze. “There is no wrong way to do that, Geralt. It only matters that we do.”

Geralt nodded at that, not blinking as Jaskier wove an arm beneath his own to help take some of the weight off his wounded side.

“This is how the Wolves of Kaer Morhen pay homage to Midsummer,” he said softly.

“I hope they won’t mind that I imposed,” Jaskier went for charming, but an apology drifted anxiously at the heels of the sentence. Geralt hummed.

“You don’t have to be a witcher to be a Wolf of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier,” Geralt said. He stood stiff in the bard’s arms. Anxious, Jaskier realized. Even as his own heart soared, he realized the significance of what Geralt was suggesting. The fear of rejection that corded his muscles tight.

“Noted,” Jaskier said, turning Geralt just slightly so they might press their foreheads together and simply breathe. “Then I suppose I’ll have to mark the occasion on my calendar from now on, won’t I?”

Geralt’s breath shuddered against his lips. An exhale that emptied him of all fear until nothing was left but two men standing in a lake, family found in suffering. A consummation of love beneath the moon, a promise made in the curve of two bodies holding one another up despite the hardships that awaited.

A homage to love in Midsummer; quiet, patient and unrelenting.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #355

“despite all my rage, i am still just a rat in a cage”

Have you ever shared a shower or bath with someone as an adult? No, only as a kid. What kind of pizza toppings do you like? Meats or jalapenos. When did you first take a shot of alcohol? Never, and I'm not interested. Did you babysit for money when you were in middle school? No. Who is your favorite band? How long have they been? Ozzy Osbourne, since middle school. Has the last person you kissed ever been to your house? My old house, yes. Not the one I currently live in. Have you ever been to a spa? Only because my friend at the time took me. When talking on the phone, do you place it against your left or right ear? My right. What’s your favourite Lunchables meal? The nachos one. Do you like Bob Marley? NO. Omg his voice is awful. Have you ever eaten at Golden Corral? Yeah. I'm not a big fan. Do you sit and eat dinner at the same table with your family? We only ever do that if my sister is over (she comes for dinner once a week). Are you listening to any music right now? If so, what are you listening to? Yeah, Violet Orlandi's cover of "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" by The Smashing Pumpkins. God she's so beautiful and talented and asdfjkaljddkfjlwkee FUCK I'm gay for her. Who was the last person to make you genuinely smile? Watching Mark. :') Is there something you want to say to someone but can’t/won’t? Yeah. Do you like men who have a sensitive side? Yes. Please be in touch with your emotions, for the love of God. Have you ever tried to get someone into a certain band/artist? Not persistently, no, but Mini is a case where me mentioning them enough got her to listen to them. Metallica, by the way. They're her favorite band because of mwah, haha. Have you ever carved you and someone else’s initials into a tree? It's possible, but I don't believe so. Do you like Dairy Queen? Love it. They're Oreo Cupfection thing is BOMB. Is there anyone you know with an amazing personal success story? Yes. I have a friend Shannen who first was a widely-recognized photographer in the state, and now she's a fashion designer (or something like that) up in New York. Is there a song in a different language that you can sing? A number of Rammstein songs. How do you feel about bands that use pyrotechnics in live concerts? So long they're well-made for safety reasons, I don't care much. They do seem a bit unnecessary, though; like just look at James Hetfield's accident that burned half his body because of standing in the wrong place. It seems easy to fuck up and get in a dangerous range. Ever fallen down a hole? No. Do you like bananas? Yeah. How long do you normally spend in the shower? Not even 10 minutes, usually. I've never understood how people can take such long showers. Have you ever been a featured member on any website? Yeah, on a Silent Hill fansite. Have you ever had any weird pets? Not by my standards. A ball python morph is as "weird" as it gets. Are you currently talking to/texting/instant messaging anyone? Nope. Have you ever experienced insomnia? Ugh, yes. I went through a horrible insomnia spell, and I still have an awful time trying to fall asleep. Do you like egg nog? Nooo. Would you ever wear Converse with a prom/formal dress? I'm not opposed to it, but realistically I'd probably wear something more traditionally suiting just because. Do you prefer hot chocolate with or without marshmallows? Without. How many different people of the opposite sex have you cried over? I've cried all the oceans over just one lol. Would you rather be a surgeon or mortician? Being a mortician actually doesn't sound awful, weird as it sounds. It sounds almost relaxing if I could just be alone with some music doing my job. Would rather be a musician or a painter? A painter. Would you rather write your own book or make your own movie? I'd love to write a book. At home, do you have a trampoline? No. When you are about to go to bed, do you put on some sort of noise? No. What is your favorite Christmas movie? Jim Carrey's How The Grinch Stole Christmas. And what about your favorite Christmas song? Probably "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" or whatever it's called. "Carol of the Bells" too, of course. What is your ultimate favorite stocking stuffer? Haha, okay so it seems to be an unspoken rule that Mom always gets us Slim Jims for our stockings, and that's obviously the best considering my sisters and I loooove them yet still don't buy them much. You're making me ready for Christmas, lol. After Halloween, do you sort out all of your candy into little piles? I did as a kid, and then my sisters and I would trade what we preferred. When you listen to music with headphones, do you keep the volume low enough to hear surrounding noise faintly, or do you blast it? It's honestly pretty loud. What did you have for breakfast this morning? Cold pizza from dinner leftovers last night. What’s the largest animal you’ve ever had as a pet? Our late boxer mix, Cali. She was a big 'ole pup. Do you own any kind of helmet? No. Out of everything currently in your refrigerator, what food or drink is your favorite? Food: strawberries. Drink: Mountain Lightning. What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? Either when I skinned my knees so deep that pus was visible, or when I fainted onto my chin and got a short, but very deep cut. Do you like the taste of cough syrup? No. What is something you like to have conversations about? I like talking about deep stuff, like where we came from, our unique feelings and beliefs, conspiracy theories and cryptids, mysterious stuff like that, too. And don't forget animals. And Mark, haha. What all is in the trunk of your car? I don't have a car, and I don't remember what's in Mom's trunk, even though I helped bring in groceries just the other day. Do you ever put fruit on your cereal? Ew, no. Is your heat or air conditioning currently on? Our AC is currently on because it's too damn hot. The weather here has been so up and down, it's wild. Have you ever fallen off of a horse? No. Which do you value more, your appearance or your intelligence? Honestly? I'd be dumber than I already am if it meant being happy with how I look, because my appearance now is a key factor to my depression. When was the last time you drove something other than a car or truck? Oh jeez... I have no idea. I don't think since I've driven a golf cart at someone's b-day party as a kid. Were your grandparents present when you were born? No. If you drink/smoke, how often do you do these things? I don't smoke, and I only have a drink or two very rarely, usually just on special occasions. What do you think of fast food? I like it way more than I wish I did. What website do you spend the most time on and why? YouTube, because I'm always listening to and/or watching something. What’s the most amount of time you’ve spent online? Is this usual for you? In one non-stop setting, I don't want to know. I pretty much only exist on the computer. When it comes to travel, what kinds of places intrigue you most? Mountainous, loads of nature, cooler/cold, mysterious locations... stuff like that. Do you think humans colonizing Mars is a good idea? Would you go, if you could? If we learn from our goddamn mistakes and not fuck up its environment, it could be healthy or even life-saving for humanity, but I'd prefer to stay on Earth as long as possible. What is the farthest you’ve walked in one day and what made you do it? I dunno, maybe at Disney World or something like that as a kid. What is something important that’s often on your mind lately? Physical health stuff. I'm worried about a lot of things relating to that. What about something unimportant, but you can’t stop thinking about it? I don't know about "unimportant," at least to me. Do you like oatmeal? If so, what kinds of things do you like in it? Yeah. I only really eat the cinnamon apple ones; I always use milk and sprinkle some sugar in there, and it's delicious. What was going on the last time you felt nostalgic? When Mom and I stopped at Jason's house to bring the family some treats following his mother's death. I stayed in the car and couldn't even look towards the house, but yeah. So many memories just stampeded me. How much attention do you pay to the movements of the stars and planets, and do you believe they influence anything? I pay zero attention to it; I don't believe they have influence over people in any way. What is the most difficult or involved video game you’ve ever played? I guess you could say World of Warcraft. It's definitely the most involved, like I've been playing it almost consistently since 2014, and I used to be in a Heroic raid team, which certainly wasn't easy. Then there's some achievements I busted my ass to get. Which accent do you find most sexy, alluring or appealing? British is where it's at. Which accent do you find most annoying, disturbing, or bothersome? Extremely Southern ones. Can you cry on cue? Is it any kind of useful? No. Does it take you a while to actually get jokes? Embarrassingly, it frequently does. Can you wear socks to bed or does it annoy you? Ugh, I could never. I hate the feeling of socks. Have you ever bleached your hair? By myself, no, but a professional has to dye it. Do you like jelly beans? They're okay. It really depends on the flavor, and even then I can't eat a lot of them. Do you have trouble sleeping when it’s storming? Yes, but not because it scares me, but rather that I'm just jumpy. Subtle thunder isn't so bad, and I LOVE the drone of heavy rain, but once you add booming thunder and strong flashes of lightning, it's too disruptive for me to fall asleep easily. Who was the last person you know that graduated? (high school or college) My not-so-little sister is just about to finish her Master's lakdsjfakwe I'm so proud of her. Were you happy or sad when you found out your babysitter was coming? I think I was always kinda bummed out, even though I liked my babysitters. I had horrible separation anxiety from my mom. Did you have a boyfriend in kindergarten? No, but I did have this one guy who'd been like obsessed with me since pre-k and would always chase me to hug and kiss me. In pre-k it was awful, but he still did it sometimes in kindergarten, despite the teachers getting on him about it. It's actually a memory I forgot for a very long time, like I think my brain tried to oppress it, and I wonder if it has anything to do with my fear of people standing behind me, men specifically, and being raped. Did you ever read the Magic Treehouse series? Oh yes, I was obsessed! Who was your best friend in elementary school? It jumped between Brianna, Kim, and Quiata. Did you ever watch The Land Before Time movies? YESSSSS. I even had the computer game. Did you collect anything when you were a kid? Stickers. I'd put them on my dresser everywhere to the point it was absolutely covered. Did you get an allowance? No. Not because my parents didn't want to or anything, but rather they couldn't afford allowances to three kids. Were you into American Girl dolls? Nah. I got one, but I think it was mostly so my sisters and I each had our own. Nicole, however, was sooooo into them. Were you friends with your childhood neighbors? Some, yeah, especially the boy down my street named D'Andre. We would hang out ALL the time, be it at each other's houses or just riding our bikes. He actually got married very recently and I'm so happy for him, ahhhhh!! What was your biggest fear when you were a kid? Thunderstorms. Did you ever play the "Reader Rabbit" computer games? Oh my god, YES. The one where you were hosting a surprise birthday party was my absolute favorite. Did your parents let you drink soda growing up? Yes. .-. What was your favorite kind of cake as a kid? Chocolate, of course.

[artificial-daydream]

Audacious

Rating: T Fandom: Bleach (Ichigo x Rukia) Summary: The way this orange-haired random guy smirked at each of her peculiar habits that definitely defeats the norms of college life shows it might be not so bad to actually agree with the date. Maybe.

Notes: Based on this otp prompt I saw but couldn’t find the post anywhere?? Please do tell me if you were the one who created this prompt or if anyone does know which blog was it so I can credit the person properly. Also posted this on my ao3.

When Byakuya insisted on buying her a unit on Seireitei Apartment rather than renting on the dormitory, Rukia had confidently claimed she preferred the latter. What was the point on trying to live normally if she was buying the most expensive residence in the whole district?

The first thing she thought on her eighteenth birthday was fucking finally. She had the opportunity to leave Kuchiki mansion and decide her own life for the very first time. Moreover, she had prepped herself so much about this. Rukia was very sure she had the common ethics of non-nobles memorized.

However, she soon realized the books covered barely nothing about college.

Her hair was tied into a messy bun; tangled strands were kept in bay with the ugliest scrunchie she kept for the last five years. Her eyebags were so palpable she could feel it weighing down below her eyes. The first week living on her own and she already had her seventh cups of coffee. It was barely Wednesday.

There were downsides on living as a normal college student, Rukia concludes. The most common things she could list were the rushed deadlines, the mountain-sized projects, and old professors rambling how youngsters have it easy these days while yet again, giving them more preps.

It didn’t bother her as much, surprisingly. She liked how she could stay all night working on her papers, it was better than learning etiquette on how to be a proper lady. Her professors were also far better off on their lectures compared to the elders back home. She definitely could get used to all of this. Slowly, but surely.

The first thing she most likely had to get used to was the room upstairs having very loud sex which leaves her hanging out for coffee in the kitchen every 2 AM.

Recalling the noise she heard barely twenty minutes ago, Rukia scrunches her face in disgust. She wouldn’t mind as much if they weren’t reciting every detail of their activities. By now, she had their routine memorized- no, stop. Bad brain.

Rukia groaned, she had another one hour and forty-five minutes to spend in the kitchen until the tenant upstairs finally remembered they were not wild animals supported with infinite stamina. Apparently, she has to follow their sleeping schedule if she wants to get any rest at all.

These past days, she would just bring all her papers and study to spend her time alone. However today, right the second she had finished all of them, her phone decided it was the best time to signal its low battery and die. With nothing left to do, she just entertains herself with caffeine and staring in a daze. She swears the floor starts to look like it’s inviting her to take a nap on it.

Her decision was put into an immediate halt, however, once she heard other footsteps coming along towards the kitchen. Huh, how strange. These past two days, she never encountered any other person. Everyone seemed able to stay calmly in their own rooms. She thought the weird one was her; that maybe she was just too used with the silence in Kuchiki mansion so she couldn’t stand the disturbing sound upstairs. Perhaps the person brings a phone charger that I can borrow.

Once the sounds of footsteps got even clearer, the first thing Rukia recognized was orange spikes. Then she darted her attention downwards and were met with furrowed eyebrows and half opened lidded eyes. The person was wearing the deepest scowl she had ever seen with his hand ruffling his hair in a look of annoyance. Looking at first glance, Rukia could only come up with one conclusion.

“They woke you up too, didn’t they?” Now don’t misunderstand her. Rukia is not the type to strike out conversations, especially with a total stranger. However, she was driving insane keeping herself awake and god forbids the floor looks so comfortable- she just had to distract her attention somewhere.

It took two good seconds before the uninvited guest blinked his eyes, as if still registering her words with his half-awake brain. “How long have you hung here?”

Rukia shrugs, “about twenty minutes.”

“Wow.”

The short talk ended uneventfully. The next thing Rukia knew, the random person just walked towards the fridge, opening it and scanning it as if looking for something, then frowning before closing it again without taking anything out. Rukia raised an eyebrow at his action, decided not to question it before sipping on her coffee and minding her own business. The peace ended shortly though, with the man suddenly sat across her and folded his arms, decided to create another conversation.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Rukia blinks, unsure of how to respond with his sudden conclusion. “How did you come up with that?”

He smirks, “Either that, or you just don’t give a fuck. Nobody hangs out here anymore after Senna raided the place to make out with different partners every week.”

Rukia scrunched her face in pure disgusts. “What is up with college students deciding to make out in every corner of the dorm?”

“So, you’re new then.” He affirmed. “Name’s Ichigo, by the way,” He offered his hand as he introduced himself, which Rukia gratefully accepted.

“Rukia,” she responded, “and why are you here if you knew about it?”

The man called Ichigo shrugs, “I left my coffee sachets here last Friday, but apparently it’s all gone,” he explained, palpably confused, “which is strange because I had seven packs of them; maybe somebody mistook it as theirs?”

Rukia blinks. The coffees were not from the dorms? Her heads turned to look at her cup of coffee before looking back at the orange haired man with a sheepish smile, “Is that coffee brand, by chance, Soul Society?”

Ichigo furrows his eyebrows, “How did you- hold up,” he paused as he looked at her cup, eyeing it suspiciously before staring back at her, “don’t tell me you were-?”

“Unintentionally,” she quickly defended, “I had no idea it was yours. I thought the dorm provided it for students’ late night's study sessions.”

“What kind of dorm supplies something like that?” Ichigo scoffed, eyes staring at her amusedly.

Rukia bit the inside of her mouth, attempting not to counter back as she embarrassedly cleared her throat. How the hell was she supposed to know? Hotels usually provide stuffs like that, right? So she just assumed it was public common sense. Albeit, this was her mistake to begin with. She shouldn’t have jumped into conclusions.

She took a deep breath. “I apologize, I will repay you immediately. Tomorrow, I promise.” She emphasized, not wanting to be labeled as a coffee thief the first week of her stay.

“Sure,” he coolly agreed, “pay me back tomorrow by Urahara’s at nine?”

Rukia stills, “Excuse me?”

“You’re buying coffee, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she deadpanned, “I was thinking somewhere along coffee packets. You know, one with similar brand and flavor preference.”

Ichigo snorts, “You’re repaying seven packs with one strike. Don’t I get to name the repayment?”

“Fair enough.” Rukia calculatedly stated, eyes still looking at him purposefully. She raises an eyebrow, “Just to make this clear; are you asking me out?”

“If you put it that way,” he answered with no hesitation, one hand hidden inside his pocket and for Chappy’s sake what is it with boys and their tendencies to hide their hands in their pockets? He shrugs, “Unless you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t mind in particular,” Rukia wouldn’t lie, he is attractive. It was one date, which definitely won’t hurt anybody. And the way this orange haired random guy smirked at each of her peculiar habits that definitely defeats the norms of college life shows it maybe not so bad to actually agree with the casual agreement. “Can you make it to ten, though? I still have class by nine.”

“Deal.”

Maybe.