#been a while since i’ve used that tag eh

[mayordea]

got a new sketchbook. one that is small and can be carried around in a bag easily while also havin the paper to support my more involved drawings. first page filled with doodles of my oc kandy. we are so so fuckin back

(and no marker bleeds on the back!! this is gonna be so fun. its a rendr sketchbook… a hardcover version was so scarce but i finally nabbed one. gonna cherish this lots)

[multidimensionimagines]

Alright, first part is officially finished! A request sent to me by a wonderful user that will be tagged. In the meantime, here is part 1 of

Sweater Weather (part 1)

part 2

Summary: you borrow Ford’s sweater when it gets cold

content warnings: fluff, smut, reader is fem/afab and uses she/her pronouns, minors do not interact!

Gravity Falls wasn’t a sunny paradise. Despite what the brochures and fake marketing wanted you to believe. Sure the summers there were nice. After all, living in Oregon meant getting a perfect balance of each of the seasons as they came. So, that meant hot, sunny summers and cold, bitter winters.

You did not take this into account when you first moved to Gravity Falls two years ago. Sure, you had some sweaters and pants good enough for the colder months, and you would think that living in the same place for two years would warrant you enough time to go shopping to acquire a proper wardrobe. But you, special as you were, had an extraordinary knack for forgetting things- giving your needs the old ‘eh, I’ll do it tomorrow’ and the next thing you know, winter had passed with you surviving on the tattered blankets and fireplace in your home.

Now was the end of fall, the day after Halloween- not to be confused with the iconic Gravity Falls tradition of Summerween- and while it had been chillier out it was now getting dangerously into nipping cold territory. And your boyfriend, as practical as he was, has not stopped having to remind you.

“Dear, don’t you think you’ll be cold going out in.. that?”

You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. He quickly stiffened.

“N-not that, I’m trying to tell you what to wear. I-I would never-! You’re free to dress how you wish I’m just..” he awkwardly cleared his throat. “worried.”

You chuckled, pulling on your lightweight cardigan over your top. “I know you wouldn’t. I’ll go shopping tomorrow, okay?”

You reassured him softly, walking up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’ve been saying that everyday since October 5th.”

You rolled your eyes and grinned, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Psh, oh come on, there’s no way I’ve been saying it every day-“

Ford reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little booklet, one of those pocket colanders and flipped to the page with the current month, or well, month that just passed yesterday on it.

“Actually you have, I’ve been keeping track to see when you would actually follow through on your word.”

He explained somewhat smugly before tucking it back into his pocket, revealing your annoyed but.. slightly impressed face. Of course, only the Stanford Pines would keep track of something like that.

You gave him a look but he wouldn’t put away that stupid (cute) grin on his face and brushed past him towards the front door of the Mystery Shack. You and Soos were all going out to get some food shopping done since the kitchen was ransacked by vengeful gnomes yesterday when Stan refused to give any of them candy.

“Bein’ freakishly short and wearing dumb hats all year round doesn’t make you eligible now scram!”

Soos came out from the staff room having finished putting away the rest of the cheap Halloween decorations that were more than halfway from falling apart, but of course, your boss refused to buy any new ones till they were ‘as old as he and his brother’ which you found humorous.

Dusting his hands off each other with a proud smile, Soos closed the door behind him and sighed. “Huh, there, that ought to do it! Oh hey other Mr Pines!” He beamed and waved at Ford, seeming surprised but pleased to see him out in the open. Ford awkwardly shuffled his feet and returned his wave with a small smile.

“Ah.. Greetings, Soos. And, please, you can call me Ford, it’s a lot less formal don’t you think?”

“Oh no way dude. I respect you and Mr Pines wayyyy too much to do that.” Soos stated in a somewhat more serious tone, crossing a hand in front of him.

Ford chuckled, both amused and flattered that he thought that highly of him and his brother. “Very well then.” He shrugged, watching as Soos joined you, who had their hand on the knob as you waited semi-paitently at the front door.

“You ready to rock and roll dude?” He asked, twirling his keys around his finger.

You nodded. “Uh huh!” You turned your head back to Ford “see ya in a bit, sweetie!”

Ford smiled and returned your wave as you closed the door behind you and Soos. Even though you and Ford had been together for a good few months now, he still got a bit giddy at the feeling of you calling him sweet pet names like that. He wasn’t all that used to having someone consistently dote on him in that way, plus, you just made him weak in the knees. No matter what you did. He found you absolutely irresistible. He sighed, shaking off his wandering thoughts and opened the vending machine door, as he had important business to attend to down in his lab today. And he didn’t want any distractions whatsoever.

A little while after, Ford was tinkering away in his lab, experimenting with a new device he had been drafting blueprints for, and keeping notes on what seemed to work.

“Hm… fascinating..” he hummed to himself, a pleased smirk spread across his face as he ran another successful test. He was pulled quickly from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door, but didn’t cease writing.

“Yes, come in!” He called, eyes not tearing away from the his journal pages.

From the other side of the door, you smiled of relief. Happy to hear your boyfriend’s voice after a long day, even though it was mostly shopping, it wasn’t like it was any fun shopping. You gently and carefully opened the door to his workshop, always making sure to be cautious in your step when doing so since you never could really predict what kind of strange anomaly or new device that would be coming your way. Thankfully today however, it was just a few pieces of forest crystals that sat at his desk beside his furiously writing hand. You cleared your throat and approached behind him, standing with your hands clasped in front of your lap.

Ford hummed curiously, looking back over his shoulder and instantly brightening when he saw it was you. “Ah! Greetings, my dear! How was your excursion with Jésus?”

You giggled. “It’s just Soos. And it was great! We got everything on our list and then some… I also got you something~” you rocked back on your heels as a playful tone rang in your voice to which he perked up. Ford turned his body now towards you, resting one hand on his knee and tilting his head to one side inquiringly.

“Really?”

You nodded, reaching into your pocket to reveal a small white cloth bag which had a label in black cursive on them that read ‘Old Timey Style Jelly Beans’.

Ford chuckled and took the bag from you, prying it open with his two index fingers and peering inside. “Thank you, my dear. Although, you really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, glancing back up at you through his glasses.

You shook your head. “I always have to get you something! I like doing it, it’s nice to see your face when I come home with something for you! Besides, you hardly ever leave here as it is, I might as well do all your shopping at this point.” You insisted, resting a hand on Ford’s shoulder to steady yourself as you took a seat on his lap, taking advantage of the openness of his current leg position. He grew shy, smiling and looking away from you with a soft blush in his cheeks.

“Ah… yes, well.. um..” he cleared his throat “thank you.” He snuck a hand around your waist to keep you upright on him, bringing his head back up to face you so that you could properly see him. You peered over his shoulder to look at his desk, eyeing the new paragraphs of cursive that filled journal number four.

“What’cha working on?” You chirped. Ford beamed.

“Ah! I’m glad you asked!” He swiveled around in his chair, keeping hold of you in his lap and setting the jellybeans aside. “I’m testing a new invention of mine that I’ve had in the works for a while. I just didn’t have the pieces to do it until now…”

as he rambled on, explaining his newest discovery, you couldn’t help but accidentally tune out his words, sure you were listening, you could hear him talking, but your processing gears were occupied by the gleam in his eyes and the added crinkles that formed around them when he smiled in the excitement of explaining something to you. You let out an internal, dreamy sigh as you focused on the way his one hand was gesturing to all the different things on his desk and how the other gripped your waist so comfortingly. His rough, gorgeous hands…

“Dear, are you alright?”

Your breath hitched, you blinked and looked at him as a slow blush began to creep onto your face. “O-oh! Yeah um.. sorry you just… look really cute when you’re explaining your.. science-y.. stuff..” you admitted sheepishly, feeling kinda bad that you didn’t catch most of what he said.

Ford felt a little taken aback by the sudden onset of adoration, not that he minded it one bit. He just wasn’t used to it, a few months of being with someone so intimately wasn’t nearly enough time to get used to 60 ish years of barely experiencing it at all. He chuckled slightly, bringing his other hand to wrap in front of your torso, now encircling you in a cocoon of his arms.

“I-it’s quite alright, I wouldn’t have expected you to understand even if you were listening.”

He said with the utmost affection and sincerity. The words alone coming out of his mouth didn’t always sound too flattering, but they were hardly ever out of malice, especially not when it came to you. You had been learning to both deal with, and let him know when to not say anything. But right now you giggled and brushed it off, knowing exactly what he meant.

You two had a brief moment of looking into each others eyes, taking in each others soft gaze on the other. Ford had such deep, beautiful brown eyes that reminded you of the very forests that he explored so much. And you, oh, Ford could fill more than 10 journals dedicated to the sheer remarkable beauty of yours. He still couldn’t believe that in all the dimensions, all the universes, all the galaxies and all the stars in the sky that you chose to be his. And he was forever grateful for it. You both seemed to have the same idea as you leaned in closer, inching forward to gradually meet each others lips. Ford hummed and closed his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders he didn’t even know he was holding dropped. He gripped your waist tighter and subconsciously pulled you in closer to him and you brought your hands up to his face, cupping and caressing each cheek and running your fingers along his faint stubble. Ford was still a bit of an awkward and clumsy kisser, but you were more than happy to give him as many practice opportunities as he needed. You felt a shiver run up your spine as his thumbs began to rub into the divets of your flesh, as well as the cool air of the lab hitting your skin through your thin cardigan.

“Mmm… dear..?” Ford mumbled against your lips, gently pulling you away. Your face was revealed to him in a slight pout, which he thought was adorable. But this was no time for him to swoon, he had a pressing question he almost forgot to ask you. “Did you remember to pick up something suitable for the cold?”

Your eyes widened. Oh, shoot. That’s what you forgot.

“Uhhhh…” you squinted, looking to the side to avoid his now disappointed stare. Ford grumbled. “Okay, I forgot! Ugh..” you groaned, throwing your head back.

Ford sighed and pulled your sweater sleeve up, revealing the goosebumps that littered your arm. “Darling, look at you, you’re freezing. You should get into something warmer.” He pressed, now sounding more like a worried mother than anything. You got up off his lap. “Yeah, I didn’t wanna say anything because I was hoping you wouldn’t notice but, your lab is fucking freezing.” You shivered, bringing your hands up to your forearms in a pathetic attempt to shield them. Ford chuckled and shook his head, waving you off.

“Go on, take your time, I’ll be here all evening.”

[gyuwoncheol]

Cheol’s been prepping you to take his cock for weeks but you’re about to body slam him into the mattress if he doesn’t fuck you right now (which might have been what he wanted all along, corruption kink go brrrr) 😈 “you want it so bad? Then sit on it. Aww don’t be scared I know you’re ready” -⚡️

TW: afab! reader, dirty talk, use of pet names, piv sex, unprotected sex, mentions of creampie and oral sex, bratty & whiny reader, reader is described to be much smaller than Cheol. Not proofread. 18+ only (MDNI).

Note: changed it up a little bit, ⚡️ anon. Hope you enjoy!

Because this is blonde cheol with a bratty reader, I am compelled to tag Zeta my love @multi-kpop-fanfics . It’s simply how the world works 💞

“Nooo. Stop!” You whined and yanked on Seungcheol’s blonde locks, pulling him back up to face you.

Seungcheol was confused to say the least. His eyebrows quirking as he studies your facial expressions. “You okay?”

“Just fuck me, Cheol,” you blurt out, frustration clear in your voice and Seungcheol swears he heard the angels sing.

“What–“

“I said, fuck me. No more teasing, no more prepping. I’m done!” You glare at him. Not that you were ungrateful for your boyfriend’s expert oral skills, but when all you’ve gotten the past few days ever since his return from a 3-month tour is everything but his cock, you think it’s okay to sound ungrateful.

“Aw, impatient baby,” he mocks as he grinds his crotch on yours.

“Excuse me?! I’ve been patient! Way too patient! Three months and 18 days patient!!!!” Cheol laughs at your attention to detail, clearly amused at how needy you’ve been. Not that he wasn’t— he was, he’s been dreaming to have his way with you the moment he got home four days ago. But apparently, he could take a few more days of waiting, making sure you were well prepped and ready to take his huge cock again after so long. And maybe he just loved to tease you a little bit more, waiting to awaken the brat in you. “Cmon, Cheollie..” you switch up to a sweet tone, blinking with doe eyes and drawing his face to yours for a kiss, “it’s been too long, don’t you wanna feel my tight pussy around you?”

Seungcheol’s dick twitches in the confines of his briefs at your words but he tries to play it cool with a roll of his eyes.

“Better yet baby, don’t you miss cumming inside—“

Your sentence is cut off with a yelp as the large man who was once above you rolls you both around on the bed, effectively having him pinned between your legs, straddling him right where he wants you. Seungcheol grabs you harshly to connect your mouths in a hungry kiss, the clashing of your tongues and teeth rendering you to a moaning mess while you hurriedly remove his shorts and undergarments.

When Cheol’s hard member springs free and rests on his stomach, the blonde man leans back to examine your next move. He’s not disappointed when the first thing you do is run your wet folds along his shaft. The guttural groan he lets out makes you even more wet than you already are. But that’s a good thing because now you’re looking at Cheol’s thick and long cock, and perhaps he did make the right decision to prep you for it for days.

“Nervous, baby?” He asks with that stupid brow raise of his.

“No,” you answer without hesitation but even then, you didn’t sound so confident.

“Well be my guest, princess. What’re you waiting for? You wanted it so bad didn’t you? Ride me.”

You nodded at Seungcheol, swallowing thickly before wrapping your small hand around his heavy shaft. You aligned him at your entrance, carefully letting his bulbuous head breach your sopping hole. Cheol takes notice when you suck in a sharp breath and close your eyes. It happens the same time he feels the constricting push of your walls which has his hands flying to eitherside of your hips.

“Doing s’good for me, princess,” he encourages, mustering all self control not to just thrust up into you.

“S-so biiig,” you stammer, sinking down to ease another inch of him.

“Not so mad about my prep anymore, eh?”

You roll your eyes at the smug remark, “fuck you.”

“You already are, prin— shit!” Seungcheol curses when you suddenly seat yourself fully to shut him up.

Moans reverberate around the room from both of you after your little stunt. The stretch is painful at first but it slowly morphs into fiery pleasure with every soothing rub of Cheol’s thumb on your hip. You take a deep breath and plant your palms on his chest, circling your hips once.

“Fuuuuck,” you both drawl out, lust fully flowing through your veins.

“Missed this,” you pick up your pace, repeating the motions of lifting your hips then grinding down to stimulate your clit.

“Missed you,” your boyfriend replies. He reaches out one hand to squeeze on your breast before his fingers roll your nipple expertly, causing you to clench harshly on his cock.

“Fuck, princess. If you do that again, I might just cum now.”

You scoff at his remark, ready to tease him back, “aw, who’s the impatient one now?”

[p0orbaby]

can i request a katie mccabe x reader??

reader is pregnant with their 2nd kid and they go to watch one of her international games! pure fluff please :)

Family Fun Day

warnings: talks of pregnancy and morning sickness

a/n: I’ve been on a roll with the pregnancy fics recently I’m ngl

word count: 815

-

“Oh Christ, your mother is going to kill me” Katie mumbled to herself regretfully as she tried to wrangle a very squirmy toddler.

The task usually hard on a good day, but when a child is loaded with sugar and covered in, she wasn’t quite sure, it takes ten times more effort to keep them still.

“Who’s idea was it to give you chocolate, eh?” She asks her son who just looks at her with his bright blue eyes and confectionary covered cheeks.

“Well it certainly wasn’t mine”. Both Katie and your two year old turn their heads in unison at your voice. Two sets of eyes landing on you, finding arms folded and brow raised accusingly. “I leave you two alone for five minutes and look what happens”

You knew their tricks. They were the perfect tag team, and it was exhausting trying to keep up with them. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. The laughter, the chaos, and the love that filled your life were all worth the effort. Your family was your greatest joy, and you wouldn’t trade these moments for anything in the world. Even if your kid was covered in chocolate and ready to bounce off the walls.

“He just got confused,” she explained. “I said one, but he thought I meant one handful. An easy mistake to make”

You narrow your eyes, looking between the two of them with a smirk. “Sure babe”

Katie sets Finn down so he’s standing on an unfolded seat. His sticky little hand clinging onto hers like a lifeline. “You good?” She asks, eyes sliding to your protruding belly.

Despite your size, you didn’t actually feel too bad. It was the first trimester that almost killed you off. Morning sickness was no joke and it caused you your fair share of rough days. But now, well into the second trimester, you were starting to regain some energy and getting back to feeling a little more like yourself.

Katie had been incredibly supportive throughout it all, taking on more responsibilities at home and making sure you had everything you needed. She had a knack for making you feel special and loved, even when you felt like a bloated, hormonal mess.

You smile softly at your wife’s concern. “Never better”

Even now your wife was hesitant to leave your side. She glanced at the field, then back at you, a bit torn. “I’ve got to start my warm-ups soon, but I don’t want to leave you alone with his sugar rush,” she says, her eyes filled with guilt.

You chuckle and give her a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, buddy?” You direct your question to your toddler, who beams and nods enthusiastically.

She smiles, relieved, and leans in to give you a quick kiss. “Alright then. Finn, you’re the man of the house while I’m out there scoring goals, okay?” She ruffles Finn’s dark hair, and he nods with a sense of importance, puffing out his chest a little.

Katie turns to you this time, “be careful. If there’s any problem with the baby, remember to flag-

“Flag down one of your medical staff, I know” you finish for her.

“Promise me”

You lean in for another kiss. Lingering long enough for her to know you will do exactly as she says if need be. “I promise. Anyway, I’m supposed to be telling you to be careful”

She grabs your chin with her thumb and forefinger to keep your eyes on hers. “I’ll try”

“Babe”

She rolls her eyes at your seriousness and smirks. “I promise I’ll try to be careful”

Well, you suppose that’s the best you can hope for.

Katie grins at your reluctance to take her word for it, and places a hand on your growing belly gently in appreciation. No words needed as you answer her silent question.

“She’s been kicking since we got here. I think the noise has woken her up” you state, stroking the top of your stomach.

Katie chuckles and leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your baby bump. “Sounds to me like she’s just excited for the game”

“Speaking of, you’re being summoned” you tilt your head in the direction of the field. Her teammates waving her down, instructing her to get into the grass sharpish.

She gives you a final quick kiss and ruffles Finn's hair once again. “I’ll see you both after the game. Love you”

“Love you too. Go show ‘em what you’ve got,” you say with a proud smile, watching her make her way down towards her team.

As the game begins, you and Finn settle in to watch and cheer for your favorite player, your heart swelling with delight. Your baby continues to kick and move inside you, as if she knows her ma is out there, ready to conquer the world.

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Chapter 5: Part 1

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through your phone, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, leaning into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.” CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: additional warnings: depictions of past abuse and childhood abuse, misogyny, violence, assault/battery. See Ao3 for extended tags. Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2 WC: 10.8k

The sun is warm today. 

It coats the exposed stretches of skin on your arms and legs in a cozy, yellow glow. Shadows from the leaves dancing on the branches of the tree behind you cast across your face, splotches of blueish-gray that provide a hint of coolness on your relaxed posture.

The sky is your favorite shade of teal, with fluffy, white clouds spread across it far and wide, forming funny shapes and animals that only you can discern. There’s a bunny-looking one that you’ve been following for a while now, watching as it extends its legs while bounding lazily across the eonic, untold cyan. You’ve named it Marshmallow for its resemblance to those bird-shaped, sugar-coated treats.

Which doesn’t really make sense, but you don’t care all that much. It makes sense to you.

So far, the story you’ve created about Marshmallow is simplistic, but it’s giving you something to do. Marshmallow is frollicking in a massive meadow, running around between tall stalks of indigo grass and snowy flowers. She’s celebrating her freedom after escaping the maws of a vicious wolf, bouncing back and forth in joy as she claims the sky as her home, where no wolf can catch and eat her so long as the sun shines through the heavens.

There, she is safe to chirp and thump her little feet and fly as much as she desires, no longer fearing being trapped in the muzzle of a hungry beast.

In the far distance, you can see a smear of dark gray hugging the horizon. It’s not close enough for you to fathom how big it is, but you can tell by the streaks underneath it that it’s raining over there. The flowers will be happy, you think. Fresh water to help their roots spread and their petals bloom.

You like days like this, where it’s quiet and calm. Birds spring from the electricity cables spanning down the length of the street, a bug occasionally buzzes past you, and the air smells sweet.

Your legs swing back and forth lazily over the short, cement-brick wall in front of your house. The light stone is brisk under your palms, a comfort in the burn of summer. You’ve already had a crisp icy-pop earlier, but now you’re uncertain if you should have saved it, as the temperature has gone up quite high.

It’s peaceful out here, but, confessedly, incredibly boring.

Yet, you savor it all the same. Anything is better than being in there, where your heart rarely has a chance to settle, always tapping on your veins to keep them active and roaring with blood laced too heavily with poisonous adrenaline. It’s nice to have an opportunity to rest and relax, a rare moment of serenity, even if you do feel a little lonely.

Glass shatters somewhere behind you. Skin meets skin.

You wince.

The world grows a little more dim. The bunny splits in half.

Tranquility can only last for so long under the richly fragrant blooms of the Callery pear hiding you from the sight of those within the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, woman!?”

You stand up slowly, your fingers already growing jittery as you brush off the dirt and prickling twigs that dug imprints into the backs of your thighs. The heat no longer bothers you.

“Can’t you do anything right!? Can’t even get me a fuckin’ beer! You’re useless!”

“I’m–”

They left the kitchen window open again, the mesh serving to let air in while keeping insects out. It does nil to block sound.

“This is the one fuckin’ time I get a goddamn break from supporting this fuckin’ family, and this is how you repay me? By droppin’ my goddamn bottle of beer?”

You’re scared. You don’t know why you are, he always gets like this. He’s always yelling.

You think you’re used to it by now, you try to tell yourself that you are, but your heart still pounds uneasily in your chest. It feels like there’s ice in your veins, prickling and spreading frostbite in tiny kitten nips. It spreads to your stomach, growing heavy and sinking lower and lower, steel through honey.

You hate being scared. It makes you feel sick. You wish you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

“I’m out there, breakin’ my back every damned day for you and that stupid brat–” you flinch, “workin’ my hands to the bones, and all I want is a drink to wind down after a long day of work.” It’s midday on a Saturday. He woke up an hour ago. “I ask my lovely, darlin’, sweet little wife to get me a beer, and what does she do?”

You think you can hear a woman mumbling something, but it’s hard to make out over the man’s screams.

He bangs his fist on the laminated kitchen counter, by the sink. Metal utensils stored to dry clink against each other from the force. “Answer me, woman!”

“You…bumped…accident–”

“Speak up!”

“Y-You bumped into–”

“Oh, so, now you’re goin’ off and blamin’ me?”

A sob. “It was an accident.”

“It’s always a fuckin’ accident with ya, ain’t it? Always forgettin’ shit, always lazy, always so clumsy. All you women are incompetent. Can’t even get me a damn drink without wastin’ my hard earned money. The money that supports your livelihood, by the way.”

There’s a hiccuping sound, followed by another bang on the counter.

“Now you’re throwin’ hysterics! You ungrateful whore, fuckin’ manipulative bitch, usin’ crocodile tears. I’ve been so kind, so patient, so lenient with you,” you tried to count the bruises he left on her one time, but you lost track after thirteen. “But, you’re just so fuckin’ spoiled, yeah? Damn hag. It’s ‘cause of me you get to sit your pretty ass at home all the time and do nothin’ all damn day while I’m out there, breakin’ myself for a useless bitch of a wife.”

Your nails dig into the tree’s bark for support. A white petal twists and ebbs as it falls from a flower above, landing on your shoulder.

She’s silent beyond short gasps of air and phlegmy sniffles. A stifled choke here and there.

“Don’t ignore me, bitch,” he hisses, then groans in defeat, as if he is choosing to surrender and indulge her. “Agh, it’s pointless, you’re too fuckin’ stupid to understand. You damn women are always so fuckin’–”

He says a word that makes you cringe horribly.

The heavy stomping of boots follows his tantrum, then there’s complete stillness. You wait outside for a long time, hesitating. You want to go to the woman, to comfort her despite your young age and inherent naivety.

You startle out of your skin when you hear the screechy garage door open and hare around the bulking trunk of the tree to hide behind it. Your back presses into the rough material, breaths barely filling your lungs before they’re pushed out again. Your skin crawls at the subdued sounds of the man’s mad ramblings, too indistinct for you to make out.

His tone tells you enough. It tells you he’s angry, and that he’s saying a lot of bad words that you’re not allowed to say. 

Bad words hurt people, baby.

As hidden as you can manage to be, you peer around the calleryana, grimacing at the loud, metallic thump of his car door slamming shut. You watch as the contraption, old with time and lack of maintenance – ‘It’s vintage,’ he slurs, bragging about the red machine like a proud father that treats it better than he treats his own teeth. Better than he treats you. – coughs and rattles down the short length of the driveway.

It turns along the curb, twisting ‘til its nose faces your direction. You jolt back out of sight.

You’ve always despised the sound it makes, the horrid noise passing by you and growing quieter as the car chugs down the gray asphalt. Like a dying goat. Or, cats yowling as they tear into each other in the dead of night. Jarring and uncomfortable, instilling a sense of dread in you.

You wait for a long time like this, staring blankly at the end of the street, holding your breath. You wait for the car to reappear at the turn, to come back no sooner than it had gone. You wait for him to loop the neighborhood. 

If he’s in the same mood, or worse, who knows what could happen. Maybe, he’ll have the courage to pull the trigger and end it all with a swift right hook this time.

Minutes or hours later, the street remains empty, and you exhale the breath you’ve been holding, allowing yourself to cautiously hope he won’t return for a while.

Itchy imprints are left on your palms, the backs of your arms, and upper back as you peel away from the tree and sneak across the yard to the rear of the house. Even though he’s not here anymore, you still walk on your tip-toes and avoid stepping on sticks or leaves.

The backdoor is open. It leads into the living room, with the kitchen doorway on your right. From this angle, you can see the fridge and sink. The cup holding the clean utensils has been knocked over.

You walk forward and turn left, instead. You stick to the walls, where the wooden floor doesn’t creak as loudly, and make your way to the bathroom. The light flickers on, struggling for a few seconds. Its orange illumination is dim and makes you nauseous.

You pull out the stool from the cupboard under the sink and pop it flat, then climb on top to reach the mirrored cabinet above the faucet. It’s a singular, fluid action; a habit, muscle memory honed over time.

You pry open the semi-shiny, scratched panel and dig around through the mess of products inside. You push aside aftershave, old tubes of half-used creams, rusted safety razors, and bottles of miscellaneous concoctions that intrigue and scare you in equal measure.

You collect the needed items, stacking a stocky, dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, knock-off antibiotic gel, and bandages into your arms. It’s not as heavy or hard as it used to be, and you don’t forget anything after so much practice.

Hopping off the stool, you shuffle your way to the kitchen.

From the doorway, you can see the woman sitting on one of the dining chairs, partially facing you. Her face is in her hands. Her shoulders tremble with mute weeping. There’s green glass and something wet spilled across the floor.

You’re careful to mind your step and veer around it.

If she’s aware of your presence, she doesn’t react, and says nothing. She doesn’t lift her head as you wriggle your gathered spoils onto the table, diligent in making sure none fall off. She doesn’t make any noise as you pull out a chair beside her and hoist yourself onto it. She’s eidolic as you sort the items around into a neat order for easy access.

She only responds when you reach a small hand forward and curl it around her wrist. Your fingers barely reach halfway. 

“Mama.”

Her movements are lethargic, tired. She lowers her hands sluggishly and looks up at you, but she has that far-away glaze over her eyes. She’s staring at your face, but her mind is a million miles away, unseeing.

You learned it was useless to try and bring her back to earth when she’s drifted so far off. So, you don’t bother attempting. Not anymore.

There are a couple cuts on her face, one stretching diagonally under her left eye, and one curving from the right side of her chin to partially underneath it. A bruise is swelling along her temple, and an old ring of claw marks adorns her throat like a necklace. Dried tear tracks mar her visage, eyelids puffy and scleras red. He was forgiving this time.

She lets you guide her palms down to rest on her lap. Her muscles don’t twitch as you dampen a pad with hydrogen peroxide and delicately begin dabbing it on the wounds to clean them. The blood, no longer beading and trickling, fizzles under the influence of the solution. You take care to not get any loose fibers caught in the new injuries.

It was nice of him to leave the ones that are still healing alone. He isn’t always this kind.

You’re too focused on your work to notice when your mother comes back to herself. The fog over her irises lifts, replaced with a glassy sheen, but no tears remain to fall.

She looks a lot like you, just older, and fatigued. Faint scars linger and taint her sullen expression. Her eyes are sunken, cheeks hollow. Your eyes are the same color, as is your hair. Your upper lip follows the same curve hers does.

The only difference is your age, what you’ve been through.

Your bruises, along your limbs, weren’t caused by him.

You stopped asking questions a long time ago, too. Around the same time she stopped physically showing any sort of pain or discomfort she might experience from you taking care of her. You smear a thin layer of the gel over the cuts, capping the tube.

As you’re reaching for the bandages, she suddenly grasps your wrists, spooking you.

“Promise me, baby,” she urges you frantically, voice low. Like she’s afraid he’ll hear her, even though he isn’t home anymore. “Promise me you’ll never let a man tie you down.”

You gaze at her – at the shallow cuts on the side of her chin and under her eye, the rapidly swelling bruise on her jaw, the spot forming on her temple – and nod once. It’s not a difficult choice. Hell, you don’t have to think about it to agree. 

All you’ve ever known about love is that it does nothing but hurt those who experience it.

All you’ve ever known about love was taught to you by fists and shouts.

All you’ve ever known about love was that it would break you, like it broke her, if you let yourself fall to it.

Wordlessly, you swear you’ll never end up like your mother.

Audibly, you seal the vow. 

“I promise, mama.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

It’s cold outside.

The sun hid behind the wide expanse of ashen-gray clouds that painted the sky a new color, one of mottled Nile lily and argent. You could make out shallow waves and hills in the skyline, but not much else, the world washed in desaturated periwinkle.

It made for a great environment for pondering.

Months had already gone by since you made your vast move to this quaint little stead, all in the blink of an eye. It was nice; peaceful. The routine you'd built up kept where no other had before, and instead of boredom and mundanity, or the anxiety that came with getting too comfortable, you were enjoying yourself. 

You were content.

In the mornings, you'd eat breakfast with Satoru and oftentimes Suguru, then continue the well-proceeding renovations on your house. In the afternoons you'd work at Granny’s shop, and your nights were free. Usually you'd either go to the park for a while, hang out with your friends, or go straight to either Suguru’s or Satoru's house.

Geto-mama and Geto-papa took a particular liking to you and enjoyed having you over. You learned very quickly where Suguru got his spice tolerance from, the pair of parents being worse than him in overusing various pepper seasonings.

His parents were also ridiculously tall, especially his mother, who stood toe-to-toe with Suguru himself. He was the spitting image of her.

You underestimated how much Geto-mama liked plants until she sat your pretty ass on the armchair in her living room, threw a blanket over your legs, and proceeded to whip out decades’ worth of knowledge on all kinds of husbandry.

Which, actually, was very entertaining and engaging, with plenty of hands-on activities. You were now the proud mother of a cardboard egg carton full of itty bitty forget-me-nots. 

When she told you that she was a kindergarten teacher, it all added up.

She was a blast to listen to, every conversation with her energetic and fun. You had a great time everytime you hung out with each other, leading you to frequently exchange flower and vegetation pictures with her over text. She had some shockingly hilarious husbandry memes, and you’d never seen Suguru come close to pouting before he learned you texted with his mom more than you did him. 

Sure, it was barely a downward twitch of his lips, but he looked so much like a wounded puppy that you had to fix the situation ASAP.

Which meant texting his mother in secret.

His father was vastly different from his mother. The silent type who didn’t speak much, spending most of his free time sitting on the couch, filling out crossword or sudoku puzzles featured in the weekly newspaper. 

You chalked him up to be the type to emotionally close himself off, until you saw him embracing his wife while she cooked, face buried against the crook of her neck while she rambled his ear off about anything and everything. 

You picked up on how he followed her around soon after that, always trailing after her around the house, lamb and shepherd. 

They shared more similarities than you initially caught. He was a teacher, too – a professor of ethics at the nearby college, specifically. Though he wasn’t talkative, he made for fascinating and thought-provoking conversation when he was in the mood to chat.

Suguru was a lot like his dad, you concluded, based on careful examination of the way they interacted with others and the world around them. They were both the wordless protector types, speaking more in gentle touches, subtle expressions, and words of affirmation than with open, boisterous actions. They were observant and highly aware of the emotions of others, and acted well on them.

Which is to say, they could both read you like a book. They knew when you were thirsty or hungry before you did. You weren’t as close to Geto-papa, but despite his quiet nature, he made it clear to you that you could go to him for anything.

Unlike them, Satoru was nothing like his dad.

You met Gojo-sama once, and wanted to keep it at only once if you could help it.

He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything, quite the opposite. He was polite, courteous, and respectful.

Problem was, he scared the absolute bejeezus out of you.

He carried this constant aura of authority with him everywhere he went, stern and straightforward to a fault. Where Ijichi was a trembling mess in front of Satoru, he went ramrod straight when in Gojo Saichi’s presence. He turned himself into a statue, and you couldn’t discern if it was from fear or great reverence, because Gojo-sama was quite kind to him, all things considered.

You were still spooked by the man, though, and preferred to avoid him. Lucky for you, he more-or-less lived in a town a few hours away, far enough to need to take the train, as he was busy working.

The only person you’d seen him cower before was Granny, as she apparently also knew him since he was younger. Whatever that woman was built of, you wanted it.

One day, sometime in late summer, you broke the golden rule of avoiding the park on Thursday nights and very quickly found out why Aoi and her boyfriend fucked there. They went at it like rabid animals – hell, you thought they were animals at first. Then, you saw a bit more ass than you were bargaining for and bolted out of the park, swearing to avoid the bushes they had chosen to desecrate at all costs.

You had come to know most of the more commonly seen townsfolk by name now, but that was about it. You were still introverted, after all. Everyone outside your group was an acquaintance, generally. You knew some people better than others, whether by intention (Granny, Shoko, Utahime) while others not so much (Aoi's boyfriend’s ass), but that was fine.

You sighed softly as you watched lilliputian snowflakes drift past the window of Granny’s shop, your chin propped up on your palm. They stirred and danced, waltzing with one another, then came to rest on the ground.

It wasn’t cold enough for them to stick – winter in this part of Japan was fairly mild – but it was alluring nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you stopped everything to just…observe. You hardly had enough time to settle and let your lungs fully fill to admire the scenery anywhere else you went. A shame and a waste, you knew that. Some of the places you drifted to were revered for their natural beauty, or hypnotic architecture, or lively communities.

You’d be lying if you said you went to them with the first two in mind. Mainly, you drifted towards densely packed locations. The more people, the more sounds, the less you were able to hear your own thoughts. Clubs, dating apps, friend groups full of names you would never remember, nothing worked.

Being unable to think left you feeling like your sanity was being torn apart by ragged, filthy nails. It made you want to rip into your own skull to wrench out the obnoxious fucking buzzing. At first, you thought there wasn’t enough noise, that the rattling was a result of there being too much room in your cranium that let things clatter about.

Living above subs and stumbling your way into various parties, drinking your weight in liquor until you couldn’t think at all, making out with someone knowing that you wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than light petting, nothing sufficed.

It’s possible you moving to such an isolated valley wasn’t such a difficult thing to believe. Something, something, insanity.

The passage of time seemed nonexistent here. When you arrived, you were slipping into summer, battling the hellish heat under the AC at Suguru’s house blowing on full blast, prancing in the river with Satoru, and now it was snowing. It felt like only yesterday, or at most before yesterday, you had arrived.

The memory of your first night on a floor you couldn’t believe you actually slept on in hindsight was so distant, yet merely a few hours back on the clock of your mind.

Intrusive thoughts – the same that told you to stab your hand, jump off a cliff, fantasize about your worst fears and subsequently having panic attacks because of it – persisted. Hard habits to kick, but they were significantly quieter nowadays. Further spaced out, too.

The voice of the demon clinging to your cervical spine, the one that urged you to run like your feet were on hot coals, had all but gone mute. Sometimes you got the thought, but it was more reflex than anything else.

Maybe, just maybe, you found where you were supposed to be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Granny’s calm voice roused you from your reverie, drawing your attention to her.

Like you, she peered at the slow-falling flakes, following the twirls and spirals they made when a mild breeze caught them. If you had to name the expression she wore, it would be reminiscence. You’d think that, after living here for as long as she did, one would be used to the sight of the year’s first snow. Impassive, even, or perhaps irked by the omen it brought, but the childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes told you otherwise.

You sensed you would never truly get used to it, either. 

“Yeah,” you matched her tone, returning your fixation to beyond the window. “I’ve seen snow before, but never really…”

Granny easily picked up on what you didn’t voice. “It’s quite magical.”

You nodded faintly, unbothered by the countertop digging into your elbow. 

The day was uneventful for the most part.

Geto-mama had stopped by earlier in the day to pass you a plate of mini lemon tarts, which you idly nibbled on while reading. She had taken to using you as a test subject for her experimental baked treats, and (to your massive relief, since you lived in constant fear of Satoru and Ijichi and their calamitous baking skills) she made amazing snacks, and taught you when she had the time to.

Everyone else was busy either completing preparations for the forecasted snowfall, promised to last the week, or they’re already bundled up at home, staving off the frost from within.

Which meant it was slow-going at the shop, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. 

It gave you time to catch up on the new manga series you’d picked up from the shelf of the store after becoming curious about it. It was an odd story, something about a boy whose body was doused in a fire that could never extinguish, but it kept your mind busy.

The tale under your hand was…difficult to stomach. Not for any massive horror or emotional reasons, no. Rather, it was so painfully cringy that you had to periodically stop and take a breath to steady yourself.

The plot was rather good, an interesting concept for a world that would make for a fantastic anime, but the author really enjoyed causing his readers physical pain from the dialogue. It made for fantastic taunting material, though, and Satoru and you enjoyed ripping into the characters.

It amazed you that this author apparently had a popular manga in both Japan and the States that was released only a couple years after this one, because wow. It was bad.

The dainty chime of the bell drew your attention away from your manga in time to see Suguru ducking under the door frame, giant that he was, a furoshiki-clad object in hand. A quick skim over the shop had his sights landing on you, locating his target. His eyes creased into slim lunes, the corners of his lips digging into the plush of his cheeks as he approached you.

You stepped out from behind the counter and oof-ed when his free arm encompassed you and tugged you into his hoodie-covered chest. 

He placed the side of his face against the top of your head and rubbed it endearingly. You never chalked him up to be the type for physical affection when you first met, but here you were, practically getting scented by a territorial feline.

“Hey, you,” he lilted, withdrawing after far too much time passed for the embrace to be considered a normal greeting between friends. His palm stayed in contact with your figure, gliding across the curve of your waist as he was pulling back, seemingly reluctant to part. It raised goosebumps on your nape and along the lengths of your arms.

“Hey, Suguru,” you welcomed, your lips subconsciously tilting upwards. Your heart filled your chest with a warmth akin to the heat the hot chai he frequently made for you. “What brings you here?”

“Brought you lunch,” he explained as he set the object down on the register counter. A succulent scent wafted towards you, forcing you to restrain your stomach in a chokehold around its neck like a crazed mutt. Decorum and politeness were vital in the presence of royalty.

You crooned, grinning wider at him. “Aww, Sugu, you didn’t have to do that.” 

He merely shook his head, tucking his hands into the center pocket of his hoodie. “It’s no problem. You mentioned you never tried somen or nikujaga, so I figured I’d make you some.”

His kindness and thoughtfulness had you swooning, so much so that you had faith even the biting chill of the world outside the temperate shop wouldn’t dare bother you.

“I’m serious, Suguru, you’re too nice to me,” you pouted playfully, to which he shook his head in disagreement.

“No such thing,” he replied, leaning back against the wall behind the counter. He jerked his chin towards the bento box. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Not needing to be told twice, you untied the cloth and pulled it away, further unveiling the mouthwatering scent. The container was still hot as you scooted it off the cloth that you folded neatly, then frowned minutely.

“You didn’t bring a box for yourself?” You asked, worry etched into your brow.

He smiled at you. “I ate earlier, don’t worry.”

“Such a good man, dear,” Granny reappeared, squeezing his arm affectionately. “Your parents raised you well.”

“Thanks, Granny,” he said, keeping an eye on you to make sure you ate. His concern was assuaged when you began feasting contentedly, his shoulders loosening. “How’s the shop?”

The old woman waved her hand loosely. “Just fine. Not many have come in today. Oh, but your mother did.”

He nodded. “She told me she wanted to stop by and drop something off before she went to work.”

“Tarts!” You covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your words and pointed at the plate of half-eaten snacks next to you. “Sho yummy.”

“Ah, her lemon tarts? Those are pretty good.” He approved. “Don’t let Satoru know she gave you those.”

“How is Yoriko doing?” Your sorta-grandmother asked, since the topic was brought up.

“Mom is alright,” Suguru answered. “She’s fussing over the snow, as if it doesn’t snow every year.”

She complained indignantly. “She’s just like her mother, that one. Always worried about the smallest things. Your father is a terrible enabler.”

He snorted. “You think he’s any better? They enable each other, it’s an echo chamber.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “Missing the forest for the trees,” she mumbled, then reached out and patted your head. “You can leave for the day after you finish eating.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really? But, it’s so early.”

“It’s alright, there won’t be much work to do today. You should go enjoy it.”

You were prepared to argue further, but were halted by the hard glare she gave you. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Granny.”

“Good girl,” she patted you one more time for good measure. “Eat up, now.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me,” you teased.

“I am,” she deadpanned.

You balked at her.

A laugh rumbled in Suguru’s chest, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Can you believe this? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

He cocked his head towards you. “She’s just being kind enough to let me steal you away.”

You grumbled as you stuffed more food into your mouth. “Unbelievable. The absolute gall of you people, passing me back and forth like a football.”

He and Granny exchanged light conversation, talking about his folks’ plans for their farm in the coming spring, once the cold season passes, while you nibble away until the box is empty and you’re stuffed.

“Thank you for the food, Sugu,” you sighed in satisfaction and slid off your stool, stretching your arms above your head.

“You’re very welcome. I hope you liked it,” he spoke as he gathered the bento back into its furoshiki.

You chuffed. “You kidding? Your cooking is always amazing.”

The elder jabbed your ribs painfully with her elbow, making you wheeze. Unperturbed, she cupped a hand around her mouth to mutter to you. “He likes you.”

“Granny, please,” you rubbed the spot she impacted. 

Your further objections were cut off when you found a scarf tossed over your shoulders, the fabric being looped around them a couple times to properly cover your neck and the lower half of your face. The culprit of the surprise attack stood in front of you, now sans his own scarf, as he was diligently securing it in place on you.

“Suguru,” you crinkled your nose at him as he tucked the ends of the fabric into the collar of your sweater. You didn’t fight him on it, but you did feel perhaps a teensy bit child-like with the way he cosseted you.

He merely smiled, cupping your cheek when he finished. “Indulge me.”

Granny gave you a knowing glance from your side.

You freed your chin to stick your tongue out at her before you were stuffed straight back into the scarf. It smelled like Suguru, like tea and spice and him, and you instinctively nuzzled further into the thick material.

“My place?” He moved a section of your hair away from your face so it wouldn’t bother you.

You acquiesced easily, offering to take the bento and furoshiki, to which he declined. You waved goodbye to the weird lady who kept looking between you and your friend while waggling her eyebrows as you stepped out of the shop. You had no idea who she was. What a strange person.

Cough.

The bite of winter nibbled anywhere your clothes didn’t cover as you met the outside world. Baby snowflakes began to gather and melt in your tresses, and you shuddered as a slight draft skittered past your legs.

His fingers easily slipped into the gaps between yours, palms pressed together as he tucked both of your hands in the pocket of his hoodie. 

That was the thing about Suguru – he knew what you needed without having to exchange words. He was nothing if not perceptive and observant, a caretaker at heart. Likening him to a guardian angel would’ve been an understatement, in your opinion.

It unsettled you at first, the way he would do something for you, whether or not you said something. You were nervous he could read your mind, but extensive testing (consisting of you saying random gibberish in your head) proved he couldn’t. He was simply good at guessing what you were thinking, and was spectacular at planning ahead.

Your thumb rubbed idle circles into the back of his hand, grazing over the prominent knuckles and thick veins there. 

You admired his hands a lot, everything about them. Their size, the roughness of the pads of his fingers, their strength. You liked that, regardless of the feats he was capable of pulling off with those hands, he was always attentive and dovish in the way he treated you.

You enjoyed watching him tear apart old cabinets the same way you enjoyed watching him leaf through a book. Those hands, the ones that dexterously tore out prickly weeds bare, were the same that affixed the fabric keeping your neck protected from the elements in place. Capable of destruction and creation in the same stroke.

The bones of his wrist were a particular draw to you, you couldn’t help but stare at them whenever the chance presented itself – you swear it’s not in a creepy way. Like a hand fetish, but not sexual. Was that a thing?

Ugh, this was just digging your grave deeper. You had to shift your thought process a hint to the left.

What else could he do with them? You’d bet easy money he’d be killer at knitting if he ever asked his dad to teach him. He had a good sense of textiles, knowing the texture of something before touching it, if he had to at all. 

A flake dropped onto the round of your cheek and you flinched, rubbing at your face with your free hand. As much as you loved winter, you were looking forward to getting to Suguru’s place to get the sprouting wetness out of your hair. You adored snow, but you’d rather snuggle up under a blanket and relax with him.

You craned your head back, taking in the expanse of ash, stretched from mountaintop to mountaintop. 

The crests were sugar dusted, fluffy powder so delicate, you could sink through it effortlessly. Icing glazed down in streaks, brooks and streams frosted by a thin layer atop them. If the town river had a thick sheet of ice over it, you could try to convince your friends to go ice skating with you. 

Satoru would be the easiest to convince, Suguru would be the hardest, and Shoko and Utahime would be somewhere in the middle.

Never having experienced nature to this degree, as you hadn’t given yourself the chance to in years past, you pined for a taste of all of it. Hiking in autumn, swimming in summer, sunbathing in spring…you doubted the snow would be dense enough to ski on, and the mountains were too short and steep, but ice skating was well within the realm of possibility.

Whatever season it was, you were determined to be part of it, and to take it with you.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours, hm?” Suguru eased you from your daydreaming.

You angled your head so you could see him and still fantasize about flying above the frigid clouds. “Suguru, are you any good at painting?”

His head tilted to the side, woefully reminiscent of a curious puppy. “Painting? I never gave it much thought. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of turning one of the walls in my house into a simple mural.”

“What kind?”

You ran your tongue over your back teeth in consideration. “I haven’t decided yet. Nature-esque would be nice, vines and stuff. Nothing complicated.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he replied, squeezing your hand. “We can look at some inspiration together later, if you’d like.”

You grinned brightly. “Absolutely!”

He reciprocated the smile and reached for his door, making you realize you’d arrived. He hiked the furoshiki up to his forearm and curled his fingers around the knob, twisting it and pushing inwards. In seconds, you went from the crisp sting of wintertide to the protection of his home, shielded from the snow and chill. 

The scent of the food he made earlier permeated the residence, undertoned by a layer of sandalwood and agarwood incense.

While you were wriggling off your shoes, Suguru was undoing your scarf, pulling it off with smooth movements to hang it over the coat rack. His hands took your face into them, large thumbs rubbing over the swaths of plushness under your eyes to thaw them out.

“I’ll make you some chai,” he said, sharp, russet irises darting across your features. “Wanna sit in the kitchen while I do that?”

You nodded, fleetingly nuzzling into his hold to warm the tip of your nose. He obliged you, only releasing you when you were satisfied with the pleasant buzz tingling over your skin. He motioned for you to go ahead while he pulled off his hoodie and put his shoes away.

The walls of his home had become calming to you over time, the path to his kitchen now one you could follow automatically. You’d even gotten your own designated spot at the breakfast table in his kitchen. Sure, it was a two-seater, so it wasn’t saying much, but it gave you that happy, fluffy feeling anyway.

You slid into your seat as he came in, his hands busy with coiling his long, obsidian locks up into a messy bun that he pinned into place with a claw clip. He was always careful with his hair, taking measures to ensure its condition remained pristine and luscious. You admired and spited him for it; the former for his dedication, and the latter for inflicting you with the constant desire to play with the silk strands like a honeymoon lover.

Suguru was structured and organized in everything he did, preparing chai not excluded. Your jaw rested on the curve of your palm, your focus placed on him as he moved around the room with practiced dexterity.

If you were honest, this was one of your favorite things to do.

Sitting in silence while observing Suguru do his thing lured you into a drowsy sort of state. Not sleepy, but definitely cushy and snug, an invisible blanket laid over your back, weighted and heated.

He taught you how to make it – rather simple, once you know – but his tasted better than anything you could ever make. You could’ve been biased, but you wholeheartedly believed he made the absolute best chai.

A mug was slid over the tabletop to you, mouthwatering steam rising from it. You peered down at the milky-brown liquid with hearts in your eyes, hands grasping the ceramic without hesitation. Suguru enjoyed drawing cute things on the surface of the drinks he made, and used a shallow bowl of milk foam and a toothpick to painstakingly doodle a pudgy bear for you to gulp down.

“Thank you, Suguwu,” you crowed happily, almost feeling too bad for the bear to drink him.

Almost.

“You’re very welcome,” his hand settled on your nape as you lifted the edge of the mug to your lips, gently blowing on the tea, then taking a sip. “How is it?”

You purred. “So good,” you praised him. “Your chai is incredible.”

He chuckled and positioned his index and thumb an inch or so above your hairline. He pressed down, and you stiffened as a sharp spike of pain went through your temple – then you were melting with a satisfied sigh, sliding back into the chair. You had no idea how he knew where to poke and prod to have you turning into putty, but it left you feeling squishy and content, thus you had no complaints.

“Very good, I’m glad,” he said, accepting your compliments, both spoken and silent. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Put the mug in the dishwasher when you’re done, please.”

You nodded and murmured in acknowledgement, relaxing with a dopey smile as you sipped at your chai.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you’d gained a sort of philosophical appreciation for things like this. Stopping to smell the roses, feeling the snow on your lashes, tasting vanilla and black tea and cinnamon under your tongue, the things you hadn’t bothered to treasure, you now made sure to.

After a few minutes of slouching and drinking lazily, you sat back up and pulled out your phone, unlocking it to occupy your mind.

Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through some social media app, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, slipping into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.”

Unamused would be a good way to describe your mood. You weren’t very fond of weddings; they were loud, busy, and grossly romantic. Sure, the idea was nice on paper, but spending half a day (or, more often, far more) watching two people slobber over each other in a socially acceptable version of PDA always made you feel gross and invasive, like seeing something you weren’t meant to.

And envious, to some extent, but you preferred to not dwell on that.

“Take Suguru,” you suggested.

Satoru’s nose wrinkled like you waved something expired under his nostrils. “That old hag? No way, he’d kill all my game.”

You scoffed. “And I wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tipped further toward you. “You are the game.”

“Very flattering,” you returned to your phone and tea. “Today I learned that I’m a game.”

He made an affronted noise and curled over you to stare into your eyes, making sure you had no choice but to stare back. “I didn’t mean it like that! Come on, bunny, it’ll be fun!”

You set your cheekbone against your knuckles. “What’s in it for me?”

The Gojo heir puffed up his chest, going full peacock. “A date with me, of course.”

A tempting offer on its own, but not enough. “And…?”

“And,” he continued, “I’ll treat you to anything you like, just name it.”

You deliberated on what sort of ridiculous thing you could ask for that could get him to back off, partially because you really didn’t want to go to a wedding, and partially because you were curious about what the great Gojo Satoru could and couldn’t achieve.

What could you ask of him? You knew money was of no concern for him, in terms of anything your brain could come up with. You weren’t about to ask him to buy you a whole ass estate, no, you were thinking more in the realm of something purposelessly expensive but practical.

You weren’t a big fan of jewelry, hardly wearing the stuff. You’d had enough of world travel as it stood, so a flight to Spain or France or whatever was out of the question.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips unbidden. Plush, pink, parted with anticipation.

A kiss.

You caught the cringe that bubbled up the column of your spine by a hair. What ugly hell did that intrusive thought crawl up from?

Mentally picturing slapping yourself with a sad, wet newspaper and calling yourself a bad pooch, you jumped on the next thing you could come up with.

“Make soap with me,” you said.

Ah, finally, a good idea. You could use some decent soap to scrub your brain wrinkles free of filth.

He frowned. “Soap?”

“Yeah, like one of those soap-making kits. I’ve wanted to try one of those since I was a kid,” you clarified. 

“Done,” he agreed with a serious bob of the head. “What else?”

You blinked. What else?

As greedy as you could be at times, you already felt bad asking for the soap kit. You didn’t like people spending money on you, even if it was on Satoru’s tab. You knew his wallet ran deep, you were afraid to know how deep, but your point remained.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek.

You really didn’t want to go to the wedding, but you did kind of get his hopes up with that soap kit ask…

It’d be a good idea to know who you were up against.

“Whose wedding is it?” You queried 

His reply brought you a vast amount of satisfaction. “Aoi’s and her fiancé’s.”

Ohohoho, this you had to see. The bush-sex-freaks getting married?

Alright, worth it. “Fine, I’ll go–”

“As my date,” he insisted, not letting you finish.

You half-groaned, the sound ribbing more than anything else. “I’ll go to the wedding as your date. Happy, now?”

He cheered as if he’d won the lottery and pressed a giant kiss to your cheek, rubbing his nose vigorously against it for good measure. “Yippee! I knew you’d agree!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the up-quirk at the corners of your lips. “I swear to God, if you’re just using me to get numbers from girls–”

“I’m not,” he sneered, following you as you got up, gulped down the rest of your chai, and set the mug away into the dishwasher. “I wouldn’t dare do that, not when I already have the number of the girl I like.”

Something under your ribs twinged. The girl he…likes?

Whatever the odd pinch of discomfort was, you shoved it aside, refusing to address it. “Trying to get her attention by making her jealous of me, then?”

Duckling to mama, he continued to trail after you out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “Nope.”

You made a ‘hrm’ noise. “So, you’re the one who’s jealous and you’re trying to get back at her?”

“Nada.”

You gave up rather easily. “I got nothin’,” you declared, stepping into the living room.

“Don’t you get it? You’re– oh, hey, Suguru,” Satoru cut himself off to greet Suguru, who was reclined in the armchair, freshly showered and casually reading a book. “Didn’t know you were here.”

The nox-haired man halted mid-paragraph and slowly dragged his gaze upwards. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, further adding to that skeptical mom look he had going on. “You didn’t know I’d be in my own house? Yet you figured she would be?” He spoke incredulously and gestured towards you.

Satoru shrugged and dropped himself onto the floor in front of the T.V., tugging open the doors of the cabinet it stood on to withdraw a game controller. “Was lookin’ for her. She wasn’t at my place, since I just left it, and wasn’t at the shop. Next logical place: here.”

“What about the park?”

“In the fuck ass middle of winter?” He jeered. “I’m a himbo, but I’m not stupid.”

“Wow, he’s self-aware,” you commented dryly, climbing onto the couch and nestling into the corner closest to Suguru, tugging at the blanket on the back of it to drape it across your lap. “He did find me here.”

“Touché,” he conceded. “What’d he want from you?”

You used the armrest as a support for your back and tapped open your phone, searching for something to read. “Oh, just an invita–”

“Suguru!” Satoru’s commanding tone clipped through your words. “Play Smash with me!”

“No.”

The cotton ball sulked. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty pleeeease?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Suguru let out a long-suffering sigh. “Satoru, we played Smash just this morning for, like, two hours.”

Gojo’s lour deepened. “Not even if I added ghost peppers on top of the sugar?”

Geto’s upper lip curled. “Gross.”

You set one foot on the floor, keeping your other leg positioned on the couch, and used the coffee table to lean as far forward as you could to pat the absurdly fluffy mop of white Gojo called hair. “I’ll play it with you later, how’s that?”

If fireworks were a person, they’d be Satoru. Dark one moment, then lighting up the sky the next. “Okay! Wanna watch me play GTA, then?”

“Sure,” you assented, entertained by how his giddiness reminded you of a child opening presents on Christmas.

He got into the zone, navigating through the menus with a grace that told you he’d done this countless times. Watching another person play a game could be tranquilizing in its own right; you could turn your brain off and peep the horrors of him crashing a helicopter head first into a street in the middle of Los Santos. 

His manic tittering as he created the most heinous looking vehicle further added to the domestic atmosphere of Geto’s home.

You retrieved your phone at some point to scroll through it, then stopped when you saw a post of a girl showing off her fairy braid. You chewed on your lip, thinking, then dropped your device once you made your choice.

“Suguwu.”

“Mm?”

“Lemme braid your hair,” you demanded, making grabby hands at him. 

You couldn’t make a fairy braid as pretty as that, but you could sure as hell make a stellar normal braid.

He took one glance up from his book to you, then he was standing up from his arm chair to sit in front of you at the foot of the couch, already engaged with the words beneath his fingers again.

Satoru gaped, distracted from his game.

“Wh– you never let anyone touch your hair! Not even me!”

The noiret flipped the page as you carefully undid his bun, clasping the clip to the neck of your shirt. “That’s because you’d do unspeakable damage to my hair if I ever let you. Besides, nobody else knows how to treat hair well.”

A blue eye twitched. “Oh, yeah? And she does?”

Suguru opened his mouth to quip back, only to let out the most scandalous groan you’d ever heard when your nails scraped lightly across his scalp. 

Sweet disciples of Jesus H. Christ, what was that sound?

He reclined into your touch, book promptly forgotten on his lap as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“How long did it take you to find a routine?” You asked him, hoping to distract yourself before your imagination took off with the noise now permanently ingrained on your brain. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Trial and error,” he said with a rasp. “My mom has the same hair as me, so I learned from her. You?”

You combed your fingers through his silken locks with a delicate touch, moving slowly so as to not catch and tear any potential knots. Whenever you found one, you carefully untangled it before proceeding. “Trial and error for me, too. My life changed when I discovered leave-in.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Suguru mumbled.

You burst into giggles, your laughter fueled by Satoru’s baffled expression. In two seconds flat, he had dropped the controller and was directly in your face, brows set with determination.

“Braid my hair, too!”

You snorted horrendously and angled your face away out of embarrassment, Suguru’s chuckle making you laugh harder. “S-Satoru,” you heaved. “Your hair is too short to braid.”

“Don’t care!” He grasped your hand and planted it firmly atop his head, his demands made clear. “Do it anyway!”

“Okay– okay!” You panted, willing the rest of your chortling away. “Let me do Suguru’s hair first, then yours.”

Subdued, he sat on his knees on the couch cushion next to yours, and though he didn’t prod, he very much continued to reside in your personal space. His wide eyes were fixated on your hands as they worked sedulously to curve and twist Suguru’s hair into an elegant braid, intrigued with every shift and swoop.

You were no professional, but you were beaming with pride at the end. Using the claw you’d removed earlier, you folded the braid into itself, then pinned it into place, satisfied.

“There, all done,” you announced. 

Geto peeled his droopy eyes open, but made no move to stand and go back to his seat, fully content to stay where he was. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

Satoru threw himself over your lap, face down as he shoved one arm under and the other over the thigh pillowing his head and hugged it in a hold bordering on a death grip. “My turn!”

His poor parents.

Dealing with an adult Satoru was already hassle enough, considering his impatience and penchant for pestering the living hell out of you to get what he wanted. Kid-sized Satoru was probably eons worse, if the anecdotes from others were anything to go on.

You spoiled him, anyway. 

Your fingers carded through his hair, eliciting a loud purr. Given the significantly shorter length of his hair, you elected to transform isolated sections into micro braids. They held themselves together nicely, the rhythmic and repetitive motions lulling both you and Satoru into amicable quiet, disturbed only by the occasional scratch of pages sliding against each other as Suguru returned to his book.

It took you some time to figure out that Satoru had fallen asleep, his breaths deep and even, cheek squished against the plush of your thigh. He was turned towards you, allowing you to inspect his features closely.

He really was beautiful. 

In gaps of time like this, where he wasn’t bouncing off the walls with energy, you could pick apart the details that made him who he was. 

His brows and lashes were the same shade of gardenia as his locks. Thick petals protected those whirlpools residing beneath, hiding the blue of a moonstone’s shine. His lips formed a natural pout, a tad glossy in the middle, dark magenta lining the inside. 

He had freckles, you discovered. They were faint, virtually invisible unless you were this near to him, but they were there. They dusted across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, giving him an extra boost to that boyish charm of his you had become partial to.

He really was handsome, blessed by the heavens, made in their image. 

Your susutake-eyed friend gained your attention with low-toned words, pulling you away from your veneration. “I’m guessing it was about the wedding?”

You took a few seconds to recall what he was talking about, the reason Satoru was looking for you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wanna be my plus-one?” Suguru inquisitioned.

You exhaled, drawn out and defeated as you laced your digits through the mane of the boy napping on your lap. “Satoru already coerced me into being his plus-one.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be my plus-one, too.”

Your brow knitted. “How so?”

Topaz locked onto you. “Simply by being my plus-one. We’ll all go together.”

Satoru stirred as you mulled over it, your motions pausing in fear that you woke him. But, he merely repositioned, his lanky arms moving to encase your waist so he could press his face against your stomach, then he sank back down into deep sleep.

Your heart fluttered, fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

A bird, downy and young, burrowed into the nest behind the defensive embrace of your ribs, and chirped shyly. A fragile thing, one that cautiously set foot into a desolate and hollow place, hoping to fill it with feathers and, perhaps, an emotion akin to devotion.

It’d need compassionate hands to hold it, to nurture it, let it rise and spread its wings wide until they could sprout from your shoulder blades to return what was once lost.

You had to allow it to do so, though. You had to be the one cradling it to where you were most vulnerable, let it seep strength from your pounding heart, but you recognized that your warmth alone wouldn’t be sufficient. You had to let others in, let their hands clasp around yours, let them share the fires of their souls with you. 

In the past, such an idea was inconceivable. The nest had been empty for endless years for a reason, unsuitable for any kind of life, especially a docile and infant type.

You weren’t in the past anymore.

You were terrified to give anyone entry to the darkness that painted the walls of your ribcage, sapping all light that deigned to creep in, but…

How you longed to feel the sun on your skin, to feel the moon crowning you.

It didn’t have to be everybody, no. It could be just them, the celestial bodies you cowered from yet coveted.

Just Satoru and Suguru.

“Sure,” you decreed. “Why not?”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

You twisted side-to-side in front of the mirror, examining yourself, dissecting every part of you.

You were standing on the rug in your room – your actual room, the one in your house, rather than Satoru’s. After months upon months of hard work, you were finally able to say you’d accomplished your goal of fixing it up to be properly habitable. 

And, yes, you’d stolen the rug from ‘your’ room back at his place to bring here.

One thing you didn’t consider about living alone after having so long to get used to living with Satoru was how lonely it could be, so the fluffy piece watered that feeling down. 

After you’d made the move here, he insisted the room in his home was permanently yours, and that you’d always be welcome there. Well, more accurately, he begged you to stay. While you were too enticed by the idea of having your own house and being able to live in it, you frequently slept at his anyway. It was hard to beat the repose that came with the familiarity of his estate, and knowing he was close by.

But, the benefit of having a solo-abode was that he couldn’t pester the living hell out of you while you got ready for Aoi’s wedding. 

Your makeup was flawless, as it should have been, given how long you’d been slaving away on it. You didn’t do your makeup often, so you were plenty chuffed with how it turned out. It only took two-and-a-half hours, too! 

…You were smart to start early.

The thin chain around your throat complemented the neckline of the dress Suguru and Satoru gifted you beautifully, glimmering like the sparkling dots decorating the profile of the fabric.

Breathable fabric followed the shape of your body, powdered with microscopic, iridescent glitters that fluctuated with every movement you made, catching the light zealously. Satoru had snuck it in with the soap kit, shutting down each of your attempts to reject the gift. 

Suguru had chosen the style, while Satoru selected the color. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t suit you. 

It was perfectly tailored to you, flattering and enhancing in all the best ways.

You wouldn’t admit to anyone that you spent ten minutes running your hands over your tits, waist, and hips after putting it on. You looked good. Like, good good, the kind of pop and spunk and beauty that you’d swoon over in a hit music video. 

You had a pair of sandals that were miraculously a match, which meant you could not only turn down Satoru’s offer to get you a new pair, but you didn’t have to worry about wearing beaten up sneakers, either. There was no way in hell you were letting that man buy another thing for you. He wouldn’t tell you how much the dress cost him, no matter how many times you banged on his chest and demanded answers, so anything more was out of the question.

He relented after bickering back and forth, giving you the relief to dress up without guilt.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

As you finished fawning over yourself, there was a knock at your front door. Your heart rate spiked and you giggled, giving yourself a second to cool off, lest you looked too eager. No man liked that, you’d been told.

You skipped across your house, pausing to admire the accent wall in the living room. Suguru had painted a fairly simple nature scene on it of tree silhouettes encasing a mountain background, and it’d become your absolute favorite thing. You knew he was good with his hands, and you were elated with the results.

Giddy, you popped open the door, where you found the men of the hour awaiting you.

Oh, hell.

They looked like kings in those tuxedos of theirs, fit for royalty. They were already striking, you wholeheartedly believed they couldn’t possibly clean up any better. Boy, were you wrong.

Suguru’s gorgeous mane was interwoven into a plait that rested over his shoulder, dotted with baby’s breath flowers in resemblance to constellations, courtesy of Geto-mama. Satoru’s tresses were swept back, looking minimally less disheveled. You really couldn’t ask much from his hair, it did what it liked, when it liked.

“Oh, my god,” you said. “I wanna see you in suits.”

Suguru laughed, deep and rumbling, orbs glinting with mischief. “Next wedding, princess.”

“Look at you!” Satoru whistled, checking you out blatantly. “Damn, you look hot as fuck. That dress is perfect on you. Who picked it out for you?” He teased, sapphires glimmering. “I wanna get a drink with him sometime.”

Suguru snorted. “You don’t even drink, Satoru.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t get a drink with the handsome fella who dressed our girl up so pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “You look fantastic, too, Satoru. Both of you! Seriously, you’re killing it! You’re gonna steal all the attention from the groom.”

“So long as your attention is on me, I don’t care,” he winked, taking your hand to ghost a kiss over your knuckles. Heat rushed through your being, adding to the blush you applied earlier.

Suguru bent over, pressing his own to the spot right in front of your ear. “You look beautiful, angel,” he murmured. Pulling away, the two of them presented corsages – one in blue and white, the other in lilac and black. 

You placed a hand to your chest, taken aback and flattered. You picked up on how their corsages matched the flowers they had respectively pinned to their breast pockets.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you snickered and offered out both arms for them to take and adorn.

They were coordinated as always, neither wrist bare for longer than the other. 

“They’re gorgeous,” you doted. “Thank you.”

Suguru’s palm slid up your forearm, digits pressing so tenderly into your skin, spawning chills under his touch. “Only right for someone as ravishing as yourself.”

You blushed, relishing in the praise. It was alright to indulge sometimes, you considered it a treat for finishing your home renovation. The opportunity was there to let loose and wash away all your worries, you’d be a fool not to take it.

“Coming from you,” you blew him a jesting kiss, which he pretended to catch. “Cheesy.”

“Let’s go already!” Satoru butted in, hooking his arm with yours.

Suguru extended his for you to take, continuing to be the polite and proper of the two. “Shall we?”

“We shall!” You declared. For once, you were excited to attend a wedding.

So long as it was with them, you’d go anywhere.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

[sassenashsworld]

Nick stuck in his office

(mew?)

The List

It’s been a while. It’s been a long time since things have changed.

Things.

Nick leans on the back of his chair, gazing out in the void. He remembers when the first change occurred in his life. The first moment he felt something... abnormal. It was the very moment when the door to vault 114 opened, not on a thug but on a vault dweller. A vault dweller in a vault has something funny in itself in the situation he was in. Then he find that this very person, as they went out of their way to get his poor little synth ass out of his dead end, was also getting the Minutemen out of the dust of their oblivion.

They had come a long way. On the trail of Kellogg, Virgil... the Institute... And some detours along the way to help all the poor lost souls they encounter.

"Nick, did you finish with the Fyfe file?" suddenly asks his secretary, Ellie.

Nick quickly returns to the present, startled from his reverie.

“Uh, yeah..yeah.” He stands up from his chair and crosses the office to Ellie, placing some sheets of paper onto her desk. “Sorry for that; I wasn’t paying attention.”

"Obviously. But, eh, that's my job to keep you back on track. What do you think?"

“Yeah, yeah, I know...” Nick shakes his head and sighs, “Just thinkin’...” He glances at the file on Ellie’s desk. “...the Fyfes are a real piece of work, huh?”

“Yes.” She looks down at his notes. “They had what they were seeking—never listening to their son.”

“Damn fools for not listenin' to the damn kid,” Nick mutters under his breath, leaning against Ellie’s desk.

"But what a chance they fall on the Great Synth Detective and his assistant," she remarks, a thin smile on her face. “Where is Sole anyway?”

Nick tries to keep his voice unwavering.

“Sole’s gone to meet with Preston about something. Didn’t tell me much, but somethin’ about a missing persons case, I think?”

"And they didn't ask you to tag along?" Is surprise Ellie.

And Nick, as well. He was surprised that Sole didn't ask him. Sole always asks him since... since they first met and teamed up. Never seems to be a day since when Nick doesn't travel with Sole. Or Sole works with Nick.

Nick frowns, feeling a tinge of confusion and worry in his heart.

“Yeah… Guess they didn’t... thought... it's... odd.”

Usually, Sole always wants him to tag along if they’re going off on some sort of case, especially if it was a missing persons case. They’d always ask him to join them if that was the case. Why didn't they invite him this time?

“Maybe they wanted to just chat with the Garvey man alone...” Nick tries to offer as an explanation to Ellie’s words, but he can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

Why hadn’t Sole asked him to come along?

Nick tries to shake off the resentment that is trying to make room in his core. Or his processor. He still has difficulty locating his emotions in a... synthetic body... with a human mind.

One soul?

Sole seems adamant on the subject. Since they and Nick closed the case of Eddie Winter, Sole no longer lets Nick down talk himself. Nick can hardly use self-mockery without the General riding on their big horse about it.

Nick lets a small chuckle escape his lips as he thinks of the many times Sole had reprimanded him for speaking down upon himself. He can practically hear their voice scolding him, their hand on their hip, their eyebrow raised, disapproving of his cynical tongue.

Ellie raises an eyebrow at his chuckle.

"Some funny though?"

Nick shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Just remembering some of the times I’ve been scolded by the Sole Survivor for my cynical tongue. Always gettin’ on my ass for my bad habits.”

"Just good they do," she answers, getting her attention back on the paper to classify. "At least, you listen to them."

Yes. Nick can't deny it. He listens to them. He is even surprising himself. He never really listens since... since he wakes up as a synth. How could a human relate to him? He even attempted to reason with Sole a few times, but his friend held a completely different perspective on the situation. Nick had really a hard time wrapping his mind around the stubbornness of Sole on this matter.

"I don't need to be a synth with the long-lost memory of a man to know you ARE your own man and a good one. And that you deserve all the better."

He closes his eyes and sighs; he can hear Sole’s voice in his mind, their words echoing around his programming.

“Damn stubborn bastard,” he mumbles quietly, but he has a small smile on his face as the memories of his friend and all the things they’ve done together flood his mind.

The case of Jack Cabot... The Institute... The Railroad... Nick and Sole had been through so much together; he’d grown so accustomed to their presence... He wondered if his friend was doing alright.

Ellie returns her gaze to him.

"You are worse than ever, you know? I am accustomed to your zone-out and your self-mumbling. But today, you really appear elsewhere. You sure are alright?"

Nick doesn’t answer for a few seconds, silently contemplating Ellie’s question. Was he alright? He couldn’t be sure of that for himself.

“Yeah, yeah… everything’s fine.  Just... ah... somethin’ on my mind,” he responds after a while, still remaining leaned against her desk.

His secretary frowns, but Nick shakes his head and returns to his own desk, looking in his drawer for a pack of cigarettes.

“It’s dinnertime. You should get something to eat,” he recommends to his secretary.

"Is there another elegant method to request solitude for your menacing thoughts?"

Nick grimace. He could not say that his thoughts are dark. Just... strange... almost nostalgic.

“Oh, shut up, I don’t need you fussin’ and prying into my thoughts,” Nick mutters, half jokingly.

He fishes a cigarette out of his pack, places it between his lips, and lights it. His eyes wander around the room, not focusing on or even really looking at anything in particular.

The young woman sighs and gets up.

“Need anything? A schedule with Arturo for a tune-up?”

Arturo no longer regularly performs Nick's tune-ups. Sole is so much a hell of an engineer. Arturo has made it, but Sole is just... a high class over.

Nick shakes his head, taking a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke billow from his mouth.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

His eyes wander back over to the door, as if expecting it to burst open and for his friend to stride in, a smile on their face. But there was no such thing. Nick tries not to feel disappointed. He had no reason to. He glances at the clock above the door. When would they be back?

Ellie finally leaves the office, letting Nick all alone. Why did the detective feel like that? What is he feeling exactly? When did it really have begun? He is really puzzled about himself just now.

Being alone with his thoughts was not a beneficial thing in the end. He couldn’t keep his mind from going over the times he and Sole have spent together; he couldn’t stop wondering why they hadn’t asked him to come along on their trip to the Commonwealth, and he kept worrying something terrible was going to happen to them.

Nick lets out a heavy, frustrated sigh. He’d probably just sit here worrying his ass off until they return.

Nick sighs again and takes a seat in his chair. He takes another drag from his cigarette; the smoke plumes out of his mouth.

He should be used to being alone. He’d been alone for the most of his existence, only really having Ellie and the occasional client to talk to.

He’d gotten used to having Sole around, though, he’d gotten so used to having them near and always around.

Damn it, why did he feel so worried and weird about them leaving?

The door opens again, and Nick doesn't even bother to look in it's direction at first.

“Forget somethin', Ellie?” He asks, taking another drag from his cigarette before finally looking up towards the door.

He quickly stops himself before his next sentence when he sees that it’s not Ellie who has returned.

“Sole...” Nick mutters, feeling slightly surprised and confused.

His coolant as his processor speed up slightly, which he tried to ignore. He didn’t understand why it did that, but it usually does in situations like this. He places his cigarette down.

“Nick, sorry. I know you should have worried, but I will explain you all,” they swiftly tell him with a smile.

Nick can’t help but smile back at them, their smile brightening his entire world. The strange anxiety, worry, and confusion he was feeling just a few minutes ago seems to melt away. His circuits warm up at the sight of his friend; his core is almost leaping, his fans drifting up faster and faster. Damn it, why did they always have this effect on him?

Why did they make him feel like this?

Nick clears his throat after a few seconds.

“Ah… welcome back. Thought you were Ellie for a minute, heh…”

He stands up from his chair and approaches them, stuffing his hands into his trench coat pockets.

And Sole is just eager to tell him all they’ve gone through, as always. And Nick is just eager to hear it all.

As Always.

And as Nick stands in front of them, he realizes just how much he’s missed them, how much he’s missed spending time with them and talking with them just like this.

Their smile, their laugh, their eyes...

Damn it. He missed them more than he liked to admit.

And as his friend brightly smiles up at him, Nick finally understands.

Everything falls into place.

All his questioning finds an answer.

As the smile of Sole warms up all his old, beaten-up circuits, Nick understands that the reason why he is so trouble lately is because Sole has finally given something to his synth life he never had before.

Nick is happy.

[kyupidos]

CONGRATS ON 100! i've been a reader of yours since the beginning, and you've greatly improved; your writing is awesome,, you deserve the milestone! for your halloween event, id like to request the dialogue prompt: "ah, you've made the mistake in thinking that just because this is a couples costume that you get any kind of say in it. you don't, actually." with ace trappola,, i think it'd be really cute! thanks so much, congrats again!

10/19/23’s delivery 🏹✉️ twisted wonderland

prompt 3 🕸★ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ 🕸★ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ 🕸★ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ ;; summary. ‘ah, you’ve made the mistake in thinking that just because this is a couples costume that you get any kind of say in it. you don’t, actually.’

100 follower milestone event homepage <- ! | event m.list

characters. heartslabyul : ace trappola ;; romantic . 🕸️ tags. reader is gender neutral ( you/your ), reader may or may not be yuu ( up to the reader ), romantic fluff

📞 _a/n. tysm for the congrats!! i’m glad you think i’ve improved, and i’ve noticed it too since i cringe at my earlier posts LMAO thanks for sticking around so long !! ( so sorry for getting this out so late, and so short too, but it’s been a busy couple days </3 )

a. trappola

— when you introduced him to the idea of matching costumes, it was safe to say that ace was feeling rather giddy. wearing couple costumes while traversing night raven for tricks and treats, the idea got him excited. of course he wouldn’t admit it, but even simple things like wearing matching fits always seemed to get his heart pumping faster than usual. for him, it was always in the little things, he supposed. you told him that you were going to go look for ideas on magicam, and for the few moments you stopped texting him, he spent internally giggling giddily to himself.

— some days, maybe two or three, had officially passed when you came up to him with whatever you apparently had in mind. you pulled up to his dorm, laying out on his bed the costume of choice. he stared, blinking once and then twice in perplexity of the costumes laid out, one of which being that of a cherry, and the other being a pie slice, presumably. “huuuh? what’s this?” ace questioned, with as much genuinity as possible as to not be rude, taking hold of the fabric of the cherry costume with his pointer and thumb finger, “this’s what we’re wearing?”

— in response to your casual nod, ace couldn’t help but tilt his head puzzledly. “of course, ‘cause you’re the cherry to my pie.” you spoke pridefully, peace sign in the air, and ace couldn’t help but snort. “eh, that so? then i guess i don’t mind it that much,” he accepted his fate easily, already used to your persistence even with the little things like this. maybe, he concluded, that’s why he enjoyed them so much, holding up the cherry costume completely with his fists now, looking at you as you held your own costume, holding it up to your chest as if to see if it fit, though you knew it did, in the meanwhile. “but i kinda figured we’d have a whole talk and a half about it.”

— you tutted smartly, wagging your pointer finger pointedly. “ah, you’ve made the mistake in thinking that just because this is a couples costume that you get any kind of say in it,” you lectured, a comedic sweat drop falling down the side of ace’s face as you easily continued, “you don’t, actually.” he just laughed in his amusement, ruffling his hair as he took a good look at his costume again. he guessed he did like it, after all—it wasn’t exactly what he expected it, but it was good enough for him. “alright then,” ace smiled for no reason in particular other than his mind wandering towards his daydreams of the both of you wearing your outfit together, “pie to my cherry, let’s wear it.”

[love-minor-poltergeist]

omg can you imagine the confusion when you explain Werner is your partner?

like you have a friend over at your house and they ask you „you said you have a boyfriend, right? is he home? how’d you guys meet?“ and you’re like „oh you know he’d been living in my walls since forever and I’ve always heard him scuttle around but I didn’t actually meet him until two years ago. he should be in his workshop right now!“ and then you point to a mouse hole jdkdkfoikfjd 😭

A/N: This idea sat in my brain for days and I just had to write a little ficlet for it-

╭ ─┉─ • ─┉─ ╮

"I... see," your friend says, offering a shaky smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

You invited her over to your small hovel for a cup of coffee and some desserts. It's been ages since you last spoke to her, as she's moved off the isles to pursue her dream job. And while she's sweeter than peaches normally, a part of you feared she'd react this way.

Still, she remains polite and refrains from making any comment. She takes a cautious sip from her mug, all the while shifting her gaze from you to the mouse hole in the wall.

"H-how... How long have the two of you been dating now, dear? What was his name again?" she asks, now fixedly staring at the hole in the wall.

"Oh!" you grin. "We've just started dating not too long ago actually! Maybe around two months now? It just sort of happened, ya know? It took some getting used to, but Werner's a total sweetheart once he warms up to you!"

"Werner? Is he German?" she looks back to you, brow raised.

"Technically, yes! Buuut," you lean towards her, voice taking on a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm pretty sure he hams up the accent. I've heard him drop it a couple of times. It's actually funny-"

"Mein Liebling," a small voice interrupts.

Both you and your friend whip your heads towards the wall-- to Werner's little mouse hole. You're both met with the sight of a disgruntled Werner, overalls marred with oil stains and helmet askew. His gaze drifts over to your guest, and he grows sheepish.

"Ah, Guten Tag," he awkwardly waves.

He's completely forgotten that you were inviting someone into the house, and Werner suddenly feels all too aware of his disheveled appearance. The rat shakes his head, turning back to you as he fights to ignore the stranger's stare burning into his side.

"Have you seen the can opener? I thought I had left it at my station the other night-"

"Oh, yes! Sorry, I had to borrow it for a minute! Let me just..."

You rise from your chair, easily reaching the kitchen in a few strides to grab the said tool from the dish rack. Without a second thought, you made your to your boyfriend's little hidey-hole and carefully placed it in his outstretched hands.

"Danke schön," he nods to you before skittering back inside, the sounds of muffled metal scrapes shortly following in his wake.

All you can do is quietly smile and mentally coo at how small he is before you settle back into place at the table. Blissfully unaware of your friend's incredulous stare you grab your coffee cup and look back to her, smile still in place.

"Sorry about that! He's usually tinkering away at all hours of the day! So, uh, he can be a little socially...clumsy, so to speak."

"Uh.. huh," your friend nods, eyes distant as she not-at-all subtly looks over your shoulder. "...You sure know how to pick them, eh?"

"Oh, it could be worse. He tried to shoot me the first time we met, but things are better now-"

"I beg your pardon?!"

╰ ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─╯

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Six

A/N: I once more apologize for the radio silence here, but I'm finishing up my Master's and only just this week finished the rough draft of my thesis. So, since I've a bit of a break, and since I promised updates would be coming... :)

Thanks so much for sticking it out with me. I do appreciate your patience! 💜

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @lathalea @legolasbadass @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Nina bit back a wince as she shifted in her saddle once more. For one used to walking and unused to riding, she had no idea how stiff her legs could actually be until she’d spent two hours astride the pony that was now hers, thanks to the generosity of the elves and their king. 

But, she kept her discomfort to herself as she kept her mind focused on her task and her eyes focused on the dwarf leading the way along the narrow road out of Rivendell. The Misty Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks swirled in a grayish-white mist that occasionally seemed to gleam pink or violet from the sun. 

“Tell me,” Dwalin’s pony fell into step alongside hers, “why are ye here, lass?”

“How many times need I explain it?” She held his gaze even has her fingers tightened about the smooth leather reins she held. “I’ve no love lost for the orcs and if I can help you, I will.”

“No love for orcs, eh?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

It was a foolish question, really. Who didn’t despise orcs? They were abominations, interested only in killing. If it wasn't for her personal stake in the matter, she would despise them just the same. But, as much as it galled her to admit it, she needed them to a certain extent. Well, needed their gold anyway. The bounty on Thorin’s head would keep her comfortable for some time to come. And while she knew she couldn't trust the orcs, nor could she fool herself into believing Tarog would pay the bounty without a bit of persuasion on her part, her options were limited and she did need the money. 

And since she knew at some point, someone would ask her a variation of this question, and since she’d had time to prepare herself, she merely shrugged and said, “It’s quite simple, really. They destroyed my village. And if I have a chance to kill one, I take it and do so with a smile.”

“And where is this village?”

“Just west of Bree. I’ve been on my own ever since that night and if you don't mind, I’d rather not speak of it.”

“Why?”

“Dwalin!” Thorin broke in sharply, glaring at him over his shoulder. “Leave her be.”

Nina held Dwalin’s stare easily. “If you absolutely must know, I lost my family that night. All of them. Slaughtered like sheep for no reason. So, you’ll forgive me if I’d rather not relive that night.”

With that, she pressed her knees gently against her pony’s side and nudged it ahead of Dwalin. Let him think—let them both think—recalling her story upset her so much she needed some time to herself. 

Thorin, however, slowed his pony so he eased back into step alongside her. “Pay him no mind.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dwalin.” He nodded toward the glowering dwarf behind them. 

“I thought I already was doing that.”

He just stared at her for a long moment, almost as if surprised by her flippancy and she wondered if he suspected something was amiss as he continued to just stare. This was the closest she’d been to him and in the warm sunlight of the clear afternoon, and it then that she realized his eyes were no quite the same steel blue they’d been in Rivendell. Instead, today they were paler. Paler and almost shimmering, like aquamarine in the sunlight. And for one breathless moment, she forgot she hated him, forgot why she was there with him and what she planned to do.

No, for that one breathless moment, she was once more standing in the snowy darkness, just beyond the steps of the Lake Master’s ramshackle house, wishing with everything she had that Thorin would notice her. That he would see her and in the instant he did, he’d be smitten with her just as she’d been smitten with him.

Then a cloud floated before the sun and as the light softened, Thorin’s eyes no longer shimmered. The snow, the darkness, the ramshackle house all fell away. 

But she wondered if he’d felt the same breathlessness she did, as for a moment, the air grew thick with tension and he looked as if he had something heavy weighing upon him. He met her gaze and then offered up a hint of an almost sheepish smile. “I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice low and rather growly, “but for a moment, I thought I might know you from somewhere.”

“Yes, from the other evening, when I—”

“No,” he broke in gently with a shake of his shaggy head, “that isn’t what I meant. I mean, I feel as if I’ve seen you somewhere before the other night.”

It was her turn to shake her head. “I can’t image where. Do you spend much time west of Bree?”

“No, I can’t say I do. The Shire is the farthest west I’ve been in a long time and even that was some time ago.”

“So, then, how would you have seen me before?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she found herself holding her breath, a dull thump in time with her heartbeat coursing through her temples. He seemed to be studying her, as if about to nail down exactly where and when he’d seen her.

But what if he did? Did it matter much? She was but a face in that crowd and considering the amount of devastation left in Smaug’s wake, she would be surprised if anyone lived in Esgaroth at all. The last she saw? The half of the town that hadn’t been incinerated was slowly toppling into the lake’s frigid waters. Hardly inhabitable, to say the least. So, it should come as no surprise, should he learn the former denizens of Esgaroth had struck out for other parts of Middle Earth.

Even west of Bree.

But then, Thorin shook his head once more. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t have. Still,” he mused, stroking one forefinger along the side of his jaw, “you do seem familiar.”

“I have one of those faces that everyone thinks they know.” She shrugged as if people swearing they knew her from somewhere happened to her all the time. “No worries.”

“Perhaps, but still…” He turned away from her to look ahead. “Either way, you needn’t mind Dwalin. His bark is usually worse that his bite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced over her left shoulder to see the barker in question still glaring at her. Then, without thinking, she muttered, “He does more than bark and I’ll neuter him for his trouble.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She forced a smile as she looked back at Thorin. “Nothing. Just a bit of thinking out loud.”

“So, tell me,” he replied, “how did you come to be in that clearing anyway? From what I could see, there was no one else about, until that orc pack descended upon us.”

Her heart skipped a beat although she had not been traveling with the orc pack and he had no true reason to believe otherwise. Certain ones within Tarog’s inner circle knew of her existence, but overall? Orcs would have no idea who she was, and she didn't doubt one would run her through as easily as they would the dwarves. 

Still, the last thing she wished was to arouse any suspicions and so replied, “I wasn’t on the road, but traveled instead along one of the pathways that run parallel to it.” She shook her head. “I was alone and I’d rather not happen upon an orc pack on one of the main roads if I can possibly avoid it, you know.”

Perhaps it was but her imagination, but he appeared to blush, a hint of color blooming along his cheekbones, above the line of his silver-threaded beard. “It would be foolish to travel otherwise, yes. But you can hardly fault me for being curious, can you?”

“No, I don't suppose I can.” She tightened her fingers about the worn leather reins as she turned her gaze back to the road ahead as well. “It would seem someone kept you in their good graces.”

“Mahal does smile upon me from time to time.”

“Mahal?” The name was unfamiliar to her.

“The Maker. The Creator of all things.” He smiled then. “Well, to dwarves, anyway. Sometimes He toys with me, but other times, He watches over me with the greatest of care.”

To her surprise, his eyes softened then as he added, “As he did the other night.”

“Yes, well… I did only what any decent person would have.”

“You leaped between me and an arrow. I am not at all certain I’d share your sentiment.”

She shrugged. “Then I’m afraid I don't know what to tell you. You needed help and I could help, so I did.”

With that, she turned her attention ahead of them once more. The Southeast Passage looked like a road that time forgot. Narrow and grassed over, with the underbrush slowly creeping out from the woods along either side of what had once probably been a lovely, narrow little road. But time and neglect and lack of use rendered it as little more than a track at that point. 

But in the distance, the Misty Mountains looked far more real now, black and purple as they rose toward the sky and the sunlight touched their peaks. That would be the worst part of their trek, through those mountains. Once they crossed through them, and came down toward the Anduin River, they would then pick up the Old Forest Road and that would bring them to Mirkwood. 

But, of course she couldn't let them know she knew how they’d get to where they were going. They thought she was from a village west of Bree and she was fine with them also thinking she was a simpleton who had never really been anywhere else until now and was but fumbling her way along. They needn’t know anything else about her. 

“So,” she glanced over at Thorin, “where will we pass the night?”

“We will stop when we are nearer the mountains,” he told her. “I hope you are not adverse to sleeping on the ground.”

“I’m not, no. As I told you, I live nowhere and everywhere.”

“Yes, I do believe you said something of that nature.”

“It’s the only good thing to come of what happened,” she replied softly, shrugging as she spoke. “I’ve been able to travel a bit, even if my lodgings are usually quite humble. Although,” she smiled, “I once came across a cozy cabin nestled in the woods that had been abandoned.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?” 

“No,” he shook his head, “I don't suppose it does. I’m merely curious.”

“Why is that such a difficult question for ye?” This came from Dwalin who had caught up to them by now.

“I never said it was difficult,” she told him, twisting in her saddle to meet his glower. “And stop looking at me as if you expect me to leap from my horse and drag His Highness into the brush to slit his throat.”

“I just find it odd, that ye came upon a cabin and yet dinna know where it was, where ye were.”

“I asked why it mattered, not that I dinna know,” she growled, her fingers itching to wrap about the leather grips of the sword at her hip. She need only slip it free and turn and in one fell swoop, she could take the tiresome dwarf’s head clean off his shoulders. 

He glared at her, his eyes narrow slivers of silver-blue ice. “Do ye mock me, girlie?”

“Girlie? You are almost amusing, Mr. Fundinson.” Her fingers stretched of their own toward her hip. It was only through sheer will that she managed to keep them wrapped about the worn leather. “Almost.”

“Ye wound me, lass.”

She sniffed and turned forward once more, the tension in her fingers easing as Thorin said, “Take care, Dwalin. The girl has done nothing to deserve your ire.”

“If ye expect me to apologize,” Dwalin growled, “yer going to be disappointed.”

“I expect you to be civil,” Thorin countered evenly. “And you as well, Miss Nina.”

A hint of chagrin swept through her. Dwalin was suspicious of her, and rightfully so, of course, although he couldn't possibly know just how right he was. Still, it wouldn’t do to pick a fight with him and give him even more reason to suspect she wasn’t quite as she seemed. 

They weren’t quite far enough away from Rivendell yet and she wouldn’t have been surprised if Elrond had sent scouts to follow along, keeping out of sight, until they reached the Misty Mountains. Although the alliance between dwarves and elves was a relatively young one, the respect and alliance of one king to another was far stronger. She saw for herself the respect and esteem with which Elrond held the dwarf king, and she had the feeling they were not alone on that passage, and that it was for that reason Elrond suggested traversing it to begin with. Either way, she couldn't risk it.

So, she’d have to wait until they were on the far side of the mountains. Then, between the Carrock and Mirkwood, there would be no one else to get in her way. 

[scrapsovereign]

That One Time I Got Kidnapped By An Evil Vampire Lord Ch. 9

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57838303/chapters/151278898

Summary:

Mac has an unexpected visitor with an unexpected message. She learns more about Astarion's mysterious past and receives an intriguing offer.

Pairings: past Ascended Astarion x Evil male!Tav, Ascended Astarion x Original Female Character

Trigger warnings/Tags: DnD in-universe racism, Self-gaslighting, Astarion's past trauma (heavily redacted for manipulating his target aka Mackenzie), Possessive Astarion

A blanket of fog covers the peninsula that makes up the neighborhood of West Seattle, the sleepy mist muting the vivid colors of late summer. Mackenzie breathes in and can almost taste the crispness of fall in the air alongside the onshore flow. She makes her way mindlessly through the backstreets that lace around the hem of Beach Drive, finding herself standing in her grandparent’s driveway.

She raises her head to gaze at the eaves of the slate blue 1920s style bungalow house.

Mackenzie knows then she must be dreaming. Developers had torn down her grandparents’ home years ago to make room for a neat row of townhomes. 

Tracing a curious hand over the freshly warmed hood of her grandfather’s forest green 1993 Ford Ranger, she registers a tune floating from the detached garage she hasn’t heard in a very, very long time. 

“Ohhhh~! 

Gja’vok farurm sjolmz 

Heth’fjad vothlag kvinnr 

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr!

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr!

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr! Hei!”

“Gramps?”

The thinning snow and copper hair belonging to her grandfather shoots up from the floor of his hand-restored wooden Chris-Craft boat, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mi aeling! Just in time to help get the daily catch to the greenhouse!”

Mackenzie shudders, his nickname for her doing nothing to soften the blow of his request. Of all the bonding activities her subconscious had chosen, why did it have to be cleaning the fish in the greenhouse sink?

“You could turn over the compost instead,” he lilts with his heavy Scandinavian accent, erupting with a good-natured laugh when Mackenzie visibly gags at the suggestion.

“That obvious, huh?” She wonders, holding her arms up to assist with lowering the cooler containing the mystery seafood.

“I remember you making a similar face the last time we were out on the water together,” he admonishes a crooked and stubby, calloused finger at her. “Glad we went when we did. Your grandmother left us shortly after that, and I couldn’t help but follow.”

Mackenzie’s arms flop to the side as her strength drains away with her color. How many years has it been since they’d passed away, fifteen? Twenty?

“I bet you’re old enough to have a beer with me this time, eh?” He asks with a soft voice and a wry, cheeky wink. “I’d make you a Manhattan, but we don’t have enough time to enjoy one.” 

“Beer really isn’t my thing,” Mackenzie explains, only to be shushed by her grandfather.

“Keep it down, I don’t want your grandmother knowing I’m drinking with you. Here- catch!” he launches a white, gold, and red can into the air with a whistle. It arcs above her and she hops back a couple of paces, just barely catching the ice cold projectile in her hands.

Mackenzie cracks the can open with visible distaste and takes a polite sip while her grandfather rips the aluminum tab open and guzzles it down. He crushes the empty can against his head and tosses it overboard, cheering for himself when it lands in the recycling bin. 

“And that’s how I passed my try-out for the Seattle Supersonics,” he guffaws at himself, his boisterous glee quieting when he doesn’t hear Mackenzie laughing with him.

“Copper for your thoughts, child?” He asks softly as he opens up another can of the bitter, pale beer, taking a noisy sip to punctuate his question.

“I have so many questions, and none of the words to ask them.”

He leans out the side of the boat with an arm made of corded muscle, gazing down at her with amusement. 

“I’ve got some! How’s: I’d like to see the look on that knife-eared prick’s face when he finds out yer heritage after playing 'hide-the-pickaxe' with you?” 

Mackenzie had chosen the wrong time to give the vile drink another go. She coats the ground in front of her with a sputtering spray of beer, shocked by his boldness. Her grandfather chuckles, using the moment to drag the cooler closer to the rudder while she gathers her thoughts. His stocky frame climbs down the metal boat’s ladder and grasps at the cooler’s handles, jerking it towards him with a wheezing grunt.

“Knife-eared? As in pointy ears? They look like mine, Gramps-“

Her grandfather plops the cooler down in front of him, wiping his forehead with the front hem of his grey, ratty Boeing 737 tee shirt. 

“Mi aeling. By the hammer. You saw them this morning, didn’t you?” He crosses his arms, arching a bushy eyebrow as high as she’d ever seen it go.

“Yeah, actually I did…” She mirrors his pose, stroking her chin in sync with how his stubby fingers pet the wiry fibers of his beard. 

“And you saw them out of the corner of your eye…didn’t you?” He prompts her, his eyes gleaming with warmth.

Mac shakes her index finger at him. “Well, now that you mention it…”

He steps over the cooler with an “uff-da”, bending her index finger into a curve with his perma-dirt stained hands.

“There you go. Never want to point directly at someone, lest you be pointed at in return,” he mutters softly. He embraces tightly around her middle, squeezing her with a pressure that pops her back.

“Pay attention to the thin times and places. They reveal what is concealed. Where the elements meet, such as the earth and the sea. Transitions, like the rising and setting of the sun,” he lists somberly in a voice that doesn’t sound like his, pulling away to look up at her with his kind, laughter-etched face. 

“Hmm. You’re taller than I remember,” he grouses, comparing their heights with the flat of his hand. He grunts when his measurement reveals Mac to be a full head higher than him, narrowing his eyes as the gears turn over in his head. “You’ll have to duck when the time comes. It’s the only thing I’ll make you promise.”

Mackenzie is so lost. “Gramps, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Not what, WHOM,” he clarifies for her, scratching at his beard. “Mi aeling, all the gold in Fort Knox couldn’t prepare you for what’s going to happen tonight.”

He tsks, shaking his head. “And could you believe your guardian spirits were going to sit with their thumbs up their incorporeal asses?! Bunch of lazy stiffs, leaving it to ‘ole Torben Eriksson to do their damned jobs for them.”

Mackenzie’s mouth tries out different shapes as she shuffles through her useless brain, searching for the right question to pry him for answers.

“In case you’re wondering, it’s not your new beau,” he sighs, his eyes flickering up to the wooden beams of the garage coated in cobwebs. “I couldn’t tell you to keep your mitts off that prancing, plank-shaped ninny if I tried. I don’t get why you’d want to get tangled up with that in the sheets, and I suppose I don’t have to.”

“After all, you’re a grown woman now!” he reminds her with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, “Free to make your own mistakes…”

West Seattle, Washington 

Friday, August 25th

7:15 PM

Mackenzie startles awake with a gasping breath, the sheen of sweat that coats her brow feeling cool in the evening breeze. The world spins around her as she sits up to lean on her elbows, her pulse rattling the bones that cage her pounding heart. She slows her breathing, her dizziness and ringing ears subsiding as she eases back into consciousness.

“Are you quite alright, darling?” 

Mackenzie feels Astarion’s cool hands rubbing reassuring circles on the small of her back. 

“I…think so?” She sits up to face him, her breath almost stolen by how handsome he is, illuminated in shades of gold against the azure blue sky. “I had a dream about my gramps and he was real candid about his feelings towards the end, there.”

Astarion’s brow furrows in concern. “Do you have these…’dreams’ often?”

Mac shakes her head, looking out towards the red ball of light beginning to set over the horizon. “No, they aren’t as vivid or self-aware. Truth be told, I’m a little freaked out by it.”

”I can’t believe it’s already sunset. How long have I been out?” Mac yawns, politely excusing herself for doing so.

“Mmm…a few hours, give or take,” he muses, looking off to the side as he recounts the passage of time on his elegant fingers.

“Oh. Oh my goodness. I’m sorry for falling asleep on you. I didn’t mean to just pass out. I hope you weren’t bored,” she apologizes, feeling a pang of guilt for having left him to his own devices for so long. 

Ari would have expected her to remain awake and ready to serve his needs, no matter how badly her body needed rest. Her therapist would tell her this was called ‘hypervigilance’ and ultimately contributed towards more fatigue later on. Mac always figured that was a problem for her future self. Current Mac had to survive the day, no matter the cost. 

“Hush now, my sweet. I’m not surprised. You’re likely exhausted from how much we’ve exerted ourselves,” Astarion reaches out to Mac, gathering her in his arms. She relaxes against him with a contented sigh, listening to the slow beating of his heart intermingled with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. 

Astarion brandishes Amanda’s dog-eared copy of A Court of Thorns and Roses in front of them before setting it back down on his lap. “I had plenty of entertainment to occupy my time whilst you slumbered so peacefully.”

Mackenzie’s stomach feels like it might turn inside out from shame. “Oh. Oh no, oh God. You found the faerie smut.”

Astarion’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, his lips pressing a kiss to her temple. “If you’re embarrassed, don’t be. It’s an interesting little read. Not my usual fare, but still amusing nonetheless.”

“If you finished it, don’t spoil it for me. I haven’t gotten very far, I’ve only read the first few chapters. Not because I don’t want to read more. I don’t want to see the story progress,” she opens the re-usable shopping tote she’d used as a beach bag, shoving the novel down to the very bottom.

“And why would that be?” Astarion tilts his head in curiosity, watching Mackenzie busy herself with packing away their things.

Mac stops to consider his question, her eyes meeting his when she finds the words a beat later. “I don’t want my delusions shattered. She goes from barely making ends meet, starving and struggling to care for her family to living a life of luxury. She has no responsibilities aside from showing up for dinner.”

“Does that sort of lifestyle sound appealing to you?” Astarion turns on to his side to face her, leaning on his elbow against a massive driftwood log.

Mac snorts out a noise of agreement, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. I’d love being a fae prince’s consort. Who wouldn’t want to wear pretty dresses and paint all day? But alas, we live in a late capitalist, dystopian hellscape and let’s be real here: nobody in their right mind would want me as a trophy wife.”

Mac holds the moment between them in uncomfortable silence, waiting for Astarion to respond to her self-deprecating humor with anything but staunch disapproval. When she realizes he wouldn’t deign her with a reply, she changes the subject. 

“Anyways. Sorry for passing out super hard when you started petting my hair after we ate lunch. I’ve never felt more relaxed in my life. You make me feel really comfortable, and you’re pretty good at that,” Mac puts her hand on his thigh, feeling the captured heat of the sun on the fine, lightweight woolen fabric. “That being…uhm. It’s like you know exactly how to touch me.”

“It isn’t difficult, if you know what to pay attention to. Gods, I’ve had more than enough practice,” He scoffs with a flourish of his hand.

“You…have? Oh,” Mac stammers, her mouth going dry. She sneaks a sideways look at him, his mention of having had other lovers making her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. He tries to take her hand in his, but she wriggles out of his grasp, perching atop the driftwood log he leans against.

“I suppose that sounds awful without context,” He solicits, holding up an open palm. 

“Context? As in your past?” She narrows her eyes with her inquiry. 

“Precisely. After all, it’s only fair that I show you mine after you’ve entrusted me with yours,” he winks at her after muttering his entendre, joining her on top of her driftwood bench.

Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Shortly after I graduated from law school, I served as a magistrate. One evening, on my return home, a group of vagrants assaulted me. They’d taken issue with a ruling I made, beating me within an inch of my life.”

Mac turns to face him in open-mouthed alarm, noticing the far-away look in his eyes as he begins his tale.

This isn’t at all how she’d expected his explanation to start.

“That’s when…he showed up,” Astarion continues, the muscles of his jaw tensing at the mention of the unnamed man. “I told him I wanted to live, and he saved me. In the years to follow, I would spend every minute wishing he hadn’t.”

“After that fateful night, he enslaved me, along with six others. I would go out into the streets every night at his command to bring him the most beautiful souls I could find, playing the part of the whore, the rake. Lure them into coming back to his estate where I would…’entertain’ them until he appeared,” he sneers, his body going rigid. 

Regretting her jealousy, Mac connects the dots of why he’s so talented at making her feel good as his truth is revealed. She had felt his arm gradually stiffen, recognizing the guarding of his muscles as he recounted his past. She does what she feels would comfort her the most by leaning into his sideways embrace, nestling her head against his shoulder. 

“I attempted to escape only once. It wasn’t successful- shocking, I know. He found me before I could leave, and I…I was locked away by myself for a year. And that’s hardly the worst of it,” Astarion shudders, horrors unspoken replaying behind his haunted eyes.

“How did you get out?” Mackenzie boldly places her hand on his forearm, stroking the rough spun fibers of his shirt with her thumb. 

Astarion smiles at her touch. “I, along with several other individuals selected seemingly at random, were abducted by a cult and transported together. Chaos ensued onboard, and we crash landed hundreds of miles away from proper civilization. Making our way back to where we were taken was a challenge, but when we arrived back in the city, our merry band of weirdos successfully dismantled the cult.”

Mac shuffles closer to Astarion. “Did your abuser try anything when you got back in town?”

“He most certainly did. And oh, he paid dearly for it,” Astarion savors the memory as he drawls out the words slowly.

“What happened to him? He’s not still after you, is he?”

Astarion snorts. “Heavens no, he’s long gone. When they found his will after his death, I had been named to inherit it all. His estate, fortunes, lands, and his title. You could say all’s well that ends…not as bad as it could have.”

Mac stiffens, pulling away to look into his eyes, seeking the truth. “Wait a minute. Did you say lands and title? As in you’re…a lord? Like an actual landed noble?”

“Indeed. I am Lord Astarion Ancunin. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, darling,” He raises Mackenzie’s hand to his lips, peering up at her with eyes that sparkle like rare jewels in the waning light.

“Holy shit,” Mac whispers to herself, a line of red rising up her neck. “Yeah, uh…pretend that I didn’t say what I said earlier. You know, the thing about living a life where a hot fae prince just takes care of me and I wouldn’t want for nothing? Oh, fucking hell…”

“Are you not allowed to daydream? I too used to wish a handsome prince would appear out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet,” he murmurs to her, nudging his head against hers like a cat marking its territory. 

Mackenzie notes how affectionate they’ve been with each other, feeling a catch in her throat when she realizes at this time tomorrow she’ll be alone. Her time together with Astarion has an expiration date. Her ‘handsome prince’ will be gone at the stroke of midnight, continuing on with his life and she’ll go back to the mess that’s become hers. A bittersweet tear escapes that she quickly wipes away, facing the reality that they’ll have to part ways soon. 

“I…I wish you didn’t have to leave. A single day isn’t much of a sample size, but you’ve been so sweet to me. Nobody has ever treated me so well or been so patient and understanding. I’m not going to forget you. I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together,” Mac steels herself for their eventual parting, preparing to shift away from him. “I’ve never met anyone who’s like you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Astarion refuses to let her turn away. He rises, impossible to ignore as he looms above her, his index finger alongside the hinge of her jaw.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’d already decided on what to do regarding your person, but that about settles it.”

Mac feels her core throb and tighten from his tender gesture. “Settles what?”

“Come back to the Gate with me, Mackenzie,” Astarion pleads as he gets down on one knee before her, taking her hand in his. “I couldn’t bear to depart without you.”

The sun nestles itself in between the far-away Olympic mountains, the last of the day’s light illuminating them in a ruby glow. Mac flinches, her field of vision clouded, overtaken by a torrent of mist surrounding Astarion. Crap, are her eyes dry again? She tightly squeezes them shut, hoping it helps to clear her sight. 

All the air in Mackenzie’s lungs evacuates from the dramatic shift in Astarion’s appearance.

She follows the connection between them with trepidation. Her eyes widen at the replacement of his fine linen shirt with an intricately detailed, opulent ensemble befitting a vampire lord. Her lips go numb as she notices how well the red and black jeweled jacket melds around his muscled frame, how perfectly the rich blood-red silk-velvet cloak around his shoulders drapes around him. 

Mac inhales sharply in awe as her sapphire blues meet his, crimson and aglow with dark, forbidden power. An aura of regal authority emanates from him, rolling off him in waves. Her gaze travels along of the outline of his figure, all the way from the sharp obsidian crown and pointy ears nestled in his silver waves to the painstakingly crafted breeches, ending at his kneecaps nestled in the beach's greige sand.  

The sun fully sets in the distance, disappearing beneath the Sound. The wind picks up then, causing a full body shiver to ripple through her. She closes her eyes in reaction to the breeze, her shoulders temporarily squeezed all the way up to her ears. 

When she opens them again, the vision of the wicked prince on bended knee is gone, replaced by the kind and beautiful man she’d spent the last day with. A dull headache sets in as she recalls something vague, a whisper of a thought about sunsets and where the land meets the sea. 

She ignores it, troubled by the possibility she might need to make a quick trip to the psychiatric urgent care in the morning. It wouldn’t surprise her if she’s at the beginnings of a breakdown from the stress. She’s been through more in the last day than some people experience in a lifetime.

“Come with me. Help me make the ridiculous things we’ve vowed to one another in the heat of passion real. I want you to be mine, and mine alone,” Astarion’s expression darkens with his confession, his voice growing husky at the mention of claiming Mac as his.

“You’re serious,” she thinks aloud, still rattled by her hallucination moments ago.

Astarion’s jaw twitches. “Absolutely. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

Mackenzie idly wonders if Astarion hit his head while she was passed out earlier today. “You really want this. Me? To go with you? Why?”  

“Because I desire it. That reason alone should suffice,” he clips, becoming visibly irritated with her repeated disbelief.

Mac tries to tug herself away from him, rising swiftly to her feet. Astarion holds her steady in his grip, his eyes tracking her as she moves, watching her silently for a few seconds before he speaks.

“My treasure, is your reluctance in part to believing you are unworthy? You shouldn’t believe the things you tell yourself. They couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Mac sighs softly when Astarion kisses the tops of the hands he holds. “All that aside, I am fully aware of how mad it is of me to ask this of you. It’s terribly short notice, and so soon after you’ve ended things with Ari, but I couldn’t care less. I’m quite taken with you, more so than I expected. My affections for you have grown from a single drop of rain to an entire ocean; to part ways with you now would surely be the ruin of me. Return with me Mackenzie, nothing else would make me happier. Please.”

Mackenzie’s eyes brim with moisture, her earlier misgivings dissolving as she takes in his ethereal beauty in the twilight. Astarion was unaware that his request to come away with him is how she wished Ari had proposed to her- on bended knee at sunset at the most special place in the world to her. 

His tepid hands grip hers, his pleading crimson eyes flit back and forth, searching her flushed face for an answer. 

Well…she has the next few days off. What’s the harm in throwing caution to the wind and seeing where fate takes them?

She nods, a shy smile spreading across her face. Twin tears fall in tandem from eyes colored ultramarine in the early dusk, tracing a crystalline path down her flushed cheeks. 

“Yes. Okay. I’ll go with you.”

[the-himawari]

A3! Troupe Event Translation - Journey to the Colours (7/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Kumon: … (Huh… I was supposed go to the riverside. I made my way all the way here without even realizing it…) The gate’s open…? (Maybe it’s because they’re doing renovations right now…) —.

-pause-

Juza: …

Tenma: …He’s not answering.

Izumi: It’s gotten this late and he hasn’t come home yet. I wonder if something happened.

Muku: I’m going to go look for him!

Kazunari: Mukkun. I’m going with you.

Misumi: Same here~!

Tenma: Then count me in too.

Yuki: We have no idea where to even search. This guy. I’m worried so I’ll tag along.

Izumi: Everyone—.

Juza: I’ll keep lookin’ too.

Izumi: In that case, let me—.

Kazunari: Director-chan, Hyodle, you two wait at the dorm for when Kumopi gets back. It’s not safe for a lady to be out at this hour~. And Hyodle, you can welcome Kumopi home.

Izumi: Kazunari-kun…

Juza: …Okay. I’ll leave Kumon to you.

-pause-

Misumi: Kumon, where are you~?

Kazunari: Kumopi~!

Tenma: Did you find him?

Muku: No…

Yuki: We’re just wasting time searching blindly.

Tenma: Where the heck did he go…

Muku: If only I had been a little more attentive to Kyu-chan…

Misumi: It’s not your fault, Muku~.

*ring, ring*

Muku: Ju-chan?

Juza: “Have you found him?”

Muku: …No. We’ve searched all the nearby places that we thought Kumon might’ve gone to…

Izumi: “Azami-kun said he might have an idea of where Kumon-kun went.”

Tenma: Eh?

Azami: “I’m not sure… but have you taken a look at Tsuku High’s baseball field? He seemed pretty interested in the renovations goin’ on the other day…”

Kazunari: We haven’t tried Tsuku High’s sports field yet! We’ll head there now!

Izumi: “Be careful, okay?”

Misumi: If it’s Tsuku High, then leave it to me~!

Yuki: Oh right, you used to be a Tsuku High student.

Misumi: I haven’t been there much, but I know where that is~.

-pause-

Kumon: … (It’s been a while since I’ve stood in this field. This might be the first time since I quit the baseball team…) (It hasn’t changed since back then… I wonder if it’ll change after it’s been renovated.) (To think I used to feel so scared. But now I can stand here feeling calm as can be.) —. (A baseball… they forgot to put it away.)

*flashback ends*

Kumon: …

Yamaguchi: …What’re you doing squatting down over there?

Kumon: It’s just… we could’ve won today’s game for sure. If only I didn’t mess up in the bottom of the 7th inning…

Yamaguchi: That wasn’t your fault, y’know? Geez, don’t sweat it. —Here.

Kumon: What’s that…?

Yamaguchi: A fist bump. It’ll reset your mind.

Kumon: …Ahaha, what the heck. Does that actually work?

Yamaguchi: If it works as a trigger, then anything will do. It’s normal to regret things that have passed. We lost today. That’s not gonna change. It's not like it's going to change the outcome of the game, so if you have time to regret, then it's better to face forward towards what you can do from here on out.

Kumon: Face forward… I see… you’re right about that. Thanks, Yamaguchi. I feel better now! Next time I’m depressed, I’ll ask you again!

Yamaguchi: No way. You get depressed way too quickly. It’s a pain.

Kumon: Hey, why!

*flashback ends*

Kumon: (That’s right. Back then, right here—.)

Misumi: There he is~!

Kumon: Sumi-san…?

Muku: We were so worried, Kyu-chan…!

Yuki: Good grief… what are you doing? You weren’t answering our messages.

Kumon: Ah—Sorry, I had my notifications turned off.

Kazunari: So that’s the reason~?

Kumon: What are you guys doing here though?

Tenma: There happened to be a teacher around who remembered Misumi, so we got a permit to come inside.

Yuki: I don’t think he’s asking about the procedure we used.

Kazunari: Azamin told us you might be here since it looked like you were interested in the sports field. Kumopi, are you okay?

Kumon: …I’m sorry for making you worry.

Yuki: I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you can’t keep brooding over it by yourself.

Muku: You don’t have to hold everything in, Kyu-chan.

Tenma: Sometimes it feels better to let it all out.

Misumi: If something is bugging you, then we can think about it together, okay~?

Kazunari: I’ll accept whatever it is you feel. That’s why I became your co-lead, y’know!

Kumon: You guys… thank you. (Yeah, that’s right. All of them are here for me.) (There’s no point regretting about the past. Instead, I’d like to cherish the present, and the future, that I’m facing with all of you.)

Kumon: …The other day, I ran into a friend from my little league days. After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about the baseball team. Like what would’ve happened if I continued. Or if I could’ve also played in the intra-squad game with Yamaguchi and the rest of them. I wondered if I should’ve tried harder on the baseball team. Stuff like that—. I felt discouraged in junior high, but I joined the baseball team in high school thinking it would work out this time. And I met some good friends. Yamaguchi and I had amazing chemistry as a battery. I had my share of hard and painful times, including with my health. But I also had the same amount of fun. Baseball was everything to me back then. I honestly believed that I was going to play baseball forever. But now, I love Summer troupe even more than that. I love this theater company, and I want to continue doing my best as an actor. Yet, I really hated myself for thinking about the baseball team because it made me feel half-hearted.

Muku: So that’s what you were thinking…

Kumon: But, you know, the reason I could even wonder what it’d be like if I continued playing baseball is because I’ve been acting with all of you. If I hadn’t joined the theatre company, and if I hadn’t met Summer troupe, then I wouldn’t have gained confidence in myself. I never would’ve thought I’d be able to play baseball again… I realized that thanks to Muku. Yamaguchi also said this to me back when I was on the team. If I have time to regret what’s passed, then move forwards. And he’s right. I’m sorry for making you worry so much. I’ll be fine as long as I’m with all of you. Of course I love baseball and all my memories with the baseball club are important to me, and that’s not going to change. But now I’ve come to love acting and the theatre just as much, if not more than baseball—because I have all of you in Summer troupe!

Kazunari: Kumopi… thank for you sharing with us. Kumopi, you can tell that you really cherished baseball and that you put lots of effort into it. So you don’t have to feel sorry about your feelings and for reminiscing about it. I’m sure you would’ve been the coolest ever if you kept playing. But I’m happy that you joined Summer troupe. I’m so glad that you’re here.

Muku: Kyu-chan, thank you for joining Summer troupe!

Yuki: Anyways, if that’s how you felt, then you should’ve told us sooner.

Tenma: There’s no way we’d get mad at you over something like that.

Kumon: Ehehe. I love you guys!

*rustling*

Muku: !?

Yuki: What’s that sound?

Tenma: Shouldn’t it be a construction worker?

Yuki: They’re not going to be doing construction at this hour. That’d be a nuisance to the neighhourhood.

Kumon: There’s no one over there though…

Kazunari: Could it be~.

Misumi: A ghost~!?

Tenma: GYAHHH!

*runs away*

Kazunari: Ah. Hold on, Tenten!

Kumon: Where are you going!?

---

previous | next

[jujumin-translates]

Event | Sanrio characters x A3! | Chapter 2

Itaru: …

Itaru: …Fufu…

Yuki: The hell was that? It’s gross when you sit there just giggling to yourself.

Izumi: Looks like he’s having fun at least. Not the worst way to spend a day off.

Yuki: He’s just on the couch with his phone basically giggling and kicking his feet in the air.

Sakuya: Are you watching something?

Yuki: Nothing that’s worth your time.

Sakuya Itaru-san, what are you watching?

Itaru: Oh, this? It’s a video from the Hello Kitty Channel. Kitty and Mimi’s twin manzai acts are such classics…

Itaru: I’m gonna have this Gyodon Gyodon bit stuck in my head until the day I die. Gyodon, Rokeroppi, Gyodon… Fufu… (1)

Sakuya: Twin manzai?

Itaru: Here, look.

Sakuya: Ah, it’s Kitty-chan…!

Itaru: There’s Gudetama and Cogimyun and a bunch of others too… All the videos with the other Sanrio characters are insanely funny and addicting too.

Itaru: I’ve heard there’s a Puroland channel that shows the Sanrio characters looking all cute and squishy while doing 10-minute endurance exercises…

Itaru: One of my favorites is a video on Kitty’s channel where she does a song about fixing a popcorn machine.

Itaru: Half the time I’m supposed to be working, but I just can’t look away. It’s the ultimate antidepressant… Straight-up serotonin.

Izumi: You sure do watch a lot of videos, Itaru-san.

Yuki: You have that sort of time?

Itaru: Excuse you. This is a fundamental part of nerd religion.

Izumi: Ahaha…

Sakuya: Puroland…

Itaru: You’ve been thinking about it?

Sakuya: Umm… Yeah. I also heard some other stuff about it just the other day…

Yuki: Puroland, huh? It’s been ages since I last went.

Sakuya: You’ve been there, Yuki-kun?

Yuki: Well, yeah, a long time ago. I used to love all the My Melody stuff.

Itaru: Yeah, that checks out. You seem like you’d like My Melody.

Yuki: Since it’s been so long since I last went, I kinda wanna see what kind of shows they put on now.

Izumi: They have a couple of different theaters, right?

Yuki: Yeah. Like the one that’s like a forest with talking trees.

Sakuya: That sounds amazing…! I wonder what it’s like.

Izumi: (Sakuya-kun’s eyes are shining. He seems really interested in Puroland.)

Izumi: …Well then, why not try and go with everyone?

Sakuya: Eh!?

Izumi: There’s the shows, of course, but there’s also the costumes and makeup, lighting and sound effects…

Izumi: Plus it’s necessary to experience plays held at places that are different from regular theaters.

Itaru: That’s true, a theater is a theater.

Yuki: Stop lying, you know you just want to go there for fun.

Izumi: …But that’s the pretext we’re going to operate under when we talk to Sakyo-san!

Yuki: Sure, pretext, call it whatever you want.

Yuki: …Well, whatever, the Sanrio characters are still cute and all. Guess I’ll tag along.

Izumi: Thank you! Now that we’ve drafted Yuki-kun into the budget war against Sakyo-san, we’re sure to win.

Itaru: Wait, seriously? You wanna attempt running that boss?

Sakuya: It’d be really great to go… I’d love to be able to see the shows and meet Kitty-chan.

Itaru: …I’ll go get Senpai in on this.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakuya: Waah….! This is… Puroland…!

Kazunari: Setzer, Tenten, Aririn, Sumi! Take a pic with me!

Banri: Sure.

Tenma: What are you… Gh, whoa!?

Misumi: C’mon, Tenma, you gotta come with us~!

Homare: Such artistic and cute poses, now… Gorgonzola ♪

Guy: I have only heard stories of this place… Hmm, the entrance is quite nice.

Tasuku: It’s an indoor thing, huh? So the theater is in there then…?

Citron: You two have no evaporation!

Azuma: Fufu, you mean “imagination”?

Muku: They have a shop inside that has headbands that let you look like the characters! I wonder who I should get…

Masumi: I’m getting whatever one matches with Director…

Hisoka: …

Yuki: Strange to see you actually conscious for once.

Hisoka: I heard there’s a place with cinnamon marshmallows, I can’t do anything else until I try one…

Azami: Yeah. That checks knowing you.

Itaru: Everyone is so excited. Never thought I’d see the day this would actually happen…

Sakyo: Learning about this kind of entertainment is something that’s necessary for the future of the company.

Chikage: So that’s why you had us all come?

Sakyo: Obviously.

Taichi: Omi-kun, did you bring your camera?

Omi: Of course. I’ll do my best to get pictures of everyone.

Juza: I also brought a cheap camera with me.

Tsuzuru: I brought one too. Seems like it’d be fun to take all kinds of pictures.

Sakuya: …We’re really here.

Tsumugi: Fufu, I’m glad we are. You seemed really interested in Puroland, Sakuya-kun.

Tsumugi: Let’s have a lot of fun with everyone today.

Sakuya: …Yeah!

Izumi: (I hope today’s trip will turn out to be a good experience for everyone.)

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

• • •

T/N:

(1) I’m guessing that the “Gyodon” and “Rokeroppi” is referencing Hangyodon and Keroppi.

[roosterbox]

Fic Rec Friday 9/15/23

Title: Getting high on the amber wave

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington's Parents

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Awesome Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Protective Eddie Munson, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, 5 + 1 Things, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Abusive Parents, kinda slow burn, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names

Summary: Five times Eddie comforts Steve without fully knowing the reason behind it and one time he does.

(sets before season 2 and forwards)

———

Nothing quite like a good old fashioned divergent timeline, eh guys?

One of my greatest weaknesses with Steddie fic is anything pre-season 4. The idea that Steve and Eddie knew each other before season 4, whether they were actually together or not, just warms my heart, you know? It’s so good. And this one is especially nice. Just little scenes, vignettes in Eddie’s life, about his ever evolving relationship with Steve. Each one raises the emotions just a tiny bit more. From slightly concerned indifference in the first part, to a deep and concerned love and adoration in the last. It feels like a natural progression.

Steve is particularly precious in this. It’s nice to see him get the affection and care he deserves for once. That he should have been getting in-universe. That boy has been through A LOT, and all I’d like to see is someone taking care of him. It’s a perfect marriage: Steve deserves to be taken care of, and Eddie likes taking care of Steve. They work so well together.

I’m especially fond of the post-Starcourt scene, just because that’s kind of like a subtrope of a subtrope of Steddie fics I love, if that makes sense. Sort of like,

Main Trope: Pre-S4 Steddie

Sub Trope: Scoops era Steddie

Sub-Sub Trope: Eddie comforts Steve after the mall fire.

The second to last scene, though. Perfection. Chef’s kiss. Absolutely beautiful.

This is a freaking gorgeous story.

———

Next Week: Murder Husbands again! Been a lil while, right? And since I’ve finally finished watching Hannibal, it felt more than a little appropriate. Also, the theme of Canon Divergence continues. In this story, prior to the events of Futamono, Hannibal spends the night with… someone else. And given that it’s a Hannigram fic, who that someone is should be obvious, lol.

See you next time!

[lunarxdaydream]

RULES, TAG 10 FOLLOWERS  YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW BETTER!

tagged by: @arcxnumvitae​ tagging: anyone!

NAME: Steph STAR SIGN: Aries HEIGHT: 5′2″ (travel friendly!) MIDDLE NAME: Sorry I don’t share that 😅

PUT YOUR ITUNES/SPOTIFY/YOUTUBE ON SHUFFLE. WHAT ARE THE FIRST 6 SONGS THAT POPPED UP?

1. Volver Volver - Vincente Fernandez 2. And the Waltz Goes On - André Rieu & Johann Strauss Orchestra 3. You’re Gonna Leave (Acoustic) - Stephen Marley 4. Hikari - Royal Scandal 5. Fleur Blanche - Örsten 6. Aprendiz - Alejandro Sanz

EVER HAD A POEM OR SONG WRITTEN ABOUT YOU: Only one time that I was able to read it but the second was sent directly to my house and uh ... yeah, someone else got a hold of it before I did so I never had the chance to read it  😅

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU PLAYED AIR GUITAR: Earlier today when I was on facetime with my dad. He plays guitar so it was more to practice my dexterity as I’m trying to learn how to play it whenever I visit him meanwhile working on the piano at home. 

WHO IS YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH?: Hmm ... I don’t really know? I think there are some good looking celeberties like Cristano Ronaldo, Michael B. Jordan, Chayanne (oh man back in the day he was the guy), Chris Hemsworth, good ol’ Henry Cavill, Zendaya and Angelique Boyer. 

WHAT’S A SOUND YOU HATE; SOUND YOU LOVE?: Scrapping of utensils on a plate that makes this weird screech sound and anything close to nails on a chalkboard. As for what I love, it’s the loud clickity clack of a keyboard and best of all: a doggo’s nails clicking on wood floors!  

DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?:Eh ... so so, like I’m not a die hard believer but I also won’t walk into a creepy place where someone was murdered and poke to ask the spirits because I ain’t about to have an exorcist episode in my house, nope nope nope. 

HOW ABOUT ALIENS: Hmm ... I’m not really sure. I’ll listen to a friend of mines talk about it but I don’t really have much of an opinion either way. 

DO YOU DRIVE?: Absolutely! I enjoy it, especially when it’s some nice curvy roads! 

IF SO HAVE YOU EVER CRASHED: Just a minor accident or two that wasn’t my fault, never anything major. 

WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ?: I’m working through ‘The War of Two Queens’  when I’m home but I’m going to start ‘Fourth Wing’ this weekend as my travel book since I will be going out of town (again). So ... I guess both???

DO YOU LIKE THE SMELL OF GASOLINE: I definitely do! I mean, I’m not sniffing it like a maniac but I do enjoy it. Maybe it’s because my husband is a complete motorhead so we tend to do a lot of car activities and my uncle owned a mechanic shop that we used to visit a lot and my dad for a few years so I guess it’s a comforting thing for me. 

WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU SAW?: The Little Mermaid

WHAT’S THE WORST INJURY YOU’VE EVER HAD?: Oooof which one? Let’s see ... probably when I (foolishly) decided to chase after my husband in our previous home with socks on wood floors and right when I turned the corner, I slipped and not only did my back hit the bottom edge of the staircase but I also sprained my ankle and bruised my head. Aside of that, when I fell down the stairs after getting a leash tangled. 

DO YOU HAVE ANY OBSESSIONS RIGHT NOW?: Breath of the Wild! So it’s a game I’ve had on backlog and played it on and off. Now that I have to travel a ton, it’s been the main game I’m playing and I’m hooked. It just took a while for me to get really into it but man is it a blast. 

[gay-otlc]

Won't Fall In Love At The End- 3

I swear I haven't abandoned this story okay. I'm writing it. Just very very slowly. Tagging people who are maybe interested? @xanadaus @an-ungraceful-swan @novaliae @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss uhhh enjoy

other chapters are here btw

Going to homecoming with a date, however fake, is stressful. 

“I suppose I should tell my mom about you,” Asher says casually, not looking up from their copy of Hamlet. Rana can’t tell if they’re trying to read, or if they’ve entirely given up on productivity and only pretending to do work so the teacher doesn’t keep sending them disapproving looks.

“About me, as in how you told your friends it was fake? Or about me, as in pretending I’m your girlfriend?”

“The second one.” Asher shrugs. “She’ll be thrilled. She’s been asking me when I’ll bring someone home for ages. Always telling me to find a ‘nice Jewish girl… or boy! Or person!’”

“I’m not Jewish.”

“Eh, she’d prefer I date someone Jewish, but I don’t think she'll mind too much that you're not. As long as you compliment her cooking, she’ll love you forever.”

Rana refrains from mentioning how she sometimes can’t stand to eat objectively good-tasting food because the texture is just… nauseating. Hopefully that doesn’t happen with Asher’s mom. “Should I meet you at your house before the dance?”

“Yeah, my mom will probably want a million photos.” Asher sticks out their tongue, and Rana laughs.

“Okay, um, text me your address and I’ll have one of my parents drive me over, I guess. But I’m not going to tell them we’re dating. Or fake dating.”

“Are you not out to them?” Asher asks, and then winces. “Sorry if that’s invasive, you don’t have to answer-”

“It’s okay. I’m not out, but that’s not the problem. They’re supportive and all. They just don’t want me dating anyone while I’m in high school.” She half laughs. “They’re like, the only people alive who aren’t telling me I should date someone.” 

“People should be less obnoxious about dating. It’s not even that great! No offense or anything, but we’ve been fake dating for a full day, and I still don’t get what the big deal is.”

They look extremely lost, but unlike homework, this isn’t something Rana can help explain. “I’m just as confused as you are,” she replies.

Asher laughs, and then their face settles into a thoughtful frown. “You said your parents were supportive, right? Like, they’ll be okay with you having a nonbinary friend?”

“Yeah, totally! I’ve been friends with Eva forever, and she’s a lesbian, and they know because she’s incredibly not subtle, and my parents have never had a problem with that. I mean, they’re even okay with us having sleepovers, which Eva was super worried about when she first came out.” 

Now that Rana thinks about it, it doesn’t make much sense why she’s not out to them. There’s no reason to keep it a secret, and, well, she’s not making any particular effort to hide it from her parents. Ever since the summer between seventh and eighth grade, when she would spend her days at the pool and notice her eyes kept lingering on the girls in their bathing suits, she’s known she was queer, and she’s never felt like she had to keep this part of her invisible. She’s just never talked about it with her parents. It’s never really been relevant.

They suspect, probably. They’d asked if she was dating Eva, back in ninth grade, and Rana had said no. She thinks girls are attractive, but she’s never really looked at Eva like that. They’d believed her, and that was that. 

So, they probably suspect she likes girls. And they don’t want her dating anyone yet, and she doesn’t want to date anyone yet or maybe ever, so it’s not something they’ve discussed any further.

Maybe she should come out to them. But she doesn’t even know what she would come out as. Is she pansexual? Does she like everyone? She must, because everyone is hot, and she’ll happily fantasize about someone of any gender. But she doesn’t want to date anyone, of any gender, so maybe she’s asexual. Maybe she likes no one.

It’s all very confusing, and she doesn’t know how she’d explain it to her parents when she can’t even explain it to herself, but that’s okay. If she’s not dating anyone- well, not real dating anyone- there’s no reason for her to try explaining it, anyway. 

“You good?” Asher asks, snapping a finger in front of her face. 

Rana blushes. “Sorry. Zoned out.”

Asher nods, and the bell rings, and she waves to her fake partner before rushing to her next class.

Over dinner, she picks at her chickpea salad before saying “We, um, have the homecoming dance this weekend. My friends and I were going to meet at my friend Asher’s house beforehand. Would you be able to give me a ride?”

Her mom nods. “Who’s Asher? I don’t think you’ve mentioned him before. Is he a new friend?”

“Um. They, actually. Asher is nonbinary.”

She’d promised Asher her parents would be totally okay with it, but anxiety curls in her stomach in the breath between when the word leaves her mouth and her mom nods. “Like Nadiyah’s child?”

Right. One of her parents’ friends from Mosque has a nonbinary child. Rana didn’t know Jarin very well before they left for college, but she silently thanks them for introducing her parents to the concept so they could understand her friend better. She nods. 

“Okay. So, is Asher a new friend? Where did you meet… them?”

“We sit together in study hall and work together on physics homework a lot. They’re nice.”

Her dad nods. “And other people will be there?”

“Yeah, Aziza and Eva will be there too. And Asher’s mom, so we’ll have adult supervision.” She’d arranged everything with her friends over a long thread of text messages on the way home. Aziza and Eva were happy to meet them at Asher’s house. According to Aziza, Asher’s mom was nice and her challah was delicious, and Eva wanted to meet “the person cute enough to convince Rana to finally go on a date.” She makes a mental note to make sure she and Asher were clear on the details of their fake relationship.

Her parents exchange a look that Raan couldn’t fully decipher, and then her mom says “I can drive you.”

So, the planning for transportation is out of the way, Rana notes with a sigh of relief as her dad begins asking her mom about work. The stories about her moms’ fifth graders are always entertaining. 

The next thing she has to plan is an outfit. This is difficult for a variety of reasons. For one, she does have to consider the prices, and thinking about money sometimes gives her a headache. Eva promises to help. She has a decent amount of money; tutoring in biology pays well. Rana’s good at it, and most people are bad at it, and she profits. Knowing how to spend that money wisely is the hard part. She also has to make sure the dress is parent-approved, so she promises to text them a picture before buying anything. It’s not like she’s interested in a sleeveless dress or anything anyway, but they want to make sure. 

Also, she needs to make sure her dress has a fabric that doesn’t make her want to tear her skin off. Rana doesn’t know why certain textures do that, but they do, and she doesn’t want to spend her homecoming dance covered in itchy uncomfortable fabric.

She makes her way through school, and it’s not as bad as yesterday. Lunch is actually good; she sits with Asher’s friends again, and they’re… really nice. Daniel is actually interested in hearing her ramble about bearded dragons, and the whole group laughs and jokes with each other like they’ve been friends for years- they probably have- but they don’t shut her out in the process.

It’s nice.

Rana is generally terrified of making friends, of people other than Aziza and Eva, but this… this is nice.

She mostly ignores Asher throughout study hall- she likes them, but she likes not failing calculus even more, and the pile of homework demands her focus- and then the school day is over and she’s in the passenger seat of Eva’s car, Aziza in the back, on the way to the mall to find their outfits for homecoming.

Like she expected, it takes a while, but eventually Rana finds a long green dress with a tolerable texture and a reasonable price. She tries it on and texts a photo to her mom. Her mom responds with a thumbs up emoji, fulfilling the third requirement for a homecoming dress, so she buys it. Briefly, she considers buying heels with the money she has left, before trying on a pair and realizing she can’t walk. Just the dress, then. Eva drives her home and she hangs the dress in her closet. 

School is mostly normal Friday morning, except for the constant flow of gossip about dates for the homecoming dance. It’s slightly nauseating. And then it’s lunch, which Rana spends again with Asher’s friends. She feels only slightly uncomfortable around them, compared to the “extremely uncomfortable” feeling of being around most other people, which is weird, but good. 

After lunch is the homecoming pep rally, which… Rana’s not entirely sure what the point is. School spirit? Getting excited for the football game Rana doesn’t really care about? Hearing everyone cheer until her head hurts and she can’t breathe?

Asher nudges her. “Are you okay?” 

“It’s loud,” she manages.

Asher nods and stands up, extending a hand to her. How fake-romantic. She takes their hand and allows them to lead her away from the bleachers, muttering something about the bathroom to the teacher that gives them an inquisitive look, and brings Rana over to the library. The library is good. The library is quiet. The library is not crowded. She finds a book about marine biology, and Asher finds a book she doesn’t catch the title of, and they read in silence until the pep rally is over.

“Where did you and Asher sneak off to?” Eva asks her after school. There’s a laugh in her voice.

“The library,” Rana tells her. Eva raises her eyebrows and grins. It’s pretty obvious what she’s implying. And Rana doesn’t hate the idea that she ditched the pep rally to make out with Asher. She didn’t, but the thought of kissing is more tolerable than the thought of going on dates and being their girlfriend. 

What the hell does that even mean? 

Later that afternoon, Aziza asks the group chat if they want to come to the football game with her, and Rana sends back a vomiting emoji. It’s cold, it’s loud, and she doesn’t see the appeal of watching football players get hurt. So she stays home, eats dinner, watches Netflix, and finds out from a text message several hours later that their school won.

Good for them, she supposes.

With the football game out of the way, they are now officially in Almost The Homecoming Dance territory. Rana has done all the planning she thinks is necessary, but there’s still the requirement of “figure out how to pretend you’re there with an actual date you have genuine romantic feelings for,” and that’s the main component she’s not prepared for.

Less than a day to figure that out.

It’s fine. It’ll be fun, she tells herself, lying.

[dajaregambler]

HeliosR - Sing in the darkness - Chapter 1 - Part 12

Translation of Sing in the darkness from ‘Helios Rising Heroes’, a new side arc alongside the current main story arc Like the dawning light.

Sage: Nico, I’ll help with cleaning up

Nico: Thanks

Sage: I wonder if he’s feeling less nervous…?

Nico: Licht, you mean?

Sage: Yeah. Jude-kun and Bianchi-san's back and forth made things feel more at ease in there. I'm glad both of them tagged along.

Nico: ……

Nico: Sage, did anything happen?

Sage: Eh?

Nico: You don’t look well

Nico: You said that physically you’re fine, but did something make you feel down?

Sage: Ah… You seriously are amazing, properly keeping an eye out for things around you

Nico: Not as much as you.

Sage: It’s admirable how you’re nonchalant about it in your case. …While I’m not that clever

Nico: Did you become negative again?

Sage: …..Except for the Rookies training, it’s been a while since we had a mission together, no? Because of it, I’ve had various things on my mind

Sage: Especially with experiencing the compatibility of the team, the sense of everyone’s growth …

Sage: And at the same time… how real my shortcomings are

Sage: When I strayed off from everyone and fought Eclipse, I couldn’t do anything on my own

Sage: If Brad-san and Akira-kun didn’t show up at the right time, what would've I done instead…

Nico: …….

Sage: Honestly, I’ve been doubting it since the beginning.

Sage: The three of you belong to the Anti-Eclipse unit, it’s not strange to be assigned to the same mission

Sage: …..But then why did someone like me, that failed the entrance exam, get called out for this

Sage: The whole ordeal of this mission is for the Anti-Eclipse unit to handle, there’s no reason I can think of as to why I should be chosen for--

Nico: Because it’s the three of us. …Is that not a reason?

Sage: Eh….

Nico: As you said, it’s been a while since we worked together, and it does feel easier operating as a team

Nico: It’s a known fact that Bianchi and Jude’s have great compatibility for battle, but in the same vein the four of us are compatible too

Sage: ……

Nico: I’m different than you, I have confidence in fighting alone

Nico: But how I put this… Until now, a large part of that is due me having no choice but to be on my own due to my personality

Nico: I think I would’ve fought on my own forever if I wasn’t put within a team

Nico: Bianchi and Jude too, they’re similar types as me

Nico: Jude wouldn’t go as far to say this but…

Nico: While Bianchi is the type to get along with others, building a relationship takes some time due to his looks…

Nico: ….I don’t know where I was going with this 

Nico: What I mean is, well… that feeling of not being able to do well on your own, is not only something you think.

Sage: Nico…

Bianchi: Precisely what teamwork is all about