#bloom town spoilers

[acourtofquestions]

"Maeve is capable of worming her way into a person's mind," Rowan said. "She likely knows who our allies are and might have already compromised them." He braced a hand on Goldryn's hilt, the warm metal a comforting touch. "We don't risk it."

Lorcan grunted his agreement.

Elide said, "Maeve doesn't know me or barely does. No one here would recognize me, especially if I can ... adjust my appearance. Like I did with spreading those lies about the Valg prince. I could try to get into the city tomorrow and see if there's anything to learn."

"No."

Lorcan's reply was a knife in the dark.

Elide said to him, cool and unfazed, "You're not my commander. You're not in my court."

She turned to Rowan. But he was.

He outranked her. Rowan tried not to recoil. Aelin had laid this upon him.

Lorcan hissed, "She doesn't know the city layout, doesn't know how to handle the guards

"Then we teach her," Gavriel cut in. "Tonight. We teach her what we know."

Lorcan bared his teeth. "If Maeve remains in Doranelle, she will sniff her out."

"She won't," Elide said.

"She found you on that beach," Lorcan snapped.

Elide lifted her chin. "I am going into that city tomorrow."

"And what are you going to do? Ask if Aelin Galathynius has been strutting about town? Ask if Maeve's available for high tea?" Lorcan's snarl ripped through the air.

Elide didn't back down for a heartbeat. "I'm going to ask after Cairn."

They all stilled. Rowan wasn't entirely certain he'd heard her correctly.

Elide steadily surveyed them. "Surely a young, mortal woman is allowed to inquire about a Fae male who jilted her."

Lorcan went pale as the moon above them.

"Elide." When she didn't reply, Lorcan whirled on Rowan. "We'll scout, there's another way to

Elide only said to Rowan, "Find Cairn, and we find Aelin. And learn if Maeve remains."

Fear no longer bloomed in Elide's eyes. Not a trace remained in her scent.

So Rowan nodded, even as Lorcan tensed.

"Good hunting, Lady."

[hier--soir]

whole new can of worms

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: two friends decide to blow off a little steam together. warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] fwb!joel, famous HOG joel miller lmao, age gap [20 years], language, alcohol consumption, established friendship, guitar playing joel!!, oral [f and m recieving], p in v sex, starts slow and careful and ends up rough oops. word count: 6.9k (nice) series masterlist | masterlist a/n: okay LOOK. i’m working on a final part to this little impromptu series, but I got very side-tracked with the idea of a prequel and then the most smut I’ve ever written just fucking spilled out of me. this is the first time they had sex, ladies and gentlemen. you get the beginning before you get the end. enjoy. also, this moment from tlou pt 2 game is what i was picturing for the beginning when joel is playing the song. dont watch if you don't want to, its from a cut scene very late in the second game. zero spoilers, just joel miller strumming that damn guitar in a way i'll never forget. this is part one of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: two, three, four.

“Play that one I like.”

Joel offered no verbal response, but sat up straighter in his chair, fingers adjusting along the fretboard of his guitar. You relaxed into your seat, closing your eyes and taking a long sip from your glass of amber liquor.

He began playing and you smiled happily, goosebumps breaking out across your skin as the familiar tune filled the air between you and your friend, melding with the sound of rain softly pattering against the roof of his veranda. You kicked your feet up onto the table between you, the tense muscles in your legs aching from the stretch.

“Get your feet off the table,” Joel muttered, fingers never ceasing on the instrument. “Animal.”

Your eyes stayed closed, but you stuck your tongue out in his direction, smirking a little and keeping your feet up, knowing he didn’t really mind.   

Both of you had endured a long fucking day.

Winter was fading into Spring, and the trees and plants in Jackson were slowly but surely beginning to bloom again. It meant you were spending more hours in the green house than out on patrol, and you weren’t complaining. Tending to the garden relaxed you, connected you to nature and to one of the food sources in the commune that helped put a little bit of food on everyone’s plate each week. Working there made you feel connected to the town, and you loved it, truly. Except, for when a thunderstorm happened.

They’d scared you for as long as you could remember. Since you were a kid, thunder and lightning had made you want to crawl under the covers on your bed and hide away until the loud noises disappeared. But as a full-grown woman, you weren’t afforded such luxuries. Rain, hail or shine, the people in Jackson depended on each other, and you couldn’t duck out of a shift because of a silly little phobia.

When the rain started pouring down on the glass roof of the greenhouse you hadn’t been surprised. Only a few weeks into springtime, the town was still shaking off the remnants of a bitterly cold winter, and a little rain was still common. It was only when the first crack of thunder sounded that you’d stilled, hands frozen gripping a heavy pot, an unwelcome shiver racing down your spine. You’d had to work for hours, the sound of rain pelting against the roof accompanying you, with flashes of lightning appearing out of the corner of your eye all day.

When all was said and done, you’d trudged through the downpour to Joel’s house and arrived on his doorstep looking like a drowned rat, only to find out that he’d spent his afternoon stuck outside on patrol, in the very weather you were so upset about.

He’d opened the door with damp hair, bundled in warm clothes, the tip of his nose a light shade of pink from the cold.

“Whiskey?” he’d asked.

You nodded. “Whiskey.”

And so the pair of you had ended up on his porch, under cover from the residual spit of rain, forgetting all about the shit day through good company and good alcohol.

As Joel strummed the last few chords of the song you sighed glumly, cracking an eye open to watch him. He set the guitar down gently and reached for his glass.

“So beautiful,” you murmured. “Wish I could play.”

“And then what use would I be?” he chuckled. “Can’t have you learning guitar; I’d have no one to play for anymore.”

You watched him closely. Staring into his glass, you could see him mulling the words over in his head. Ellie had hardly spoken a word to him in weeks, and you could see the toll it was taking, although you never pried. Clearly, something had happened, and although you and Joel were close, you hadn’t wanted to insert yourself into whatever drama had consumed his little found family. It made your chest hurt though, to watch him miss that girl. He’d always loved playing for her.

“Good thing I’m lazy then,” you mused softly. “Swear I couldn’t play an instrument with a gun to my head. I’ll need to keep you around.”

“Works for me,” he said, refilling both your glasses. “You on the patrol roster tomorrow?”

You shook your head, accepting the glass with a grateful smile. A slight buzz warmed your insides, fighting to keep your body temperature up as the cool breeze licked at your exposed hands and face. “Nope, I’m a free agent tomorrow, no responsibilities.”

“God damn,” he rolled his eyes. “Gonna be stuck out there all alone with Tommy.”

“Devastating,” you grinned. “I’m way better company.”

“Too right,” Joel agreed. “What’s your plan for the day, little miss no responsibilities? Still reading that book I found you?”

Probably masturbate. The thought zipped through your mind so suddenly that you felt your chest warm, and you cleared your throat softly.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Probably just read for a while. Dinner at Maria and Tommy's, remember?”

You hoped he didn’t see through the lie, because the truth was that you were embarrassed by yourself. Only a few days before you’d been struck by the realisation that you hadn’t had sex, or even been touched intimately by another person, in months. In fact, you noted sullenly, it had been half a fucking year. And you were struggling. It was your longest dry spell in a while, and every night lately you’d found yourself tangled up in your bed with your hand in your underwear, wishing desperately that someone, anyone, else was there with you.

Trying to ward off the unsavoury thoughts filling your mind, you took a deep gulp of whiskey and shut your eyes, contemplating asking if he had any cigarettes laying around.

Suddenly, a deep groan pierced the air between you and your eyes shot open. What the fuck?

With wide eyes, you saw that Joel was gripping his right leg tightly, thumb rubbing deep circles into the skin above his knee cap, and you forced yourself to relax. A sound of pain, you realised. But your heart had stuttered in your chest, because as out of character as it would’ve been, with your eyes closed it had sounded like a vaguely sexual noise. You rolled your eyes, willing yourself to get a grip. But it had been so long, and the sound of a man groaning in any way was enough to light a fire in your stomach.

“It’s the cold,” he noticed your stare. “Makes my knee ache.”

You nodded knowingly, eyes watching as his large hand gripped his thigh, applying pressure to the tender area.

“What’s up your ass?” Joel asked.

“Huh?” your gaze flashed up to meet his and found him watching you closely, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re frownin’,” he said. “Gone all quiet suddenly.”

“So are you,” you huffed defensively, face warming. “You always fucking frown, I can’t do it one time?”

“No,” he grinned cheekily, stilling rubbing his knee. “I frown enough for the both of us. You can figure somethin’ else out.”  

You let out a begrudging chuckle and felt the indent between your eyebrows relax.

“Seriously,” he pushed. “What’s wrong? Is it too cold? We should move inside.”

“No,” you cringed, scratching the side of your neck awkwardly. Lowering your legs off the table you sat up a little straighter in your chair. “It’s good out here, I like it. I’m just… distracted, I don’t know.”

“What’s on your mind?” he sipped his whiskey.

Without needing any more prompting, you gave up on beating around the bush. “When’s the last time you had sex?”

A choked sound escaped him, and he swallowed quickly, coughing into his elbow. “Christ, what?”

“I’m not,” your cheeks were on fire. “I’m not thinking about you having sex, relax. I was thinking about me having sex. Or not having sex, to be more precise.”

He coughed again, an awkward expression flashing across his face.

You and Joel had been friends for a few years now, since he and Ellie returned to Jackson and decided to settle in the commune. After being friends with Tommy for a few years before that, you’d fallen into a natural friendship with his older brother. It was no secret that there was 20 odd year age difference between you and Joel, but in a post-apocalyptic world, it had never phased either of you. Friends were friends, and an age gap didn’t impact much. But sex was a topic that had seldom come up in conversation over those few years. Here and there maybe, but never in detail, and never so candidly.

“I almost walked in on Shae and Petra fucking the other day,” you continued plainly. “She was late for patrol, so I went over to see if she’d slept in, and I could hear them from outside the fucking house. Stood there like an ass for a minute, just listening like a creep.”

Joel watched you closely, and you noticed his hand gripped his glass a little tighter, fingertips white from the pressure “You… listened?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” you cringed, rubbing a hand over your face shamefully. “Just for a fucking second. Hadn’t realised how long it had been, and it was like my feet wouldn’t move.”

“I see.”

“You better not tell a soul about this,” you pointed at him threateningly. “I’ll end you if anybody finds out, Miller. I swear.”

“I believe you,” he snorted, holding his hands up in surrender. “My lips are sealed.”

You relaxed a little, relieved to discover that he wasn’t going to be as awkward about it as you’d first feared.

“How long has it been?”

Your eyes ticked up to stare at him again. “Like, six months or something.”

Joel let out a low whistle and nodded slowly, sipping from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “You poor soul.”

“Oh, come off it,” you scoffed in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re having sex and I’m not? This just keeps getting worse.”

“Fuck you,” he drawled mockingly, that deep Texan accent making you grin. “Would it be such a surprise if I was?”

“S’just bullshit,” you glowered, picking at your nails in frustration. Traces of soil still lined the creases in your palms and you rubbed at it furiously, in a fruitless attempt at cleaning them.  

“I’m not,” is all he said, and you frowned at him in confusion. “Havin’ sex,” he added with a smirk. "And it's been longer for me, so quit your whinin'."

You raised your eyebrows, appreciating the honesty. “Well thank god I’m not the only one.”

“Don’t know when I would,” he shrugged simply. “And who would I be having sex with, anyways? Spend all my fuckin’ time on patrol listening to Tommy talk for hours, or I’m sleepin’, or I’m with you.”

The thought itched so suddenly at the back of your brain, and you fought against it, shaking your head ever so slightly to push it away. Don’t think that. But it was persistent, and after a few moments of silence, your mind was filled with thoughts of you and Joel Miller fucking.

Admittedly, it was something you’d thought about once or twice when you’d first met him. He was a handsome guy, and his arrival in Jackson had definitely caused a stir among the women in the commune. But you’d fallen into a friendship so quickly, so comfortably, that the thought had never reared its ugly head again. Until now.

You watched him for a moment. His hair was dry at that point, and short messy curls framed his face and neck. He had neat dark facial hair, with sweet specks of ashy grey mixed in here and there. That familiar scar on the bridge of his nose. Lips that had gone a darker shade of pink from the cold, that you’d never realised looked quite so… plush. Eyes trailing down, your gaze raked over his hands. Long, calloused fingers that wrapped around almost the entirety of his glass. the warmth in your stomach spread downward, and you knew you should feel embarrassed at where your brain was taking you, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Images flashed through your mind of his hands gripping you like that. Fingers leaving marks on your thighs, on your neck. You shivered, looking away quickly.

“Fuck,” you sighed quietly, not even caring if he heard.

“Hey,” he said softly, assuming you were upset. “Someone’ll come along. We could talk to Tommy about setting you up or somethin’.”

You hummed noncommittally and turned in your chair to face him head on. Joel noticed and adjusted his position to do the same, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look?” he asked, eyebrows pinching together.

Jesus, here goes nothing.

“What if we fucked?”

Joel stared. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he put his glass down on the table with a soft clink.

“What?” he said lowly, his voice taking on a sudden gravelly quality.

“I mean,” you searched desperately for the words to explain yourself, licking your lips nervously. “You said it yourself, we’re so busy, right? Always working, or sleeping, or we’re hanging out, you and me. So, what if we just… blew off a little steam together?”

His eyebrows had raised so dramatically you thought they might disappear into his hairline. It wasn’t often you managed to shock Joel, and you laughed gently at the astounded expression that decorated his face.  

“You want to blow off steam… with me?” he pointed lamely at his chest.

“Don’t sound so incredulous,” you joked. “You’re a catch, Joel. You know the teens call you a HOG, right? Hot old guy.“

“Shut up,” he held up a hand to silence you, his eyes squeezing shut tightly as you laughed at his embarrassment. “Don’t want to hear that shit.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything, Joel,” you reassured, veering back on topic. “We could just… help each other wind down after a long day.”

You watched each other in silence for a moment, and you noticed him shuffle slightly in his seat, hand gripping his knee once again. For a minute, you worried that you’d upset him. The friendship you two shared was strong, and you always known you could confide almost anything in him. He was trustworthy, and valued your word above so many others. But maybe this was over the line.

As you were about to speak again, about to take it all back and apologise for even suggesting it, he finally opened his mouth.

“It wouldn’t mean anything?” he clarified. “This won’t affect our friendship.”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing at all. No strings, bud. Final offer.”

With a deep, rumbling sigh, Joel snatched his glass off the table and downed the remainder of its contents before standing up. “Alright then.”   

You’d been in Joel’s room a hundred times over the years. Hauling him out of bed for patrol after he’d accidentally slept in, or rifling through his chest of drawers to steal a thick pair of socks. But never for this reason. The pair of you stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, staring at everything other than each other, as the air crackled with palpable tension.

Joel scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and you smirked, unfamiliar with seeing him being unsure of himself.

“If you don’t want to, we can just forget I ever sai-“

“Just taking your fuckin’ clothes off,” he grunted, staring you down suddenly. Wide eyed, you felt a rush of heat through your thighs.

“Jesus,” you breathed. “Romance isn’t dead.”

He huffed out a laugh and your shoulders relaxed, happy to see a crack through his tense façade. Your tugged off your sweater, and then your shirt, tossing them over the chair in the corner of his room. Working quickly, you undid the zipper on your pants and pulled them down your legs until you were left in your underwear, a thin white singlet, and your socks.

You reminded yourself that Joel had already seen you naked, thinking back on a time when the two of you had gone skinny dipping in a lake you stumbled across on patrol the summer before. But this was so different. This wasn’t a random moment of spontaneity. And at the lake he'd been a gentleman, averting his eyes for the most part out of politeness, but now? Now he was watching your every move.

Silently, he undid the strap off his watch and placed it on the top of his dresser, before working to undo the buttons on his shirt. After he had tugged it off, you let your eyes trail over his exposed skin, and with no fabric covering him, you could see how quickly his chest rose and fell.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his chest. You felt his heart race under the warm skin and smiled. “It’s just me. Let me help you relax, okay?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips quickly, and you wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t dwell on it though, and leaned forward to drag your lips across the skin of his neck. He smelt like rain and pine needles, and you inhaled deeply, pressing soft kisses along his pulse point. One of his hands landed heavily on your waist and his thumb begun rubbing encouraging circles over your hip bone. You hummed against his skin, pressing your chest against his. Exposed to the cool temperature, your nipples pebbled underneath your shirt, and from his exhale you knew he could feel them pressing against his bare chest.

With a slight tremor in your hand, you trailed your fingers down his chest. Through the soft hair smattered there, over the thick jagged scar on his stomach, to his belt buckle. Joel shivered lightly, gripping your waist a little tighter. You worked quickly to undo his belt, and then you dragged his zipper down. With a low sigh, you rested your hand over the front of his pants. He jolted slightly, hand sliding around your back to hold you tighter to his chest. With your face hidden in his neck, you couldn’t see his reaction, but you took the firm pressure of his hand on your back as a clear sign to continue. You palmed him gently through his pants, listening to the little puffs of air that rushed out of his nose as he kept his breathing calm. A surge of confidence rushed through you, and you stepped away, letting your hand fall away from him. His arm dropped from your back to his side, and he watched with bated breath as you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him.

You gripped the waistband of his pants and started to drag them down his legs, helping him step out of them. Wearing nothing but a tight pair of briefs, it was impossible not to stare. You could see the shape of him through the dark fabric, your mouth salivated. More, you needed to see more. Without wasting a second, you tucked your fingers into the band of them and pulled them down slowly, giving him the chance to stop you if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He watched you with hooded dark eyes, chest moving with deep controlled breaths, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth. With his underwear gone, Joel’s cock finally came into your sight. He was only half hard, you realised with awe, and your stomach tingled as you realised what you were in for. Reaching out, your traced your fingers slowly over his hip bones, smiling as goosebumps broke out across his skin, before gently wrapping your fingers around him.

A shaky breath escaped from his nose.

“Is this okay?” you asked quietly, hand stroking softly along his length. He nodded jerkily. “Why don’t you sit on the bed?”

Joel dropped heavily onto the edge of his bed, and you moved forward to rest on your knees in between his parted legs, placing your hand back over him. The air in the room had turned humid, and you could feel sweat forming on your back out of anticipation. The only light source came from the moon shining in his window, bathing the both of you in a pale light.

“You’re so handsome,” you sighed wistfully, gripping him tighter. “I’ve always known it, but seeing you like this is different. So handsome, Joel.”

He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, gripping your skin and massaging the knotted muscle at the top of your back. You groaned appreciatively, and without another moment’s hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his thigh. No more fucking around. You needed him.

Your hand stroked him firmer, tighter, but your mouth was salivating, desperate to taste him. So you dragged wet kisses along his leg until you reached his abdomen, and then you brought your wet mouth to hover over his cock. You heard his breath hitch and smiled devilishly, staring greedily at his ruddy tip, marvelling as a drop of precum leaked out of him. Painfully slow, you pushed forward and pressed a kiss to it, tongue darting out to swipe along him and taste his salt. Joel hissed in surprise, gripping your shoulder tighter as his other hand moved to the back of your head. Not putting any pressure there, just holding you. Lathing your tongue over his head, you moaned lowly at the taste of him. Salty and warm and masculine. You could feel your underwear sticking uncomfortably against you from how wet you were. Closing your eyes, you cupped his balls gently and pressed wet kisses down his length, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein that ran from base to tip, and basking in the short gasps that flew out of his mouth.

“Stop teasin’,” he grumbled, and you looked up with a smirk to see his dark eyes glaring down at you.

“Sorry,” you lied, before taking his head into your warm mouth and sucking gently. Slowly, you pressed forward, taking more of him in. You felt him swell against your tongue, getting harder from the stimulation, and you hummed around him. He was so big. Maybe bigger than anyone you’d been with, and you struggled to take it all. He was so thick and heavy in your mouth, it was all you could think about. Consuming every thought, every feeling; all you could focus on was the weight of him on your tongue. You worked on creating a rhythm, bobbing your head and taking as much of him in your mouth as you could, while your hand gripped him at the base, stroking him at the same time.

And finally, finally, he made a sound.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, drawing out the vowel as a heavy breath he’d been holding escaped his lungs. His fingers dragged through your hair roughly, gripping the back of your head. You pushed yourself forward, taking more of him in until he was pressing into your throat, and you swallowed tightly around him. “Christ, feels so fuckin’ good.”

Seemingly against his will, Joel’s hips bucked upward off the bed and you gagged around him, tears springing into your eyes. He moaned lowly, cursing under his breath at the feeling of your throat contracting around him. Unable to help yourself, you removed your hand from him and lowered it down your body, slipping your fingers underneath the band of your underwear and dipping into the wet heat between your own legs. Breathing harshly through your nose, you moaned around him as your finger brushed your aching clit. You pulled back and worked your tongue over his weeping slit, enjoying the way his grip on your hair tightened as you paid close attention to the most sensitive part of him.

“You’re drivin’ me insane,” he ground out, and you glanced up to see him watching you reverently, eyes wide and glossy, cheeks flushed. “So fuckin’ hot. God, you have the prettiest mouth, how did I never notice that? Never fuckin’ thought about how good my cock would look between your lips until it was happening. I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

Your cunt pulsed against your fingers and you whimpered, taking him back in your mouth as far as you could. God, the way he spoke made you fucking ache for him. after so many years of knowing him, hearing his voice every day, you’d never have imagined him saying things like that to you. But the weight of him in your mouth was delicious, and his words only spurred you to push forward, forward, forward, revelling in the way he groaned as your nose brushed the dark curls at his base. Tears leaked out of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks from the effort, but you didn’t stop. You slid a finger inside yourself and gagged around him again, eyes rolling back in your head at the intoxicating sensation of having something inside both your mouth and your pussy.

“Takin’ me so well,” his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “God, I’m in your fuckin’ throat, baby.” The pet name made your stomach tighten, and you moaned as more slick formed around your fingers.  

“Shit,” he choked out suddenly, losing all composure. “Are you fucki-“

You moaned, eyebrows furrowing as you fucked your hand and bobbed your mouth up and down quicker over his length.

“Stop,” he ordered, saying your name firmly. “I- Stop, I’m gonna come.” You ignored him, making a high-pitched sound around him as you felt the hot coil in your stomach begin to tighten. His hand gripped your hair tighter, and he pulled you off him.

You blinked lazily up at him, eyebrows furrowed dejectedly, lips parted. A string of saliva hung in the air between your bottom lip and his tip. You dragged your fingers out of your underwear, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Jesus, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that,” he groaned and broke eye contact, gripping your shoulder to pull you up off the floor. “Get up.”

Pushing gently on your shoulders, he nudged you forward onto the bed, and you crawled up before collapsing with your heads against the pillows. His bed was softer than you’d anticipated, and everything smelt like him. The pillows, the duvet. God, even if this was a one-time thing, you’d never forget that smell. He followed you, settling with his legs in between yours, and placed his palms on your stomach, pushing the thin material of your shirt up and over your breasts until it was bunched around your collarbones. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest, and you were aching for him, begging him with your eyes to just please, do something, anything.

And Joel was on you before you could speak, his fingers tracing and over your nipples, squeezing the weight of your breast in his palm before latching his lips onto you. He sucked your painfully tight nipple into his mouth, tongue lazily swiping across it, driving you insane. You sighed heavily, running a hand over the skin of his back and holding him to you. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin ever so lightly and your back arched off the bed. Moving over, he shifted his ministrations to your other breast, his eyes closed as he wet your skin with his slick mouth. And then one of his hands was drifting down your stomach, tickling over your skin, under it met your underwear, and he was cupping you through the fabric. Your hips stuttered upward, and he groaned into your chest, trailing his fingers over the soaked material.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” he muttered into your skin, and you nodded franticly against the pillows. “Did you get this turned on just from havin’ my cock in your mouth? Had to touch yourself?” Surprise zapped through you once more, ecstatic to learn just how much he loved to talk during sex. It was one of your favourite things, and it had always killed you to have sex with someone who was just silent the whole time.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Wanted you to finish in my mouth.”

He bit down onto your chest in response and you cried out quietly, eyes rolling back as he sucked a mark onto your skin with his fingers continued tracing feather light over your covered core.

“Maybe later,” his voice was strained. “Need to see you come first.”

He pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side, and then he was touching you with no barrier, and you trembled beneath him. You’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone else’s hands on you.

Joel groaned as he dipped his middle finger between your warm folds, gliding it up and down along your core, getting it covered in your slick. He swirled the tip of his finger around your entrance and you whimpered, hips grinding desperately against his hand. But he didn’t go inside you. His finger moved back up, all the way up, and swiped gently over your clit and you let out a pathetic moan. Such a small, miniscule touch had your stomach tensing painfully, ridiculously close to orgasm after so much time.

Bringing his face up to rest beside yours, he sucked your earlobe into his mouth gently, before murmuring in your ear, “I want to taste you.”

You didn’t say anything, too stunned by the feeling of his fingers against you, until he probed you for a response, purring your name into your ear.

“Need to hear you say it,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you begged, eyes shut tightly as he rubbed soft circles around your bundle of nerves. “I want you to taste me.” A grunt of frustration left your mouth as his hand disappeared and you opened your eyes to glare at him, but your mouth fell open, awestruck, when you saw him raise his soaked digits to his lips.

“Like this?” he goaded, sucking your slick off himself and groaning.

“Please,” you repeated, mouth dry as you watched him hum around his middle finger. “Need your mouth on me, your tongue, I-“

“Okay,” he soothed, moving down the bed in an instant. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

He spread your legs apart, fingers splayed as he held your thighs against the bed, displaying your weeping centre for him to see. A deep sound echoed though the room, and it took you a moment to realise it had been Joel. His dark eyes stared at the spot between your legs, and he dragged his fingers through the coarse hair that covered you.

His movements were torturously slow as he leaned down, pressing sloppy kisses on your hips, along the inside of your thighs, until finally his hot breaths were fanning across your core. You clenched around nothing, whimpering at how empty you felt but knowing it would have to wait.

It was like stepping into a warm bath. The second his tongue was on you, fire raced through your veins, warming your body from head to toe. A sound of relief slipped from your lips, and your eyes rolled back as he licked a broad stripe up the entire length of you. A raspy groan vibrated against you as he pressed a messy kiss against your pussy. You looked down and gasped at the sight of his eyes already on you, watching you and your reactions to him.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he drawled against you and you twitched at the sensation of his lips brushing against your clit. His thumbs pressed against your folds, holding you open for him to see everything, and he lathed his warm tongue against your clit, circling it until you were moaning and tensing your thighs against his hold, muscles screaming at you to press against his head and hold him to you.

You whispered his name over and over as if it were a prayer. As if you’d forgotten all other words in the English language and his name was your only salvation. His tongue dipped inside your entrance, prodding firmly until you whimpered and begged him to please, please, let you come.

He ate you out like a man possessed. Like you were his last meal and he intended to savour every god damn second of the experience. He was ravenous, lips and tongue working together to make every muscle in your body tighten until you were gasping. At some point your hand had drifted behind his head and you found yourself tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling it tightly as his mouth moved against you.

“Joel,” you groaned. He hummed against you, movements never ceasing. “Oh fuck, Joel, I’m gonna come.”

His eager moan into your cunt was all it took for you to be catapulted over the precipice and drop into your orgasm. Your body was on fire, vibrating against him as you trembled through it, moans and cries leaving your mouth as your way of thanking him. His hands held your thighs in a vice grip, and there would no doubt be marks there tomorrow to remind you were his fingertips had dug into your skin. As your body relaxed into the mattress again, he pressed a final kiss to your clit before pulling back and dragging his face across your thigh, wiping the remnants of your slick off his facial hair.

“Fuck,” he rasped, grinning up at you with glistening lips.

“So good,” you agreed, nodding as you tried to catch your breath.  

“Almost came all over the sheets,” he admitted and you laughed, beckoning him towards you. He stumbled a bit, one of his knees buckling below him on the bed, leading him to land awkwardly on top of you.  

“Shit,” he groused. “Sorry, bad fuckin’ knee. You’ve got me all bent out of shape.”

You chuckled lowly, pulling him up to lay beside you on the bed. “Let’s not put anymore pressure of them then, okay?” He watched you carefully, curiously, as you turned on your side and then moved backwards, pressing yourself flush against his chest.

His cock pulsed against your ass, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, hand splayed on your stomach to hold you against him as he rutted forward. The feeling of his wet tip dragging along your skin reignited the fire in you and you whimpered, lifting your leg only to push it back and drape it over his waist as much as you could.

“You want it like this?” he asked urgently, hot breaths fanning across your sweaty neck. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging on it gently.

You nodded, and waited as he pushed his body a little lower on the bed. His hand disappeared from your chest, and you allowed yourself to pout a little, only because you knew he couldn’t see your face. And then his left arm slithered underneath your shoulder and wrapped loosely your neck, gripping your opposite arm to pin you against him. His free hand gripped his cock and pushed it forward until he was sliding his head between your folds.

Both of you sighed at the sensation and you gripped his arm in anticipation. You could feel his torso moving against your back as he breathed, the soft hair on his chest tickling your skin.

“You ready?” he asked and you grunted, pushing back against him again.

“Joel,” you said in a dangerously low tone. “If you’ve ever cared about me, you will stop teasing and fuck me right now.”  

He laughed darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

He notched his tip at your entrance and you gasped as he pressed forward, pressing himself inside of you. It took what felt like minutes for him to bottom out, and when you felt his hips pressing against your ass, you tried to relax. The burn was intense, and you cursed yourself for not anticipating a little bit of pain after such a long dry spell. Joel held still, fingers stroking carefully over the skin of your shoulder, understanding that you needed a second.

“Fuck,” you choked out. “Joel, you’re huge.”  

He let out a gravelly sound into the back of your neck, body shuddering against yours. “You’re takin’ it so well though,” he gritted out. “So tight around me, grippin’ me so good.”   

He pulled back a touch before pressing back into you, and you moaned deeply. That was all the confirmation he needed to continue, pulling almost fully out of you before moving into you harder, stronger, and beginning a steady pace. Your body jolted forward with every one of his movements, but his arm around your neck held you firmly, never allowing you to go too far.

Curses drifted from your mouth, and you hid your face in his arm, biting down on the muscle of his bicep to stifle your sounds. You clenched around him suddenly and his hips stuttered forward, slamming into you in a way that made your stomach tense deliciously. He was so fucking deep, the angle allowing him to glide against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Fuckin’,” he moaned. “You’re so good, bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you darlin’?”

You writhed in his arms, accepting the brutal pace he’d set. His skin connected with yours over and over, a satisfying smack, smack, smack sound filling the air.

“J-Joel,” you sobbed. “Oh my fucking god, I-“ He cut you off, gripping your chin and swiftly tugging your face upward so he could see you, and then his mouth was crashing down on yours. He groaned into your mouth, tongue pressing against your lips to part them and then tangling against yours. His lips were soft and wet and you didn’t even care about the odd angle your neck was twisted at as you moaned into it. His thrusts didn’t let up for a second, even as you murmured desperate sounds against each other’s lips.  

“C’mon,” he grunted into your mouth. “Give me another one.” His hand dropped to grip your neck, the sensation only heightening the feeling of him inside you. Liquid heat was spreading in your abdomen, curling through your veins, turning your entire body into jelly. His free hand drifted down your stomach and then his middle finger was dragging across your clit, and a harsh cry spilled from your mouth.

“Shit,” you gasped, face contorting as you felt yourself near your end. He was fucking everywhere, holding you against him by your neck, pounding into you while his fingers circled your clit roughly, and the coil in your stomach just snapped. You yelled his name, body tensing up as he pushed into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Say my name,��� his voice urged in your ear, and you happily obliged, chanting his name like a mantra as he worked your body through it. Within a minute he was groaning frantically, and then he pulled out, and you could feel his come coating your back as he finished. You glanced over your shoulder to see him. His mouth was ajar, soft curses falling from his lips as he gripped his cock, angling it towards you as he painted your skin with his spend.

“Sorry,” he rushed out breathlessly, wide eyes meeting yours. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his orgasm, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and you smiled at the sight. But he looked concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you warily.

“For what?” you frowned softly, rolling forward onto your stomach to free his arm that was trapped underneath you. “What’s wrong?”

“Came on you,” he clarified. “Should’ve asked first.”

A grin split across your face and his eyes lit up when he saw it, face relaxing again. “Ever the gentleman,” you chuckled. “It’s fine Joel, it was hot.”

His body relaxed and he dropped down to rest on his back, looking at you with a soft, curious expression. “It was,” he agreed quietly.

For a moment the pair of you just laid there, gazing at each other in a moment of wonder, before you suddenly became aware of how much colder the room was now that it was over. You shivered slightly, lifting to sit on your knees. Joel’s eyes trailed over your exposed body, gazing at your breasts, and your stomach, before resting on your face again.

“I’m gonna shower, and then hit the road,” you told him, cringing at the prominent ache between your thighs as you stepped off the bed. You picked your clothes up off the chair in the corner and turned back to look at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night right, dinner at Maria and Tommy’s?”

He was watching you in a daze, eyelids heavy with drowsiness, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Dinner at Maria and Tommy’s.” His eyes suddenly widened and he rolled over, reaching underneath his pillow before revealing a piece of small dark fabric. Your underwear. He held them out in your direction.

“Keep them big guy,” you winked, and he laughed deeply, dropping them back onto the bed.

You padded towards the door, ready to pop into the bathroom and then head home, before a thought struck you. Resting your shoulder against the doorway you looked at him again, smiling at the sight of him lying naked and fucked out on the bed, eyes closed as he breathed deeply. He looked about as relieved as you felt.

“Hey Joel,” you said quietly, and his eyes flashed open, raising an eyebrow at you. “Between us, right? Probably best if we don’t tell anyone else this happened.”

He nodded once, smiling lazily. “Between us.”

part two

[ohdeerfully]

Spoilers ahead for the final episode!

Imagine reader being a healer for others but is cursed to not being able to heal themselves.

Like during the final battle, their skills are heavily relied on while they also fight along side them. Afterwards they rush to find their lover Alastor to heal the wound on his abdomen. Poor thing was so worried about healing him that they forgot about patching up themselves.

hello everybody im alive........... hello hold your applause /j

i got two very similar requests so i combined them into one! hope thats alright with the two anons! hugs and kisses

Stitches

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: nothing serious, just some briefly graphic(ish) descriptions of violence/gore, reader referred to as female but doesnt influence plot

join my discord!

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It was supposed to be “no big deal” for him; that’s what he had promised you. You worried, of course, but knew better than to pester and beg for him to change his mind. Plus… of all demons to hold back Adam, Alastor seemed like the most capable. You had to trust him. He promised.

You were in the midst of slaying an Exterminator of your own, cutting it down with a sword lined in angelic steel, but you couldn’t help that your train of thought kept returning to the Radio Demon, who was currently on the roof of the Hotel maintaining a forcefield that prevented more angels from joining the battle.

You allowed your eyes to glimpse up towards said roof even though you knew it’d be impossible to see him from your position on the ground. You had looked just in time, however, to see the shield that surrounded the battleground begin to dissolve, an opening blooming around the figure of Adam. 

A sickly cold feeling of dread churned down your spine and into your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay focused. Alastor would be fine, surely. It’s not like he said it was an invincible shield. You had other things to worry about, anyway, when you realized a wasp-like swarm of Exterminators had made their way in from the dissolving forcefield, their glittering white wings and shining angelic weapons molding together in a blur.

You fought along a small group of demons from Cannibal Town, providing aid and healing when possible. It seemed to go on for hours; stab an angel, tear one away from a companion, heal, stab, save, heal… it somehow began to feel monotonous and repetitive. Your whole body stung, littered with wounds ranging in extremity, but you couldn’t stop. Not if you were going to win this thing.

That monotony was broken when the chaos halted for a brief moment—not even a second. You had seen Charlie looking up in… fear? Shock? So, you looked, and your breath hitched. It took you a moment to process.

Why was Adam flying above, looming, grinning, analyzing… Why, when Alastor was supposed to be keeping him occupied? The immediate answer that came to mind brought back that sickening feeling from earlier, but increased a hundredfold. It seemed that Charlie also had a similar idea.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling this time and, against your better judgment, took off towards the crumbling Hotel, abandoning your position as healer. They could wait, honestly. The pounding in your ears and anxiety in your body clouded the sensation of angelic spears grazing past you, filling your already burdened body with more gashes.

You were halted by a powerful beat of wings, wind pushing you backwards onto your back. You scrambled into a sitting position, leaning on your arms. All of the aching, stinging pain from the night seemed to rush in all at once because of the interruption, and you could barely keep your eyes steady on the man in front of you.

The first man, at that—standing all too high-and-mighty above you, a twisted grin curling up his mask. 

“Hey, bitch,” He said almost casually, grabbing you by the hair and lifting you up to be eye level with him. You stifled a pained cry at the sensation, though your eyes filled with tears, betraying both your fear and pain. You hated yourself for looking so weak in front of Adam, but you were almost too exhausted to mask it.

“The fuck did you do to Alastor?” You talked through a mouthful of blood. You spat some out in his face, to which the grip on your head tightened but he seemed otherwise unbothered. You did see a glint of madness in his eyes, though.

“So you’re that fine babe of his?” Adam mocked, looking up and down tastelessly. You didn’t expect much more from the ‘dickmaster’ but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted. “Satan’s daughter told me all about you when she was trying to tell me you gross fucks could be redeemed.”

He started rambling out a multitude of insults and curses. It seemed fitting, you thought, that the stuck-up first man would be too full of himself to keep his guard up and just start going off on a tangent about how cool and awesome he is versus how gross and weak your kind is.

“I mean, the fuck? You all sucked ass at being alive, so why the shit would we let you up into heaven? And, quite frankly, too fucking ugly to live up th—” He choked on the last few words he had, his eyes widening in shock and pain. He dropped you to the ground.

During his rant you had managed to use your heel to kick up a stray spear from beneath you. His tirade had given you enough time to balance the weapon between your feet, aim, and jam it forward into his stomach. The robe he wore darkened, glistening gold seeping into the fabric and from the hole you punctured into him.

“You–” He spat, hovering his shaking hands around the impaled spear. He gingerly pressed a hand against the wound, lifting his bloody palm to his face to look at the mess. He looked up, down, up again, and took a quivering step towards you. There were a million expressions in his eyes all at once; rage, fear, pain, disgust… 

“You fucking bitch,” He took another step, reached a hand out towards you. “You can’t kill me! Nobody can kill Adam! You’re just a worthless, sick, good-for-nothing sinner that couldn’t—fuck!” He stumbled and fell forward, and you jerked away as his fist nearly closed around the hem of your shirt. As much as you hated the guy and wanted him dead, you still cringed at the sight of him falling onto the spear and impaling it completely through his body.

You heard a distant cry of his name, but you didn’t hesitate to see who it was. You took off into the hotel, albeit slowed by a painful limp, and made your way up the stairs towards the radio tower.

There was an ominous feeling in the air as you ascended the ladder into the nearly demolished tower, slowly opening the hatch into the room. An intense, static-y feeling smothered your senses, hair raising and skin prickling at the sensation. You ignored the uncomfortable feeling and peered around the dark room. 

Claw marks and a trail of blood caught your attention, leading your eyes towards a corner where the demon you wanted to see most sat against. He had been wordlessly watching you with glowing red eyes since you entered.

“Al,” You said almost breathlessly as you rushed forward, ignoring the way your leg shot pain throughout your body in protest. You fell gracelessly to your knees in front of him.

“I don’t want you here,” He said rather plainly, a hiss in his voice as he spoke through his teeth and a grimace of a smile. You ignored the comment, eyes traveling over his body before settling on his palm, which was pressed against his abdomen. There was a still-growing patch of dark blood seeping through his shirt and between his fingers.

You reached your hand out towards him, flinched to a halt for a moment when his claws tightened around the fabric of his shirt, but continued. He made no move otherwise to stop you, but you could feel the tension in the air growing as the static ambience got louder.

“I can take care of myself,” He said, his other hand suddenly snatching your wrist. His grin widened, but his eyes narrowed. You frowned at him.

“Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier for me to just fix you now,” You retorted, trying to jerk your hand away from his grip. He didn’t yield. “If you stop being so damn stubborn.”

“I’ve dealt with much worse, my dear,” He continued to convince you to leave him alone, his voice smooth with that manipulatively suave voice he put on sometimes. Unluckily for him, though, you were just as stubborn as him.

“But I’m here this time to help you,” You finally managed to free your wrist from him, your sharp expression unwavering from his own, which seemed equally aggravated. Maybe he was too weak to actually stop you, or maybe he actually did want your help and just wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t stop you from lifting his bloodied hand from his wound.

You pursed your lips at the grizzly sight, but said nothing. You ignored the stinging smell of blood that flooded your nose. You hovered your hands over the wound, channeling the energy in your body that granted you the ability to rapidly heal others. A faint light flowed from your palm and into the gash across Alastor’s torso, forming glowing stitches that weaved throughout the damaged skin.

Periodically glancing up at his face as you worked, you watched for any sign that told you to stop, but it never came. He stayed silent the whole time, which was… rare, from him. You would never admit this out loud, but Alastor seemed almost… pitiful, in this silent, weakened state. The Radio Demon himself, reduced to a bloodied, passive husk of himself.

After healing so many demons during the battle outside, you had spent so much energy. You were already so weak and exhausted, but you pushed yourself to force just a bit more—

“There,” With a weak sigh, you sat back, admiring your own handiwork. Even though it was magic, it did take some mental ability to know how to use your power. “Was that so hard?” You chided him jokingly.

He gingerly drug a clawed finger down the stitches, analyzing it for himself. 

“I have to admit,” He began, looking up at you. “It would have been nice to have you in my early years as— dear?”

You barely heard what he was saying as all of your senses seemed to get foggy all at once. Your vision blurred and speckled, you ears felt muffled, and you swayed with lightheadedness. You pressed a hand to your face, trying to steady your breath.

“I’m good,” Your voice came out in a quiver. “I think I just—”

You don’t necessarily even remember fainting, but reason that you must have as you stared at the ceiling above you. You woke up ten minutes ago, and spent the time piecing together everything that happened. How much time has passed since then? A couple hours? Days? It was hard to say. Though, you thought as you looked around. The hotel looks… damn good all things considered. 

The door creaked open and your ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice humming some tune that you couldn’t recognize. Considering the atmosphere wasn’t tense, you actually welcomed the prickling, static-like sensation that Alastor’s presence brought. 

“Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!” He announced pleasantly, setting a plate rattling with two neat little glasses of warm liquid on the bedside table. You eyed them and quirked your eyebrow.

“Seems you were ready for it,” You said, commenting on the fact that he brought two cups.

“Well, what kind of man would I be if I wasn’t au fait to my darling’s status?” He explained, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning over you. He would never admit that he brought up two cups every time he checked on you just in case. 

His overall demeanor seemed appropriately confident and indifferent, but his eyes held an uncharacteristic look of tenderness and worry as he looked over you, analyzing your condition. He sat at the edge of the bed, picking that plate up again and offering you a cup.

You sat up against the headboard and took it with a light smile, warming your hands on the smooth surface. You enjoyed the aroma of the tea, and you realized it was your favorite. How sweet.

The room was silent, save for the quiet sound of a radio that seemed to just… radiate from him… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Now that you were sitting up, you took the chance to look down and over yourself. Bandages were wrapped tightly over your arms, chest, stomach, legs… basically everywhere. You were suddenly all too aware of the dull ache that afflicted your entire body.

When you looked up, you noticed Alastor had been looking at you rather intensely. His expression was weird and unreadable. You tightened your lips awkwardly at the strangely passionate look in his eyes, looking into random directions to try to ignore it. You tried to concentrate on taking another sip from the cup in your hand, bu, to your dismay, it was already empty. You sat it down on the plate.

“How’s my stitchwork holding up?” In an attempt to dissipate your own awkwardness, you reached towards his abdomen. He caught your hand gently, directing it away from himself. But he didn’t let go.

“No doctor in all of Hell could have done better,” He complimented. He still had a hint of that weird expression. “If only you could fix yourself up the same. Fortunately I have some experience from my time alive…” He trailed off.

You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, jumping forward and tightening your arms around his neck. The static in the air sharpened for a brief second, matching the tenseness in his body, but slowly returned to a normal frequency. After a few more seconds, you felt him slide his own arms around your waist, pressing you against himself.

“You scared the fuckin’ shit out of me,” You said, voice muffled by his coat. “I thought Adam killed you. I thought I was going to find your body buried under the rubble.”

“So you avenged me by killing Adam yourself? I appreciate it,” He remarked lightly, a slight chuckle rumbling from his chest. His voice was low, breath tickling your ear as he held you with a feather-light but somehow still firm grip. 

Alastor was quiet for another moment, and you realized the static in the air had completely dissipated. You also realized the pressure of his arms wrapped around you was getting increasingly tighter.

“You worried me as well,” He said finally. “You were out like a hibernating bear for days. You worried everyone.” You pulled your head out from the crook of his neck and met his gaze.

“Can’t a gal get her beauty rest?” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder against him playfully. He swayed for a moment at the contact, but the eye contact never broke. Wait, was he getting closer? 

Instinctually your eyes closed, and the briefest kiss was placed on your lips, then your nose, then your forehead. Before you could open your eyes, Alastor placed his hand on your head and pressed you back against his chest. He then began rubbing his hand gently on your back in a soothing motion.

Despite being in bed for apparently days, you still felt tired. You sank into him as his claws drug gentle shapes against your skin, careful to avoid bandaged spots. He hummed a quiet tune, and you noticed his microphone of a cane, which was laying against the bedside table, emitted an accompanying song.

“Maybe redemption isn’t all that,” You commented with a sigh, lazily picking at the hem of Alastor’s collar.

“Hmm?” He prompted you to continue.

“Is Hell really so bad if you’re with your favorite soul?” It felt corny to say, but you couldn't really find a better way to phrase it. Plus, you couldn't take this rare moment of tenderness for granted.

His hand paused for a moment, and he gently squeezed your arm in response. You felt him press another light kiss to the top of your head.

“I know, now,” He finally replied. “Just the feeling.”

[coralinnii]

❋ You said what now? ❋

↳ He accidentally found out your feelings

feat: Ruggie ⭑ Chenya ⭑ Lilia ⭑ Epel

genre: fluff (uhh for the most part), humour,

note: no pronouns used with the reader, no explicit spoilers for book 7 in Lilia’s section, reader is referred as human in Lilia’s section, reader is implied to be a first year in Epel’s section, bad cat-related wording in Chenya’s section

Fun fact: while not obvious in the English translation, if you listen to Chenya’s Japanese voice lines, he likes to say “nya” at the end of his sentences.

Will I keep that fact in mind anytime Chenya pops up? Absolutely.

Also, I just started my college classes again last week (which is why I didn’t post last week). All of my classes are dense with text and quizzes so…I need to study real hard which will most likely eat up my time for writing. Good ol’ inconsistent me~

Although, I’m taking History and we focus a bit on the age of nobility and old kingdoms…so maybe some inspiration for my villain/ess!au series (or maybe not cuz history is weirder than one thinks…)

How it happened

Perhaps a little sneaky, Ruggie is someone reliable, resourceful, and fun to be around. You started to fall for him and even that sneaky side of his became endearing to you.

But bigger, financial priorities occupy the hyena beastman’s mind more than anything else. Unless he can make a madol from it or get a freebie, his interest in anything else is seemingly non-existent. It was rather easy to keep your feelings to yourself when the topic of love rarely, if ever, comes up.

So it came to a surprise to you when the shaggy-haired sophomore mentioned his coworkers at a part-time job he picked up in town.

He started ranting about how a duo at his workplace started an unlikely relationship a few days ago. According to him, the two were from two different worlds and didn’t appear to be either of their types.

“Doesn’t make any sense if you ask me” he mumbled, scratching his fluffy head by the sudden revelation at his job.

You nodded and hummed as he recounted his workday with you, but in all honesty, you didn’t share his confusion over the so-called sudden pairing. By the way Ruggie described the couple, it does sound like their personalities wouldn’t mesh well and would theoretically clash too much for anything to bloom between them.

But attraction follows no simple formula. No one can stop themselves from falling for someone. You yourself were an example.

“Love is never predictable, Ruggie.” you commented without thinking, perhaps too distracted by the cute love story of Ruggie’s coworkers or it could be that you’re drowning in the warm feelings from being so close to your crush that your mouth is running too comfortably on its own. “I mean, I never thought you were my type but I still ended up-“

You shut your mouth before you could finish but looking at the wide-eyed expression on Ruggie’s face, the effort was moot.

“You still ended up?”

…Shoot.

What happens now?

Colour him shocked. Ruggie never entertained the idea that you would like him, out of all people.

He could’ve pretended not to figure it out, or convince himself that it was a misunderstanding. But he knew when he saw your flustered embarrassment and your cute stuttering trying to come up with an excuse, there was no misunderstanding. You like him.

Ruggie has a good amount of ego and he wouldn’t downplay his boyish good looks (odds are it got him out of a few close calls), but in a school of celebrities, royalty, and guys with money coming out the wazoo? He knows when he’s outmatched.

To be honest, his brain froze for a moment at your slip up. He clutched his heart which stuttered out of beat, his ears and tail stood in attention like a meerkat. Jack was worried watching his upperclassman in such a daze while folding laundry, heck it even got Leona raising a brow over the uncharacteristic clocked out look on his shorter dormmate.

But, Ruggie is a workaholic hyena. Always planning his way to work up the ladder to earn some good madol. Even if he likes the idea of making a family of his own, romance wasn’t in his peripheral vision at the moment. Not while he’s working multiple jobs at once. He would honestly feel a little bad because he knows he’ll end up ignoring any poor soul stuck with him.

As bad as it is, he might at first think to pretend he heard nothing about your feelings. He couldn’t bring himself to make you go through that, to be in a relationship where work takes precedence over you.

But then he thought it wouldn’t be so bad…snuggling up to you during one of his rare free time. Maybe you’re the type to surprise him with lunch and he could rest on your lap while you brush his hair. Would you maybe rub his sore muscles after an arduous club training session? Having boyfriend privileges means no one can complain when he slides up to your side, keeping your attention to himself without having to share…

Screw it, he’ll figure something out. He’s a greedy hyena through and through

Shyeheehee! Better be ready for what you’re asking for. Once I’ve set my eyes on something, I’m not lettin’ it get away!

How it happened

This man is a literal magic trick, appearing and disappearing to revel in the shock of his unsuspecting audience. As elusive as he is, the times he does show up brings a shock of joy and excitement to you.

It seems that the purple-haired student has made it a habit to join the Heartslabyul’s unbirthday parties from time to time, enjoying the occasional chaos and keeping you company to your conflicted delight.

You didn’t know why but Chenya made it his mission to fluster you every chance he gets, with cheeky comments and sly touches as he leads you away from incoming mishaps such as a stray splash of paint or a flying slice of cake. You don’t know why but the cat-like menace has taken a shine to teasing you out of the blue. Sometimes he would suddenly whisper nonsensical riddles into your ear, or tap your shoulder to then poke your cheek as you turn. Small silly pranks that should annoy you but your body becomes filled with butterflies when he smiles that charming grin at you.

How maddening, you thought as you fell for another sneaky surprise from the impish beastman. Once again, Chenya appeared right behind you, smiling just over your shoulder which gave you and your friends a fright (for different reasons) to which he took pleasure in, judging from the mischievous grin on his lips.

Your shouting caught the attention of the other Heartslabyul students and recognizing the white jacket and castle emblem, their eyes boiled with competitive rage. An RSA student? On Night Raven territory?!

“Ah, looks like fun time is over. I’ll just show meowself out~” and like a mirage, Chenya’s figure disappeared as the NRC students failed to catch even a strand of his fur. Not even when he took a second longer to fade out just so he could teasingly tickle the tip of your nose with his fluffy striped tail.

The students kept on making a fuss, eager to teach the mischief maker a lesson for trespassing on rival territory. You sighed at the wasteful effort, assuming that Chenya would be smart enough to have left long ago.

“Why must my crush be such a frustrating person?” Angry hollers and Riddle’s commanding cease-and-desist orders overwhelmed your tired voice, and your soft words ended up softly carried off into the wind.

But your words caught the interest of a curious ear before it disappeared.

What happens now?

Curiouser and curiouser. He was not expecting such a confession. Though to be fair, he supposed you didn’t mean for anyone to hear it.

Chenya found joy being in your company. The shock in your bright eyes followed by your cute laugh sends a warm, giddy feeling in his heart that he just could not stop. He had a feeling he knew what these feelings could be but he was content with what he could get in the rare moments he can see you.

But now, when he realized what your cute reactions meant? That sends whole new exciting feelings within him. It’s fuzzy and warm as usual, but now also shocking and thrilling. The sneaky beastman is grinning for more than one reason now.

He won’t immediately confess back. Considering this wonderful predicament where you don’t know he knows of your affections, his playful nature compels him to milk the fun of this situation for all its worth.

If you thought his cheeky antics were bad enough, you haven’t seen his flirty side till now. Playful taps on the shoulders become sneaky grabs by the waist, and just when you think he’s gone, his signature grin would grace your vision as he fades into view, a little too close to your own face. Sometimes when he feels emboldened, Chenya would sweep you off your feet for a spontaneous walk along the sweet breeze.

When you’re finally at your wit’s end, when all his teasing and heart-fluttering gestures fills you to the point of combusting in flustered frustration, that’s when he’ll finally tell you his reciprocated feelings, perhaps while stealing a quick kiss when you least suspect it. All to see that terribly adorable look on your pretty face.

Every adventure requires a first step. I’m excited to see where we’ll go together from meow on~

How it happened

See, you thought he already knew. You swore he did. Why else would he tease you so much with his sweet compliments and flirty jokes? The mysterious senior spoke to you as though you were a naive child crushing on their older peer, which you supposed wasn’t entirely wrong.

The way he treated you with so much care and love that you wondered if he already suspected of your feelings and was being considerate to you. He listens to your rambles as though he has all the time in the world for you, compliments you on your achievements as though he’s genuinely proud of your hard work, and he jokes with you with that boyish charm of his. But the scarlet-eyed fae never pursued further with advances with you, which made you think that perhaps this was just who Lilia was, a strange but friendly man, unwilling to hurt your feelings. Were you grasping at straws and misconstruing his intentions?

With a heavy heart, you tried your best to give up your hopes but maintained a cordial bond with Lilia, not wanting to avoid the jovial fae so suddenly (well, without having to explain why anyways)

But one day, when you were walking with the smiling senior, he started talking about a souvenir shirt that Kalim had given him during their club meeting. It was a shirt patterned erratically with various colours and pictures of tiny bats littered about. It was an eccentric visual of fabric but it strangely fits the equally eccentric man.

“What are your thoughts? Would I not look absolutely adorable in this?” Lilia asked, holding the shirt in front in his uniform with a boyish smile, his fangs peeking out slightly. But you rolled your eyes as you sighed exasperated by this man’s antics.

“Don’t you think that’s unfair for you to ask me?” You looked at him with a pout, somewhat irritated at the mature fae you’re trying to get over. “Of course I’d said you would, considering how much I like you”

For a rare moment, Lilia turned wide-eyed at your words. “Pardon? Do you by chance… harbour feelings for me?”

Turns out, he didn’t know at all

What happens now?

Guess you can still surprise this old man. He had his suspicions but for all he knew that was how the youth were these days. He was fond of your shy expressions whenever he was around and he could hear the quickening of your heartbeat, but he didn’t want to assume. Perhaps you were just more on the skittish side.

In the centuries he lived, he saw love in many forms. In the recent centuries he lived, he got to experience some of those forms of love he’s seen, with the pain and joy that comes with it. To him, it couldn’t ask for more as he lives out the last few centuries he has left.

You however, were still vibrant like a freshly bloomed flower in its prime. Was that why he just couldn’t take his eyes off you? He couldn’t help but watch in admiration as you lived with almost enviable vigour. He felt pulled, entranced to be by your side for even just a moment, just to see that beautiful gleam of life (and love, he realized) in your eyes.

But Lilia felt a beat of guilt in his heart. Your life is so short in comparison to his own. You should be sharing your youth with someone as brilliant as yourself, not pining over an old soul like himself. Humans are fickle creatures but he supposed with such short lives, it’s best to be curious and experience all one can without regrets.

He would be honest with you, sharing his thoughts with you as though warning that your affections were better spent with someone that suited you better. It would be up to you to convince the stubborn fae that he was your choice, that you already decided he suited you just fine. All you’re asking from him is if he shared the same feelings as you did.

“I may have tried to get rid of my feelings before, but I’m choosing not to run away this time,” in your eyes, Lilia sees that same vibrant gleam that mesmerized him, almost breathing a new sense of life into him. “All I ask is if you feel the same way”

And he does. He’s lying to himself if he hasn't thought of a life with you where he could steal surprise kisses throughout the day, where he could bring you to soar through the night skies as he takes you to explore the world with him. He imagines a life of silliness but also a life of blissful content as he gazes at you like a beacon of light in his life, a new reason to live a bit longer.

Lilia feels ensnared by love once more, but the burning warmth in his soul is just too invigorating. He’s looking forward to this new chapter in his life, with you.

I do hope you’ve prepared yourself, my dear. Eternal love with a fae should not be taken lightly. But rest assured, I look forward to our new adventure

How it happened

You were Epel’s close friend and confidant, someone who he can share his achievements and woes with. Being so new to the college, the two of you depend on each other through thick or thin and along the way, you grew to see the lavender-haired freshman as more than just a companion.

He has a bit of a temper and is quick to the jump at times, but he was always there for you and even though he doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with them at times, he respects his seniors and takes their lessons to heart.

When he talks about how much he dislikes his height or his feminine features, you nodded along for his sake but you couldn’t tell him that you were actually in disagreement. You adore his fluffy locks that you occasionally got to touch with his permission and his light blue eyes felt like calming waves of the purest lake. Epel constantly swore to you that he’ll have his growth spurt and will even tower Leona in height, but you like how you could hold him close to you without issue.

You love all that he is, even if he’s not too keen on some parts himself

But you kept this all to yourself. You thought Epel had other priorities on his mind and you were scared that confessing would ruin the friendship you’d built with him. For now, you were content to be by his side for however long you can.

You were dead tired during a particularly harsh Flying class with Coach Vargas and you were barely conscious enough to keep your eyes open. It took everything you had to just nod along to whatever Epel was saying, something about some Savanaclaw students?

“Who they think they are, callin’ me cute like that? I outta rip off their yapper for underestimatin’ me.” You weren’t helping his point when you thought how cute his accent was as he grumbled about his day. You were falling in and out of consciousness but thought you should at least reply back to your friend…anything at all…

“I’m sorry…that happened…even though…I think…you’re really cute…”

You were already out cold to notice your friend frozen in place as you finished your drowsy comment, your head landing on his stiff shoulders.

What happens now?

ALDFIUAHLBWAIGLH

Congratulations, you broke your friend and you don’t even remember it. When you woke up, you couldn’t figure out why Epel was as bright red as his hometown’s apples. Epel couldn’t even bring it up without getting too tongue-tied, his accent sputtering out incomprehensible words.

The blue-eyed freshman was raking his brain for an explanation. You thought he was cute…really cute to be precise, but what does that mean? Did you like him? As in like-like him? Is it normal for non-countryside folk to just say something like that? But most students around here tend to mean it like an insult but you weren’t like them, you would never do that to him. So what did you mean by it??

Left without a choice, Epel thought about who he could ask about this, maybe one of his seniors. But he immediately reconsidered when he realized who his seniors were (Vil and Rook will never let this go and there’s no way Leona would entertain this conversation) and turned to the only adult he can trust, his meemaw.

In his letter, he asked his grandma what it means when someone you cherish calls you cute (not mentioning who) and after a few days of fidgeting and awkward encounters with very confused you, he finally got an answer from her.

“STOP SITTIN’ ON YOUR KEISTER TWIDDLIN’ ‘ER THUMBS! GO AND ASK, DAGNABBIT!”

And that’s how you were confronted by a flustered Epel about your cute comment one random school day. To be fair, you probably didn’t fare any better when you realized you let your thoughts slip out.

You may have confessed your attraction to him but Epel can still be the first to make the first move. Relationships and dating are all new to the petite freshman and honestly he felt a little weak in the knees, all the nerves wracking his body like his first broom ride. But the past few days, he couldn’t stop thinking about being with you, sweeping you off your feet, impressing you the only way he can, to have your eyes solely on him like he does when you’re around. Heck, he thought what it’d be like to grow old with you, holding you like no one else can as you spend day and night by each other’s side. All these thoughts and more is what spur him to take the next step.

I ain’t too great on love and romance, but I’ll work hard to show ya how much ya mean to me. I promise that!

[poeticpascal]

Home (Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a deep sense of loneliness overcomes Cowgirl Barbie, she leaves Barbieland to find whatever poor kid it is that's making her feel that way. Of course, she could never have expected just how much light Sarah would bring to her life, and she certainly didn't expect the things her grumpy father would teach her about love.

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Barbie movie spoilers, angst, angry Joel (he's insecure and protective), descriptions of loneliness, lots of fluff!

A/n: this is literally my Magnum Opus. Reader is Cowgirl Barbie. I truly hope you love this as much as I do 💖

Barbieland has been very different since Stereotypical Barbie left. Good different.

The Kens have jobs now, proper jobs, not just ‘Beach’ or ‘Surf’. They’re not the most competent workers Barbieland has ever seen; they get too distracted trying on new overalls at the building site or throwing paper aeroplanes at each other in the offices. But they’re trying, and you have to admit, it’s pretty adorable seeing them so excited to head off to work each morning.

Barbieland has laughter now, true laughter, not perfect giggles but the kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes your belly hurt. It has crying, proper full-bodied sobs that rack through your chest, aching in a good way. And it has life. Fervent, overwhelming, painfully brilliant life.

It’s magnificent, even the really hard bits. Which there are a lot of.

Like losing someone you really, really love.

Stereotypical Barbie - Barbara, as she’s known now - had been your best friend. Your Dreamhouse was right next to hers, and every morning you’d float down to the streets together, where she’d hop into her little pink car and you’d mount your pony and ride into town. It was perfect, a sweet little life surrounded by pinkness and joy, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you miss it.

You bonded over how displaced you both felt. Neither of you really had a thing, a specific job to do. She was Stereotypical Barbie, and you’re Cowgirl Barbie. Destined to wear dusty denim and cowboy hats for all of eternity; not a doctor, not a physicist, not an astronaut and certainly not the president. Just a cowgirl.

And there aren’t even any cows.

That was what brought you and Stereotypical Barbie together; you both felt slightly unsure of the world, however perfect it may be, and you found friendship in that.

So when she left, that hurt. 

Because she found purpose.

Purpose in feeling, and knowing, and living.

Purpose in things you could only dream about. And what you hate the most is that she was right.

It feels good to hurt. It feels good to have that pain in your chest, that ache in your cheeks when you’re not quite done crying yet. That emptiness that fills the space where flowers had once bloomed.

It feels like shit to miss your friend, and it feels incredible to have loved someone so much that you miss them.

And that’s the beauty she brought to your life. To all the Barbies’ lives.

But it still goddamn hurts.

About as much as the strange thoughts of loneliness have hurt the past few weeks.

You’re never alone in Barbieland; there’s always someone there, a friend, a listening ear. A million other Barbies who genuinely care.

But the feeling is so strong, so heavy in your gut, that all the Barbies and Kens and Allens in the world can’t take it away.

Which only calls for one thing.

“Your friend had the same problem, you know,” Weird Barbie says, walking round you in circles like prey. You gulp; she’s significantly less ‘weird’ now, what with her fancy job at the Capital and the whole ‘awakened Barbies’ thing, but she certainly kept some habits that set you a little bit on edge.

“How do you mean?” You stutter, trying to keep up as she continues to stalk around you and make strange gestures.

“First came the depression-” she pulls down a presentation screen from god-knows where, one decorated with the typical Barbie anatomy and annotated with the same notes Weird Barbie is now recounting. She points to the head, ‘depression’ scribbled beside it, and stops in front of you.

“And then-” she moves again, rotating to the other side of the screen and pointing to the drawing’s legs. “-came the cellulite.”

She pauses, seemingly waiting for some big reaction, but you just stare. Sure, cellulite was feared back then, but almost every Barbie has it now, and it’s really no big deal. “...okay?” you posit, slightly more concerned as Weird Barbie’s face falls at your reply.

“Damn, I guess we really are doing things differently now.” Her surprise is dropped quickly, as she continues to explain what it means to be overcome with these awful feelings so quickly.

“In the end, sweetheart, there’s only one way to fix this.” She leans in uncomfortably close, making you gulp. “You gotta go to the real world.”

You had a feeling she’d say that. 

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹���♡

When you arrive in the real world, there’s really only one person you can go to. The one person you’ve missed more than anything.

She was your best friend, and yet standing here on the doorstep of an apartment that looks nothing like a Dreamhouse, you can’t help how nervous you feel.

She’d given all the Barbies her new address, in case any of them managed to sneak into the real world, so she mustn’t mind that you’re here. But she’ll be so different now, so human, and you’re still just a Barbie with a jaunty cowgirl outfit and a sunny disposition.

Your worries are immediately washed away when the door flings open, and before you can even see who it is, a pair of arms are tightly wrapped around your neck and you’re pulled in for a big, warm hug. But you know who it is, and you hug her back immediately, tears welling in your eyes as you finally hold your best friend again.

Barbara pulls back, holding your cheeks in her hands, almost like she didn’t think you were really there. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She grins, hugging you again with a giggle. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Barbara, I missed you too,” you cry, not wanting to let her go. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, and you finally relax your arms, taking in how much she’s changed. She isn’t wearing anything pink, or sparkly, but a white blouse and nude pants that look very professional. Very human. Very different.

You don’t reply to her question, unsure of what the answer even is, and that alone makes her worried. So she takes you by the hand and leads you into her apartment, one painted white with sweet pictures on the walls of her with Sasha and Gloria, and some other women you don’t recognise. It makes you a little jealous.

She leads you to the kitchen, sitting you on a bar stool and pouring tea for you both. You go to drink it, holding the cup away from your mouth and tipping it, but she quickly jumps up shouting “no!” and pulling the cup down.

She laughs, making you laugh nervously too, and explains you need to hold the cup to your lips and sip. “Are you sure?” you ask, staring down at the liquid and tentatively trying to drink it, the warmth on your tongue foreign but sweet. 

“Yep! That’s how we drink here. I know it’s weird but once you get used to it, it’s so good.”

You smile, putting down the cup and looking back at your friend. “Things are pretty different here, huh?”

Barbara smiles, nodding her head and swinging her legs where they hang from the stool. “Yep! Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, with a fraction of the excitement. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, knocking your hat slightly which you quickly correct into place, acutely aware of yourself in the presence of someone who’s changed so much. “Do… do you ever miss us? The Barbies?”

She grimaces, making you regret asking as soon as the words leave your lips. Her eyebrows sink into concern, and she sets her tea down beside yours, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Every single day. Of course I miss you - I even miss the Kens!” You both giggle, and you’re reminded of how things were before. 

You have to admit, you almost asked your Ken to come with you, but he was having so much fun in Barbieland now that you couldn’t bring yourself to take him away from it.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” Her eyes have welled up now, and guilt hits you like a truck.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so happy for you, truly.” You smile, and you know she knows you mean it. “I just… I feel so lonely. It’s like a big hole in my chest, all the time. No matter what I do, no matter how many girl’s nights and big blowout parties and days on the beach, I just feel lonely. And it’s even worse without you here.”

Barbara holds your hand tighter, and something you said seems to have caught her attention. “You mean you felt like this even before I left? Before the Kendom?”

You nod, sheepish, and her eyes squint in thought. Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in her head, she gives you her trademark big white smile and excitedly shouts, “I know what you need to do!”

She jumps off her chair, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking LA. You stand there for a moment, taking in the view, the overwhelming sights and sounds of rushing traffic below you. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

“You need to find the little girl who’s playing with you,” Barbara whispers, watching your amazement. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” You ask, finally pulling your eyes away to face your friend. She nods, her smile just as bright and honest as ever, and it makes the idea of facing this big wide world seem a little less scary.

“I’ll come with you, we’ll go find her, and we’ll figure out what’s been making her feel so lonely.” 

“Will you really come with me?” 

You already know the answer; of course she will. She’s the kindest person you know. Of course, all the Barbies are the kindest people you know, but that’s a technicality you don’t feel like getting into right now.

“You know it,” she grins, and you can’t help but grin back as you think about what an adventure this is going to be.

“How will I know where to find her?” You ask, looking back through the window at the huge world on the other side of the glass. How could you possibly find your kid?

Barbie tugs you to face her, straightens your hat and looks directly into your eyes, making you focus. “You gotta be really calm, okay? Just close your eyes, clear your mind, and find her memories. And then try to figure out where she is. That’s how I found Sasha!’

You nod, not quite sure how this is going to work, if this is going to work. But you try anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and doing your best to shush all the noise and confusion in your head, desperately searching for anything that could help you find your kid. You get nothing, ready to give up after a few minutes of emptiness, when suddenly - there it is, the faintest hint of a memory.

“Dad, can we have a movie night tonight?” Sarah asks, watching as Joel paces the room, frantically searching for his other shoe.

“Yeah, sweetheart, course,” he replies. She smiles, heading over to the TV stand and already searching for a film to watch, giggling as her Dad begins to lift up the couch cushions. 

She looks down, seeing the shoe hiding just behind the stand, and rolls her eyes as she picks it up and throws it at him. “How’d you find it?” He mutters, scoffing as she just laughs at him, though a matching grin is etching its way onto his lips.

He slides on the other shoe, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading over to give Sarah a kiss on the head. “When will you be home?” She asks, and he offers a guilty smile that doesn’t make her particularly hopeful.

“Soon as I can, Sarah. Around 8? 9 at the latest.” She nods, forcing a smile and letting him go, and Joel’s out the door in a flash with a final shout of “Love you, honey!” and a slam of the door.

The memory changes, then.

It’s nighttime, and Sarah lies alone on the couch, a movie playing that she doesn’t seem to be really watching. Her eyes flicker up to the mantlepiece, where the clock reads 10:13, and she sighs. 

Then she stands, traipsing into the hallway and towards the front door, where the key hangs in the lock. She turns it, unlocking the door and leaving the key on the sidetable, then picking up a piece of mail that had been left there.

“51 Mulberry Road

Travis County

Austin, Texas

Dear Mr. Miller, we are writing to solicit your contracting services for our new development…”

Sarah groans, throwing the letter back on the table and muttering “more work, great.” She retreats upstairs, slamming the door behind her and climbing into bed…

You’re pulled out of the memory by Barbara’s voice, filled with excitement. “Can you see her? Do you know her name? Do you know where she is?”

“Sarah” you mumble, still dazed. “Sarah, her name’s Sarah.”

Barbara squeals, clapping her hands together before calming herself and urging you to continue. “And? Where is she?”

You concentrate, trying to remember what was written on the letter you saw. “Er… Texas. Yeah, she’s in Texas. Mulberry Road. Is that close?”

She pulls a face, a yeah… no kind of face, then grabs a big book from under her coffee table and flips it open. You watch in amazement as she scans the pages and pages of maps inside, until she shouts, “a-ha!”, pointing to a spot on a page titled ‘The United States of America’. “Here it is. We’ll need to fly there.”

A nervous excitement brews in your tummy, your eyes glued to the little spot on the map labelled Texas. The spot where Sarah lives, with her Dad. The place you’re destined to find.

“Oh, and don’t get freaked out… but men fly planes here.” Your head snaps up, confusion painting your face, and Barbara just nods at your reaction.

“Seriously?” You ask, wondering if she was just playing a prank. “Is… is that safe?”

She giggles, putting the book down and grabbing your hand. “Yep, there’s a lot to get used to here. You’ll see. Now come on, we need to pack our bags!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

And so here you are, on a flight to Texas, on your way to find Sarah and bring an end to her loneliness. 

Barbara tells you all about the real world. How different yet wonderful it is, how much there is to do and see and feel. She’s at university now, getting qualifications to be a psychologist and work with young girls who are struggling. It’s brilliant, but strange, you think - qualifications aren’t needed in Barbieland - anyone can just do anything. Well, the Barbies can. And the Kens really do try.

The journey is filled with new and exciting things, but it’s scattered with memories of Sarah and her dad that pop up in your mind at random. You see everything; their best moments, their worst, the times they’ve laughed and cried and screamed. 

You can see the first time she chose you. She was smaller, much smaller than she is in the more recent memories, and her Dad seemed friendlier, then.

“Alright, honey. Which one d’ya want?” Joel asks, smiling as Sarah’s eyes scan shelf after shelf of Barbies. 

“You should get this one,” he jokes, picking up a doll labelled ‘Builder Barbie’. “She’s just like your daddy!”

Sarah giggles, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “You’re not a builder, daddy! You’re a cont-ac-er.”

Joel’s heart warms, both at how much she loves his job and won’t accept a vague similarity, and her attempted pronunciation of the word ‘contractor’. 

“Well then, which one, babygirl?”

She spends a few more moments looking at each option, before her eyes widen, landing on one a little further away to the left. She stands up on her tippy-toes, grabbing the doll and admiring it, giddy.

“This one, Daddy! I want this one!” She shows him the doll, waving it in his face but not letting him take it, protective already. It’s a Cowgirl Barbie, one clothed in denim and brown leather, with cliche cowboy boots and a hat. 

“She’s just like you, Daddy.”

Joel pulls a face, looking back and forth between Sarah and the doll. “How in the hell is she like me?”

Sarah scowls, pointing to the cowboy hat and explaining, “she’s a cowgirl! And you’re a cowboy!” 

“I ain’t no cowboy” Joel retorts, shaking his head and leading Sarah over to the cashier’s desk. “When have you ever seen me in one of them hats, huh?”

Sarah giggles, itching to take the doll out of the box, and Joel knows she’ll do it the second he’s paid. “Maybe you can borrow hers, daddy, and be a proper cowboy.”

He rolls his eyes, though the smile hasn’t fallen from his face for even a second. He pays, watching with joy as Sarah scrambles to rip open the plastic, finally pulling out the doll and hugging it the whole way home while making up stories of ranches and horses and pistol duels - she was certainly her father’s daughter.

“Barbie? You there?” Barbara pulls you out of your thoughts, staring at you as you finally turn to look at her. 

“Sorry, I’m here. Just…”

“Keep getting memories, huh?” 

You nod, looking out the plane window and into the skies. She still seems concerned, but lets it go, returning to her magazine and letting you be with your thoughts. 

More memories swirl in your mind; you can see Sarah’s first days of middle school and high school, her most vulnerable moments of crying in her room and talking to you like you were the only one who’d listen, her relationship with her dad and how he’s become more and more distant over the years.

Sarah slams her bedroom door behind her, falling on the bed with a sigh. She sits back up, her eyes falling on the Cowgirl sat on the shelf across from her, growing dusty as she plays with it less and less.

She’s 14 now, too old for dolls really. And yet, that Barbie had been there with her through her toughest moments, and even now, it was comforting to have her there.

“Dad’s at work. Again.” She says, half to the doll, half to herself. “It sucks.”

She dives into her backpack, pulling out a small box and opening it up, the newly-polished watch inside glistening in the light from the window. 

She takes it out, delicately, and turns it around to see the engraved lettering on the back. 

‘No matter what, we have each other. I love you, Dad. From Sarah x’

She smiles, quickly placing the watch back in its box, not wanting to damage it before she could even give it to her Dad. “You think he’ll like it?” She asks the doll smiling at her from the shelf.

“I just… I just want him to know I love him. And that I know he doesn’t mean to be gone all the time.” 

She stands, picking the doll up from the shelf and brushing the dust away, carefully readjusting her little hat and smiling at the piece of her childhood. 

“I’ll give it to him tonight. If he ever comes home,” she sighs, lying down beside the Barbie and taking a nap, knowing she had a long wait ahead.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“Alright, here we are!” Barbara chimes, pulling up to the house you’d been looking for. 51 Mulberry Road. 

“Are you nervous?”

“Hell yeah I’m nervous,” you quip, the fear plainly stated in your wide eyes. What if she doesn’t like you? What if you can’t help her feel less lonely? What if this just doesn’t work?

“Look, I’ve been there,” she replies, knowing exactly how you feel. “You’ve gotta remember that you’re her Barbie. You’re her friend, and she’s yours. It’s all gonna work out. My only advice? Don’t expect her to thank you for making everything amazing for women. Trust me, it does not end well.”

You giggle, remembering the story of when she first met Sasha, and hope Sarah won’t be quite as mean. You feel a little better, and thank Barbara for her support, grateful to have your friend back.

“Alright, I’m gonna go and get a coffee. If you need anything, call me, okay?” She hands you the little flip phone she bought, having shown you how to make texts and calls on it to her iPhone. You nod, thanking her again and stepping out of the car, the nerves building up as you hear her drive away and you’re left alone in front of the house.

You take a deep breath, your boots clicking on the path as you make your way up to the door, supported by a big wooden patio and a bench out front. It reminds you of home a little; your western-themed Dreamhouse, clad with old wooden floors and southern-style windows.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you raise a hand and knock, waiting with baited breath before you hear footsteps on the other side and the door swings open.

And there she is. Sarah.

She’s a little older than she was in the most recent memories you saw, around 16 now. She’s tall, with a purple cardigan on and pretty blue jeans that you’re jealous of already. Her smile is bright, precious, and if you didn’t know better you’d think she was a Barbie herself.

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down with a slightly confused, but still polite expression. 

You stall, the introduction you’d prepared completely forgotten, your mouth just opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sarah’s expression becomes one of concern more than anything, and she reaches out a soft hand to touch your arm, making you jump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she pauses, looking you over again. “Sorry, do I… do I know you?”

You stumble again, trying to find the right words, and she must see how genuinely nervous you are because she searches behind you into the street, then pulls you inside and shuts the door. “Come on, you need something to drink.”

She leads you to the kitchen, a beautifully decorated but old fashioned room with porcelain tiles and wooden beams across the ceiling. You trace your fingers across the counter top, looking around in awe while Sarah pours you a glass of lemonade. 

Your eyes fall to the corner of the room, where her school bag sits, and a familiar-looking cowboy hat pokes out. You walk towards it without thinking and pull out the doll, admiring the little plastic version of yourself.

“Oh, that’s - that’s not what it looks like. I’m not… I don’t play with dolls anymore, obviously, I just…”

Sarah’s voice trails off, and you assume she’s embarrassed, but when you turn to face her you realise it’s not that at all. She’s staring at you, then the doll, then back at you, with a cocktail of confusion and realisation on her face. 

“You’re dressed… you look exactly like her. What -“ She’s cut off by the front door slamming shut, and a familiar voice shouting down the hall, “Sarah? I’m home.”

Her eyes widen, quickly looking for somewhere she to hide you, the stranger she’s invited in, panicking as her Dad’s footsteps get louder.

But it’s too late. Joel stands in the door frame, staring at you, then shooting Sarah a look that says, ‘the fuck is this?’

“Dad, I can explain-“ he cuts her off, staring you in the eye and taking a step towards you. He looks older than he did in your memories - not in the way that Sarah does, but in a tired way, like he’d worked a hundred years and counting. Grey curls wash over his head, matched by a silvery beard and sunken eyes, and for all the Kens you’ve known in your life, you don’t think you’ve met anyone as handsome as him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks - no, demands, one arm protectively stretched in Sarah’s direction.

“I- I’m- Barbie. I’m Barbie.” You stutter, clutching the doll a little tighter in your hand. Joel’s face scrunches angrily, and he looks at Sarah again, who just shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ what?” He asks, clearly unimpressed.

You panic, holding up the doll to your face, showing him the obvious similarities between you. The same clothes, same hairstyle, same eyes. 

“You know, Cowgirl Barbie. Sarah’s Barbie,” you explain, a little more confident now, hoping they’d accept your explanation.

Your hopes are quickly dashed as Joel asks Sarah, “do you know this clown?” 

His arms are clenched, and you try not to worry about what’s coming next.

“No, Dad, but-“

He cuts her off. “So you just invited this crazy person into our home?” 

He’s shouting now, and you recoil, remembering Barbara’s first experience meeting Sasha. You wonder if this is worse.

“Dad, don’t talk about her like that,” Sarah shouts back. It makes you feel at least a little better, but it’s too late. Joel’s incensed, shouting about stranger danger and how you’re probably an escapee from some mental asylum, how weird it is that you know what dolls she owns and how to dress like them. 

“- and you” he looks directly at you now, pointing. “You get the hell out of my home and you don’t speak to my daughter ever again, you hear me?”

Tears stream down your face as you nod, throwing the doll onto the counter and running past Sarah and Joel and out of the house. You can barely make it out the front door, stumbling against the columns on the patio, before making it just far enough onto the grass outside to stumble to your knees and let yourself cry properly.

That same, overwhelming loneliness fills you again, tearing deep into your chest and only adding to your pain. Your shoulders shake, and you try to remind yourself of what they teach you at Barbieland; crying is good, hurting is good. It means you’re alive.

But it really doesn’t feel good right now.

You can hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing, but you don’t really register it, not until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

You look behind you, meeting Sarah’s apologetic eyes, and you try to wipe your own of their flood of tears. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I must look horrible,” you laugh, though it’s forced.

Sarah smiles, sitting down in front of you, knees crossed. “I think you look beautiful.”

And that makes you really smile.

You giggle, pulling off your cowboy hat and setting it on the grass beside you. Your denim jacket feels a little hot now, too tight, but you try to ignore the feeling and focus on getting your breathing back to normal.

“Is it true? Are you really… her?” 

Sarah’s question is soft, like she doesn’t know quite which answer she wants. You only nod, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“You’re Barbie?” She asks again, and you can tell she’s expecting a reply this time.

“Cowgirl Barbie,” you answer, still only looking at your hands. 

“God, you know, when Stereotypical Barbie came here, she had such a good time. Mind you, that was in LA, so -“

Sarah cuts you off with a gasp. “Wait, that was real? I heard about that! It was all over Twitter - Barbie and Ken on roller skates in LA, Barbie in a pink cowboy outfit-“

“Yes!” You exclaim, excited - “she told me all about it! She chose the cowboy outfit ‘cos it reminded her of me, you know. We’re best friends.” 

You’re showing off a little now, but you don’t care - it feels good to talk, to be believed.

Sarah watches you in awe. “Wow. So this is, like, real. This is real? You’re Barbie. Where’s Ken?”

“Oh, he had to stay back at home. Well, he didn’t have to, he would’ve come if I asked him to. He’s really sweet. I just… I didn’t wanna be a burden.” You explain, grateful he hadn’t seen you crying like this now you think about it.

“But isn’t he, like, your boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn't mind.” Sarah replies.

“Oh, he isn’t my boyfriend,” you giggle at the thought. “No, no, we don’t really do that in Barbieland. Everyone’s their own person and makes themselves happy, no need for boyfriends and girlfriends. Even the Kens!”

“Rad,” Sarah grins, liking the sound of Barbieland. “So… why are you here?”

You reply honestly, there’s no use in skirting around it anymore. “Well… I feel what you feel, Sarah. And when you’re sad, and lonely, I feel that too. That’s why I came, to help you feel better.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says.

“Why do you feel like that?” Your tears have stopped by now, your face left red and puffy. You try not to start up again as you watch her face twist at your question.

“Just… stuff. With my dad. He’s never here anymore, always at work. It used to be just me and him against the world, you know? And now it feels like… like it’s just me.”

You pout, rubbing a hand on her knee. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, Sarah. You always have each other, just like the watch says.” 

You smile, trying to be as comforting as possible, but it’s quickly wiped away by the look of shock on her face. 

You’re about to ask her what’s the matter when a southern drawl sounds from behind you, “how do you know that?”

You turn, facing Joel who stands on the steps of the porch, a hand on the railing. Your nerves set in again immediately, and you turn in on yourself, trying not to cry.

“Um, the watch, the one from Sarah. That’s what it says, right?” You can see that very watch strapped to Joel’s wrist, the glass broken, and he brings his other hand to touch it. 

“No one else knows what’s written on that watch,” Sarah says, and you whip around to face her, “holy shit, this is really, really real, isn’t it? You’re her?”

You just nod, and she lets out a laugh, springing forward to hug you. You yelp in surprise but hug her back immediately, revelling in the feeling of wet grass hitting your back. Sarah pulls away, looking up at her Dad with pleading eyes, “come on Dad, you know this is real. She’s real. We have to let her stay.”

You sit up again, grabbing your hat and standing, facing Joel though your eyes stay trained on the floor. He’s silent for a long time, thinking, before he grunts and you can just about make out a whisper of “fine” as Sarah celebrates and leads you back into the house.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

You stay there a few days, mostly keeping out of Joel’s way. They set you up in the spare bedroom, but Sarah comes to get you most nights, and you stay up together having sleepovers and telling stories.

You tell her all about Barbieland, about the beautiful beaches and all-woman Supreme Court, the Dreamhouses and the perfectly blue skies. She tells you about her life, the latest drama at school, about Brad the boy who won’t leave her alone and Jenny, her best friend who definitely fancies Brad. It’s incredibly exciting, and you wonder why you never left for the real world sooner.

Barbara’s ecstatic for you, of course; she’s staying in a nearby hotel for as long as you need her there, you even plan to introduce her to Sarah soon.

You wake up one morning, covered in a duvet somewhere in the corner of Sarah’s room, a host of her other old toys laid out where she’d been explaining each one to you last night. You wondered if there’s a Thomas The Tank Engine Land, too.

There are voices downstairs, and for all the rules of politeness and social expectations you’ve learned, you can’t help but tiptoe to the top of the landing and listen in to the conversation. To make sure Sarah’s okay, more than anything.

“Oh come on, Dad. It’s just one day!” Sarah almost shouts, though it’s obvious she’s trying to keep her voice down. They both are.

“Sarah, I gotta go to work. How the hell am I meant to keep a walking-talking Barbie doll entertained for 7 hours, huh? You want me to talk about makeup and glitter?” Joel’s voice is thick and annoyed, though he’s noticeably gentler when he talks to her.

Sarah scoffs, and you can’t see her, but you know she’s rolling her eyes. “She’s more than that, Dad. She’s smart, and she’s caring. Just - just do this for me, okay? And as soon as I’m back from school, I’ll take her off your hands.”

You can’t see them, but you hear their footsteps walk a little closer to the stairwell. “Fine, fine. Whatever. You better go and wake her up then, cos I gotta leave in 20,” Joel resigns.

You see the top of Sarah’s head from your view between the bannisters, and quickly hurry back to her room and under the sheets. She enters, sitting beside your spot on the floor and whispering, “Barbie? Hey Barbie, wake up!”

You feign tiredness, lifting your head and smiling at the girl. “Oh hey, Sarah, good morning.”

She giggles, and you’re quickly aware of your bedhead, something you never experienced in Barbieland. She talks as you grab a brush and fix yourself up.

“So look, I gotta go to school today. But my Dad agreed to take you with him to work so you’re not on your own… is that okay?” 

She must see the slight panic in your eyes,  as she quickly scrambles to reassure you. 

“I know he was a bit of a hot head when you first met him, but he’s just… protective. But he’s sweet, really. Just give him a chance.”

You think about it for a moment. Barbara is still staying nearby, and you know she’d come and hang out with you while you wait for Sarah to come home if you asked. But then again, maybe it’d be good to spend some time with Joel/ It’s obvious that a lot of what brought you here comes down to their relationship, and if you can help to fix that even just a little bit, then your journey will have been worth it.

“Okay,” you answer, giving Sarah a small smile. She grins, standing up and grabbing her school bag before shouting over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “great! He’s going in 20 minutes… better get ready!” 

You gasp, jumping up from your little nest on the floor and searching through the duffel bag Barbara packed for you of outfits to wear, all western-themed of course.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Car rides with Joel are… awkward, to say the least. 

He drives in silence, no radio, just the slow drone of traffic outside echoing between you, whistling through the open windows.

His car is very different to the ones in Barbieland. It doesn’t have an open top, the seats are worn and rough to the touch. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs in the air, and though you’re not used to it, you still find it comforting. Safe.

You reach for the radio, looking for a tune to play and maybe even sing - you’re sure that’ll cheer him up. But he stops you, not hurting you at all but batting your hand away and finally taking his eyes off the road.

“Don’t touch that,” he grunts, and you shrink back in on yourself again. He recoils a little, like he’s trying to appear less aggressive, and refocuses on the road.

“Sorry,” you mutter, shy.

He shakes his head, resting his elbow on the window beside him and readjusting himself, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it’s you or just the way he’s sat, you don’t know.

“‘S fine,” he mutters, barely audible. You nod, unsure of what else to say after that. You’re not looking at him, though you can see his movements in the edge of your peripheral, and you’re certain you can see him glancing at you every couple of minutes.

He finally speaks again after a long span of silence. 

“So…” he starts, tentative. “Is it hard to get here? From- from Barbieland?”

You turn, though he isn’t facing you, eyes trained on the road. You keep looking at him anyway - this is progress at least.

“It’s pretty simple. First you drive, then you cycle, then take a boat, then a rocketship, then you stay in a campervan for a little while, then a snowmobile and voila! You’re rollerskating into LA.” You grin, recounting your adventure into the real world, happy to be able to share it with him. You’re not sure what it is about him, but there’s just something inside of you that’s desperate for him to get you. To care. 

Joel just grunts, rubbing his thumb and forefinger between his brows, and you’re worried for a second that he doesn’t believe you, again. But he doesn’t press, instead he seems to be thinking, and then he asks another question.

“How do you get back?”

“Gotta do all that in reverse,” you answer, giggling. You’re sure you can see the slightest pull of his lips, the hint of a smile, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.

You decide to try and engage him, let him talk. “Do you like what you do? For work?”

He just grunts again, and your shoulders sink, giving up. He doesn’t want to talk to you. 

You decide not to press him further, but you can see him continue to glance at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, and there must be something in the air because he sighs before talking, a vulnerability in his voice.

“I used to. My Dad did it, contracting. Used to take me and my brother out every weekend and show us the trade. And when I started my business, that was good. Things were good. Now…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Things aren’t good?” You ask, trying to be careful. Trying to encourage him. 

He nods. “Things are different, now. Busy. It’s a hard business.”

You don’t reply, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re not sure how. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. After a few moments, he pulls up at a red light, switching gears and finally looking at you properly. 

“What do you do? In Barbieland?”

“Cowgirl,” you reply, being the one to avoid his gaze now.

“Cowgirl?” He repeats, and you only nod, offering a small smile and waiting for his reaction.

“So is that, like, on a ranch?” 

He’s switching gears again, cruising through the now green light and continuing the drive, muttering something about ‘almost there’ as you arrive in an upscale neighbourhood, lined with huge houses and cars that even the Barbies don’t have.

You shrug, self conscious, but you answer him. You owe him that. He did it for you. 

“No, just… you know. I wear the hat, and the denim and the boots. And I just… cowgirl. That’s what I do.”

He nods, and for the first time since you met him, you’re not nervous about what he’ll say next. You feel comfortable with him, safe even, and you’re not sure what it is about this little drive that’s flipped that switch, but you think he might feel the same way.

“Does it pay well?” He asks, a playfulness in his tone that you haven’t seen in him before. It’s like he’s lit up over the course of your conversation.

You grin, meeting his eyes properly now, where he draws away for a moment at a time to check the road but lets his gaze fall back on you straight after. 

“Better than contracting,” you sass. You’re not sure where the cockiness comes from, whether you’re matching his tone or you just feel that comfortable with him, and for a moment you’re worried you’ve offended him with the joke.

But then he laughs.

It’s not hysterics, but it isn’t an amused ‘huff’ either. It’s like a giggle, a bright, giddy laugh that spreads across his face and makes his eyes light up like stars in the sky. It’s beautiful. It’s sweet.

You tell him as much.

“You have a pretty smile.”

He slows a little, his mouth quickly reigning in its smile and his chest no longer bubbling with that sweetness it had before. But he doesn’t look angry, or offended. He looks as though he’s not quite sure what to do. Like no one’s ever told him that before.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words quickly blowing away with the wind through the open window. You smile in reply, and he watches, neither of you seeming to notice that he’s stopped the car and you’ve reached your destination. Neither of you move.

And then he says the sweetest words you’ve ever heard. 

“So do you.”

It’s gentle, mumbled so lowly you almost think he doesn’t want you to hear it, and yet it hits you in the chest like a lorry. 

You’ve been told that before, of course you have. You’re a Barbie. Whether it’s the other Barbies complementing one another, or the Kens trying to flirt, or Allen just being the nice guy he is, you’ve heard those words before. 

But you’ve never heard them like this, like they’re hard to say, but they need to be said anyway. 

It’s powerful.

You smile again, so does he. You stay in the car a little while longer, in silence again, but it’s a silence laced with comfort and feelings you don’t know how to label. Until he finally breaks the spell, climbing out of the car and helping you out on your side.

He spends the day showing you his work, how to plan builds, how to measure up wood and mark all the right places to cut it. You learn there’s a key named after Allen, and Joel snorts when you tell him how excited you are to let him know that. He even lets you hammer a few nails, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter when he puts his arms around you to guide your movements, his breath in your ear.

And things are good after that day. Really good.

The three of you spend time together, as much as you can, almost like a family. You’ve never experienced family before, true family, but when you’re sat on the sofa with Sarah on a cushion on the floor and Joel to your side, just out of reach, you wonder if this is what it means to be home.

Of course, you quickly understand what Sarah means when she says she’s lonely. You know exactly where that feeling in your chest is coming from, because the times he’s with you are so fleeting, so far and few inbetween, that it feels like gold dust when you have him and like a black hole when you don’t.

And it’s only been a week before you realise just what it means, these feelings, and how they’re not like anything you’ve felt before.

Sarah reads you like a book, cornering you one day as you play dress up in her room. 

“So, you like my Dad?” She asks, a knowing smirk already painted on her lips.

You splutter for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal, but you give up because you know she has you nailed down. You know she knows.

“Is it that obvious?” You wince, making her grin spread even further. 

“Only, like, all the time,” she laughs, and you flip down on the bed dramatically, making her laugh more. “You know he likes you too, right?”

You sit up again in a flash, eyes wide and searching hers. She raises a brow as you stare, your mind racing - she wouldn’t joke about that, would she? “How do you know?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes, taking a seat beside you on the bed. “Oh come on, man. It’s so obvious. He always talks about you, Barbie said this, Barbie did that’.” She mocks his deep southern drawl, making you giggle. “And he’s always looking at you.”

You blush - you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed. You suppose a part of you just never let yourself believe he could feel the same way.

“What do you think I should do?” You’re nervous now, unsure of yourself. Unsure if this is real.

Sarah smiles, a cheeky sort of grin that doesn’t make you feel particularly at ease, and pats your knee with her hand. “Leave it with me.”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

She calls you down that night, late, not long after Joel came home from work. You switch off the documentary you were watching, something about the animal kingdom, one that amazed you with all the creatures that walk the earth around you. 

You tiptoe down the stairs, calling out Sarah’s name when you can’t find her in the front room, confused. You hear her again, distantly, like she’s outside, and you follow the sound through the kitchen and out the back door, where you’re greeted with the alluring smell of a sizzling barbecue.

“What is this?” You ask, stepping fully outside and taking in the scene. The backyard, usually overgrown and unkept, is littered with fairylights that wrap around the patio columns and line the fence right down to the end. The Miller’s barbecue is fired up, with an array of vegetable skewers and sausages and burgers cooking on top, Sarah proudly stood beside it in her apron while Joel watches, concerned.

Joel. He’s sat at the little table she’s put together, a round glass one with mismatched chairs on either side. He’s dressed up - his hair looks neater than usual, like he’s put extra care into styling it properly. His shirt isn’t plaid, or denim; it’s a light blue colour that matches the brown of his eyes so wonderfully. He looks nervous.

“Hi,” he says, gentle and soft. Your eyes must be wide and confused, because he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Sarah for support. She rolls her eyes - again - and puts down the tongs she’d been using to flip the burgers. 

“You two are so boring pining over each other. So, I’ve set up a date!” She grins, turning back to the food without a care in the world.

You nod, taking another step forward, looking back toward Joel and not bothering to fight the smile that spreads on your face. 

He doesn’t fight his, either. 

You reach out for the chair opposite him, but before you can, he’s standing up and pulling it out for you, his eyes meeting yours.

Not one of the Kens have ever pulled out a seat for you, you think, thanking Joel and sitting on the little chair. He returns to his own seat, clearing his throat and pouring you a drink; red wine, a new favourite of yours since he introduced you to it. 

Sarah plates up the food, setting it down in front of you in a dramatic waiter-style fashion. 

“You’re certainly my daughter, huh?” Joel asks, pride in his eyes as he looks at the food, which you have to admit looks pretty damn good.

“The student has become the master,” she quips, and your heart melts at the sweet moment between the two. 

“Now, you two enjoy. I’ll be in my room. If you need anything… get it yourself. The kitchen is literally right there.”

You and Joel roll your eyes as Sarah bows out, laughing at her own jokes and giving a final wave as she heads into the house, leaving you both alone.

“So,” you begin, unsure of what to say.

“So.” Joel mimics, though you don’t think he plans to say anything after that. He’s not one to initiate conversation.

But then again, people can change. 

“You look really nice,” he says, his eyes so heavy set on you that it makes you feel flush. You look down, at the old baggy top you’re wearing over grey sweats, and you’re suddenly self conscious compared to his nice shirt and carefully-put hair.

“I don’t,” you reply, embarrassed. “I look like a mess.”

He interjects immediately. “No. You don’t. How could you? I mean you’re literally - you’re -“ he can’t find his words.

You finish the sentence for him. “A Barbie.”

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure why it makes you feel the way that it does. Sad. Like you’re not quite real to him, a novelty. He sighs, and for all the time you’ve spent with him by now, you can’t read what’s going on behind the man’s eyes at all.

You sit in silence for a short while, enjoying Sarah’s food, drinking wine. There’s something hanging in the air, heavy and strange, and neither of you know how to address it.

It surprises you when Joel finally breaks the silence again. “Do you miss home?” He asks, pouring you another glass.

You think for a moment. You answer honestly. “I don’t know.” His eyebrow quirks, motioning for you to continue.

“There was a time when I’d have never even dreamed of leaving Barbieland. When I didn’t want anything to change. But things are different now, since Ster- since Barbara left. Everyone thinks differently, feels differently. It’s a very different place. And suddenly everything that made me love Barbieland doesn’t matter to me anymore. The perfect wardrobe, the perfect house, the perfect life. None of that matters. It’s the things here, in this world, that matter.”

“What things?” Joel asks, and it’s only now that you notice his hand has migrated across the table, holding your much smaller one. You wrap your fingers around his, revelling in the small squeeze he gives you, fighting back a smile.

You’re staring at your interlocked hands when you answer. “Family. Purpose.” 

You look at him. “Love.”

He breathes out, like he’s letting something go, something that made him scared but doesn’t anymore. You squeeze his hand.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. It’s sweet, comfortable. It’s nice. 

Until you put your foot in it.

“Do you still feel lonely?” Joel asks, the buzz of red wine making his drawl even heavier.

You smile, glossy eyes doting on him, hands still intertwined. “Well, I felt lonely because Sarah felt lonely. So… no. I feel good.”

Joel frowns, his head tilts. “Do you know why she felt like that?”

You’re not sure how to approach this with him. It’s something you’ve thought about, pondered for days, turned over and over in your mind with no good resolution.

You know exactly why she felt like that. She told you as much.

My Dad’s never here. He’s always away, working. I don’t see him.

But you also know it’s a truth he won’t accept. Not easily, at least.

“Well,” you begin, treading lightly. “I think she just… misses you, Joel. Misses her Dad.”

He’s confused. He pulls away from you, his grip on your hand loosens. “But I’m here.” It’s an assertion, challenging your suggestion.

“I know, I know. But you’re not… you’re not here. You come home from work late, you’re tired, you go to bed. You wake up and before we can even say ‘good morning’ you’re out the door again, going to work.”

His jaw flickers, in that same way it did when you first met. He’s angry. 

“I do what i have to do to support my family,” he grumbles, fully retracting his hand now. You feel the loss of his touch instantly, in your heart. 

That same loneliness sets in again, but it’s not Sarah’s anymore. No, it belongs solely, wholly, to you.

You try to placate him. “I know, Joel, I know. I get it. I just -”

“Just what?” He interrupts you, and you pause, scared to speak. Scared to mess this up.

“She needs you to talk to her. She needs you to listen to her. She needs you to hold her and let her know she’s not alone. She doesn’t see that right now, Joel.”

He doesn’t reply, just stares into space, arms folded. Guarded.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“‘That how it works in Barbieland? Everyone gets what they want, everyone’s happy?” He asks, agitated.

You shake your head. “No, Joel, I-”

“‘Cos that’s not how the real world works, sweetheart. Everythin’ ain’t perfect. The trees ain’t made of cotton fuckin’ candy.” He sneers, mocking you, and the words pierce through you like knives.

“And I ain’t taking parenting advice from no Barbie doll.” 

That really, really hurts.

And it makes you angry, because for all your faults and weaknesses, being a Barbie certainly isn’t one of them.

“Why are you being so defensive?” You ask, your tone rising to match his. “You know I'm right. All that girl wants is her Dad, not a stranger who’s barely there, not a ghost that puts food on the table but won’t even come home on time for her. She wants her Dad, Joel.”

He stands, slamming his palms on the glass with so much force you fear it’ll shatter. He doesn’t shout, but his words are sharp, pointed, and they land exactly where he intended them to.

“You have no idea what it’s like. You’re stuck in your fantasy world, where everything’s pink, but you haven’t got a clue what it’s like to live in the real world. So why don’t you head back to your special Barbieland and leave the actual living, the hard parts, to the rest of us, huh?”

Tears threaten to spill on your cheeks, your eyes burning from the strain of holding them back. “Joel, you don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. Just… just get out of my house.” 

He walks away from the table, crossing his arms and facing away from you, staring out into the night. You nod, to yourself if no one else, breaking your strength as a sob racks through your body. You clasp a shaking hand to your mouth, not wanting him to hear you, but you see the way his shoulders clench. He heard. 

He doesn’t react further, though. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t make sure you’re okay.

So you do what he said. You leave.

You stalk past Sarah, wiping away the onslaught of tears that have taken hold now, ignoring her as she shouts between you and Joel. “Guys? What’s going on?”

She doesn't follow you upstairs, choosing to give you space and speak to her Dad instead, you think. You text Barbara, asking her to pick you up, and shove your clothes into your bag as quickly as you can in spite of your blurred vision and the messy hair that covers your face. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been, you’d have only thought seconds if you didn’t know Barbara’s hotel was at least 10 minutes away, but you hear her beep the horn from outside and follows its direction.

Sarah’s waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You look down the hall, where Joel sits at the kitchen counter, arms still folded and head down.

“Please,” Sarah begs, “don’t go.” She’s crying, and it makes your heart hurt more.

“I have to.” 

You try to move past her, but she stops you, blocking the way with her body. “Sarah, I have to,” you repeat, choking on your own sobs.

“Why?” She shouts, hot tears staining her face. “My Dad told me what happened. You’re right. He’s wrong, he’s always wrong. He’s never here, but you are, and now you’re leaving me like everyone else. Like my Mom.”

Your nose scrunches. More tears fall. Your chest hurts. “I’m not your Mom, Sarah. And your Dad… he loves you. He loves you so much. Promise me you’ll remember that, okay? He loves you. I love you.”

She doesn’t stop you when you try to leave again. You all but run out the door, the once comfortable night air now painful as it hits your wet cheeks, ice cold. Barbara looks at you with more concern than you’ve seen her with before, more than when she discovered the Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, but you say nothing as you get in the car. You just stare straight ahead, and she drives.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“I’m so sorry, Barbie. I never thought it’d end like this.”

Barbara’s holding your hands, reluctant to let go. You don’t know when you’ll see her again. “It’s not your fault,” you reply, and it’s true. It’s not her fault. It’s yours.

“And it isn’t yours, Barbie,” she retorts, like she can read your mind. You just nod, unconvincing, but she doesn’t push it.

You hug her, for the millionth time since she took you home from Joel and Sarah’s house, since she flew back to LA with you. And now here you are, at Venice Beach with your roller skates on, going back to the place you’ve always called home.

So why does it feel like you’re going anywhere but?

“Thank you for everything, Barbara. I mean it.” You pull back, wiping a tear from her cheek and smiling the best you can, your own tears rolling down your face like the skaters behind you.

She smiles back, and though she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You know she loves you. You know she’ll miss you.

And with that, you pull away, pushing on each skate until you’re rolling away from the real world and back into your own. Back where you belong, where you’re supposed to be. Where you’re actually wanted.

There are people pointing, laughing at you as you skate past them, but you don’t care. You haven’t cared about anything since last night.

You can see the snowscape ahead, the next part of your journey. Your next step towards Barbieland and a world of pink perfection.

A world that isn’t the same to you now.

You’re nearly there, about to switch skates for the snowmobile, when a familiar, desperate voice comes from behind you.

“Barbie! Barbie, wait!”

You brake, skates screeching on the ground, as you turn to search for him in the crowd.

And there he is, Joel, clinging to a ramp on the left side of the park with the most ridiculous pair of neon green roller skates you’ve ever seen.

“Joel?” You call, immediately rolling over to him when you realise how much he’s struggling. If you weren’t so filled with the joy of seeing him here, you’d laugh at the state he’s in; eyes wide and legs falling beneath him, clearly not used to roller skating. “What are you doing here?”

“I- I wanted to- jesus, if I could just stand up-” You giggle, and he shoots you a look, which just makes you laugh harder. You help him up, laying a gentle hand on his chest as he nearly falls again, your other hand clinging to his waist as he finally finds his balance.

He’s blushing, embarrassed, but there’s something else in his eyes as they finally settle on you and he sighs. “Barbie, I’m so sorry.”

You’re not sure where to look. At him, at your hands, at those ridiculous roller skates he’s wearing. Of course, you can’t pull your eyes from him, anyway.

“It’s - it’s okay. You were right anyway, I’m not-”

“No, no,” he interrupts, placing both hands on your cheeks and quickly stumbling as he loses his balance again without the support of the rail. You hold him, giggling as he almost brings you both down, though you manage to keep him upright and he laughs right there with you.

“Jesus, this is embarrassing,” he finally huffs, and your head falls against his chest. When you raise it again, he’s already looking at you, with those big brown eyes that you never want to forget.

“I wasn’t right. I was an asshole. A huge, insecure asshole.” You try to shake your head, to disagree, but he doesn’t let you. “Just let me say this,” he begs. You let him.

“You were right. I haven’t been there for her. I haven’t been the Dad she needs me to be. I’m just… I’m just scared. Of not being good enough. Of letting her down. So I work, and come home late, and leave early, and I convince myself it’s the right thing to do. But I’m hurting her. And I hurt you.”

There’s pain in his eyes, and it pains you as if they were your own. 

“I haven’t seen Sarah this happy in a long time,” he continues, resting a hand on your cheek again, carefully this time. “Barbie, I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

You don’t know what to say. You take your hand from his waist, tentative, making sure the other one is stable on his chest. You place it over his where it rests on your cheek, folding your fingers around his own, and turning to press a gentle kiss into his palm. He mumbles something, you don’t hear what, but from the look in his eyes you think you know.

“Don’t go,” he begs. “Don’t - don’t go back there. I want you here. You belong here.”

You look into his eyes. You know he means it. 

And so you do the only thing that makes any sense in this moment. 

You kiss him.

You’re careful to keep him upright, but he seems to have stopped caring about that; instead both hands are on you again, frantic, holding you tight like he never wants to lose you again.

When you finally break the kiss, neither of you pull away from one another, your foreheads connected and breaths intertwined. 

“Okay,” you gasp, pulling on his shirt. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Joel closes his eyes again, sighing in relief as you finally release your other hand, touching it to his neck and feeling the rapid pulse that beats against it. You’re holding one another so closely, so tightly, that there’s no way he can fall now.

“You’ll come back to Texas?” He asks, like he still doesn’t quite believe you.

You nod again, giggling at the joy that spreads on his face, though it’s quickly muffled when he kisses you again. And again, and again and again until you’re breathless and sweaty and no longer sure which of you needs help staying upright the most.

You help him turn, wrapping your arms around his waist and supporting him as you try to make your way back across the park, and only then do you see Barbara and Sarah stood to the sidelines, watching, smiling.

You realise Sarah has her phone out, pointed at her Dad, and you’re pretty sure Joel sees it too but before he can say anything, he slips again and falls flat on his bum on the floor, bringing you right down with him.

You gasp, cushioned by his chest and his protective arms around you, laughing hysterically as he groans and sits up. You watch as his face turns from pain into anger, his eyes fixated on something ahead, and you think you know what it is-

“Sarah! Delete that video right now!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen

[a-pastel-edgelord]

The Traveler

major spoilers for kny/demon slayer ending reader beware

Sanemi Shinazugawa is as close to content as he can be but he's learning the hard way that there is more to life than what's in front of him. The possibilities, on this summer morning, are endless. The sun is only just rising and the haze of noise from insects is already in full swing. He's traveling, he can't feel comfortable settling in one spot, not after years of going from one town to the next. Sanemi will stop when he feels at home, and he's perfectly fine with never finding it. For now, he has no destination.

A scream tears the peaceful lull apart, and Sanemi is moving before he can blink. His hand travels to where his sword should be at his hip (he long since returned it to the Ubuyashiki family). His heart is in his mouth before his brain finally catches up. There are no demons. The thought brings security—another scream—but it does not comfort him.

He goes careening around a bend in the dirt road, spotting a house on a hill through the trees. A normal person probably wouldn't have heard the screams based on the distance from whence he arrived but that's not important. Sanemi hasn't been able to give up total concentration breathing constant yet and he's glad of it at this moment.

The retired Wind Hashira pauses in the clearing. Should he go around back? A person crashes through the sliding paper doors. It's a man, probably thrice his age, with a fresh black eye blooming on his face.

"You bitch! I'll throw you out on your backside!"

"Try it then, you old bastard!" Comes the shrieking reply, "If you put your hands on him again, I'll gouge your eyes out!"

The first time Sanemi claps eyes on you, you look like a wreck. Your lips are bleeding and there are bruises splattered all over your visible skin. Your summer yukata is torn in a couple places and a size too small like you outgrew it a year ago. Chest heaving in exertion, you bare your teeth and there's a throbbing vein in your neck.

Sanemi is so entranced that he almost misses movement behind you. It's a child—children who all resemble one another and are visibly young. They inch forward, still in the shade of the house, as if stepping into direct sunlight is dangerous.

You take two steps forward, the light of the sunrise throwing your face into sharp relief. Your back is straight, your chin is high, and your eyes are cold as they look down your nose.

It might seem nearly inconceivable that you must have been the one who tossed this man through the shōji doors. But Sanemi knows better. You step down off the veranda into the grass. You move with intent, your shadow falls across the face of your prey. "Get out of my house."

"You don't order me around!" The man spits and reaches out to grab the collar of your clothes.

A scarred hand snatched up his wrist, and Sanemi isn't surprised to find it's his hand (missing fingers and all). "Get lost, old man." The words themselves aren't threatening, and neither is his tone. However, his grip tightens enough to cut off blood flow. He's sure the older man can feel the creak of bones under pressure.

"Ah! G-get offa me!" The man wrenches his arm free, back peddling before stumbling away from the house. "I'll be back—don't go thinking you're safe, you wretches!"

Sanemi watches the man run down the hill and out of sight, unmoving. When he decides the old bastard is gone, he turns to you, and you're already looking at him.

Evaluating and cautious you approach. The previous moment's emotions are still coursing through your body. Sanemi sees the way your hands shake, but your face betrays nothing. "Who are you?"

Your words are rude, but Sanemi can't bring himself to stand on propriety. "M' just a traveler. I heard a commotion, so I happened by."

You blink and remember proper manners. "Would—would you like a hot meal? We don't have much in the way of interesting fare but..."

"Don't think you owe me. That man was already runnin' scared by the time I did anything."

"I—" You glance back at the house, and Sanemi follows your gaze. Four children of a variety of ages stand at the end of the veranda, the youngest looking a little worse for wear. Their eyes are bright and curious. One of them nods. "We, would like to offer our thanks. Please eat with us."

Sanemi Shinazugawa is sure there's a future where he leaves. Where he never shares food with you and your siblings. There's a version of him who doesn't get to see you smile when he fixes the door in exchange for a place to sleep the next night.

But this isn't that future. "Pardon the intrusion." He nods and follows you back to the house.

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 7

🌅Don’t you dare runaway (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Mention of Sex Scenes (No Description)

Words count: 5.4k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 8

“How’s Tokyo?”

It’s only a few words, barely a full sentence. However, it took Osamu a whole fifteen minutes to write and almost a face-first collision with the glass door of Tokozu, his favourite kitchen knife store in Osaka. The man found the exercise harder than any literature essay he ever had to do in high school (and Osamu, despite being named after a famous novelist, was never fond of literature). But now, the message is sent and there’s no going back.

His meditation instructor as well as one red-haired hitter, told him he should stop overthinking, and for the last month, Osamu thinks he did a good job at calming his stormy mind. But it’s different now, you’ve been in Tokyo for three days (or what feels like six months, at least to him), and apart from the message to ask you if you arrived safely (which you did), Osamu hasn’t contacted you in 72h. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he just needs to give space. He told you how he feels, exposed his fragile heart to you, and now what you do with it is your decision and yours only.

Still, Osamu wants to act casual like before (and also shows that he cares), something he hasn’t been good at for the past months. You miss the old Osamu, the friend you could always rely on, the one who wouldn’t mind letting food burn on the stove if you needed him. Maybe it’s time for that man to come back.

Thus, this morning, as he strolls through the streets of Osaka, heading to the store, he sends you those few words.

“Good morning, Sir,” a forty-year-old something greets him when he enters. “May I help you with something?”

Osamu’s eyes wander all around the shelves before describing what he is looking for.

“There’s a couple of knives that could meet your requirements.” The man starts showing him various options when Osamu’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

It’s you.

The younger man excuses himself and runs towards the exit. He waits two or three rings before answering.

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Osamu,” you tell his name, his heart skips a beat (or a thousand). “How are you? Is this a good time to call?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I was just in town to buy a new knife for the fish.”

“Oh, maybe I should call later then-”

“No!” He cuts you off, someone passing by is startled by his sudden outburst. He avoids their gaze, “It’s fine now. So… how have ya been?”

“I’m great,” you reply, and he can hear the excitement in your voice, “I love it here. The JVA offices are in that huge building in Omiya, and everyone is wearing suits and there’s even a bakery on the ground floor, so I usually take something there and go to the park. I can’t wait for the cherry blossoms to bloom, it’s gonna be beautiful. And I need to take you to the bakery, you’d love the cannelés.”

Osamu holds back his laughter at your French accent, cute, he thinks.

“There’s already a communication team,” you continue, “everyone is so kind and to be able to discuss my ideas with everyone is such a cool thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love working with the Jackals but…well, the guys aren’t the best at giving advice when it comes to their social media. Except for your brother, actually.”

“I’m glad,” Osamu says with a soft voice.

“And Kuroo is amazing to work with and he’s actually kinda funny sometimes, but he has that weird laugh-anyway, I think he likes my work… But that doesn’t mean he's going to keep me on after my trial period.”

Osamu is relieved, happy even, that you’re enjoying your life there, but when he is about to express it, the words get stuck in his throat and no sound leaves his lips.

There’s a silence following your story, and you’re the one who breaks it. “I’m coming back in two days.”

“And I’ll be there.”

“Also… in three weeks or something, the National Team is having their last public practice match before the Olympics and it’s in Osaka, are you going to install a stall at the gym?”

“Yeah, I will. Ya know how the guys will react if I don’t.”

You chuckle, probably picturing some very disappointed—and hungry— Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata (and Meian, though he’d tried to keep a straight face since he has the role of captain to uphold). “Cool, then, I’ll be there.”

“That’s my line.”

You offer him a genuine laugh and a warm feeling spreads through his stomach, which stays even after the call ends.

Two more days. Osamu counts in his head.

He takes a deep breath and enters the shop for the second time, this time being careful with not banging his face into the glass door.

“Can’t ya just stop movin’, please?” Atsumu begs and a sound comes out of his throat, something between a sigh and a groan. 

But his demand doesn’t seem to reach his brother’s ears—even though he said “please”, ‘Samu, ya spoiled brat—as said brother continues to pace like a caged animal in their cramped living room.

“I’m goin’ now.” Osamu finally announces.

“Gosh,” The setter rolls his eyes, “her train arrives in two hours.”

“What if there’s traffic on the way?”

“Ya know what? Just leave, yer so damn annoyin’ right now.”

“Moron,” Osamu exclaims, slamming the door on its way out.

It’s too late for Atsumu to say more than just an offended, “Oi!” since his twin already left the apartment.

There’s no traffic on the way and Osamu is forced to wait for you—though it doesn’t matter how long he must wait; if he had to endure a lifetime of longing just to see you again, he would agree in a blink of an eye.

The only bad thing is that time passes very slowly, and it makes him think over and over again about what might happen.

And the conclusion he comes up with is that two paths are unfolding before him: whether the kiss you shared on the doorframe of your apartment is the last remnant of what could have been, or perhaps the first tender step toward something beautiful. Maybe in a few minutes, he’ll have to pretend nothing happened and go back to being friends or stop hiding his feelings and share them with the world.

When you emerge from the station, your blue scarf sticking out of your bag since the weather has warmed up delicately in the last five days, Osamu feels the rhythm of his heart quickening.

You greet each other, get back in the car, and he starts driving.

One second after the other, even though you’re there now, he keeps waiting.

The silence is heavy but somehow it doesn’t cloud his thoughts. Osamu could be analysing each single one of your moves (you scratch your nails, you keep looking at your phone even if you don’t receive any notification), your expressions (you didn’t meet his eyes when you arrived, your smile is tense), but he doesn’t because he has learned better than to attempt to assume how you feel; it only leads to chaos. The man has no control over this situation and whatever happens, he’ll accept it. Nothing matters more than yielding to your choices. Break his heart, move to Tokyo, sever ties forever (please don’t)—he’ll endure it all if it means your happiness.

“Thank you for coming.” You finally say gently.  

 “Sure.” He waits and after a moment of hesitation, adds, “Ya know… I’ve been waitin’ to see ya.”

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to create a knot in his chest.

“You have?” You ask, your voice quiet, unsure.

“Yeah,” he admits, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. If you’re about to turn him down, at least, he needs to be honest one more time. “Been thinkin' about ya all day. All week, actually.”

He laughs, a bit too awkwardly, trying to play it off. “Can I say that? Don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable but I guess I’m just really bad at actin' casual, huh?”

Your soft chuckle makes his heart race all over again. “Not as bad as you think, Osamu. I’m happy if we can talk openly to each other without being afraid of what the other thinks. That’s what we used to do.” You clear your throat, “And actually, there’s something I need to tell you.”

There it is, he thinks, the opening he’s been waiting for. He decides to pull over to the side of the road since you almost made it to your place. He licks his lips nervously before turning to you, your eyes don’t meet his when you speak again.

“So… I’ve been thinking. I wanted to have that conversation with you later, not in the car like that, but like you said, it’s hard to act casual…Listen, Osamu.” You finally turn to your right, to him.

Osamu thought he could know how you’re feeling just by seeing the look on your face but right now he is unsure. It’s exciting to know there’s still so much to learn about you, but also threatening because he can’t anticipate your next words and it’s suffocating.

“You’re the kindest person I know, you’re funny and you’re reliable and there’s no one in this entire world, and please don’t tell Umi, with whom I feel so at ease. I’ve never really been into stuff like soulmates you know, even with Rin, I believed he was the love of my life, and it turned out I was wrong. But with you it’s different, it’s like the universe has led me to you. That fact will never change, whatever we … become.” Your voice falters, “But… I made so many sacrifices for Rin, and I don’t regret them, they made me who I am now, but I promised myself I would never do such things again… Yet, I was in my hotel room in Tokyo, finally finding my dream job and loving the team, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how I wanted to be with you in Osaka, how I wanted to kiss you again… I feel so weak Osamu ‘cause I love you too. I do want us to be together but not like that. I can’t miss this opportunity. If I stay in Osaka, I will resent myself for not choosing my dream and if I leave for Tokyo, I know I’ll regret not being with you… But I have to make a choice.”

“Can’t ya have both? Me and Tokyo?”

You sigh before looking down at your lap. Osamu thinks he saw your eyes getting wet, “I wish I could, but you know how I feel about distance relationships.”

Of course, he knows; he was there when you suffered through the distance that separated you from your first love years ago and how it led to a heartbreak.

“What if I come with y-”

“Don’t even think about it, Osamu. I am not following my dream for you to give up yours.” Your voice is firm, but there’s a hint of pain behind your words. “I swear I thought about all the options because I know you’re right for me… but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Osamu was convinced there were only two paths, one where you love him, one where you don’t. But what if there is a third option? What if you love him but fear getting hurt?

It’s not that she doesn’t like you, she’s just afraid, Umi told him. He recalls precisely the moment your best friend pronounced those words to him.

There’s hope. Osamu has to hold on to it.  

“Give me one month.”

“Huh?” Your brow furrows in confusion.

“I’ll find a solution, I’ll make it work, I promise.”

“Osamu,” you sigh again, this time it sounds desperate, perhaps frustrated, “this is not some sort of romantic movie, this is real life.”

“I know that, and I’ll find a real solution.”

“What if you don’t find the solution after that month? I know how heartbreaks feel like Osamu, this is only going to hurt you and-”

“Nothing can hurt me more than runnin’ away when I could have tried making it work.”

There’s something in your eyes that shines behind your closed face and clenched jaw.

The atmosphere changes in the car, maybe because of the night falling, or maybe because of something else.

“When we were first years, we weren’t in the same class, but at the sports festival, we were put on the same team for the relay.” You start recalling, the sudden shift in topic catches him off guard, but he lets you continue anyway.

“Umi wasn’t in my team, and I was already not motivated to run the race, especially in front of everyone but it got worse when I was put before you. Can you imagine me, giving the stick to Miya Osamu? You were popular, girls loved you, boys admired you, and I was no one. Sure, I could run fast but I didn’t care about winning that damn event. I guess… the only things I cared about were having Rin looking at me and not tripping in front of your fangirls. But on the day of the festivals, do you remember what you told me?”

He shakes his head. You were always better at remembering stuff.

“You said ‘Trust me, just do your thing and I’ll make it work’. I trusted you; I did what I had to do, and we won.”

You cover your face with your hands abruptly and grumble, “Fuck, I really thought I made up my mind but…” Then, you take a long inspiration before looking at him again. Your eyes pierce his soul, find him where he is the most vulnerable, but also the most in love, “If I trust you one more time… Can you promise you’ll not let me down?”

“I’d do anything for ya to give me a chance.”

He says your name as he promises. There’s something obvious in your eyes when you look at each other, it’s not just hope that Osamu feels, it’s certain and deep. As if nothing could come between you.

You break the distance.

The kiss is softer than the last one. Osamu tries to take his time to appreciate the taste of your lips and the feeling your tongue leaves on his.

No need to rush, he knows it’s the first kiss of a long series (whether it lasts a month or a hundred years).

You pull back with a smile, “Oh, by the way, I have not forgotten that you owe me an explanation for all the times you ignore me. And you better hear what I have to say to you on that matter because you sure hurt me. It might take hours for me to tell you how bad you made me feel.”

“And I’d listen for hours.”

“You’re such a smooth talker.” You chuckle and open the passenger door, “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow ‘Samu.”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow, “That’s what my brother calls me, can’t ya find something else like my lov-”

“Shut up you idiot, I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll submit.” He teases and his grin is both sincere and charming, it makes you lift your eyes in the air.

You laugh one more time before getting out, “sweet dreams.”

He bids you goodnight in return.

Things go well.

You try to see each other often. Now that Osamu has his Sundays free, he makes the most of them to take you on dates. In the evening, you cook dinner at home and in the morning, you stop by Onigiri Miya to get the bento he prepared for you. You always thank him with a kiss on the lips, a caress on the cheeks and sometimes the make out session gets a little bit out of hand. One day, despite your complaints about how you might get caught, Osamu doesn’t stop until Sato and Nagisa enter the shop (“Oops, didn’t mean to interrupt”, one of them say and Osamu tells you later how they kept on teasing him all day long. “It’s only yer fault though”, he exclaims, “yer too pretty.” And you push him on the chest, your cheeks turning red and your smile wide.)

You receive an email from Kuroo one Tuesday night, with a contract attached to it, waiting to be filled with your signature.

It’s hard to hide your smile, “I got the job.”

Osamu jumps from his chair to yours and kisses you, “I expected no less from my Champion.”

You open your mouth to say something and your boyfriend notices how your bite your lips. The long-distance relationship is starting now, that’s probably what you’re about to say, but Osamu doesn’t want to lose this moment thinking about what’s coming after, so he goes through your kitchen’s cupboards and gets a bottle of sake.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“We have somethin’ to celebrate, don’t we?” His boyish smile makes your heart melt, and you nod.

“Let’s go to Tokyo tomorrow to look for an apartment.” He proposes later.

Your brows knit together, “but your restaurant…”

“I can close it.”

Osamu looks at you with the determined eyes you thought he had lost. It’s confident and calm at the same time, it’s kind, and so particularly him. It’s the same look he had when you won the relay a decade ago, when he told you he got your back during your heartbreak, and when he swore he’d do anything to be with you.

This time, you're the one who kisses him, and you taste of sake. His hands find the skin of your lower back and the man wonders how he could have missed out on something so soft all these years. Maybe it’s the alcohol but his mind becomes intoxicated, still, it feels good, and the next second he lifts you to lead you to the bedroom.

The next morning, your head hurts—and so do your muscles—but Osamu makes sure to cover every inch of your body with kisses as an apology (to which you don’t complain).

Finding an apartment in Tokyo is a drag at first. Between the too high-priced single-rooms and the over-demanding landlords, your energy is drained at the end of the day.

“I’ll never be able to find something…” You whine.

“Hey,” Osamu flicks your forehead lightly, “don’t say that it’s only the first day. Let’s find an hotel for tonight and we'll continue tomorrow.”

“What about Onigiri Miya?”

“Sato and Nagisa can manage.”

“Thank you, Osamu, you’re the best. Oh, what’s Sato’s first name by the way?”

“I forgot,” Osamu gets up from the bench where you were both sat and starts walking. You don’t ask for more.

Eventually, Osamu gets back to Osaka the next day because “Osamu-san, we’re running out of spicy sauce, what’s the recipe again? I tried something but it tastes like-”, “Like shit.”, “Oi! Rin don’t say that.” And even though he loves helping you, he must admit he misses being in the kitchen.

Your apartment hunt ends up with a last-minute offer for a one-bedroom place near your office and with a view on the park.

“Yer kitchen is better than mine,” Osamu clicks his tongue.

“That gives you a good reason to come visit me.”

“I’m thinkin’ about more than just one reason to visit ya.”

“You pervert,” you tease, and he tries to defend himself, but it’s probably a lost cause, for deep down, Osamu knows you’re right.

So yes, three weeks pass, and things go pretty well between you two.

It's been a week since he last saw you, though you FaceTime every evening—both to tell him about your day and to show him the first pieces of decoration you've put up; a few flowerpots, two cups on the counter (one for him, one for you), and a framed picture of you and Umi.

And today is the National Team last public practice match, so it means Osamu gets to finally see you in person (yesss, he mumbles when rolls out of bed at dawn.)

The match starts at 1 p.m., the crowd is expected at noon, and Osamu spends the late morning setting up his onigiri stall in the gym’s hall. His hands move automatically as he arranges the ingredients and checks his prep. He tries to focus on his routine because his mind is far from calm.  Sure, he is happy to see you but he knows you’re also waiting for the “real solution” to overcome the distance. But Osamu hasn’t found it yet, not even when you packed your bags and moved in Tokyo officially.Time is running out.

Nagisa probably noticed the somehow stressed mood of his boss and finds himself even more careful than he usual is.

“Can I have one… Ginger chicken onigiri please?”

Nagisa greets you respectfully and Osamu immediately turns to where you stand with widen eyes as if he wasn’t expecting you.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey.” He replies back and the man has to fight the stupid grin tugging at his lips. “Just give me a second.”

Osamu hands you your order, “Enjoy.”

“Those are new, huh?”

“Yeah, for the Spring Menu.” He explains, trying to keep his cool, but his smile sneaks through.

“I can’t wait to try then,” You smile back, your eyes meeting his. He could stand there all day, just soaking in this moment. But he’s working and you have a volleyball match to attend.

“Well, I’m gonna join Kita-san now. And also-” you glance behind you at the growing line. “Don’t wanna hold up the queue.”

Before he can even think of a reply, you wave and step away. He watches as you walk toward where Kita is waiting and both disappear in the stands. His heart warms at the sight.

The hours pass as the match begins, Osamu and Nagisa catch glimpses of the game through the screens scattered around the hall. Atsumu starts the first set, naturally, and Osamu can't help but grumble to himself when his brother is swapped out for Kageyama in the second. By the time his twin closes the final set with a signature service ace, Osamu rolls his eyes, already dreading the inevitable rambling about it later tonight.

“Atsumu-san is amazing,” Nagisa says and his eyes shine at the screen.

“Well, keep that for yerself please.” Osamu straightens up and starts packing up his stall.

The crowd begins to disperse, he can hear it from a distance. He’s just about ready to close up when a familiar face appears, slightly out of breath.

“Are you still open?” one Akaashi Keiji says with a sheepish smile.

Osamu simply remarks that he’s always open for his best client, and it makes Akaashi even more embarrassed. “That’s very considerate of you Miya-san. Sorry I didn’t come by earlier. I arrived late.”

“No problem,” Osamu replies, handing him his usual set of onigiri. “Yer favorite as always.”

Akaashi accepts the food, then hesitates before speaking. “There’s a new onigiri shop near my workplace, you know. I gave it a try, but... well, they don’t come close to yours.”

Osamu chuckles. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

“But don’t worry, Miya-san,” Akaashi continues, putting his glasses back on, “I’m not going to try to convince you to open a shop in Tokyo this time. I learned my lesson. Besides, you’re probably already too busy with your current restaurant.”

Osamu opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out of it. Instead, his mind goes blank, and a cloud makes his brain unable to think. But not in an oppressive way, no, this time the cloud is light and pleasant.

Something seems to click inside him, as if a thought that has been buried suddenly rises to the surface. He’s always brushed off the idea of expanding, but now... maybe it’s time to stop putting things aside. His decision comes in a flash, and before he can second-guess it, he’s calling out to his part-time employee.

“Hey, Nagisa! Can ya finish up closin’ the stall? I gotta go.”

Without waiting for an answer, Osamu takes off, scanning the crowd for you. He spots you near the exit, chatting with a few familiar faces. His heart beats faster as he approaches.

He says your name, “Can we talk?”

You raise an eyebrow, but you nod, leading him to a quieter spot—the room where you used to work as the Jackals’ communication manager.

“So,” you begin, crossing your arms as you turn to face him. “What’s going on?”

Osamu takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinkin’... ‘bout how I can make this work.”

“Make what work?”

“Us.” The word feels huge, but it’s the only thing that matters right now. “I’ve decided... I’m gonna open a shop in Tokyo.”

Your eyes widen, clearly taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll expand,” Osamu says, his voice is firm. “I’ll open a shop in Tokyo, so we don’t have to do this long-distance thing. I want to be with ya. There are a lot of things I need to think about like findin’ the right place and hirin’ new people, it might take a little bit of time but I have the cash, and I know it’s gonna be alright. Can ya trust me on this?”

The last question is said with more softness, maybe with a bit of fear. But there’s still this determination in his eyes that you love so much.

You seem to process his words for a moment, and he holds his breath, waiting for your reaction. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face. Without warning, you throw your arms around him, and he catches you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Of course, I trust you,” you whisper against his shoulder and Osamu feels a shiver running down his spine.

“Honestly…” he speaks again, “I’m already pretty busy with the restaurant but maybe it’s time for the business to grow.”

“And I’ll be here for you. We’ll go through this together.”

Just as you’re about to kiss—something Osamu has been craving since you entered the venue—the door swings open.

Bokuto’s loud voice fills the room with your name, and both of you jump apart, startled.

“What-what’s going on here?” The outside hitter blurts out. His expression is one of shock, like a child who just caught their parents placing presents under the tree instead of Santa Claus.

“Are-are you…?” He points his finger at you, one after the other.

“We’re datin’.” Osamu replies first.

“But we want to keep it quiet for now,” you add, not noticing how Osamu’s brows furrow. Had ya mentioned this before? he wonders but keeps the question to himself. After all, it’s fine—it’s not like he was planning on going all loud and proud about your relationship like his brother would. Still, the thought lingers.

Bokuto grins, clapping his hands together. You’re both surprised by the change in his attitude (even though you should be used to Bokuto’s moody antics by now). “About time! Anyway, the team’s going out for drinks. You guys coming?”

You both nod. Once Bokuto disappears, you sneak a small kiss on the corner of his lips before opening the door again. He holds back a frustrated grunt—he wanted more, but who can blame him? After all, he’s a Miya; aiming for more is in his genes.

You find yourself sitting between your boyfriend and Bokuto in a busy izakaya. The room is loud, and it smells like fried meat and beers. For once, you're not the only girl at the table since some of the players' partners are here too. Osamu’s eyes keep drifting back to you, even while Komori is recounting some ridiculous story about how he saved Kiyoomi’s life when they were kids—which the younger cousin firmly denies. He listens, nodding politely, but his gaze betrays him as it keeps landing on you. You’re engaged in a conversation with Meian's fiancée, something about her upcoming wedding as Osamu picks up some words related to that topic.

“Oi, listen up!” Atsumu calls once all the drinks are served. He raises his glass. The chatter dies down, and all eyes turn to him. “First of all, congrats to the team on today's win. We smashed it, boys. Let’s keep it goin’, and we’ll do even better at the Olympics!” A round of cheers follows, glasses clinking together.

“And second, let’s give a round of applause to Shoyo-kun, who’s just signed a contract with Asas São Paulo! - Is that how ya say it? Anyway, I’m gonna miss settin’ to ya man, but ya truly deserve it.” Hinata grins, showing all his teeth, and rubs the back of his head as he thanks everyone.

“And finally,” Atsumu pauses dramatically and smirks, “I gotta congratulate Tobio-kun for his solid performance in the second set... even though I’m the one who finished the game off with that perfect serve.”

Kageyama, ever stoic, only bows his head slightly and mutters some “Thank you.”

Aran turns to Osamu, “Will yer brother ever be humble?”, his tone is both desperate and exasperated.

The older twin hears the remark and starts justifying his words, but it only creates a ripple of laughter all around the table.

Bokuto suddenly stands up, taking Atsumu’s role, with an unexpected serious face. “I’ve got something to say too,” he begins and raises his glass in your direction, before saying your name. “I wanna thank you for all the work you’ve done managing our social media for almost a year. You really helped us connect with our fans, and I just-”

Akaashi, sitting to Osamu’s right, leans over and whispers to your boyfriend, “But Kuroo-san told me she’s still managing the Jackals' social media, even if it’s not her main focus anymore.”

“I will.” You announce, high enough for Koutarou to hear. “I’m not completely leaving the Jackals.”

Sakusa sighs heavily. “We already know that. Bokuto’s just being dense as usual,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Wait, you’re not leaving us?” Bokuto asks and his large amber eyes get glassy.

“No, I’ll still be around. I’ll be based in Tokyo most of the time, but I’ll come by every couple of months.” You smile at him gently.

Bokuto grins before sitting down with a long sigh of relief.

The next minute, he turns to you and Osamu. His eyes scan around and he drops his voice to a whisper, “So... you’ll be in a long-distance relationship?”

From under the table, Osamu squeezes your hand, and you return the gesture with a soft smile.

“Actually... I’ve been thinkin’ about openin’ a shop in Tokyo. It’s still just an idea, though, so let’s keep it between us for now.”

“Dude, that’s another secret I have to keep! But you can count on me.” He takes a sip of beer before adding, “Oh and I’m happy for you two.”

Osamu intertwines his fingers with yours, for the first time in a while it feels like everything is falling into place. As if he can finally exhale after holding his breath for so long, because nothing can come between you now.

He glances at you; you’re absolutely beautiful. It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you appear in his eyes. There’s so much he wishes to tell you right now, so many more touches he wants to share. The desire to be selfish takes over and he leans in. As he parts his lips to whisper that he loves you, Atsumu shouts.

“SUNARIN! So cool you made it!’

You drop his hand in a sharp, almost reflexive move.

Your knees no longer touch each other, a thin void is left where your shoulder was resting.

Suna strides into the izakaya. Osamu can’t help but look at you, as his former teammate approaches to greet everyone. You’re clearly troubled by the situation, and after all, it’s only normal. What Osamu doesn’t like though, is how your gaze is glued to your ex now and how all your attention is directed towards the middle blocker, instead of him.

He feels his lungs get smashed all over again.

Because just when he thought everything was finally settling, it hits him that perhaps, there’s still one more obstacle to overcome.

author notes: i hope you love roller coasters haha

i really enjoyed introducing new characters from haikyuu even though it's only for a small part of the chapter

did you guys love this chapter? (only 1 left btw)

sorry for the delay againnn

lots of love

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan, @sugacor3, @sunahsvt, @iluv-ace, @cinnamonruts

[offtorivendell]

The Asteri, the Daglan, and Prythian's Court System

Disclaimer: this is a stupidly massive crack theory that could end up being disastrously wrong. Oh well.

Spoilers: the ACOTAR and CC series to date (I'm halfway through HOFAS right now, slowly plodding along, so nothing beyond that).

Image from ACOSF, Kindle edition.

Buckle up for some more of my nonsense! I think I could have discovered why Prythian's land has the Court and High Lord Systems. This theory still has a couple of wrinkles to iron out, but it's plausible, so I figured I'd share what I've got.

A massive thank you goes to @ladynightcourt3 and @psychologynerd for our chat yesterday morning, which led to this post. I love you guys! 💜

Full warning that this will A) be absolutely cracked, and B) contains Maasverse spoilers, including from HOFAS (up to around 40% I think), but I was mulling over what I'd read so far and this popped into my mind.

Part 1 - The Court System

Bryce made, I think, one hell of an assumption when she said the following in HOFAS:

Vesperus, the only Asteri left on this world, lay dead. - CC HOFAS, chapter 26

@wingedblooms and I have previously theorised that some of the barren regions in Prythian may be so because the death gods were trapped there, drinking the magic of the land, rendering it spent - lifeless - and possibly unable to power up a gateway to an interstellar rift. We both also think it's very interesting that one Elain Archeron was referred to as “a rose bloom in a mud field,” but I digress.

However, in HOFAS, we learnt that there was a Daglan/Asteri, called Vesperus (who considered herself the Evening Star and their god), trapped in a crystal coffin far below the Prison, which was once a land of Dusk.

The female’s long nails scraped along the lid of the coffin. She didn’t look at them as she tested the lid for weaknesses. “I am your god. I am your master. Do you not know me?” - CC HOFAS, chapter 24

It's interesting, no, that the region was named after the Daglan who ruled it? Was this common practice? Because we just so happened to learn, in Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter, that there was once an ancient Night Court goddess named Nyx.

You know, their son's namesake? Yikes. 🫣

“You may call me Vesperus.” The creature’s eyes glowed with irritation. “Are you related to Hesperus?” Bryce arched a brow at the name, so similar to one of Midgard’s Asteri. “The Evening Star?” “I am the Evening Star,” Vesperus seethed. - CC HOFAS, chapter 25

Silene, Theia's second daughter, who “escaped into the night,” gave us further information that appeared - to me, at least - to be incomplete. Or perhaps inaccurate? She had been taught by her mother, so she could have been fed certain things as facts. For example, was the land of Prythian really divvied up into seasons and times of day before the Daglan came to town?

The land strengthened. It returned to what it had been before the Daglan’s arrival millennia before. We returned to what we’d been before that time, too, creatures whose very magic was tied to this land. Thus the land’s powers became my mother’s. Dusk, twilight—that’s what the island was in its long-buried heart, what her power bloomed into, the lands rising with it. It was, as she said, as if the island had a soul that now blossomed under her care, nurtured by the court she built here. - CC HOFAS, chapter 19

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. - CC HOFAS, chapter 19

My sister and I grew older. My mother educated us herself, always reminding us that though the Daglan had been vanquished, evil lived on. Evil lurked beneath our very feet, always waiting to devour us. - CC HOFAS, chapter 19

Reading between the lines, I think it's just possible to link the powers of each land with the Daglan who once ruled over them. Perhaps each region - each “precursor” to a modern day Court - had a Daglan/Asteri buried underneath a barren peak, or in a body of water? Is this why the lands have frozen seasons, pools of starlight*, or powers based upon the light of the time of day? Because of a monster buried far, far below the surface?!

*Is there a Daglan entombed in a crystal coffin far below the surface, or is it a cache of firstlight, one that may be refuelled each Calanmai? Or, as @psychologynerd has suggested, is there a Made object of power that will draw Elain to the Spring Court?

Our home had been left empty since we’d vanished. As if the other Fae thought it cursed. So I made it truly cursed. Damned it all. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

Despite my efforts to hide what this place had once been, a terrible, ancient power hung in the air. It was as my mother had warned us when we were children: evil always lingered, just below us, waiting to snatch us into its jaws. So I went to find another monster to conceal it. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

I left, wandering the lands for a time, seeing how they had moved on without Theia’s rule. They’d splintered into several territories, and though they were not at war, they were no longer the unified kingdom I had known. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

As a quick aside, I still suspect that Fionn may have been a Daglan - or similar, perhaps an Under King - who tricked Theia into thinking him a normal faerie and used her to overthrow his peers in order to gain more land for himself. It seems exactly like something a rogue Asteri would do.

Like I suggested earlier, could each region be named for its ruler? Because the names of at least one of the Midgard Asteri was, shall we say, coincidentally similar to the Daglan of Prythian, and others appear to match at least the solar courts.

Solar:

Dawn - Eosphoros

Day - Rigelus

Dusk - Hesperus

Night - Sirius

Seasonal (incomplete/unsure/probably incorrect):

Spring - Austrus?

Summer - Octartis?

Autumn - ?

Winter - Polaris?

As I said, the Midgardian Asteri don't perfectly match up to the seasonal Prythian courts, but it's too close to not consider as a possibility, imo.

Perhaps the lands of Midgard were broken up into solar regions and something else that wasn't seasonal? But given the Vesperus/Hesperus competition... maybe whatever species Asteri and/or Daglan are are strongest when travelling with a full complement of powers? And each "clan" (for lack of a better word) that travelled together had dawn, day, dusk, and night “lights,” as well as spring, summer, autumn and winter lights? Could it weaken them to be without a full cohort of powers? As @ladynightcourt3 said, it would explain why they were so upset about Sirius. Could Rigelus be hoping for a replacement to find them and return them to full strength, and that's why he keeps an empty throne?

Part 2 - The High Lords

No one knew that the infant who sometimes glowed with starlight had inherited it from me. That it was the light of the evening star. The dusk star. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

An Asteri being buried under each Court could explain the high lord magic as well.The HLs are “a different breed,” per Lucien. Did the Asteri/Daglan need a Starborn Fae who is predisposed to holding, or withstanding, their magic? If this is the case, it would explain why the next in line to inherit the power - or who the magic chooses - isn't always a direct descendant of the previous high lord. Does it pass to the Fae with the strongest Starborn blood? And why the mountain shook when Mor got her first period. There has to be a Daglan/Asteri buried under the Hewn City.

That being said, why is it only men who can inherit the magic, and not women, especially when we now know that high ladies used to exist? Did Theia's betrayal made them distrust females in general, or was it something Seline did? Or is it because the women have the most/purest/strongest, starborn power, so did the men keep them down to use them as “breeding stock” in order to legitimise their rule, similar to what Pelias did with Helena?

Part 3 - Further Thoughts

I still wonder how Hybern and Hel could come into play here, because I think those lands are linked. A Valg/Hel Prince population on a different island?

@psychologynerd noted that we’ve previously connected the solar and seasonal courts, such Dawn = Spring, Day = Summer etc., and that it would track for Autumn and Dusk - an appropriately matched pair - to migrate together to Midgard. As an aside, this could tie in with the parallels shared by Azriel and Lucien, who may be/are linked to Dusk and Autumn. What if their power was connected via their “stars”?

@ladynightcourt3 wondered if Hesperus may have changed her name, hence Vesperus’ anger.

I can understand how a Daglan's presence may impart their magic into the land, especially if they're left buried - steeping? - in the soil for millennia, but how would that magic shape the faeries living there? Is it like I suggested in this post, that prolonged exposure to a powerful object allows a tie to be forged?

A bonus crack theory for fun - what if Merrill is a trapped Asteri? Either Nyx or Sirius, whom Apollion ate, and perhaps she escaped the pit of Hel through the base of the House of Wind library; nobody knows where she came from, she's descended from Rabbath of the Western Wind… her room is described as a cell and she called Nesta “girl” like Amren - an ancient - did. I dunno, but there's something about Merrill.

As always, thank you for reading! 💜

[delicatebarness]

bring him home | chapter three

Summary: How has it been a whole year already?

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Mentions of Grief. Violence. Knives. Injury.

Word Count: 1376

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A/N: I love Rocket, okay?

Tags: @vampirethingz | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love | @esposadomd | @motylekrozi | @erica2024 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @mega-kittyglitter-1 | @mostlymarvelgirl

The first anniversary of the Snap, the second most difficult day of your life. Standing before the ‘Wall of the Vanished’ in Brooklyn, your eyes locked on a single name that meant everything to you. ‘James “Bucky” Barnes’. His name began to blur as tears welled up in your eyes, every letter was a reminder of the loss you were still struggling to accept. 

You woke up that morning with a heavy heart, the weight of the anniversary pressed down on you. As if you remind you of the silence that had followed that day, the city seemed quieter. 

The journey to Brooklyn was blurred as your memories of Bucky, his laugh, his smile, his stare, replayed in your mind. 

The ‘Wall of the Vanished’ was a structure, a monument of collective grief. Every city and county had built their own, a testament to the billions who had disappeared without a trace. As you approached, others were standing, some in silent reflection, others weeping as their fringers traced the names of their loved ones. 

It felt like a punch from The Hulk as you reached Bucky’s name, whispering it under your breath. As if saying it softly enough could somehow bring him home. Reaching out to touch the cold stone, you felt the roughness under your fingertips. You couldn’t believe that a year had passed since your world changed forever.

~

The memory of his tortured cries haunted your dreams, even into your teenage years. Some years had passed since that harrowing day, and you were not allowed to be trained by him afterward. As time went by, you knew you had to escape. You bided your time with your older sister Natasha, feigning obedience while secretly plotting. You seized the moment as soon as the opportunity arose, slipping through the cracks of their iron grip and disappearing into the shadows.

You managed to build a new life away from their horrors and your past. Living in hiding in a quiet town, trying to blend in. You began to attend a public high school and tried to reclaim something of a normal life. The world now only saw an ordinary girl, but you were always on guard, waiting for them to come. 

After a long day at school, you decided to walk home through the park, basking in the setting sun. The air was crisp, and the scent of the spring flowers beginning to bloom provided a fleeting comfort. 

You barely noticed a figure approaching as you got lost in thought. It wasn’t until he was right in front of you, that you noticed him. 

“Soldat,” you whispered, the name catching in your throat as your heart stopped. He didn’t look different, his hair was the same length as you remembered and his eyes were still that intense blue.

There was no response, he lunged at you with a knife. It grazed your arm as you barely managed to dodge it, indifference over his features.

“Don’t you recognize me, Soldat?” you pleaded, your voice trembling as the memories flashed in your mind, you continued to dodge.

He stared blankly at you while not backing down, his movements were as mechanical as you remembered. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“It’s me, your Spiderling,” you said desperately, hoping to reach the side of him they would try to erase.

For a moment, he paused, his gaze scanned you up and down. You saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. You had grown, and aged since the last time you saw him. 

“Liar,” he hissed, his voice was cold and detached. 

He began lunging at you again. Summoning all your strength, you accepted that the brief hesitation was all you were going to get. You prepared yourself for the hardest fight in your life. One against him.

His knife came at you again, but this time, you deflected it was a swift motion you learned from him. Knocking the knife out of his hand, his response was immediate; launching a barrage of punches. You countered and dodged, drawing on every bit of training you’d received from him.

“Soldat, please!” you shouted between strikes, testing your hope again. “It’s me!” 

He didn’t respond, he was relentless. The initial adrenaline rush you had began to fade as you tired quickly. The sound of HYDRA agents filled the previously deserted park, they were closing in. You could only imagine they were tracking him to ensure he completed his mission. You. 

You darted into the woods, him hot on your heels as the agents followed. Their shouts echoed through the trees. The only chance was to lose him in the woods, hoping that his memories of you, however buried, would slow him.

As branches whipped your face, and the ground became uneven, you heard him behind you. And, he was gaining ground. Your small frame began to feel as though it couldn’t go any further, yet a shot rang out. A searing pain rushed from your leg, and you stumbled, falling to the ground. 

He was on you in an instant, and fear began to rise within you. Yet, he hesitated again, instead of completing the mission, he looked down at you. Your eyes pleaded with his as you met his gaze.

“You don’t have to do this, please.” 

His grip tightened on your arm, his eyes flickering with confusion and pain. The voices from the distance grew louder. A sudden burst of strength came over you, wrenching you free from his grasp. You tried to stand but your injury caused you to collapse once more. 

“Finish it!” An agent demanded as they reached you, roughly pulling you to your feet. A piercing scream escaped you as the pain through your arm. 

His eyes locked onto yours again, for a moment, you didn’t see the soldier. You saw the same man you did as a child. But then, the cold mask returned. You struggled against the agent as darkness closed in around you. 

The last you saw was him being led away in the opposite direction. 

When you woke up, you were in a dimly lit room. Bandages covered your wounds, and you recognized the faint hum of medical equipment. Leaning over you, a kind-faced nurse began speaking to you.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly, relief washing over her features as she saw you waking up. “We found you just in time.” 

The days quickly turned into weeks as you recovered, the emotional wounds taking longer to heal than the physical. At night, the memories haunted you, the sight of him being taken away scared into your mind. 

You had lost him once again.

~

That evening, back in the quiet solitude of your room, you found yourself surrounded by a blue glow, a small hologram appearing on your table. Natasha had given it to you, as a way to keep in touch with those still fighting. With a deep breath, you accepted it, and a tiny shimmering figure of Rocket appeared. 

“Hey, kid,” his voice crackled through the device, his sarcastic tone was surprisingly soothing. “How ya holding up?”

His expression softened as you sat down, the weight of the day continuing to press. “Not great. Saw Buck’s name on one of the walls they built today.” 

He let out a small sigh, “Yeah, I guessed it might be a tough day.” he took a moment to pause, no doubt thinking about the family he lost a year ago too. “Look, I know it ain’t much, but we’re out here, doing everything we can to fix it.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, only this time there was a small flicker of hope. “Thanks, Rocket.” you sniffled. “It means a lot to know you’re out there, still.” 

“We’ll get them back,” another pause from him. “All of them.” his voice became full of determination. “And, when we do… we’ll all have a big, stupid celebration.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Rocket chuckled. “I might finally get that arm.” 

The weight of your grief lifted, for only a moment, replaced by the warmth of Rocket’s humor and the promise of a fight not yet over.

---

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[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - First Snowfall Date - English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Lucien’s 2024 CN Birthday Event (Golden Love Ratio)✧ Birthday Story | Birthday Prologue + Birthday Date (You’re here!) | ASMR

"Actually, the reason for wanting to own a castle is quite simple."

"Because that way, I could have a space of my own to carry out those daring and even dangerous experiments."

"And my parents could also accompany me in the castle, pursuing the research they are deeply passionate about."

"That way, they wouldn’t have to be 'trapped' in the lab all the time."

Translation under the cut!

I’m sorry for dropping this so late. As you might have seen from my tweet, my dad was hospitalized in ICU this month. I’m still struggling emotionally now as I wait for him to wake up. It’s been a difficult time, and the grief is still heavy on me as he hasn’t regained consciousness yet… 

Sharing this date translation is the least I can do to celebrate his birthday for now, even though I won’t be annoyingly scream about it like I usually would hhhh. I guess this date feels a bit like a small comfort—a reminder that even if your loved ones have passed away, it’s not all sadness. There’s still warmth in the memories they left behind :”””.

So, Xu Mo, happy birthday. I’m so happy to see you finally embracing your past with such warmth and nostalgia. Honestly, this year feels like it’s all about him finally gaining ‘blood and flesh,’ becoming more human and beautifully stained with the colors of the mortal world. His world is no longer monochrome, and now he’s moving toward the most vibrant and colorful spring. 

✂———————–

Before reading recommendations:

[2024 Birthday Birthday (a MUST read because this date is heavily reference this!) - My Translation]

[Winery date - Youtube (EN Loc)] 

—秋天是个本身就是带着悲伤和落寞的季节， 但是秋天也拥有盛放的花草， 拥有醇美的葡萄 酒， 还有不变的思念。(Autumn itself is a season inherently tinged with sadness and loneliness. Yet, autumn also boasts blooming flowers and thriving plants, rich and mellow wines, and unwavering longing.’) 

[Autumn Blaze Date - Youtube (EN Loc)]

No tear-floods, Nor sigh-tempests move. The fulfillment of a promise is...

“诺言的实现是别离的开始”。(“The fulfillment of a promise is the beginning of separation.")

[Tidying Up Date - My Translation - Youtube (EN Loc)]

—如果在那些被定格的风景里,你依然生动 鲜活,是否证明我还想念着你。(If in those frozen scenes, you still appear vivid and lively as before, does that mean I still miss you?)

那些被我判定为重要的事,即便现在已经 不再拥有同样的心情,那我是否还爱着你。(If what I previously judged to be important no longer reflects my feelings now, does that mean I still love you?)

✂———————–

[Birthday Prologue]

Sunlight shines on the sofa, and the cozy warmth makes me lift my head from my laptop, stretching with a big, lazy yawn.

MC: It always feels like something’s missing…

Lucien's birthday is coming soon, and to properly celebrate that day, he's been rushing his experiments progress lately, making him incredibly busy.

So, I want to give him a "soft and fluffy" birthday where he can lie down anytime and anywhere.

It's just that I've run into a little problem for the time being.

=Flashback Start=

MC: Lucien, what do you think of this town?

Lucien: It seems quite nice. It just so happens that the lab next door seems to be going here to do some research.

MC: What? No, no, if we're not careful, you'll be swept away by work!

I took out my Plan B and placed it in front of Lucien.

MC: How about this southern city then~ It should be very warm here.

Lucien: Hmm... If you don't want to be disturbed by outsiders, I'm afraid this place won't work either.

Lucien: I remember an academic summit is being held here soon. I just returned the call and declined the invitation to attend.

=Flashback End=

Therefore, after several plans were forced to be aborted one after another, my gaze inevitably shifted to the other side of the ocean.

Let's go somewhere farther away!

That way, Lucien can have a peaceful birthday without being disturbed by work or the outside world.

I immediately change my search keywords and start browsing travel guides for long-distance birthday trips.

Suddenly, a relevant news notification pops up on the webpage.

A castle museum owned by a renowned inventor from the last century will soon be open to the public.

In the photo, the historic castle is adorned with falling red leaves in the sunlight, resembling a piece of condensed amber.

I excitedly click on it and discover that, in addition to the open exhibition area, the castle is also available for rent by the square meter.

MC: ...Castle rental?

My eyes light up, and an idea forms in my mind.

✂———————–

When Lucien returns in the evening, I quietly close my laptop and walk to the door with a smile.

MC: Lucien—welcome home~ Ahem, I have a new idea about your birthday!

Lucien takes off his coat and gently embraces me, his eyes reflecting a soft, tranquil smile like the surface of a shallow water.

Lucien: What's the idea?

MC: Heehee, let me give you a hint~ How about we go somewhere far away for your birthday this time, a place with a vintage feel?

A gentle puff of air that seems like a suppressed chuckle reaches my ears, and a thoughtful expression appears on Lucien's face.

Lucien: Hmm... So, how vintage are we talking?

MC: Like, no elevator, and maybe no heating?

Lucien: Sounds like it could be a bit cold. It seems we'll need to pack some warm clothes.

I subconsciously nod, then immediately react.

MC: Wait, you've already agreed?

Lucien: Mm, after all, celebrating a birthday in a castle is a very appealing option.

MC: !!

MC: Hey! I clearly kept it under wraps, I haven’t even booked the tickets yet.... how did you figure it out so quickly?

Lucien's lips curve into a smile as he takes my hand, his index finger gently tapping on the back of my hand.

Lucien: It's probably because... your browsing history is synced to my computer.

✂———————–

[Date]

If you want to follow along with the voice- you can hear it here . The date starts at 14:10

=[Part 1]=

The late autumn sunshine is softened by the clouds, leaping through the glass window and casting a honey-like, mottled glow on the wooden floor.

MC: Mmh…

The cold air wakes me. As I'm about to stretch, my right hand accidentally brushes against something warm and soft.

Lucien lies peacefully beside me, breathing steadily. His brow, furrowed from days of relentless work, finally relaxes as he falls into a deep well of sleep.

We crossed the ocean and arrived at an ancient castle on the Atlantic coast last night.

It is said that this castle was personally designed and built by an inventor from the electrical era. He gifted it to his wife as a wedding present upon its completion.

They fell in love as they settled down at this very place, continuously building love founded on mutual companionship. Here they remained until they eventually passed away together and were laid to rest eternally within the castle grounds.

The profound emotions and story, coupled with the beautiful view of maple leaves and the ancient castle before my eyes, strengthen my resolve to rent this castle.

Amidst the intermingling of light and shadow this early morning, I quietly gaze at Lucien and a soft warmth wells up in my heart.

A hand with defined knuckles encloses my right hand, his palm pressed against the back of my hand, transmitting his body heat.

It's as if he's reluctant to grasp it tightly, yet unwilling to let go, so he just gently cups my hand.

I raise the hand that he isn’t holding, my fingertips hovering at the smallest distance as I trace the outline of his features.

Eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, his lips… until those closed eyelids suddenly quiver and blink lightly.

Lucien slowly opens his eyes, a hint of soft sleepiness lingering in them.

His hold on my hand tightens as he looks at me drowsily, revealing a gentle, soft smile under the sunlight.

I shift my body slightly, blocking the sunlight that's falling into his eyes, then lean down and gently press my cheek against his.

MC: Happy birthday, Professor Lucien~

Lucien: [his sleepy, soft voice is so cute-] Thank you, my little lady.

He tilts his face up, nuzzling affectionately against my cheek. The sunlight falls on his side profile, making him look fluffy.

The strands of his hair tangle with mine, stirring tender and lingering itches.

Lucien: Waking up in a castle and hearing MC's blessing, I must be the happiest person in the world right now.

Lucien: If I were to say there's still something missing, it would probably be...

Lucien: [chuckles] You're right. This castle is indeed quite cold.

His teasing tone makes me unable to resist lifting the corner of my lips. I snuggle closer, resting my cheek on his collarbone and nuzzling against it, warming the slightly cold patch of skin.

After warming up his skin that was exposed to the air, I tilt my face up to look at him.

MC: Being here with you under the covers like this makes it feel just a bit warmer.  

MC: However, getting up and moving around might help warm up our body too.

I wink at Lucien, speaking with a feigned seriousness that makes the matter seem like a big deal.

MC: I’ve decided to leave this difficult decision to the esteemed castle owner. May I ask, what would Your Highness like to do*?

My words are the picture of courtesy, yet I press myself against Lucien, my hand boldly and unreservedly traces his cheek.

His chest, pressed tightly against mine, trembles softly. Lucien takes my fingers, bringing them to his pale lips for a gentle kiss.

Lucien: Since I’m the owner of this castle... then, I want to stay in bed with my girlfriend for a bit longer right now.

He looks at me and blinks, his eyelashes casting a warm shadow on his cheek.

Lucien: [chuckles] Is that okay?

His voice holds a touch of playful mischievousness. I meet those eyes filled with smiles and feel a little dazed.

MC: Of course…

Before I can even finish speaking, I feel his hand tighten around my waist, and I yield as he wraps me back in the blanket again.

From just a breath away, I hear Lucien's long, contented exhale.

Lucien: [chuckles softly, then exhales comfortably] Then stay with me a little longer, let's indulge in bed a bit more.

✂———————–

*: MC playfully used 您 (nin) here, which is like the formal way to say ‘you’. I translate this to ‘Your Highness’ as an attempt to capture this~

✂———————–

=[Part 2]=

We linger in bed until almost noon when Lucien finally 'digs' me out of the warm covers while I’m still drowsy from sleep.

After freshening up, we enjoy the sumptuous and exquisite brunch prepared by the butler.

Before the birthday dinner arrives, we still have a long stretch of leisurely time that we can freely arrange.

Considering this rare opportunity to vacation in the castle, we decide to spend half the day on the castle's lawn.

Late autumn is a season of vibrant colors, and the castle's designer clearly understood this well, planting a row of deciduous trees along the castle's edge.

[Trivia: Deciduous trees are trees that shed their leaves each year in the autumn!]

The lawn remains as green as an antique jade, but the leaves of the trees have already turned yellow, with a backdrop of maple forests ablaze in crimson.

The sunlight is warm, the fallen leaves crunch under my feet, and I can't help but take a deep breath.

MC: Mmm... It's the scent of autumn!

Lucien chuckles softly and, imitating me, takes a gentle breath of the autumn air.

Lucien: [chuckles] The air is so fresh. It must have rained last night; I can smell the petrichor.

MC: Hearing you say that, it feels like even the air today is a fresh gift for you~

I reach out and catch a falling leaf carried by the autumn breeze, gently placing it in Lucien's hand.

MC: Lucien, I want to give you a gift of autumn!

Lucien: A gift of autumn?

Lucien takes the leaf with a slightly puzzled look. I swing his hand gently and give him a wink.

MC: Consider this leaf a humble offering to spark something greater.

MC: I want to use these fallen leaves, flowers, and fruits to make an autumn basket, offering a small gift to today's birthday boy using nature's bounty.

Lucien gently nods in understanding, the curve of his lips remaining unchanged.

Lucien: Even though you're preparing a gift for me, the birthday boy himself is eager to join in too.

Lucien: Or is it that my little lady will only allow me to stand back and do nothing?

As he leans in slightly, his tone carries a hint of seriousness, and his fingertips lightly brush against my palm.

Sunlight sprinkles across his face, and his smiling eyes, framed by the interplay of light and shadow, appear even deeper, revealing a gentle slyness.

MC: Of course I need Professor Lucien's help, but when it comes to the final weaving stage, the birthday boy can't peek~

Lucien: No problem, I will be an honest collaborator.

The autumn wind lifts his hair, creating gentle curves as it sweeps through the strands. I gather his fingers in mine and we step onto the forest path by the castle.

MC: Let's go then, we still need a lot of materials~

In the maple forest during late autumn, fruit trees laden with fruit hide amongst the low bushes, while vibrant beeches with flourishing branches and leaves stand beside the tall oaks.

Purple crocuses peek their delicate buds from the grass, while after the rain, strange fungi unfurl their caps and release spores.

It's like stumbling into an autumn oil painting with bold colors and thick brushstrokes, every glance reveals a colorful and magnificent scenery.

When Lucien picks up a plump acorn, a red squirrel with a fluffy tail scurries out and squeaks at him.

MC: Wow, such a daring little squirrel!

Lucien and I are both taken aback for a moment; this little fellow seems completely unafraid of us.

MC: Is it greeting us, or is it trying to steal the fruit we've picked up?

Lucien seems to already have a way to handle this, a hint of cunningness flashing in his eyes.

He takes a pine cone in his hand and gently dangles it in front of the little squirrel's tail.

Lucien: [chuckles] Little guy, do you want this?

The greedy little squirrel's eyes instantly fixate on the new pine cone, completely captivated by his movement, and it scurries forward a few steps.

It stuffs the pine cone from Lucien's hand into its mouth in one gulp, then hops away with its cheeks puffed out.

Lucien: [chuckles] This maple forest is their world. That pine cone, well, let's just consider it an ‘entry fee'.

Lucien raises his hand again, and when he opens his palm before me, there they are—several even plumper and cuter acorns.

MC: Hold on, turns out you've been secretly keeping all these 'hidden treasures' to yourself!

Lucien: [in an ‘innocent’ tone] After all, my little lady needs these acorns, so I had to find a way to evade those sharp-eared and keen-eyed little fellows.

Though he says this, Lucien shows a relaxed expression, looking like a little fox pretending to be innocent.

The thought of the Great Professor Lucien actually ‘tricking’ a squirrel makes me burst out laughing. I grab his hand and pull him along as I run in the other direction.

MC: Hahaha, Professor Lucien, quick, run with me! Be careful, the little squirrel might go find the squirrel police and report us!

I hold hands with Lucien as we walk through the woods. The surrounding scenery is vibrant with colors, creating the impression of a flowing oil painting.

The air around the sweet osmanthus trees is filled with a sweet fragrance like cotton candy, while black walnuts and red oak acorns roll on the ground.

My pockets are loaded with autumn's ‘spoils’ which keep spilling out as I run, as if they are merging with the forest's hidden mysteries.

Despite these minor incidents, we still manage to gather a basketful of autumn's gifts.

✂———————–

Back indoors, I carry my blessings for Lucien and patiently weave them together.

Leaves and fruits gradually take shape in my hands, carrying small heartfelt wishes, preserving the warmth and liveliness of autumn.

And then, I find Lucien by the window.

He seems to have just come inside, a hint of coldness still clinging to him, but when he turns and looks back at me, a gentle smile quickly spreads across his face.

I smile and lift the basket of fruits and flowers with both hands as if I'm holding all the beauty of autumn.

MC: This castle’s most beautiful autumn is all right here! Here, it's all yours—

MC: I hope every day of your future can be as complete, fulfilling, and beautiful as this~

Lucien's eyes curve into a smile as he takes the basket.  Suddenly, I feel a touch of moist coolness against my ear.

Through the glass window, I see him quietly tuck a vibrant Cleome flower into my hair.

Lucien: Thank you, I really like these autumn gifts.

Lucien: But for me, the most beautiful part of autumn is right here before my eyes.

Lucien: She blooms year after year, staying by my side, and leaving me utterly captivated*.

✂———————–

[T/N]

I think the Cleome Spinosa flower, also known as 醉蝶花 ("intoxicated butterfly") carries symbolic meaning. When Lucien gives her this particular flower, it reflects his emotions about her. The final line (她年复一年地盛开,陪在我的身边,令我沉醉其中 — literally translated as "She blooms year after year, staying by my side, and leaving me intoxicated") directly connects to the "intoxicating" (醉) in the flower's name with the word 沉醉 (immersed in a state of intoxication) in the last line, which combines 沉 (to sink or immerse) and 醉 (to be drunk or intoxicated).

沉醉 conveys the emotional nuances of being utterly captivated, deeply enchanted, and overwhelmed in a consuming, blissful way. This imagery mirrors the 'intoxicated butterfly' of the flower, as if he's the 'intoxicated butterfly', utterly captivated and completely consumed by her existence.

✂———————–

=[Part 3]=

It's past dusk, and the sunlight is as golden and radiant as freshly harvested honey. Outside the window, a vast expanse of red maple trees sways in harmony with the evening breeze, whispering a soft melody. Leaves flutter and dance their way into the room every now and then.

I rub my arms, for even this gentle and beautiful scenery can’t stop the temperature from dropping as night falls.

MC: Uh... It feels even colder than it did this morning.

Just then, the sound of rolling wheels comes from behind me. Lucien approaches, pushing a small wooden cart, a plush shawl in his hand.

Lucien: I found a pretty good way to warm up, want to give it a try?

He gently wraps a shawl around me, and I comfortably nuzzle against his warm and cozy neck.

MC: I'm all ears to hear the esteemed opinions of the castle's owner!

Lucien smiles mysteriously, holds my hand, and pushes the cart as we walk together to a door leading underground.

MC: This is... a wine cellar?

Lucien: I think it would be more ceremonial if we chose the wine list ourselves tonight.

He lights the two oil lamps that were prepared in advance. Each of us carries one, and we slowly move forward through the rich aroma of oak barrels.

According to the butler, the wine cellar was recently ventilated.  

Yet, perhaps the overwhelming aroma of wine saturates the air, walking inside makes me feel a bit stifled. I even feel slightly intoxicated just from the scent, before even having a sip.

Besides me, only Lucien still carries the fresh and crisp scent of grass and trees from when we were gathering fruits and fallen leaves.

It feels like he is the only antidote in this dim room filled with the floating aroma of wine.

Red maple leaves, the wine cellar, the wine itself… memories from the past seem to overlap at this moment.

Suddenly, I recall the winery we visited long ago.

The memory of the autumn stained red by the maple leaves has brought with it the restlessness and infatuation of the past, spilling out from the bottom of my heart without any reason...

It's as if my lips still retain the feeling of his touch when he wiped away the wine stain for me, making my heartbeat inexplicably quicken. Just then, I catch sight of Lucien gently placing a bottle of wine into the cart.

MC: Professor Lucien, what kind of wine did you choose?

Lucien: Riesling white wine.

Lucien turns the bottle around to show me.

Lucien: When I got the cart, the butler knew I was going to the wine cellar and recommended this castle's specialty to me.

Lucien: And you?

I suppress the excitement in my heart and wink at him mysteriously.

MC: Hmph, you'll find out soon enough.

The light and soft aroma of white wine fills the air, and even the candles on the wall seem intoxicated by the wine's fragrance, their flames gently flickering.  

Under the twilight dome of the sky, the shadows of the wine rack and stone walls sway gracefully in the flickering firelight.  

Lucien and I sit at a small table nearby, two crystal-clear glasses already filled with wine, exuding a faintly tipsy aura.  

After two glasses of Riesling, I feel warmth spreading through my body and let out a satisfied sigh.

MC: Ahh, so comfortable... I don't feel cold at all anymore~ As expected of the wine Professor Lucien chose.

Lucien: [chuckles] Would you like some more?

I smile and shake my head, winking at him mysteriously.

MC: First, let's try the wine I picked~

I open the bottle of wine I selected and pour a glass for Lucien, sneaking a glance at his face from the corner of my eye.  

The candlelight cast a soft filter over him, concealing his keen and contemplative eyes, which revealed a soft glow under the haze of the wine.

He parts his pale lips, gently swallows the wine, and seems to be momentarily dazed.

MC: How is it?

I can barely contain my anticipation as I watch his brow smooth slightly, relaxing further after taking in the wine.

Confusion and surprise flit through his gentle eyes, before swiftly transforming into a clear understanding.

Lucien:  ...This flavor is very unique, and yet also very familiar.

Lucien: It's sweet and tender, yet with a touch of bitterness and complexity*.

[Notes from Lux: He copied her remark from back then, word by word :”””. 纠结 is a tricky word to translate because it literally means “intertwined”/”tangled”. But figuratively, it implies a kind of intertwined, tangled feeling, commonly describing a state of emotional or mental conflict, where someone feels torn between different choices or is experiencing confusion and hesitation (a.k.a the state of the earlier stage of their relationship-). I went with ‘complexity’ to capture some nuances, but it might not capture this ‘entangling’ feeling.]

The complex yet familiar remark sends a rush of emotions through me. Just as I’m thinking about what to say, Lucien smiles.

Lucien: But when I savor it again, I feel a warmth, like that of sunshine and rain—a delicate, pleasant warmth.

The familiar words stir a trace of emotion in my heart, and in a daze, it feels as if the autumn equinox of that year has arrived at this very moment.

He still remembers—this is the same bottle of wine I tasted back when we were just getting to know each other, during our visit to Eileen's winery for an interview.

My fingertips unconsciously rub against the bottle, and my thoughts follow my gaze to the red maple trees bathed in the evening glow.

Back then, it was also the season when the maples were crimson and the flowers were in full bloom...

A maple leaf, as if on cue, is swayed by the evening breeze and drifts toward me. I instinctively reach out, and the leaf gently lands in my palm.

It feels as though the early days of tentative exploration and the subtle sweetness of that time have traveled with the falling leaf, arriving here in this foreign land at this moment.

Lucien: I remember, on the way to the winery, I mentioned Maple Road. We ended up going there together.

Lucien: On Maple Road, we read a poetry collection together and visited a maple sugar shack.

Lucien: Later, I drew a picture of you collecting maple leaves. That drawing even ended up in an exhibition...

The rippling light of the wine in the crystal glass reflects on him, even his gaze holds tender memories.

Lucien speaks calmly, his memories unfolding like a heavy book, slowly opening before me with the sound of his voice.

The bond beneath the red maple tree and the feelings growing in the vineyard, word by word, moment by moment, intertwine and become etched into our story-

Only those who created it together can turn its pages and retrieve each other's anchors from the endless flow of time.

My heart is stirred, subtly and uncontrollably. I can't help but rush into Lucien's arms, hugging him tightly.

MC: I remember too.

MC: Not just these things you've mentioned... everything about you, I remember it all.

MC: So after today, Professor Lucien should also update this birthday into all our autumn memories.

His chest pressed close to me, trembles slightly. A warm, gentle kiss falls on my forehead, soft and cherishing.

Lucien: Such beautiful memories, I don't seem to have any reason to let them fade away.

I lift my face joyfully and gently kiss his chin.  

We have already experienced countless stories through many autumns and celebrated each of his birthdays.

And I also want to write down promises with him for each and every autumn in the future, continuing on for a very, very long time.

MC: Then it's a promise!

Lucien smiles faintly and lifts me up with one hand, his gentle gaze meeting mine at eye level.

Lucien: [chuckles] However, if I want to make the anchor of this ‘memory’ even more profound, I still need to gather a bit of inspiration…

The remaining of his words are lost into our mingling breaths, replaced by a crisp kiss tinged with the scent of wine.

This kiss is gentle and intoxicating, leaving me somewhat tipsy, though not from the effects of alcohol.

Perhaps it's because the youthful and inexperienced flavor of that past has long since mixed with the passionate love that has matured over time…

Blending and growing, pulling me deeply into it.

✂———————–

=[Part 4]=

The twilight gradually fades into the night, and the bright moon quietly hangs in the autumn night, illuminating the still dazzling and fiery red maple leaves.

Lucien and I are still sitting at the table, enjoying the tranquility, when a sudden coldness brushes against my cheek.

I raise my head and realize, without noticing it, that snowflakes have already begun drifting down from the sky. Just then, I hear Lucien's smiling voice beside me.

Lucien: It seems that today's ‘gifts’ are not over yet.

MC: After all, today is your birthday—the whole world will be sending you blessings~

Our gazes meet, and with a tacit understanding, we both set down our glasses and take each other's hands.

Lucien: Then, can I invite my ‘world’ to go out with me and experience this beauty together?

In the courtyard, rustling red maples intertwine with falling snowflakes, as if autumn and winter themselves are completing their handover at this very moment.

We get an umbrella from the butler and hold hands as we follow the stone path down the hill from the old castle.

The moonlight on a snowy night grows brighter as we walk side by side to the small town at the foot of the hill, where the houses and streetlights are all covered in a delicate layer of snowflakes.

On the streets of the small town, many people, like Lucien and I, stroll under the moonlight, accompanied by the backdrop of the first snowfall, tacitly enjoying this tranquil night.

I turn my head to look at Lucien and find him reaching out his hand, gently catching a falling snowflake.

His eyes curve faintly, as if harboring some kind of quiet longing, even carrying a touch of rare childlike innocence.

MC: [smiles softly] Why does it feel like Professor Lucien has a special fondness for this snow?

My tone holds a hint of curiosity, wanting to capture this rare glimpse of his innocence. Lucien smiles and begins to speak softly.

Lucien: [softly, like recalling a cherished memory] Just remembered a movie I watched when I was little. I remember... it was about an inventor who lived in a castle.

Lucien: After watching it as a child, there was a time when I also wanted to be an inventor with a castle.

My eyes widen in a bit of surprise.

MC: [pouts] I can understand wanting to be an inventor, but why did it have to be one who lives in a castle…

MC: Professor Lucien, could it be that you're teasing me on purpose just because we came to a castle this year?

Lucien: [chuckles] Of course not. But if this story will make this little lady happy, I’d be more than willing to tell it to you.

MC: I want to hear it, I want to hear it!

I enthusiastically put on an attentive look, Lucien smiles as he begins to speak.

Lucien: Actually, the reason for wanting to own a castle is quite simple.

Lucien: Because that way, just like the main character in the movie, I could have a space of my own to carry out those daring and even dangerous experiments.

Lucien: And my parents could also accompany me in the castle, pursuing the research they are deeply passionate about.

Lucien: That way, they wouldn’t have to be 'trapped' in the lab all the time.

Lucien speaks naturally, his voice imbued with a soft smile, yet it's as if a tiny window is being opened.

Through that window, I seem to see a little Lucien, his eyes sparkling with fascination as he watches the movie, his heart filled with simple and pure longing.

My heart suddenly softens, and I can’t help but smile tenderly as I start to speak.

MC: The dream of becoming an inventor could now be considered halfway realized~

MC: After all, Professor Lucien is a great scientist walking at the forefront of humanity—it’s perhaps even more remarkable than that!

MC: As for the castle... you've been the ‘owner of the castle’ for a day today, does that count?

Lucien: [chuckles] Of course it counts. And now, there’s even the first snowfall.

He takes my slightly cold hand and slips it in his pocket, softly rubbing it.

Lucien: I can no longer recall the plot of that movie very well. But I do remember that on the day we watched it, it also snowed in Loveland City.

Lucien: That day, they finished work early and brought home the videotape of that movie.

Lucien: The movie ended with the town welcoming its first snowfall, and we also stepped outside together to enjoy the snowy world.

He speaks vaguely, but I understand everything.

His low voice feels especially serene on this snowy night, yet as he speaks, another scene unfolds before my eyes.

When his room flooded before, he tidied up those old videotapes and set them aside, placing them carefully in a separate spot.

Is this old movie among those tapes?

As he put away the videotapes, did he recall that ancient castle and that warm snowfall?

I don’t know the answer, but I can feel that those fleeting, rarely mentioned fragments of his past were once so distant and cold.

But now, those precious fragments have thawed like melting ice and snow, filled with nostalgia and warmth as they slowly flow.

I instinctively tighten my hold on his hand.

The first snowfall is falling thicker and thicker, yet it isn't biting cold. Snowflakes gently drift past the edge of the umbrella, landing on the tips of my hair and forehead, as well as Lucien's.

It's as if this world is bestowing its blessings on Lucien in the most gentle way.

MC: Even though it's many years late, it seems that we've now made little Lucien's childhood dream come true.

With a chuckle, Lucien's low voice reaches me through the wind and snow.

Lucien: [chuckles] Indeed, so I was quite surprised, but also delightfully so.

Lucien: However, if it weren’t for this twist of fate, perhaps I wouldn’t have thought of this idea again for a very, very long time.

Lucien: [softly] Because I've long had something far more important.

Lucien: To me, those forgotten thoughts are more like a bottle of wine hidden in a cellar.

MC: Wine?

Lucien: Mm, just like the wine we’re drinking today.

Lucien: Grapes can never return to their original form, but time makes them richer and more mellow, and they will always meet someone who knows how to cherish them.

Lucien: She will give me a castle, stay in bed with me, treasure an entire autumn with me... and walk with me through quiet streets on snowy nights.

A snowflake quietly lands on his eyelashes and melts a moment later. It’s as if the melted droplets seep into my heart, creating ripples of sweet warmth.

I can't help but speak softly, offering all my blessings to my beloved standing before me under the moonlight of this snowy night.

MC: Happy birthday, Lucien.

May each and every year of your future be surrounded with love as you move forward.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*FIN*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[Bonus Phone call]

Lucien: I received the email you sent. Looks like it has some intel about a birthday.

MC: Yes! It's a text-based open-source game I found online. I modified it a bit~

MC: You can start from age 0 and randomly generate the 'life' of a little Lucien!

Lucien: Mm, just now, I've already completed two endings.

Lucien: The first time, little Lucien was accidentally captured by an alien spacecraft at the age of three and left Earth forever.

Lucien: The second time, little Lucien received a mysterious admission letter at the age of sixteen. No one knows where he went.

[Aren't these just a reflection of his past??? from being kidnapped by BS to mysteriously disappearing hhhhh]

MC: Haha, is the game’s random value design too harsh? Maybe I should tweak it a bit...

Lucien: No need, I really like this level of difficulty. It’s precisely this randomness that makes it so interesting to me.

Lucien: I’ve just started my third playthrough. This time, I’ve decided to reallocate some of the 15 points I gave to intelligence and assign some to luck.

[Not this basically saying that his genius may be the reason for his unluckiness in life :""". His 'luck' in life is that he's able to met her]

MC: So Professor Lucien had been putting all the points into one stat before! No wonder you kept having such over-the-top mysterious experiences...

Lucien: I just subconsciously wanted to test the limits of this little game, and unexpectedly made real discoveries.

Lucien: Although these endings greatly increased the game's replayability, this time, I want to make the game last a bit longer.

Lucien: That way, perhaps I can meet you in the game as well.

MC: Hehe, you can look forward to it!

MC: So, how's it going? What age did you reach in your third playthrough?

Lucien: …Hmm, I've already invented the elixir of immortality and reached the age of two hundred, but I still haven't encountered you.

Lucien: Am I on the right track?

MC: Pfft! I did set up an encounter, but I didn't set an age limit, thinking it would slightly increase replayability...

MC: I feel like I might have overdone it...

Lucien: It’s okay. In the game, little Lucien has already met you—at the age of five hundred.

Lucien: Then, on his birthday, we confessed to each other at the same time and spent a happy life together.

[Man so love-brained that he creates an immortality elixir and stubbornly waits a long time to finally meet her LOL. In this way, it can be said that his current life might be the 'luckiest' possibility because it allows him to meet her so soon]

MC: Hahaha, that's good, that's good... So, do you like this "life path" of becoming an inventor?

Lucien: I like it. I like everything and my destined encounter with you.

Lucien: I’ll be home soon, and when I get there, I’d like to invite you to explore all the other possibilities for little Lucien together—

Lucien: And explore every moment I spent with you on this birthday.

[kagecreep]

Til Death (VxMC)

(Killer Chat)

Description: (Spoilers for KC) Accosted constantly by the police, V has little choice but to go into hiding. You want to go with him. A wedding seems the appropriate way to go.

Notes: plotted by some friends on rosesrot's server (:< a lot of fluff and humour of the slaughterhouse losers gathered together IRL WC: 3k

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Despite being a spur-of-the-moment decision, you had never been more sure about anything else in your life. You made the plans quickly; somehow, everyone in the server was able to attend. Misaki happened to have a hit in your town and would be there for a decent duration of time; both Vince and Angel were free for the weekend, and Ronin––well, Ronin was hardly ever busy anyway. Getting Felicie and Luca to come was a little more difficult, but you managed it through some convincing, and an offer for them to stay free of charge at your house for their trip.

The two of you had chosen a prime spot, secluded away from society deep within the woods. It was close enough to his home that it wouldn't take long to return, but far enough away that, those who didn't already know where he lived, wouldn't be able to find it. An abandoned cabin perhaps wasn't the most romantic spot to hold a wedding; Ronin found it absurdly amusing. You didn't care. The forest surrounding you was in its' early bloom, the cool vestiges of winter clinging to the buds of spring.

Recently given to the woods, the structure had yet to grow dilapidated, with the insides still well-preserved from the elements. Vines and thorned leaves had just barely begun to crawl up the edges of the outer walls. With a little sweeping and dusting, preceded by a little breaking-and-entering, it was a suitable place for you and V to dress in your respective outfits.

Valentin, as much as he proclaimed to be happy, had the most miserable look on his face.

"Y'know, traditionally, the bride n' groom aren't supposed to see each other before the ceremony," Ronin drawled from the next room.

"No one said anything about this being a 'traditional' wedding, Ronin," said Angel, her voice quieter and more muffled from the wall between you. 

"Indeed. This is quite an untraditional ceremony, in fact," said Vince.

"Pff. You guys are no fun. Personally, I'd love to get them apart. Dig into their little brains on this 'special day'," Ronin said, and you could imagine his pouting lips at the end.

Then came his voice––clear and deep, like low pipe organs echoing in an empty church.

"Why do you bother yourself with listening to them?" Valentin asked.

You turned around from the wall, facing V, who was looking at himself in a large, floor-length mirror. His suit, like everything else about him, was well-manicured and fit precisely for him. The black of his coat was a rich shade and accentuated his waist and shoulders, while his trousers fit perfectly around his hips, and cut off just above his ankles. Just over his shoulder you could spy his face in the mirror, and the way he fixed his bowtie with long, nimble fingers.

"I'm curious," you said. "Ronin seems to be rather critical of the whole ordeal."

"He would be," V growled. 

He pulled one end of the bow too tight, and set the whole thing off balance. He groaned, arms falling to his sides in a show of exasperation.

"Let me help," you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned round and his expression softened, a quiet smile appearing as he warmed himself on your glowing face. You smiled in return and set to work correcting his tie.

"It's very nice of you to let everyone attend," you said.

"I didn't let them. They all invited themselves."

"Well, you allowed it to happen anyway," you chuckled.

"I cannot believe that... abomination walking in human skin is going to be the best man for my wedding," V seethed. "Not to say he will be in the same area as you. I loathe the mere idea. If my wish were truth the two of you would never meet."

"If that were so, I wouldn't meet you either," you pointed out. "And besides, Ronin is the closest thing you have to a friend."

"Ronin is a criminal and a pollution upon the earth. To consider him a friend is to consider my life a failure."

You couldn't help but laugh.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I said he's the closest thing you have to a friend, not that he is your friend," you said.

"Regardless, it isn't an accurate statement. You should know better. You are my friend. My... 'best friend', as they say," he said softly.

You smiled up at him, finished with fixing his bowtie.

"You're my best friend, too," you said.

Even now on the verge of a marital ceremony, he blushed at your words, his face blooming into a warm colour.

"I am pleased we can agree on that," he said with a smile.

The final touches of Valentin's outfit were ones you insisted on. He had, at first, assented to them, but upon realizing that Ronin would be attending, quickly rescinded his agreement. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to accept once more.

He sat, facing you, as you placed flowers along his braids, tucking the stems in so only the petals showed. Atop his head you styled a garden, filled with rosebuds and blooming white daisies. Rows of white, gold, and crimson.

When you finished, he looked properly fantastical––as though he had stepped out of a dream, glowing in the rays of sunlight stretching through the dusty windows. He spun in front of the mirror, checking each piece of his suit, flattening his lapels before puffing out his chest. As traditional as his outfit was compared to yours, you couldn't help but stare enamoured at him.

He turned to you with a smile, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Are you ready, my love?" He asked, tilting his head toward you.

"Ready as ever," you breathed out, grinning.

"Very well. Luca will come for you when we are ready. I shall go now, and... see to things. Try not to listen into our conversations, alright?"

You chuckled and nodded.

"I'll do my best," you said. 

The door hinges creaked and the wood groaned as he opened and shut the door behind him. The silence he left you in was near deafening. 

When you were young, you had imagined your wedding and who your partner would be. Out of all the different variations your mind had supplied you with, you had never pictured getting married to a vigilante serial killer in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods. You supposed life was funny like that. Still, you wouldn't want it any other way; your marriage would be as strange as you were, so you considered it a fitting end.

A few minutes later, Luca knocked at the door, and with your permission locked arms with you.

"Ready for your big day?" He asked, wiggling his brows.

"I'm dressed, aren't I?" You chuckled.

"Yeah. You look great, by the way. Can't believe you're getting married before me and Felicie," he said.

"You did say you wanted to take things slowly," you pointed out.

"Yeah, but not so slow that you and V, who got together after us, may I point out, would get married before us," he joked.

"Such is life, my friend," you laughed. "Now are you going to walk me down the aisle or not?"

"Of course. Jus' had to get a few of my thoughts in first."

"Of course."

You smiled and the door opened, revealing the green meadow just beyond the cabin, where all your friends stood in waiting. At the end, beneath an archway entwined with vines and flowers, stood Valentin in his suit, his hands folded in front of him and a soft smile beaming in his eyes. Standing at his side was Ronin, smug as ever in fitting attire. Angel, Felicie, and Misaki, the maids of honor (and wrath, as Misaki requested they be referred as) stood on the other side of the arch. In the center was Vince––still hiding his identity behind a mask.

Angel pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and music began to play. Some quiet piano piece. Something V had likely picked out. Luca took you down the faux aisle of flowers, and upon delivering you to the altar, took his place standing beside Ronin.

You stared up at Valentin, heart pounding, and took his hands. For a moment the world seemed to fade into the early sunset, veins of gold and red speckled through the forest leaves like freckles on his face.

"Dearly beloved friends," Vince began, his voice uncharacteristically deep and rough for the speech, "we are gathered here, for the first time, to celebrate the union of two of our... slaughterhouse losers. It is a joyous occasion and I am honoured to be officiating. While this may, in some way, be a marriage of convenience, we have all watched the love grow between V and (Y/N) over the last few months. I am sure they will have many happy, bloody days ahead of them."

Valentin pursed his lips in irritation, but said nothing. You giggled.

"Now we will listen to their vows, which I know will be as titillating as they are romantic. You may proceed."

V sighed roughly, straightening his jacket subtly.

"I do not wish to speak my vows aloud in front of the present company. However... in the interest of ceremony..." he groaned, pursing his lips again, "... I will say... something."

You gave a small nod, gently urging him on.

"... I... love you, (Y/N)," he said as though it was painful. 

Behind him, Ronin was positively beaming.

"This, to me, is no marriage of convenience. I fully intend on pledging my life and soul to you." He paused. "That is all."

Quiet giggles sounded from behind you.

"Ever the romantic," you said, earning only more laughter from your friends. "Indeed, we are surrounded by people whose names we do not fully know. Who do not know our names, either. And, indeed, this ceremony was hurried. For that we have the police and their idiotic search to thank. But... it is brought forth by your kindness, V. You spared the server––people you claimed to hate––and sacrificed yourself to this. I hope that my presence with you as you go into hiding is solace––some consolation in return for your act of selflessness. Each day in your presence is a gift. I look forward to our many years together as I do each second that I am able to stand with you, in peace, content to know the sensation of true love. That is to say... I pledge my life and soul to you, too."

In the presence of the server members, V kept his composure quite well––but the shine in his eyes, apparent only to you, gave away the loving turmoil within. He slipped a pale golden ring over your finger––you settled a diamond-embedded ring over his. You barely processed Vince's final words before the two of you came together, soft touch upon softer lips, spirit intermingling with body as you kissed. He pulled you in, passion brimming at his fingertips but never released. You kissed and pulled away, and stared into one another. Therein was your home.

A crackling gunshot bolted through the air and you jumped, hand whizzing up to grip V's upper arm.

"What the fuck?!" Misaki yelped.

"Ronin!" Angel yelled, fists at her side.

"What?" He said, still holding a smoking gun pointed towards the sky. "'S a shotgun wedding, ain't it?"

"Technically speaking, a shotgun wedding occurs when the bride is pregnant before marriage, and the bride's father threatens the groom with a gun to marry the pregnant daughter," Vince said.

Ronin shrugged.

"Close enough," he said.

"Not close enough," Angel said, storming over and yanking the gun out of his hand. "Don't pull any more bullshit or I'll shoot you in the foot."

"Pff. I don't have anything else planned. Besides, I think it made the day more... special," he said, smiling at you.

V held you tighter.

"The sun has almost set. Now is the time to throw your bouquet," Vince said.

"Oh, right," you mumbled.

You turned, taking the bouquet of flowers from Angel. It was a smattering of wildflowers and exotic flowers V grew in his bunker, creating a palette of dark green leaves and pale purple, white, and blue petals.

Misaki, Angel, and Felicie excitedly gathered behind you. 

"Ready?" You asked, grinning all the while.

"We are ready!" Felicie said.

With that you threw the bundle of flowers behind you, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of a more blind throw. A few gasps sounded around you. When you opened your eyes, you found the bouquet stuck in the branches above you. Your eyes widened. Then, with a gentle breeze, the branches stirred and dropped the bouquet. It fell through the air and landed directly on Luca's face, falling into his arms as he spluttered from the pine needles and leaves.

Silence settled over the entire gathering for several seconds before everyone devolved into laughter, Ronin's cackling sounding about it all.

"Oh my God," Luca said, spitting out the last pine needle. 

"Ha!" You laughed, "looks like you'll be getting married after all, Luca."

"No," he said, "looks like Felicie will be getting married."

With a dramatic swoop of his arms, he knelt down in front of Felicie, and with faux tears in his eyes offered the bouquet to her.

"For you, my dearest beloved," he said, clutching his heart.

"I hate you," Felicie said in a pained voice.

"You love me."

"You wish."

You watched them bicker with much delight, returning to lean against Valentin's sturdy frame. His arm wrapped around and settled his hand on your waist–-a comforting warmth in the cool of the coming evening.

The rest of the evening was spent around a fire eating less than lavish food, the former courtesy of Ronin and V's teamwork, and the latter supplied by Misaki and Angel. You considered going to a restaurant for the last time before going into hiding, but all of you together was a mite suspicious, especially considering Vince's reluctance in taking off his mask. V mostly kept quiet and stayed dutifully at your side, socializing little and eating even less. At times a snide remark would slip out of his lips and delight the surrounding company. Such moments were especially entertaining for Ronin, who took a special joy in teasing V. Otherwise, you enjoyed your last day of socialization, imprinting each moment into your memory for safekeeping. It was likely the last time all of you would gather together.

In the end, they all parted in separate directions. Only when the last of them had gone did V deem it safe to return home, carrying you bridal style to his car. The drive was short enough, and he decided to carry you further into your now-shared home, only setting you down when he reached the couch. He quietly locked the door before returning to you.

Some of the flowers had fallen out of his hair, but the majority of them remained, partly wilted but still bright in colour. For a little while the two of you sat in silence staring at each other.

Then he broke the spell, gaze falling to his lap as he spoke.

"I, um... I did prepare my true vows. I just... did not wish to speak them in the company of serial killers," he said quietly.

"I understand," you chuckled. "You want to say them now?"

"If you are not too tired, I would like to, yes," he said.

You nodded. He gave a curt nod in return, and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. His eyes flickered from the paper to you, and he cleared his throat, nerves ringing in the silence.

He began.

"My dearest love... there are a great many evils in this world. Each person one meets carries this within them––the mark of failed morality, and we are, each of us, in some way tainted by our decisions. Long ago I lost hope for humanity. We are an animal species, untamed by our supposed society. Feral despite our religion, our understanding; and our connection to both divinity and impiety, our free will to choose, has proven without fail that given the opportunity, humans will choose to fall. Why this is I cannot say. It is only what I know to be true." 

He paused, glancing up to make sure you were still paying attention. 

You were. He continued. 

"Just as all creatures do, you, too, have faced such decisions; the choice between goodness and cruelty, oppression and kindness. Just as all creatures have, you have experienced cruelty against you––injustice and wickedness from the blackened hearts of humanity. It is all too easy to mirror such actions when they are done unto you. Yet despite that you have chosen kindness, even when it is more facile to turn to brutality. Trust when it is more comfortable to doubt. And... love, when it is easier to abandon."

He reached out, fingers barely touching your hand. You reached the rest of the way and held his hand in yours. He swallowed thickly.

"It is an odd phrase to thank you for loving me. Still, it feels appropriate. I am not an easy man to love. I scantly admit it but I am, indeed, a killer––even with my just reasonings and my logic, I have committed myself to a lifestyle that has marked me both an outcast and a criminal to common society. I long ago gave up the ideal of having a beloved. Such is the cost of justice." He set the paper down and looked you in the eyes, taking your other hand in his. "You are my revelation. My salvation. You are some divine gift, some salve to my poisoned way whose justice comes at the price of my life. But no longer. You are my life, now. Above all it is my duty to protect you. As the ribcage protects the heart, I will shelter you from harm. As compassion safeguards life, so shall I keep you. A beacon of hope. Hope that... perhaps... humanity is salvageable. That my bitter contempt was wrong. It is my wish thusly to be with you, as long as you will have me, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do us part––till we meet again in our next life, to love one another once more."

You could barely breathe. As you expected, his vows were long, the words meandering. He often spoke like that when it met his fancy. But the sincerity behind it, coupled with the shining, stray tears brimming his eyes––it broke you down into your purest parts, shattered about the floor till only the glowing soul remained seated in his hands.

You wrapped him in your arms and did not let go.

[greetingfromthedead]

1. Death's Door

Series: Apple Blossoms Series Plot: Knives is finally crushed, his plans in ashes, his body at Death's door, but Vash decides to spare his life. With the last power he has left, he carries his brother to a person who has nursed him back to life, now begging for you to save his twin too. A tattered Knives finds himself in the care of a human and as time goes on, he has to come to terms with uncomfortable truths about his skewed world view and the strange feelings he discovers blooming in his chest for you. // Contains some Trimax spoilers. // A slight mix of all the Trigun iterations, but mostly Trimax Pairing: Knives x GN!Reader Series Rating: PG-13 + pwp BONUS chapters Series Tags (initial): No use of "Y/N", Redemption, Love, Romance, Sickfic, Medical Inaccuracies, Knives is injured, Caretaking, Falling In Love, Adventuring, Cowboy vibes, Knives is introverted, Knives has a crush and is very lost, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, No use of y/n, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Forced Proximity, Trauma, Knives pouts a lot Word count: 3.3k

Author's Note: It is not yet a fully fleshed out story, I have the first few chapters planned out, but keeping it going will depend partially of the interest shown for it and how things will work out. All in all, I would be grateful to hear your thoughts. What is something you would love to see in such a story, scenarios and dynamics you would like to explore. Perhaps I will adopt some of them.

Yapping | Next »

It has been many long months since the communications were cut off as the satellites fell from the sky as comets. Since then, the only source of information have been the criers, who travel from village to village, sharing news and stories. Sometimes you hear different stories from different mouths and really can never be sure what the truth is. Apparently, at least most of the Seven Cities have been decimated, and a giant ark is destroying everything in its path. The criers are warning people to seek shelter and prepare for the worst, but you still hold on to a sliver of hope. You've heard that Vash the Stampede is somehow involved in this whole mess. The man with a giant bounty on his head is rumored to be the Devil himself, the Humanoid Typhoon. Some sources say he is behind all of this; he is the one who is raining down destruction as he always does; others say he has stepped up as the protector of humanity on this desolate planet. And the truth remains a mystery, hidden behind the game of telephone and conflicting accounts. Deep down, you believe that he is on your side, fighting to keep humanity safe from the impending destruction.

You have met that strange man before. He arrived in your care with multiple gunshot wounds in the dead of night, or rather, you stumbled over his dying body in the dark desert. It had been nothing short of a miracle that he had evidently walked from the next town over towards your lonely house before collapsing. And it was even more of a coincidence that you found him at all. Vash the Stampede truly has the luck of a demon, or perhaps it was fate. Who's to say? But you did dragged him home, patched him up, and took care of him until he awoke from his week long slumber. He remained under your watchful eye for a bit longer, and as the closest thing to a doctor this area has, you felt it was your duty to make sure he fully recovered before letting him leave. You got to know him quite well during the time he spent at your house. You quickly realized who he was, but let him introduce himself. It became clear to you that the vicious rumors held little truth. He might be clumsy, but not evil. He was nothing but kind and grateful to you, helping you however he could and paying you for the time and medicine spent on him even as you tried to refuse. All that happened a few years ago, but his generosity and kindness still stick with you to this day. You still remember his smiling face as he turned to leave into the empty desert where you found him in the first place.

Nowadays, you live quietly in your lonely house. The closest village is half a day's ride away, and you rarely see anyone besides the occasional messenger passing through. The closest city is Octovern, but to reach that via tomas, it would take nearly half a week. You occasionally take your first aid kit and go through the nearby towns to help anyone in need, but you have been blessed to not be dragged into the larger war decimating the planet. You have been able to maintain a sense of peace and purpose amidst the chaos, but you can only hope things will return to a sense of normality soon, as much as that can be found in this place.

Little did you suspect of the evening where a loud and insistent banging on your door would shift your life entirely. A rap like that always means trouble, and instinctively, you hurried to open the old creaking door into the cooling evening air. The golden light of the setting suns tries to flood into your hallway, only to be obscured by a giant figure. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to see more than just the silhouette, but still, the sight leaves you dumbfounded. Before you are two people, but they aren't entirely human as wings spread from their backs, not quite covered in feathers like an angel, partially reminding you of roots and stone, partially of shattering metal. Two wings, one on each of the bloody men. One holds the unconscious body of the other. He struggles to stay upright, one knee on the ground, the other supporting the limp form of the other as his singular arm wraps around the other's waist. The stump of his left arm has wires tangling from it, and it must have been what he used to knock on your door. It takes you too long to realize who that man is—Vash. His blonde hair is now entirely black, and his features are obscured by dirt and blood.

"Please. Help." He pleads with desperation in his eyes. "Can you save him?"

Your eyes shift to the man in his grasp. He is looking even rougher than Vash; his clothes seem burned and torn, and his skin is covered in blood and open wounds. His face is bruised and swollen. He hangs limply in Vash's embrace, his arms dangling lifelessly at his sides in an uncanny fashion. He's barely breathing, and it's clear that time is running out.

"Right!" You stir from your shock. "Let's get him inside!"

You push aside the weirdness and the unnatural aspects of the situation you find yourself in and slip back into the familiar feeling of urgency. You rush forward to put a shoulder under the unconscious man and lift him up with the help of Vash. You drag him not to the cot that's reserved for your patients, but instead you haul him onto the long dinner table that doubles as an examination table in a pinch. Your hands move on their own as they grab what you need: shears and cloths, first aid kits, bandages, medicine, water, and alcohol. You firmly tell Vash to sit down on the stool in the corner and not get in your way. You feel bad for being so stern with him, especially since he is injured too, but the man on the table is already playing dice with death.

You get to work quickly, knowing that every second counts. You remove the tattered clothing and assess the extent of his injuries. You're surprised he still has life left in him with the amount of blood he must have lost, chunks of his body apparently missing, gashes, and cracks covering his skin. You do as much as you can, focusing on the larger wounds first, knowing that time is of the essence in saving him. To your surprise, he doesn't bleed nearly as much as you think he should, given the severity of his situation. You roughly stitch him up and pull a few bullets from his flesh. His internal organs seem in good enough condition, and you're glad you don't have to operate on them further. As you work away, the wing on his back crumbles; the chunks feel strange, and you can't begin to guess the material, but you don't have a chance to analyze it either. By the time you are done, the wing is gone, leaving a chunky heap on the ground, almost like sand. You clean his body with water and alcohol before checking his skeleton and joints. There are no broken bones, but the right shoulder is dislocated. You take care to pull it back into place with a snap, and you continue to examine him. Much of his skin is cracked; it looks strange, and you can't begin to guess what caused it.

After hours of grueling work, you administer him medicine to hopefully avoid infection, another dose of strong painkillers, and some saline to help with his recovery. You lift his head carefully as you smear the gooey concoction on his gums for a longer lasting effect. To be doubly safe, you inject more drugs directly into his bloodstream and lather the wounds with ointment to help them heal. Wrapping him in bandages takes a lot from you too, especially since you can't accept Vash's offer to help since he is still dirty. By the end, your patient is almost entirely covered in bandages but still breathing. You throw a clean blanket over him and a pillow under his head, too worried to move him off the table onto the bed. It will have to wait, perhaps if he survives until dawn. But the chances of him making it through the night seem slim.

"Right." You let out a deep sigh. You can finally shift your attention from the dying man to Vash. You are deep into the night, pushing the morning hours, with dark circles forming under your eyes, but there is no rest for you yet. You turn towards the man in the chair; he looks like hell. You have never seen him look this bad before, and last time, he was the one whose life was dripping from his body on this table. Tears have carved deep lines into his dust, ash, and blood covered cheeks. There is an unusual mix of emotions on his face, but worry burns the brightest.

"It's your turn now," you say to Vash, catching his attention. His gaze lifts from the floor, and for a moment, it seems like he didn't hear you at all. You just continue, getting a washbasin, cloth and a jug of water ready. "You can use these to clean up; I'll help you with any spots you can't reach in a bit; I'll clean this mess up first."

"Will he survive? Will he be alright?" he asks instead, ignoring your comment completely.

"I do not know. I tried my best. The rest is up to him and fate itself. Whether he makes it or not is out of my hands." You look at him sympathetically. "Hopefully dawn will bring good news," you say softly.

As you pick up your bloody tools and cloths, you hear Vash stand up, but instead of walking towards the counter where the washing supplies are, his steps lead away, towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" you ask resolutely, a nip in your voice. He pauses in silence for a moment.

"I must go. I have some things to take care of still," he answers, a note of guilt present in his tone.

"You will clean up, have me patch you up, and take a nap before you can think about leaving. Doctor's orders!" Your words are commanding, leaving no room for argument. You're both tired; he looks awful, and you almost sway on your feet. But your work is not yet done.

Vash stands quietly for a moment longer before turning back and stripping a few layers of his tattered clothing. Exposing the bruises and wounds covering his body. He struggles a little with the setup at hand, using the reflection of your window to try and see where he has to reach. At the same time, you clean up the mess you made while working on your patient. You wipe the surfaces and wash the tools, and finally, you can discard the bloody robe, mask, and gloves.

You help Vash wash away the dirt from any spots he can't reach and have him sit on the chair in his underwear. You stick a cup of warm tea in his hand and down a strong coffee yourself before washing your face with cold water to wake up again. After that, you set everything up to stitch him back together and get to work. You examine him thoroughly and give him pain medication before getting the needle out. His body is tense and his pulse is still high; he has yet to calm down.

"Is he your brother? Even under all that bruising and swelling, I can tell the similarities." You speak softly to him to get his mind off the things that are hurting him at the moment.

"Yes, my twin," Vash replies, his voice hoarse and filled with pain.

"I didn't even know you had a twin. What's his name?" You continue as you tie together another suture.

"Knives."

"That's an interesting name," you say with little emotion in your tone, most of your attention going into taking care of his wounds. A stray thought of the wings crosses your mind; Vash has lost his too in the time your focus was on his brother. There is clearly something weird going on, but for now you are too tired to ask the relevant questions, and you need Vash to relax.

"I guess…" His voice trails off, and you can see him staring at the unconscious body on the table.

You keep talking as you work on him, stitching, disinfecting, and bandaging the larger cuts one by one. You give him a checkup and pain medication, and as you take his pulse, it is normal again. You are relieved; he seems to be stable and doing alright despite the way he looks. You provide him with some loose clothing you have laying around just in case and make him get in the bed you have in the other room to rest and recover for the night. He is hesitant, but the tiredness in his eyes tells you that he needs the rest.

"I will stay up with your brother; I will check on him, and I promise I will wake you up if there are any issues. Sleep. You need it." You assure him as you throw a cooling blanket on him before turning off the light and leaving the room. "Rest easy; everything will be alright now."

You return to the patient on the table and check his vitals again. You take his pulse and check his light blue eyes. His breathing has returned to normal, and he looks to be doing better, but as you press your hand on his forehead, you feel the developing fever. You know that this could be a sign of infection, and it makes you slightly nervous. His jet black hair feels damp as your hand glides over it, and you notice that his skin is sticky to the touch. However, you try to remain calm and decide to check again soon and keep a close eye on him.

To keep yourself from falling asleep, you keep yourself busy with whatever tasks you find. You clean up your kitchen from everything, organize your cabinets, and even clean Vash's clothes and hang them to dry outside. Dawn comes, but nothing changes; the slight fever still lingers, and Vash is asleep. You mix up some sugar water and carefully drip a few drops into Knives's mouth. He swallows painfully, and you continue administering him the water for a few hours. You're losing the battle with your exhaustion, so you make yourself a cup of coffee again, letting it steep while checking on the wounds. They look good, and it almost appears like they've started to heal a little. You write it off as your own delusion. The rising suns cast their hot light on the desert, and Vash's clothes dry in no time. You pick them up and get to sewing the dark shirt and his pants; the red coat is mostly gone, burned, and torn.

You realize that it has been a while since your last meal, as you even missed yesterday's dinner. You get to cooking up some porridge after leaving Vash's clothes in the other room and making sure from afar that he is still breathing. Every quarter hour, you return to the man on the table, check on him, and give him some water and medicine if necessary. Nothing has changed, neither for the better nor for the worse, and you are grateful for that, counting your blessings as you remind yourself of the condition he arrived in.

Another hour passes as Vash appears in the door-frame, his eyes first falling on his brother before moving to you. He looks better; he is still covered in bandages and bruises, but the wary tiredness is gone from his eyes. He wears the clothes you mended for him, and his expression softens as he takes in the sight of you checking the pulse of your patient.

"Good morning," you tell him with a slight smile. "I made some food, but it's probably cold by now. Feel free to take as much as you want. Your brother is doing alright; he has a slight fever, but it hasn't gotten worse. The wounds look good, and I've given him water and medicine. For now, it's okay; he is not out of the woods, but he's getting there."

"Morning," Vash says as he walks closer to you. He doesn't say much; there is an unexplainable expression on his face as he pulls you into a one armed yet crushing bear hug. You feel his breathing get more ragged as he holds you; he repeats seemingly endless "thank you"s until you feel tears soaking your shirt. He finally lets you go, holding your shoulder and looking you in the eyes, tears and snot running down his face.

"You're welcome, but don't get too carried away, okay? I cannot promise you anything other than that I will try to get him back to full health; it doesn't mean it will happen." You try to calm him down again, reaching for a tissue to hand him. "Now eat; I will check your wounds again after that."

And so it goes. Vash eats his fill, dragging his chair a bit closer to the table but not quite next to it, as you gave him a stern look, worried for any contamination. He finishes his meal quickly, eager to have his wounds checked, as if he is in a hurry. Luckily, they look fine, and you lather him in ointment and cover everything with fresh bandages, relieved that he is okay.

"You said you had some business to attend to. Is that why you are vibrating on this chair?" You ask calmly, checking the strange cracks in his skin on his cheek.

"Well, I have to go. I promise I will be back as soon as I can—just a few days at most. I am sorry to just dump him on you, but I beg you. I only go to keep both of you safe." His sky blue eyes try to track your movement the best they can as you put a bandage on him.

"It's alright; I'll take care of him. I doubt he will regain consciousness anytime soon. I can only hope he won't get worse." You take a step back, happy with your handiwork, as nothing is bleeding. It's the best you can do for Vash right now.

"I will forever be in your debt. Thank you for everything. I will pay you once I get back, I swear." His eyes look pleadingly at you as he gets up from the chair.

"I believe you; don't worry about that." You smile, recognizing the honor in his face.

Vash gives you a nod and goes closer to his brother. He says something quietly to him, and you don't quite pick up any of the words. With that, Vash turns and walks to the front door, and you follow.

"Thank you again," he says to you tenderly, and then more loudly over the whole house: "Get better soon, brother!"

You watch as Vash steps outside, heading into the desert. Only a little while later, you figure out he has nothing with him but the clothes on his back and the gun on his leg. No water, no food, no shelter—nothing. You turn and see what's left of the red coat on the chair, now realizing you must really be out of it to not notice it sooner. But it's too late to go after him now; all you can do is hope that he has a plan.

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[delvalentine]

BLLK Boys: Their Drunk Persona & Dealing With Them

❥ Headcanons for: H. Chigiri, M. Bachira, R. Itoshi, R. Kunigami, R. Mikage, S. Nagi, Y. Isagi

❥ Notes/Tags: All characters aged up to 20+, gn!reader & pre-established relationship between consenting adults, nicknames & JP honourifics, no spoilers, SFW

❥ WC: Short; ~500 each

❥ CW: direct mentions of alcohol and drinking too much, emetophobia warning

❥ PC: YI ♡ . SN ♡ . MB ♡ . HC ♡ . RI ♡ . RK ♡ . RM ♡

♥ Yoichi Isagi: The Blackout Drunk

❥ Poor Isagi probably gets drank under the table every single time. His competitive nature makes him believe that this is going to be the night where he’ll be able to catch up to the others; alas, despite your dutiful reminders of what happens every time he lets himself get riled up, his Japanese genetics are his own worst enemy. He also forgets how badly his body reacts every time, which doesn’t help you to convince him that he and alcohol are not friends.

❥ He’s a notorious puker, but at least he’s a champ about it and manages to hold it until he gets to an appropriate receptacle. People know to keep a trash can near him. 

❥ His red face/Asian glow is very cute on him. His blush is full-body and he gets really warm really fast. 

❥ He might unwittingly start to think out loud about things he’d usually keep to himself while hunched over the porcelain throne, so whoever’s in there to make sure he’s okay is going to hear the inner workings of Yoichi Isagi—which should make for very interesting commentary. 

“Yoichi-kun, I got you a Pocari Sweat… you okay?” 

Bounding up the stairs to the washroom two at a time, you’re rushing with the bottle tucked under your arm to check on your boyfriend. You told him not to play that drinking game with the others, and look where it got him. He might excel at soccer, but he’s definitely no winner when it comes to holding his liquor. 

“Not enough… need to be… hic… more…”

You slow down at the partially-closed door, hearing him muttering conspiratorially with his head bowed over the toilet. You can still see how red his neck and ears are, even from here, dark locks of hair plastered against his sweaty skin. 

“Yoichi?” you repeat louder to announce your presence, gently knocking the door with your knuckles. He raises his head and blinks at you blearily, dazed. 

“I-I’m fineghk—”

“Not fine.” You sigh, kneeling beside him to brush back the bangs on his forehead as he hurls up whatever’s left in him. He rests his head exhaustedly on a limp elbow, eyes closed, probably to help with the dizziness. “You should try and drink this electrolyte,” you prompt.

“Need to be better,” he mumbles again, like he never even heard you, lost in his own head. “Gotta be better for [Name]…”

At this point, you’re used to his unknowing mumblings. Knowing that he’ll never admit to saying this when sober, you let yourself smile secretively and whisper back into his ear,

“You’re already my number one.”

He cracks a blue eye open, looking shocked. The sweetest smile you’ve ever seen cracks over his blooming face. He won’t remember this, but you’ll just have to keep reminding him once he’s sobered up. 

♥ Seishiro Nagi: The Touch-Starved Drunk

❥ 190 cm of lover boy is going to end up draped around whoever’s close enough (or unfortunate enough) to end up stuck beneath him. 

❥ His sleepy disposition + a couple drinks = immediate snooze town. He’s able to fall asleep literally anywhere, so if you don’t want him conked out on a bench in the middle of nowhere, you better hope you’re strong enough to haul him around. 

❥ He falls asleep on you like a koala hugging a branch to get as much of him touching you as possible. He whines like a baby if you try to wake him up or move him. With a face like that, how could you ever say no?

❥ He craves your warmth and refuses to let you go, even if you’re embarrassed by how openly he’s displaying his affections. He doesn’t care if everybody can see you because they should all know you belong to him, anyways.

He already knows that you’re ticklish, but that doesn’t stop him from burying his face into your neck. White strands of coarse hair make you shudder, and you can feel how cold the tip of his nose is when he presses it into your skin. Some other party-goers shoot you odd looks as he wraps his arms around you possessively, trapping you in your seat.

“Uh, Sei?” you try to reason, panicked, but there’s no use fighting him when he’s three times as strong as you. “Don’t fall asleep yet…

“Sleepy.” It’s all he has to say for himself as he sighs, the warm breath once again making you flinch as it sweeps the baby hairs on your sensitive nape. “You’re comfy….”

“If you fall asleep on me, I won’t be able to get up! You’re too heavy!”

“Where would you want to go without me anyways?” he grumbles, hugging you even more tightly so that air is squeezed out of your lungs. He treats you almost like his personal teddy bear, sighing contentedly as he leans his full weight into you. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay right here. With… m…”

He doesn’t even finish his sentence, falling asleep with his mouth still half open. People are still staring at you for having a giant man wrapped around you on the couch. No matter how much you wriggle, he refuses to let go; and when he stirs, he just holds onto you tighter. You might be more annoyed if he wasn’t so damn cute about it, his face happily content to be holding you.

You decide he’s earned five more minutes of getting his way before you really start to try and shake him off of you. 

♥ Meguru Bachira: The Reckless Drunk

❥ He’s already impulsive enough sober and lacks social anxiety, so he’d be an absolute menace after a few drinks. 

❥ If you do not lay eyes on him at all times, he’s absolutely going to disappear, and you’ll find him doing rooftop parkour or something equally outrageous. He’s a wanderer and is the person that always goes missing with nobody knowing where he went. You’d probably need to strap him into those kiddy backpacks with a leash just to keep track of him.

❥ He would not have the capacity to hold his tongue and would probably accidentally start a couple fights just by making some off-hand comments. 

❥ As much of a handful as he is, there’s reasoning behind it. He’s used to acting out for people to notice him, even if it’s negative attention. He feels like he has to do something crazy because all he wants is for your eyes to be only on him.

“Megu—how the hell did you get up there?!”

It’s freezing cold outside at this hour, but here you are, shivering as you shout up into a tree. Your boyfriend laughs down at you gleefully as if he’s not perched on a branch that looks like it’s one dirty look away from snapping in half. 

“Are ya’ impressed yet, [Name]-cchi?” His words are somewhat slurred, which is ever more worrisome. You can’t let a star athlete break his bones because he fell out of a damn tree. Teeth chattering, you shout up to him again. 

“Come down! Please?”

“Mm… don’t wanna.”

It’s times like these that you remember he will always be a kid at heart, and if you’re going to win, you need to address the child inside of him. You happily wave and turn around. 

“Okay, bye then! Have fun up there!”

“H-hey—wait!” 

He’s quick to jump down from the tree the moment you pretend to walk off, rolling in the sand before bouncing up to his feet. He pouts, stumbling after you. He obviously expected you to yell at him more.

“Gotcha’.” You turn around and quickly wrap your arms around him, squeezing him meaningfully with a stern look. “Seriously, Megu, stop climbing random things. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“It just looked like it’d be fun.”

“Do something crazy like that again and I’m going to die young. Do you want that to happen?” You peer up at his reddened face meaningfully, and he shakes his head fervently. You smile softly to assuage the scared look on his face that he’s made you angry. Then, you realize;

“Where are your pants?!”

♥ Hyoma Chigiri: The Secret Drunk

❥ He would hate going out and would equally hate the drinking culture because it’s so noisy. On the off-occasion that he concedes and indulges, nothing much changes at all; he seems like he’d have a high tolerance and simply doesn’t bother with drinking since it’s bad for your health. 

❥ He’s picky as all hell and would end up critiquing the alcohol like a wine connoisseur, much to the annoyance of the other jocks around him who are just drinking to get drunk. 

❥ He would find the quietest corner in a party setting or hunt down the family pet, preferring to be alone or with you to avoid dealing with everybody else’s mess. 

❥ He probably ends up disappearing halfway through the night, timing his exit with the moment people start to forget about him. 

"Pspspsp... c'mere, kitty-chan..."

"There you are, Hyoma-kun!"

The cat, startled by noise, darts away to retreat even further into the shadows. Chigiri sighs irritably before realizing that it's you, and his expression brightens immediately.

"Hey," he greets quietly, barely audible over the music thumping downstairs. "Sorry I dipped. You looked like you were having a good time catching up with your old friends."

"I know, don't worry." You kneel beside him, offering him your glass. He eyes it judgementally to which you smile wryly. "It's not 150 yen beer, I promise. It's a fruity drink that I like."

"Hm..." 

You always admire how he looks when he's serious. His pink eyes look almost crimson red in this low-light, and the braided hairstyle you helped him with earlier tonight frames his angular face. He sucks his teeth, aerating the drink in his mouth like a professional—as if this also didn't come from a can.

"It's too sweet," he decides, though he's more gentle about it with you than he was to the other guys who tried to pressure him into doing shots of something vile. He passes it back to you with a reassuring smile. "But drink as much as you want."

"I think I'm done, actually. Should we get out of here?"

His eyes light up as if you've told him that he's won the lottery. He grabs your hand and is already immediately hauling you up to your feet.

"The next part of Shingeki no Kyojin came out. I haven't watched it yet because I was waiting for you, but we'll have time if we go now. Did you leave anything? Do you have your coat?"

It's hilarious how excited he is to get home to watch anime, but knowing that he wants you there when he doesn't care for the company of anybody else makes the warm glow on your face fill your heart, too. 

♥ Rin Itoshi: The "Gap Moe" Smiley Drunk

❥ Rin probably would never touch a drink until he’s goaded into it. You’d really have to get under his skin to convince him to put a toxin into his body when his entire life revolves around conditioning himself to be the world’s best striker. But he hates losing even more, so he’d cave pretty easily. 

❥ He’s trained his face to be incredibly stoic and has suppressed his feelings for so long that when he becomes even the slightest bit inebriated, those emotions break past his barrier.

❥ He isn’t even ‘drunk’ and talks/acts with the same blunt unfriendliness as per usual, but he’s stuck with a goofy smile that makes people take him a lot less seriously. People think it’s creepy because he’s locked into a cheerful looking grin until the drinks clear out of his system. 

❥ It’s the only time anybody besides from his partner can catch him smiling so openly. He hates pictures, but nobody would pass up a chance to get a shot of the infamous Puppeteer going “😊”.

"I'm not drunk," Rin snaps at you in a very hostile tone of voice. "Just leave me alone." 

To anybody else, they would've backed off by now. But his entire demeanour is completely negated by the peaceful smile that tugs on his lips. At this point in your relationship you are fully aware that Rin accidentally says things he doesn't really mean; and it seems like that cheap shot of sake did you a favour into revealing his true thoughts. Literally. Even now, he's smiling.

"If you're not drunk, then why do you look like that?"

"I always look like this," he retorts.

You laugh. Openly. You have to, because no way in hell does Rin Itoshi of all people walk around grinning like he's Buddha or something. He looks like he's about to start skipping away, flower petals raining behind him. It's unconscious, you know, but it's still hilarious. He flushes red, brightly, and you're even more delighted to know that you've gotten this crazy egoist to blush all because of you. 

"It's cute," you say (stifling another laugh), patting him on the shoulder. He always begrudgingly lets you have your way with him—you're the only one who's earned this privilege. Rin always takes things too seriously, so you've decided for him that you'll be the one to lift him out of the ruts he digs himself into. 

"It's not," he groans defeatedly, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. "I can't go out there and be seen like this."

"Then let's just stay here for a little while longer." You sit down beside him on the bed, unable to help yourself from smiling back to him even if he isn't meaning to smile at you. "For what it's worth, I really like this look on you. You could stand to smile more."

(You look away before meeting his eyes; then, you would've been able to tell that his gaze softens, and the smile is genuine.)

♥ Rensuke Kunigami: The Competitive-But-Always-Loses Drunk

❥ He’s always going to be super nice, but even after the tiniest bit of alcohol gets into him, he is so. Freaking. L o u d. Like, shouting at the top of his lungs even if you’re sitting right next to him because he thinks he’s talking normally kind of loud.

❥ Would end up trying to arm wrestle anybody he talks to. If they decline, he’ll try to get them to play rock-paper-scissors with him. He’s just super competitive and truly believes he can win even when he can barely walk straight.

❥ He worries a lot about people’s perceptions of him being a mean person, so you suspect that’s why he tries so hard to be extra sociable. He doesn’t seem to realize that people already think of him fondly as an older brother figure. 

❥ As his partner, you often end up bearing the brunt of his series of shouted challenges. Have an abundance of patience, because he cannot stand losing and will continue to beg you to play him until he wins one. 

"Wh—why am I going backwards? TURN AROUND! TURN AROUND MUSHROOM BOY!"

"His name is Toad—"

"I FELL OFF?! HOW AM I IN LAST PLACE? NO WAY! THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

"Ren, you're holding the controller upside down..."

"NO!" he protests, shaking you off when you try to reach over to help. "I got this! I... YOU WON FIRST PLACE ALREADY?! HOW?"

You ignore all the heads that turn to track the source of the noise. Kunigami is still driving poor Toad off the road, too drunk to comprehend that the controller detects his full-body leaning—and that, it is still in fact, upside down in his too-large hands. It's too funny not to laugh, even if you do pity him somewhat for earning yet another DNF in last place for what might be the eleventh time in a row.

"Rematch!" Kunigami grumbles, whipping his head to look at you. "What kind of MAN am I if I can't even win this stupid.. Ma... Marine Camp game?"

"It's called 'Mario Kart'. Marine Camp?"

"Whatever! REMATCH!" He's already spamming buttons on his (still upside down) controller. "You said... if I won, I'd get to pick your outfit... 'n I have to take that seriously! It’s on my pride!”

You feel yourself become bashful; you had said that passingly, but only because you thought he was too drunk to remember. Kunigami looks at you pointedly again, face so red it just about blends in with his orange hair. 

"C'mon, rematch!"

"Okay, okay... but only if you let me help you fix your controller first!”

♥ Reo Mikage: The Sloppy/Weepy Drunk

❥ Two words: absolute. Crybaby. So many tears. 

❥ Don’t expect cute sniffling or anything either. It’s the full ugly cry: dripping snot, wailing, whining, etc. Reo is complete waterworks by drink two. 

❥ He likes to talk big about revenge and all that, but in the end he simply never learnt how to cope with his emotions, so alcohol just sets him off even more. He is incredibly easy to make fun of in this state because he’ll just start to cry even harder, so you definitely need to usher him into a private room or something. 

❥ He’ll start crying about things that happened years ago, like how embarrassing it was to rip his pants in elementary school; then he’ll start to complain about Nagi and cry harder, even if Nagi’s not even around; then he’ll cry about how cute you are and that you don’t love him as much as he loves you (no matter what you say to console him). 

"There, there..."

"A-and then... he s-s-said... ugh—said "So, wh—cough—wh—"

"You have to breathe, Reo."

"I'm trying!"

With a small sigh, you end up wiping tears off Reo's cheeks with the same tissue he refuses to take from your hand. You lost track of him during the party, and in that short amount of time he had already managed to slosh down one too many drinks. You're still shocked that he'd subject himself to drinking when he ends up crying his eyes out in front of everybody every single time he does. For somebody so preoccupied with reputation, he's excellent at tanking his own. He's lucky you managed to excuse him before he started to weep in front of somebody of corporate import... or somebody malicious enough to take the scene to the internet. 

"You probably hate me too, s-s-seeing me like this..." 

"I don't hate you, Reo. If I did, I wouldn't be taking care of you."

"Everybody hates me!" he wails miserably, another fresh set of tears welling in his violet eyes, spilling down his face. You have to say; he spends so much time fronting with a media-trained smile or brooding with a deep scowl that it's somewhat of a relief to see him actually vent his feelings out. He's vulnerable like this, and it shows his undying trust in you. 

"What if I said I liked you a lot?"

“Y-you—you do?" His eyes widen past the tears, doe-eyed and cute with eagerness, but he's sporting a shiny snot bubble now. You know you’re in real deep to be able to say this to a face like that:

"I do."

[simpingforstardew]

muse

pairing: sdv elliot x reader

synopsis: elliot is struggling with severe writers block; if only he had a muse...

note: a while ago i talked about having a derivative idea for an elliot x reader fic; here is that fic !! the premise is completely unoriginal, but i'll leave the references at the end of the fic to avoid spoilers hehe

warnings: i don't even know for this one gang, wholesome w/ an ending that could be read as spooky? let's call it a doomed romance !! tw/ relationships that are doomed by the narrative !!

word count: 1.5k

Adronitis

A heart so damaged; tender; sore—

You ever-blooming sycamore,

Through hunger pangs; my deliriousness,

I mourn my mortal catoptric tristesse.

With starving dreams, your warmth I crave—

I worship you, I must embrave,

Indulge me, lay your fear ahind.

Our sanctuary; your piece of mind.

My amorous famine demands more […more what?],

So I feast on your smile […] petrichor.

i am just writing this right niw so it

looks lije i am being pro ductive oh Yoba

andnow leahs comin g over this

is alll shit im jist going to star t overrr

“How’s the writing going, El’?” Leah peers down at Elliot with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow. “We’ve been at it for a while without a break, you know?”

“Oh, Leah! It’s going splendidly, and yes, it seems we have…” Elliot coughs, avoiding eye contact while tearing the paper from his typewriter. “Why don’t we call it for today then?”

“Without showing me what you’ve done? C’mon,” she whines, “What do you have?”

Elliot and Leah had decided, sometime early last Spring, to meet in Cindersnap forest every Wednesday to work on their current projects. ‘Parallel play for artists,’ Penny once called it when walking Jas back to Marnie’s ranch. For Leah, this weekly rendezvous has (so far) allowed her to complete 2 clay sculptures, 3 wood sculptures, 23 drawings, and 8 paintings; for Elliot, the last few months has allowed him to create…

“Nothing,” Elliot sighs, packing his typewriter’s case with a frown. “I have, somehow, written nothing! I mean, I wanted to craft a Petrarchan sonnet, inspired by Poe’s romantic, yet macabre sensibilities. I ended up with trash I couldn’t even make hendecasyllabic. It’s embarrassingly Shakespearian and—”

“Whoa, whoa, buddy, that’s okay. That’s fine. I’m not sure what any of that means, but…” Leah scrunches her freckled nose, hoping to find the right words to calm Elliot down, “It seems like you’re expecting perfection from a first draft. Maybe we should call it for today, and you could revisit your poem tomorrow?”

“Yes, you are right,” the authors scowl softens; after a moment of meditation—feeling the summer breeze tangle in his hair—he looks towards Leah with a smile. “I will see you next week, Miss Faraday.”

Elliot didn’t return to his typewriter until later that week, deciding instead to bask in the sun’s warmth on the beach. The author sits on the pier with a contented sigh, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing backdrop to his afternoon reverie.

Even still, despite the Elysium that he has found himself in, Elliot cannot shake his frustrations; his linguistic discouragement plagued his every thought.

“Ahoy there, my boy! Perfect weather for fishing don’t ya reckon?” Willy smiles, closing the front door to the Fish Shop behind him. Elliot

“Ah, hello Mr. Tucker,” Elliot waves as the fisherman sits beside him, attaching a small blue tackle onto an impressively shiny rod, “I suppose it is, although I fear I don’t have my fishing gear with me today.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that? No need to be so formal, son,” Willy chuckles, casting a line into the vast depths of the saltwater, “Say, aren’t ya usually off in town around this time? Feel like I never see you this early on a Wednesday.”

Elliot still had to adjust to the predictive routine of a small town, and the horrifying consequences of straying from said routine: becoming the topic of mid-afternoon gossip.

“Yes, well, I um—,” Elliot sighs, looking into the deep blue below as if the ocean concealed the antidote to writers block, “I have been, writing with Leah every Wednesday and… actually can I ask for some advice?”

“O’ Course ya can, my boy.” Willy nods.

“I have been… struggling lately,” The taller man slumps as he runs a hand through his auburn hair, his voice heavy with uncertainty, “I feel as if I have lost my spark, my… capacité artistique. I cannot, for the life of me, write anything of quality! I just… I feel broken, Mr. William.”

Willy takes a moment to think, slowly breathing in the salty air, “Hmm, I see your problem, lad— but it’s important to know yer not broken. Aye, nothin’ about ya is broken.”

A fish tugs at Willy’s fishing line: desperately; hopelessly.

“It’s like if yer pal Willy couldn’t fish anymore… I’d sooner swallow a sea urchin than lose my ability to do what I love,” Willy pulls the rod towards him, putting up a fight with whatever poor creature is on the other end of the line, “but sometimes it’s tricky doing what ya love 24/7, son! You got to remind yerself to take breaks, and…”

The creature is hurled out of the ocean, flapping helplessly as the fisherman releases it from his tackle. Willy holds the freshly-caught octopus up to Elliot.

“Remind yerself why ya love it!” Willy chuckles, before mumbling to himself about throwing his newest catch in a tank lest he ‘gets inked’.

As Elliot sits in contemplative silence, the ocean offering solace: the rushing winds, the distant cry of seagulls, even the smell of salty air. Over the last year and a half, he has grown to love it all.

As he rises to his feet, Elliot considers his friends’ advice. He certainly didn’t want to remain in this slump forever; so he needs to find a reminder of why he loves writing; a source of reinvigorating inspiration.

He needs to find a muse.

A muse in a village with a population of 27.

‘Well,’ Elliot thinks, slamming his cabin’s door shut behind him as he slides onto his desk chair. He sets up his Olympia SM 9 for the second time today. ‘If I can’t find my muse in life, I will simply create my muse in art.’

For a moment, the black page loaded into the typewriter stares back at Elliot, mockingly. Then, as suddenly as the crash of thunder that bellows from above, the author began to write.

Elliot bursts into the Fish Shop, his manuscript clutched tightly in hand, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “Willy, my friend, you’re incredible!” he cheered, his excitement palpable. “I truly could not have done this without your support.”

Willy grins, offering a sincere thumbs-up. “Glad to hear it, lad! So what was your reminder, eh? What got you back on track?”

Elliot coughs, a flush creeping up his freckled cheeks. “Well, you see… I made it up.”

Willy arches an eyebrow, bemused,“Ya made up yer reminder for why you love writing? Now, son…”

“No, no,” Elliot hastens to explain, “My love for writing is genuine. But my muse, my darling muse, is not.”

“I’m not following, my boy.”

“I have spent all night crafting the narrative of a completely fabricated person, it’s all here,” Elliot elaborates, “They’re genuinely kind, talented and hard-working, despite never being appreciated. They have the most charming mole on their neck, and they’re delightfully witty! After their grandfather passed away, they—”

“Son,” Willy interrupted gently, his tone tinged with amusement, “Yer a peculiar one, ya know that? How is this going to help with yer writing?”

“It does sound ridiculous, but dedicating my sonnets to this idealised character… thinking of them as I work on my novel… It has been phenomenally motivating!” Elliot laughs, re-reading through the pages before stopping in his tracks, “Oh, I do apologise old friend, I barged into your shop like a man possessed.”

It had been months since Elliot had felt such a fervent desire to write; his unbridled excitement was contagious; a smirk spreads across Willy’s face, crinkling the corners of his dark green eyes.

“If it were anyone else instead of you, I’d be furious, lad,” Willy chuckles, reaching into his mini fridge, “‘Ere, I whipped up too many crab cakes last night, and I know they’re yer favourite— consider it a gift.”

As Elliot arrives back at his cabin, writing snacks in tow, the muffled playing of his piano greets him. He chuckles softly, before preparing to shoo Harvey out of his home so he could resume his day of writing.

“Sincerest apologies, I—,”

“Oh! Honey, you’re back so soon.” Turning away from the piano, your eyes catch Elliot’s with a familiar warmth. You admire the way your boyfriend’s hair always forms delicate waves when exposed to the sea spray.

The author was struck speechless, his heart pounding as he stared at you with more focus than you have ever been subject to.

It couldn’t be real. And yet there you are. You. The muse Elliot had crafted— who's entire life was written mere hours prior on the pages that were now strewn about the floor— was standing before him in flesh and blood.

Every flawless detail exactly as he had imagined.

“Elliot, darling, are you okay?” Your smile becomes wry; nervous as to why your lover was acting so peculiar, his pale skin was now a ghastly white. “Would you like me to pour some wine? We can—”

Before your suggestion was made, Elliot was gone; the door slamming shut behind him.

note #2: okay if you didn't catch it, my inspiration was the 1960 episode of the Twilight Zone: 'A World of His Own', and (more relevantly) the 2012 psychological horror romcom Ruby Sparks !! if you check out either that episode or movie, pleasepleaseplease lmk what you think <33

[muldermuse]

i wrote this drabble so quick today, i thought about it on the drive to work and had to do it today.

part of the two sinners works.

Gator overhears reader fucking someone else (spoiler alert: it’s eddie munson lmao- obviously modern!eddie) nsfw below the cut!!! 18+!! mdni!!

He doesn’t recognise the van, it isn’t Jenson’s or Steve’s. It’s the kind of van that he would pull over to spot check for pot.  Whoever is inside with you has dumped it outside your door with no consideration. Gator smirks, that’s just like you- no consideration for anyone but yourself. He notices there’s one sticker on the bumper ‘Hellfire Club’, it looks like the kinda shit that kids at his school would wear all those years ago. Gator considers you could have invited your friend round again to make him jealous but, the pack of smokes tossed on the passengers suggest something different. 

He could leave.

He could go straight home.

You’re not alone in there so there’s no room for him.

But, Glenda is doing an online bible study session so he’s keen to avoid that. 

He creeps towards the rear of your house.

He knows that you keep your bedroom window open. You always do and seldom remember to close it when you’re planning on fucking someone, Gator always tells you that someone will hear, you always sneer back a ‘let ‘em’.

For a few moments, it’s void of voices. He can hear the tinny rhythm of your god awful speaker that should have been retired when you were in your teens. Before he can exhale and try to stop the adrenaline coursing through his veins- he hears you. 

Your moans are high pitched, you sound so whiny and so desperate for whoever is in there with you. Gator gets hard as soon as he hears your voice and he fucking hates himself for it. 

“Eddieeddieeddie, please baby please go a lil harder” you’re begging, he can hear the desperation in your voice. He’s trying not to imagine you in this moment, he’s pushing the thought of you bent over with some guy behind you to the back of his mind but as always, his desires continue to betray him.

He doesn’t recognise the guys voice, it’s a new accent- definitely some dude from out of town. Gator makes a mental note to note down his license plate to investigate more tomorrow. “Baby, we’re goin’ soft tonight, right?”. Gator doesn’t need to see you to know that you’re nodding your head in agreement, so desperate to feel good that you’ll do anything. Gator presses his hard cock through his cargos; desperate to feel some relief. This feels wrong- even for him. He’s listening to you fuck someone else, he’s hiding under your bedroom window whilst some random ‘Hellfire’ guy is gently fucking you. 

He’s going to fucking cum in his pants. 

“M’gonna fuck you so slow and good baby, I promise” the guy’s voice is muffled, he’s probably buried his nose in your soft, perfumed hair and your moan is so sweet back to him. Gator hasn’t heard you moan like that in a while. 

The exterior wood panelling of your home is cool against Gator’s damp forehead. He vows to himself that he isn’t going to jerk himself off outside your home but, he’ll allow himself the luxury of pressing against his cock until he either calms down or he cums. 

Your moan is breathy and distant, “Eddie m’gonna cum so fuckin’ hard please please don’t stop”. 

“So so fuckin’ pretty baby, cum for me and I’ll cum in you- okay? You’re too fuckin’ good to me” you’re pushing your face into your pillow as you cum. You always do that when you cum hard, most times Gator pushes your face further in as you cum and he can feel you shaking under him. The thought of that sends Gator hurtling over the edge, biting his fist as he soaks his cargos with his cum. An intense rage blooms through his body, he doesn’t know who he’s more disappointed in- you or himself. When he gets back in his patrol car, he slams the door so hard he’s shocked the window is still intact. 

*** 

The guy leaving your house looks like a fucking freak. Long curly hair, some tight jeans and a shirt with the same Hellfire logo from his van. He kisses you on your front doorstep and you slap his ass with a wink as he heads to his van. As soon as he starts it, Back in Black erupts through the speakers and he tyre spins away from your home- honking his horn repeatedly as he speeds away. 

Gator is scribbling down his license plate as you tap against his window. 

“You wanna come in for some cocoa, Sheriff?” you coo. He nods wordlessly and follows you indoors. 

It’s silent as you make him a hot cocoa. You’re wrapped in your thoughts- you know what he did and you knew as soon as you saw his patrol car. Gator is trying desperately to hide the darkened stain on his cargos, you prompt for him to sit down as you slide him a chipped Garfield mug full of piping hot chocolate. You see a brief smile flash across Gator’s face, this is his favourite mug and you always save it for him.

“He’s um…that guy was just a friend from out of town” you’re trying to sound as nonchalant as possible as the burning hot liquid hits your tongue. 

He scoffs, “huh yeah, sounded like a real fuckin’ good pal of yours”. He doesn’t look at you, just wraps his cold hands tighter around the mug. He’s like a sulky teenager, upset because a cute girl won’t dance with him at prom. 

“Y’need to stop doing this Gator…you know what this is- right? I don’t spy on you and Glenda and I’d ne-“

“I could be nice, y’know…I mean like when I fuck you” his eyes are soft and pleading. “I mean, we do it kinda nice but you always ask for more.”

Before you can respond, his voice continues quietly. “I love fuckin’ you like that…makes it better, makes this feel real”.

You don’t want to let that comment linger and you’re desperate to ignore how your heart bloomed at that sentence. “Wanna shower with me? Maybe you can be all sweet on me in the shower”.

The hot cocoa gets cold on the side as the shower pours for the next 30 minutes. 

[gallusrostromegalus]

Actually on the subject of anime/ whatever your preferred young adult media is and having terrible parents, what is Ichigo's dad going to be like?

(I have like less than passing knowledge on bleach but I know a lot of people don't like his dad and I am definitely going to read AEIWAM because it sounds fantastic and I'd love to hear more)

Actually I'd love to hear more about any of the parents, I've never really gotten why people want parents to be more active in the escapist stories but now I've read a couyple really good fics and stories with it and yeah I get it now and think there should be more of it. It's great

Anyways I'd love to hear about more of any of the parents (sorry for being a bit vague I don't really know the characters and it sounds like talking about some of the parents mentioned might be spoilers but I am so excited for the fic it sounds really cool! May you have a lovely time writing and creating with it!)

You have excellent taste in freshwater fish, so of course I'll oblige. It's key to remember that I've taken an excavator to the backstory of a good many characters in the fic.

So Isshin is a... marginally better dad? I think it's fundamental to his characterization that he's kind of a fuckup who prefers to avoid interpersonal conflict, which is not a sin, but it does not make good parent material in a shonen series.

So AEIWAM!Isshin... Kind of tells the kids the truth- or at least, the stuff necessary to keep them safe.

The way he tells it, there was a shinigami that lived in his family's attic when he was a little boy- that part is kind of true! In canon, all the shinigami that turn up in Karkura town have nowhere to stay and end up crashing at the houses of psychically aware people. He tells the kids that the Shinigami's name was Kaien Shiba, so if he started telling stories about his favorite nephew, it's just the guy who lived in his attic!

...Which is why he knows all about hollows, and tells his young children about them and to avoid them at all costs, especially after three-year-old Ichigo points at one circling over the house and asks what the "Big Bird" is. He signs Ichigo up for Karate that afternoon, because if his son inherited either of his parent's powers, he's going to need to learn to defend himself.

Isshin also explains why his children can see ghosts and he can't, as well as the fact that they never see their grandparents AND how he met their mother in the same story- What actually happened was that Isshin had met Masaki, an escapee of the Quincy cult (previously engaged to her cousin, Ryuken, who ALSO did not want to be engaged to his cousin, partly because Ew and partly because he was already married) and dying of hollow poisoning, and did a magical blood transfusion to save her, losing his shinigami powers and committing some mild treason in the process.

What Isshin and Masaki tell their children is that Isshin used to be able to see ghosts, just like them, but when he was a young man, he and his parents were out driving and got hit by a truck. They died immediately, but Isshin had a serious head injury and spent months in the hospital. But! In the next hospital bed over was a young woman who had recently lost her family as well, and had fallen gravely ill. Love may or may not be able to bloom on the battlefield, but it can bloom in the Hospital ICU. Mommy and Daddy's friend Ryuken is Masaki's cousin who treated both of them in the hospital. That part is even true!

Speaking of Ryuken Ishida, he's also trying his best.

He had a terrible loss some nine years ago, when his wife, Kanae, died. Ryuken was a pureblood (read: Highly Inbred. White-haired Anime Boy syndrome has the same cause and detrimental health effects as high-white merele in dogs) Quincy, but his wife was not, and when Yhwach decided to do The Big Slurpy where he sucked the soul energy out of every descendant of his except one particular line, she decided to go down swinging and take as much of the Quincy cult out with her as she could. Like Uryuu did in canon, she used her powers until they burnt right out of her soul and killed her, rather than let that cancerous, cult-leading sonofabitch go after her family.

Ryuken then had another terrible shock a year later when his father-in-law was killed by hollows while secretly training his son in the Quincy arts, something Ryuken had explicitly forbidden, but Soken thought it important that Young Uryuu at least learn to control his inherited abilities. Uryuu was saved from the same fate by an exceptionally powerful hollow that tore the others limb from limb as soon as she recognized the frightened cries of her son.

Much like his friend Isshin, sometimes true love can be found in the midst of tragedy, and now Ryuken and Kanae are reunited and raising Uryuu together. Karkura has more than it's fair share of hollows, and so she's on a modified Santa Clarita Diet to keep her hunger at bay. She's doing quite well on it even! It's a bit strange to say, but Ryuken is possibly even more madly in love with her now that she's a hulking monstrosity with an appetite for flesh than when she was still human.