#busy week has me sapped of energy so much of the time but tomorrow. i will catch up on socialising <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 1

Hello hello! First fic here, it’s a Maribat AU with a side of Sword Art Online. Or what I remember from having watched the show once about five years ago. We’ve got Marinette and minimal class salt, Young Justice but only the good parts, and primarily Jasonette. Please spread the word (I am a tiny sideblog) and let me know what you think <3

Read here on AO3

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Chapter 1: You have no idea how many baddies I’m going to blow up because of you

Friday, at long last. Marinette could not have exhaled a bigger sigh of relief. It was mid-way through the school term, her commissions were ramping up, and Hawkmoth had become frustratingly active. Her duties as class president had only increased as she and her friends neared the end of lycée, not to mention all the studying she was doing for the baccalauréat on top of her regular school work. Commissions were booming now that her popularity as the anonymous designer MDC was soaring worldwide. She wouldn’t give any of it up for the world, but she might enjoy getting more than three or four hours of sleep for once.

There was only part of her life that had gotten easier since that day three years ago when she was entrusted with a pair of spotted earrings and an old god to match. Ladybug started out with one partner, but she now had a whole team to share the responsibilities of keeping their city safe. Ryuko and Viperion became permanent fixtures of the Parisian rooftops, and Bourdonne replaced Queen Bee after the infamous (albeit self-inflicted) unmasking of Chloe Bourgeois. The people of Paris looked to these heroes with pride and trust.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng, now the Guardian of the Miraculous, looked to her partners with trust as well. She had decided that with her in charge, she could no longer keep secrets from her friends, from her new Order of the Guardians. She discussed it with Chat Noir, and he had smiled and agreed that it was time. And one day, when Ladybug gathered her teammates on a remote rooftop in the dead of night, she said only “I trust you,” before allowing her transformation to fall.

She wasn’t nervous, not really. She knew Kagami and Luka had good hearts, and she had seen firsthand how much Chloe had grown. Those three accepted her civilian self, her true self, without half a thought, and followed their leader in dropping their transformations as well. Chloe got her quips in while Ladybug looked to Chat Noir.

He passed his gaze over the faces of their friends and smirked like he was holding in a laugh. As he said “Claws in,” Marinette could hear the laugh in his voice, an intonation that sounded so very familiar, and oh. Of course.

Adrien Agreste beamed at his friends, both in the mask and out, and said fondly, “I’m so glad it’s you.”

The rest, of course, was history. For the year and a half since then, the five heroes of Paris had kept the city safe from threats magical and mundane alike. Hawkmoth had, of course, gotten craftier and more vicious with his attacks, sometimes choosing to send bursts of weaker akumas over the span of a week, sometimes waiting a month before sending an especially brutal villain their way.

But it was nothing that the Order of the Guardians couldn’t handle. Even though it could get exhausting after a while, which is why the incoming weekend was a welcome reprieve. There was another reason why this particular weekend was so exciting, which was that a new video game, Mindscape, was debuting. It would be released at midnight EST, which was 6:00 in the morning for Paris.

“Today’s the day, girl!” Alya squealed as she flagged Marinette down on their way to the classroom. “We are so lucky that our class won that raffle to get these exclusive passes. I bet I’ll be the first blog to get the scoop on this new tech they’re using!”

Marinette giggled and started to reply, “Super lucky, right? I’m excited too, I heard--”

“You know,” Lila cut her off as she sidled up to Alya. “I’m not saying that I didn’t enter us to get those downloads, but I was a big help with beta testing.”

How she managed to time that comment just as the three girls crossed the threshold of the classroom, and how she managed to know that nearly the whole class would already be there to hear it, Marinette would never understand. She only had to wait a moment before the rest of their friends rushed to the door to thank Lila.

“This opportunity is amazing, we are incredibly grateful!” Max was first in line, ever the technology-enthusiast.

Kim pushed his shorter friend out of the way and vigorously shook Lila’s hand. “You have no idea how many baddies I’m going to blow up because of you.” Lila looked a little overwhelmed as he continued to shake her hand all the while, and she gave him a nervous smile.

He was soon pushed out of the way as Alix muscled her way to the front next. “I definitely owe you for giving me the chance to kick his ass in a brand new way!” She jerked her head to where Kim had landed on the floor, pouting at her.

As the rest of the class who would be joining them in the game’s premiere expressed their thanks, Alya looked on with an affectionate smile. She was so very happy that she now had two kind, selfless best friends. Her smile fell a little as she noticed Marinette stoically edging her way around the crowd and up to her seat, not having said a word to Lila. Alya just wished that her two besties would get along.

Alya put a hand on Lila’s shoulder and smiled her thanks before following Marinette to what was once their shared desk. “You really should thank her, you know,” Alya implored hopefully.

Without turning around to face Alya, Marinette paused and shared an incredulous look with Adrien, who was already seated at his shared desk with Nino. She then shrugged and replied, “Lila never actually said that she got us the passes,” before continuing up the steps to her seat at the back of the class. Alya shook her head and sat down. It was always like this, a cool indifference from Marinette whenever Lila came up. They were both such incredible people, Alya couldn’t understand why they didn’t get along.

As for Marinette, she was semi-content to let Lila be as long as her lies didn’t hurt anybody. Her unrealistic promise to take away all of Marinette’s friends was never fulfilled, and honestly the amount of emotional energy it used to sap from her just wasn’t worth it anymore. Marinette had no idea how Lila was going to get her hands on a copy of the game when Mari was, of course, the one who had won the raffle. She distributed the special access passes herself, and Lila certainly hadn’t gotten one. If this was the way that she wanted to make friends, she would eventually have to face the consequences.

But for now, Lila was basking in her praise. That is, until she glanced at her phone and gave a small gasp of dismay.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked, concern already etched on her face.

Lila covered her mouth with one hand and started rapidly blinking back tears. “It’s my VIP copy of the game. There was a mixup in the mail and it won’t get here in time for tomorrow morning! I’m so sorry everyone, it looks like you’ll have to do it without me....” She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders trembled with barely restrained sobs.

The class shared a worried look, and Sabrina piped up, “It’s okay Lila, you can borrow my copy.” Lila immediately looked up and surged forward to clasp the hands of her friend.

“Really? But won’t it have the same problem?” Sabrina smiled and shook her head. “Nope, it’s a digital download! I don’t mind, you can always trade it back when your VIP pass arrives later.”

Lila gave her a brilliant smile, any tears long-since dried. “Oh, thank you so much Sabrina! I’ll see what I can do about getting you a VIP pass too once mine gets here.”

At that moment, Chloe walked in, and one look at the scene displayed in front of her had her rolling her eyes at her former best friend. She gracefully swept up the steps to join Marinette at the back of the classroom and whispered to her, “Aren’t they all digital downloads?”

Marinette, who had started unpacking her bag to prepare for class, inclined her head and gave the blonde a meaningful look that indicated yes, they were indeed all digital downloads. Chloe snickered and started preparing her own side of the desk.

After the fiasco of outing herself as Queen Bee, Chloe had lost the minimal support and tolerances she had been allowed before. It gave her time to truly reflect on how she acted and treated other people. She had since been quietly making amends with those she’d wronged, and the person on the top of that list was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It took time and a lot of effort on Chloe’s part, but she mellowed out and did a lot of growing up. She still spoke her mind, though.

“Huh that’s strange, I got the VIP package too, but mine was a digital pass,” Chloe loudly proclaimed, studying her nails nonchalantly as the rest of the class turned to look up at her.

Lila grit her teeth into a forced smile and replied sweetly, “Well that’s because mine was an original beta testing copy that they had to update for the full game.” She turned her attention to Marinette and a note of false concern crept into her voice. “Oh Marinette, I hope you’ll still have time to come too! I know you’ll be busy this weekend with planning the spring class field trip. It would be such a shame if it didn’t happen because you were too busy playing a video game.”

Marinette suddenly felt very warm under the gazes of the entire class. She stammered out, “Oh-of course we’ll get to go! Don’t worry, I have a meeting with the school board on Monday.” Trust Lila to sniff out the one thing that had slipped below her radar.

Lila’s eyes lit up with an opportunistic gleam. “That’s great! Where will it be?”

“Well, uh, the school board has to review the location, so I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I can tell you that it will be in, um,” her eyes flicked around wildly and landed on the posterboard of different flags from the prior week’s lessons. “America!”

The class burst into excited chatter moments before Madame Bustier arrived and the late bell rang. Marinette released a breath and sagged in her seat. Saved by the bell.

Chloe gave her a sidelong glance and murmured, “America, huh?”

“Shut up,” Marinette shot back.

* * *

Madame Bustier tried to get the class to pay attention, she really did. They struggled through their lessons before lunch, the volume of side conversations between deskmates swelling all the while. The moment the bell for lunch dismissal rang, the students exploded into conversation as they left the classroom.

Marinette waved as Chloe and Adrien walked off to go meet Kagami and Luka at a nearby cafe. She breezed into the patisserie across the street from Francois Dupont and gave her surprised Maman a kiss on the cheek.

“I thought you were going out with your friends for lunch?” Sabine asked, balancing a tray of eclairs on her hip. “I forgot I have to plan our class trip!” Marinette replied cheerfully as she hurried into the kitchen to quickly fix herself a croque-monsieur. She gave her Papa a hug as she finished preparing her meal. He shouted up at her to not make a mess as she retreated into her room to eat at her desk.

She gave a small snort at that. It was nearly impossible for her to make a mess of food when she had over a dozen Kwami there to clean up after her, but he didn’t know that. She greeted said Kwami with a delighted grin and a wave as she set her plate down by her desktop computer.

“Marinette, why are you back so early?” Tikki asked, “is everything okay?” The other Kwami swarmed around her as she woke her computer up and logged in.

The girl waved one hand nonchalantly and opened up a web browser with the other. “Everything’s fine, I just forgot about planning the class trip!” She took a huge bite of the sandwich and started typing furiously. Several Kwami dove after the crumbs that sprayed everywhere.

“Ohhh, I see! Do you have an idea of where to start?” Tikki zoomed around Marinette’s shoulder to hover next to the monitor screen.

Marinette had the same determined gleam in her eye as when she finally found the perfect fabric for a design. She said confidently around a mouth full of ham, “America.”

* * *

By the time the lunch break had finished, Marinette had a preliminary list of cities on the East Coast of the United States. She had researched Gotham first, but it looked far too dangerous and gloomy. Next was New York City, which she determined was too big. Philadelphia was historic, but in a way that would definitely bore her classmates. Boston was too cold despite its excitement. Which left Metropolis as the perfect candidate. It was also protected by the perfect superheroes, Superman and his family, so she was absolutely confident the school board would approve of the city.

Of course, the meeting on Monday would need more specifics than just the city, but she was pleased with her progress so far. Marinette shut down her monitor, grabbed her backpack and plate from lunch, and went downstairs to the kitchen. She quickly scrubbed and dried her plate in the sink before waving to her parents as they bustled around, accommodating the tail end of the mid-day rush.

Marinette walked across the street with a spring in her step and, spotting a tall flash of blue hair, half-jogged up to her group of friends.

“Hey guys, sorry I couldn’t make it to lunch!” She grinned apologetically at Kagami and Luka.

“That’s alright Melody,” Luka gave her a side hug, “Chloe told us you were busy planning your class trip.”

Adrien slung an arm around Kagami’s shoulder and pulled his girlfriend closer to whisper conspiratorially to her, “I hear we’re going to America.” She laughed softly at his antics and at Marinette who stuck her tongue out at him. Kagami then said to Marinette, “That sounds delightful, Marihime. I trust you will still be joining us tomorrow morning?”

Marinette’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of playing the game with her friends all weekend long. “Definitely! I’m going to finish preparing for the school board meeting tonight so that we can play the second it comes out.”

“If you can wake up on time,” Chloe teased.

Marinette crossed her arms defensively and stated with pride, “I already set three alarms, thank you very much!”

Adrien burst out laughing at that. “Leave it to our everyday Ladybug,” he winked. Her face flushed as she pouted. He chuckled again and kissed Kagami on the top of her head. “See you later, mon coeur.”

She and Luka waved to the rest of the group as they left to return to their own schools. The three Francois Dupont students watched them go for a moment before returning inside.

“So, you and Kagami have plans?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah! Our parents gave special permission for a sleepover at my place tonight so we can play the game right when it comes out tomorrow.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had never quite abandoned. “But I’m not sure how often we’ll be able to be online with you guys after this weekend. You know how busy our schedules are....”

Marinette elbowed him lightly as they walked. “It’s a blessing you both managed to convince your dad and her mom to let you come to the launch at all! We’ll play together when we can, it’s no big deal.”

Adrien smiled gratefully at her and held the door open for both Marinette and Chloe as they entered the classroom. Alya was already there, and once she spotted her best friend (well, one of them), she skidded down the steps with a huge grin and held an invisible microphone up to Marinette.

“Thank you Nadja, and good afternoon Paris! This is Alya Cesaire, and today I am joined by young fashion designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, can you give us an exclusive scoop on the trip you’re planning for your class?”

“Good afternoon Mlle. Cesaire,” Marinette giggled, “Unfortunately, the trip has yet to be approved by the school board so no details just yet. But I can tell you with certainty that we will be visiting the resident city of some popular American superheroes.” She winked as she finished in her best interview voice.

Alya gasped and dropped her pretend microphone as she hugged her best friend. “Really!? Oh my gosh girl, you are the best!”

Marinette laughed and hugged her back as Alya jumped and spun them around. Once they pulled apart, she told the brunette, “As soon as the school board gives me the green light, you’ll be the first to know.”

The late bell rang and the girls practically skipped to their respective seats as Madame Bustier called the class to attention. Well, “attention” in the loosest sense of the word. They struggled once more through the majority of their lessons, but Madame Bustier seemed to sense defeat and she let them chatter excitedly for the last twenty minutes before dismissal.

Kim and Alix were boasting about how they were going to stay up all night, while Max encouraged them to maximize the time they would be able to play the next day by getting a full night’s sleep in before the launch time.

Lila bragged about her role in the creation of the game from its conception to even having suggested the highly anticipated date of release. Adrien pointedly ignored Lila in the row behind his and discussed the music they had recorded and mixed for the game with a very enthusiastic Nino.

Sabrina looked on a little sadly until Mylene, Ivan, Rose, and Juleka invited her to join their Disney movie marathon double-date instead. Mylene was too nervous to play the game so Ivan chose to sit out to support her, and video games weren’t really Rose and Juleka’s style. Sabrina’s face softened as she gratefully accepted their invitation.

Nathaniel turned around in his seat to talk to Marinette about the art rendering and the programs they used while Chloe scrolled aimlessly on her phone.

By the time the bell finally rang, the class was beyond excited to go prepare for the launch the next morning.

Marinette, to her credit, swallowed her enthusiasm and sat down to fully plan out their trip to Metropolis. It was grueling work, researching the safest hotel that was still in a central location. It had to be affordable but not shabby, too, because they had a limited budget. She eventually settled on the reputable Wayne Hotel, apparently part of an enormous corporation called Wayne Enterprises, and then began to build an itinerary with different events from there.

She worked nonstop the rest of the night, with the exception of a brief dinner break, and it was nearly 11:00 at night by the time she finished. Marinette sat up from her desk chair and stretched, then double-checked that her alarms were set before finally heading to bed.

[fasterthanmydemons]

{out of breath} As you can see, not much has been happening on my blogs lately. I am sorry about this, but rest assured, it’s not permanent. I’m just dealing with a few things right now that are sapping my creativity, my muse, and my time. Details below the cut, and I may be taking mini-hiatuses during my busy times at work. I will let everyone know if/when this happens, so you’ll know to expect me around or not.

I’m experiencing a bit of burnout with my writing currently, combined with a lack of muse for Marvel muses, which unfortunately is the majority of my active muses right now. I may be taking a day away from Pietro, since he’s the only single muse that has two days on my schedule, and making one day where I don’t have anything scheduled to give myself a break, because scheduling rping for every day is starting to become very stressful. I’m thinking maybe Thursdays will be my day off, but I’ll let you all know when I decide.

I’m also having trouble kicking inspiration for an old character from my favorite video game (one I’ve loved for 15 years and really should have made a muse of mine well before now), and I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I just need to do something with said inspiration to get it out of my system. I’m hoping that if I do that, I can yank my brain out of this rut it’s stuck in. I’m trying to decide whether to give him his own blog, which I’d prefer, or to add him to my multimuse, which might get him mildly more activity. Can I count on some of you to go bother him if I give him his own blog? Pretty please? XD Overall, I expect there to not be very much interest in this muse, which is totally fine because I don’t necessarily want more rp activity overall, but I would like a space to write about him, even if it’s just fics and metas, so I’m leaning towards making him his own blog. 

Also this semester of teaching is proving to be one of the most difficult I’ve ever had. I have more students now than I ever have before, so volume of assignments to grade is an issue, but also the students are really struggling a lot more than usual. I don’t know whether it’s that it’s the first semester they’re back to almost all in-person classes and they’re back on campus and they’re just stressed out or what, but they are needing a lot of guidance, makeups, and reminders from me to keep going. This is really sapping my free time and energy, which then makes it harder to write even when I do get the free time to do so. I think I want to take mini-hiatuses of maybe 4-6 days at a time whenever I have forums assignments to grade, because those are my most time-consuming assignments to read through and score. There are five more of these assignments between now and December, including one due tomorrow. I will let everyone know if/when I go on hiatus in the next couple days.

So... I think having a free day of the week where I get a break from T.umb.lr, playing around with some non-Marvel inspiration for a change, and taking breaks when work gets really time-consuming will help not only my stress levels but my creative burnout as well. I apologize to everyone waiting for replies, as I know I was slow enough as I was before, but I appreciate the patience, and hopefully I will have my groove back before too long.

[excelsi-or]

17/01/19 - jealous (woozi)

to a boy i love right now

w.c. 2.1k (lol longer than i thought)

A/N: who doesn’t love a jealous woozi?

December 27/28/29, 2018

January 17, 2019

She rolls her eyes at Taehyung’s dumb expression, a smile on her face despite her exasperation. “Stop. We really need to finish this report.”

“We’ve been here for hours,” Taehyung whines, his chin dropping to the table. “We’ve read so many papers. Are you even retaining anything?”

“Not a matter of retaining, it’s a matter of getting it on the page.”

Taehyung huffs. “All I’m saying is that maybe we should call it a day.” He motions out the library window. “It’s dark out.”

She sighs, conceding to his point. Their formal lab report was taking longer than either of them expected. With all the references that the professor wanted to back up their evidence, their eyes were starting to go cross-eyed. And to be fair, she’d lost focus long before Taehyung had.

As they exit the school library, Taehyung promises that he’ll get the conclusion done by Friday morning so they can go over it on Saturday.

“No, no,” she snorts. “Done by Thursday morning so we can look over it Friday and hand it in by midnight.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing.”

They’re about to part ways, as she’s planning to meet Jihoon. “So I’ll see you in class tomorrow? As in are you planning on showing up?”

“Missing me in microbi?” Taehyung snorts. “I’m sure Chim is keeping you company.”

“Since Ara came along, that man isn’t talking to anyone else in that class.”

Taehyung smiles wide and she slows for the pathway to the music building. From this distance, she can see Jihoon locking up.

“So you are missing me,” Taehyung chuckles.

She waves her goodbyes and turns to Jihoon when he saunters up. His eyes watch Taehyung’s retreating figure as he heads towards the parking lot. Taehyung is one of those lucky students that has his own vehicle. Jihoon gives her a once over, but says nothing.

“You ready to go?” she asks him, adjusting her backpack straps.

Jihoon offers his hand, but remains mute; which is fine. It tends to happen when Jihoon hasn’t slept much. With graduation looming, he’s been skimping on sleep. She thinks that his trip down to Busan has also sapped a lot of his energy. From all the stories he returned with, it didn’t sound as if the man had had much time to rest. So she fills the silence for the both of them, talking about how the work session with Taehyung had gone and how much of an idiot he is for skipping classes.

“Least he shows up to lab every week,” she mutters. They get off at her bus stop. Seungkwan has been raving about his mom’s food that she’d sent. His mom’s made so much that Seungkwan is inviting everyone over to share.

She’s pretty sure she and Jihoon are the last to arrive.

“Are you okay?” she asks him as they get into the elevator. Jihoon’s a quiet man, but he’s unusually quiet tonight.

Jihoon squeezes her fingers and rests his head on hers as they watch the floors light up.

“Are you and hyung fighting?” Seungkwan asks after everyone’s gone home. Hansol insisted on staying the night. He’s made himself comfy on the couch and refuses to get up anymore. She brings Seungkwan a stack of dirty plates.

“No, why?”

“I don’t know. You guys weren’t acting like you usually do.”

She stops from collecting the cups together. With rapid-fire speed, she breezes through the night. Jihoon had been distant most of the night, but also hadn’t really left her side. If anything, he’d been more touchy than usual, his hand always on her somewhere even when they were playing board games.

Hansol groans from his spot on the couch, stretching his arms over his head. He curls around a couch pillow. “Seungkwanie is just overanalyzing again.”

“He wasn’t his usual annoying self. That’s all I’m saying,” Seungkwan says.

She passes him the cups over the counter. Resting her chin in her hands, she frowns. “I didn’t really notice anything and he hasn’t said anything.”

“Well, that’s good,” Seungkwan replies quickly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I think we’re good.”

“You know best.” Seungkwan’s voice is definitive. “If nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong.”

Except maybe Seungkwan wasn’t wrong. After dinner at their apartment, Jihoon has been near unreachable. He responds to texts if she sends them, but each time she extends an invitation for dinner, the man claims he’s busy. From what she’s learned of Jihoon the last four months is that he likes the idea of relationships, but struggles with actually having them. So it’s been a learning curve for her to figure out where the boundaries are and what boundaries Jihoon will let her cross.

At this point in time, she wonders if Jihoon’s keeping his distance to reflect on their relationship. A lot of her friends were still in the honeymoon phase nearly a year in, so four months feels extremely soon to be reevaluating. But Jihoon has proven time and time again to be doing this relationship differently. So she knows that once he’s ready to come find her, he will.

“Taehyung, focus!” she laughs. “You asked me to help you study and you’re being impossible.”

Taehyung grins at her and adjusts himself in his seat, leaning forward to demonstrate that he’s listening. She shows him the molecule again and explains how there are two sigma d symmetry planes.

He stares hard at her drawing, but she recognizes that there is no understanding there. So she pulls out the Play-Doh, something that she figured would also help his focus. She passes him the purple-lidded tub. Then she pulls out a handful of toothpicks.

“It’s easier to make the molecule and since the set is expensive, I found this cheap alternative works too.”

Taehyung is already busy making a tiny snowman, but rather than scolding him again, she uses the small balls he’s made to use as atoms. Once he’s made enough, she shows him the molecule in 3D. His jaw drops.

“Oh my god, I can see it now!” He takes it from her and rotates it so that they’re looking down the plane. “You’re a literal genius.”

She snorts. “Genius, no. Decent teacher and patient friend, yeah.”

Taehyung rests his face against her arm and she pats his head. “This is game changing.”

“It is. So let’s do the other ones.”

When they leave the café, Taehyung asks, “So how’s your boyfriend?”

“Jihoon? He’s good.” Probably.

Taehyung smiles his kilowatt smile. “That’s good. Jungkook keeps suggesting a double date since apparently I rave about how fun studying with you is.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “I’ll mention it to Ji next time I see him.”

He offers to walk her home since the café is near her place. She doesn’t argue, as she’s missed having someone walk her home. She hadn’t realized how accustomed to Jihoon she’d gotten until she had started making the bus ride home on her own again. It made all the dark alleys a little bit darker.

“How’s all his music going? I know Yoongi hyung was at his wit’s end near graduation.”

She shrugs. “Ji’s good under pressure. He’ll suddenly whip up four songs without blinking. Real genius at work.”

“Speak of the devil,” Taehyung says as they wander up to her apartment. Sitting on the front steps is Jihoon. Taehyung smiles at the man, but Jihoon barely musters anything in return. Taehyung shoots her a pitying smile, which must mean that he assumes Jihoon’s exhausted.

But she knows that look on Jihoon’s face. He’s mad.

Taehyung wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

She hugs him back and nods. “Yes, because you’re showing up to class.”

“I’m showing up to class,” he promises. He waves over his shoulder.

“Text me when you’re home!”

“Shall do!”

Then she turns to her angry boyfriend. He’s not mad very often, but the tightness in his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes tells her he’s also sleep deprived.

She stands there, hands on the straps of her backpack. Jihoon’s eyes are on his hands and she waits him out. Jihoon doesn’t waste words when he’s angry.

But they wind up sitting in silence for so long that her fingers start to go numb. She buries her hands in her pockets and studies him. If anger were visible, she can imagine ripples of anger on his spine.

“You’re mad,” she finally states.

Jihoon’s eyes lift to hers.

“It’s keeping you up at the studio all night.”

He waits.

“And you’ve stopped answering my texts all together, so it’s probably my fault you’re mad.”

Her mind whirs. He’s gonna make her work for it. He’s cut off communication for about a week and a half. A few days before that, she’d told him that she was going to study with—

“You’re jealous, Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon frowns and looks away, his jaw clenching again.

Tentatively, she takes a few steps towards him and takes a seat. She leaves space between them, because she knows that Jihoon fires off if he’s angry enough. They haven’t had enough arguments for her to gauge how angry he is right now.

“Is that why you’re avoiding me? Because of Taehyung?”

“I wanted to think,” he mumbles. His voice comes out gravelly as if he hasn’t really used it much.

“And what have you been thinking about?”

“That maybe…”

She holds a hand up to stop him. “If the thought was that I’d run off with beautiful Taehyung, then Ji, you have nothing to worry about.”

“How do I have nothing to worry about?” he exclaims. Jihoon turns to her, his eyes sharp and his hair falling messily out of his face. She wants to run her hands through it desperately, but now is not the time. “He’s tall and good looking and your type.”

She blinks in surprise at the last part. “My type? I didn’t know I had a type.” She smiles slightly. “And if I had one, it’s you, Ji.”

This seems to stun him. She quickly explains. “Taehyung is beautiful, in all sense of the word. I like him; he’s a good friend to have around. But Taehyung is a lot of maintenance.” Jihoon sits up a bit straighter as she talks. “But I adore you, Lee Jihoon.” They’ve been dancing around the ‘L’ word, neither of them quite ready to drop it, but feeling it all the same. She’s put off by the weight of it; he’s scared of the commitment in it.

“I adore you and that’s not going to change just because a beautiful man breezes through my life.” Gently, she reaches for his hand and he lets her intertwine their fingers. “I have you, my own perfectly beautiful human, to entertain me.”

Jihoon snorts at the phrasing. “I’m a play thing?”

“Mm, but you don’t care, do you?” she teases.

Jihoon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t like feeling as if I’m competing for your attention.”

“Then tell me what you want, Ji.” Jihoon tilts his head at the request. “I’m testing boundaries with you. If you know what you want, tell me.”

“I… what I really want is for you to stop talking to him.” From her expression, he quickly adds, “But I know that’s not fair. I don’t know what I want. I want…” He lets the end of the sentence hang in the air.

She brings the back of his hand to her lips and she gets up, her bum already numb. “Are you gonna come in?”

“Seungkwan home?” Jihoon stands.

“He’s home,” she confirms.

Jihoon nods and lets her lead him into the apartment. His arms wrap around her waist in the elevator, his head knocking back into the wall. “You’re getting into bed when we get upstairs,” she tells him.

Jihoon hums.

Her hand disentangles them and she tugs him after her to the door.

“Seungkwanie!” she calls, though the man is sitting at their dining table. “Ji’s here.”

“Hi hyung!”

Jihoon grumbles a response and heads straight for her room. Seungkwan watches him shuffle across the room and the light doesn’t turn on when he goes inside. Seungkwan glances back at her. “It’s only 6:30.”

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” she informs him. She places her backpack in the chair directly across from him. “Apparently we were fighting.”

Seungkwan lifts a curious eyebrow.

“Resolved now, but he’s been fighting all alone. I didn’t even know.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Couples. I’ll never understand.”

“Don’t worry, Seungkwanie, I don’t either.”

Next: January 24, 2019 

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Bluegrass-Chapter Six

                      A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help and wisdom

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Six

Jamie walked into an empty house feeling immense relief Isobel was gone. He didn’t know where. He never knew where. Was that because he didn’t ask or because she didn’t tell him? He didn’t know or care. It was time to have a talk with Isobel and decide what to do with their future. Each time he brought it up she would snap at him, they had to pay off her father and then sell the business and split the money. The thought of giving the business up made him feel sick inside, he couldn’t do it. He built this business from the dirt and three years later he had an honest shot at the Derby because he made the right match of DNA. She would force him to sell without an ounce of guilt because she had ice in her veins.

Jamie suggested Isobel go back to Scotland because she hated Kentucky. Her father had closed the discussion of marriage, much to Jamie’s relief, so it was nothing more than a business arrangement with her father. She wasn’t needed here, she did nothing for the business except keep Jamie from it. She refused to go for reasons unknown, so he was stuck with a pouty, controlling bitch, who seemed determined to make him miserable. Jamie grabbed two beers because the first would go down fast and walked upstairs for a shower. The first bottle hit the trash can before he stepped under the water.

He built a sundeck off the master bedroom because Isobel wanted a tan, and in three years he had never seen her on it. He loved it because he could see the entire compound and the sight from up here was peaceful. His eyes swept the landscape until he saw the spot where Claire had cried earlier. When she thought her actions with that asshole Chad would hurt him somehow. She was ready to leave because of what she did. Christ, that kind of heart and integrity were so rare in the people he had met in Kentucky. He wanted to build a team of people with a moral code like his, but the influence of haters and greed were holding him down like he was chained. Isobel was part of the greed, Chad was one of the haters, and there was someone out there that was evil enough to kill his prized horses in their prime. All the negativity he had lived with for the last three years had sapped his strength, his joy, and almost killed his dream. Then, in walks a pure heart to shed a brilliant light of hope and miracles to his battered soul.

Jamie tried to quiet his mind because he didn’t like where this thought process was going. Once Claire was in his head it would torture him and make him miss her every minute she was gone. He leaned back on the lounge and dozed with his two-beer buzz until he felt his phone vibrate. His eyes bugged out when he heard Claire’s voice.

“Sassenach, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a list of things we need to talk about, do you have a few minutes Jamie? Perfect. Number one, I am doing a new Facebook page and I would like to feature the colt, now that he has filled my dance card. What do you say about that?”

“Yes.”

Number two, if we don’t make any progress tomorrow with a rider on the colt I will ride him, he won’t hurt me.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry Jamie dear but I heard yes, otherwise he might be held back. Number three, what kind of riding is required before the first race and which race will that be?”

“Running and galloping as a group to get them used to runnin next to other horses and build up the shins. Hours and hours of galloping, every day. Yer double-dipping lass.”

“I’m sorry, what is that exactly?”

“Two questions in one. So play fair. I get to answer each question before ye throw another one out. Deal?”

“Yes, yes, deal. Do you know anyone who can teach me to ride a race?”

“Aye. Start with Nick. He knows everything about training, racing, jockeys, everything. The guy was raised on the track. That’s why he’s so taken with you. He has ne’er seen what you do before, so he wants to watch you every second.”

“If only he were twenty years younger and unmarried. Sorry, I digress.”

The second part of her sentence was laced with giggles and Jamie heard something different in her voice. The thought made his heart pound.

“Doctor Beauchamp, are ye drunk?”

“Certainly not, Oh, thank you Molly. Now, where was I. Did I ask my next question yet?”

“I canna be sure, which question was that?”

He heard a slurping straw and decided she just finished the drink Molly brought her. He heard giggling in the background, female giggling.

“I am waiting Mister Fraser.”

“For what?”

“Your answer of course.”

“Sorry, my answer is no.”

“Well, that is ridiculous, so I heard yes.”

“Why that comment about Nick being twenty years younger and unmarried Sassenach?”

Jamie waited through a long-drunk pause, wanting her to open up to him and share her secrets, wanting her to let him in.

“I need love in my life. I am so done with holding myself to a higher purpose, that would be my practice. Do you know how long it’s been since someone touched me? No, of course you don’t.” She giggled. “Men like you could never ban sex from their life, and if you tried, they would ratify the constitution or something.”

“Men like me Sassenach? Ye mean angry men?”

“No”

“Mean men.”

“No.”

“Controlling, manipulating, selfish men.”

“No. It means men who take a girl's breath away when you look at them. Cure cancer by smiling at someone, walk with the authority of the privileged few.”

Her speech was dreamy sounding and Jamie wondered if she would remember any of this tomorrow.

“I wanted it to be him but it’s not.”

“Are ye talkin about Chad or Nick, Sassenach?”

“What? I need to finish my new Facebook page, so I have to go and find Dusty. No word yet.”

“He’s fine Claire. He loves school and really misses you. Before ye ask, I don’t know why he friended me, but I think it’s because he missed you so much. Let him reach out to you when he’s ready. I will let you know if I hear anything important. Okay? Claire?”

Jamie heard the soft rhythmic breathing of a passed-out Sassenach and smiled.

“Goodnight sweetheart, I’ll think of ye tonight.”

Jamie clicked off the call and looked at the rising moon. For just a minute he replaced Isobel with Claire and he instantly wiped it from his mind and jumped off the lounge chair. I need to pay bills, he decided, so what if it’s three weeks early. Before he reached the door into the bedroom, he saw a truck on their access road and wondered who could be coming to the barn at this time of night. He hit the light and was bathed in darkness as he watched someone walk away from the truck into an outbuilding. The truck pulled away and out came Isobel’s Cadillac turning toward home.

Jamie’s heart was pounding. What would she have to be so clandestine about? He certainly didn’t want to tip his hand and jumped into a sleeping position in their bed as he heard the front door open. Several minutes later he could hear her moving around the bedroom and then into the shower. She crept into bed with extra precaution not to jostle him and then she was still.

Jamie was angry and forced himself to lie still while his brain crunched the evidence of Isobel’s secret life. He didn’t care about her; he didn’t even like her. But while he was torturing himself with a wall between he and Claire, Isobel was helping herself to whatever she wanted. Time for you to go Isobel, he thought, I am missin out on a beautiful life and it’s time to change that. If I win the Derby, you and yer father are paid off and I keep my business. He prayed for the opportunity, he prayed for luck as he drifted off to sleep. His last thought…get ready colt, time to get serious about winnin that race.

Claire spent the night between nightmares and vomiting and wanted to kill Molly as soon as she surfaced. Her yoga poses helped a little, but she would need much more to mount the colt if it came to that today. She had a vague recollection of Jamie calling her sweetheart. She pounded several mugs of coffee and threw back four aspirin before Molly came bursting out of her room with a huge smile and all the energy that Claire lacked. Claire glared at her before climbing down the steps to the truck.

“Claire! Catch.”

She reached for the falling keys and caught them before settling in the passenger seat. She had her nose in a medical book when she heard her door open. Her head jerked up and she stared at Molly.

“What?”

“Move over, let’s go.”

“No.”

“No problem. I’ll get comfy in my car. I’ll be on Facebook with Dusty half the day anyway.”

With that, she unlocked her car and threw her stuff inside before getting in to set up her laptop.

“Dustin?”

Claire was mad at Molly, and her new friend for getting her drunk last night. It was reckless to give her two drinks and she would pay the price today. She was also very hurt by Dustin’s avoidance. She went on autopilot and started the truck leaving Molly to jump in as she backed out. Claire’s mind was grinding the facts as she easily negotiated the highway entrance, lane changes to the exit, and dropping onto the dirt road leading to the compound. She parked in the usual spot and walked toward the barn, still grinding the truth about her old assistant, Dustin.

The colt recognized her footfall now and started kicking the corral bars, impatient to see her. She didn’t notice that his happy mood evaporated as soon as he saw her, and he stood in the corner of his stall.

Claire started to brush and curry the colt but ran out of energy in the first five minutes. She threw her arms over his back and rested her head on his warm fur. She felt herself falling but could not wake up to save herself until she felt Jamie’s chest against her side and realized he was carrying her.

“There ye go, lass. He sat her atop of the wall separating two stalls and pushed her back gently until her back found the support of the back wall. She exhaled and felt a bit better.

“Now laddie, we must talk about yer day, yes? There is much to do, tack and lunging and gettin ready to run in the field. I know yer gonna love it and yer old mam Angus has agreed to ride ye. Don’t want to hurt ole Angus so ye do as he says. Right! Yer lookin dapper, like a true gentleman. Jamie left to grab his tack giving the colt time to rest his head in Claire’s lap. She felt him cry and sat up to touch his cheeks. She saw an image of a handler flying through the air and felt the colt cry.

“My sweet boy.”

She pushed his hair aside and looked into his eyes.

“I just realized that you’re an orphan like me and that makes you afraid people will leave you alone again, doesn’t it?”

She kept seeing the handler in the air and realized he knew what he did was wrong, and it made him sad.

“It’s okay, love.” She sent images of her on his back while he ran. “I am afraid of falling off of you so promise not to buck.”

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and yawned seeing the handler in the air and her on his back. She giggled into his neck.

Jamie stood stock still draped with the colt’s tack. He listened to what Claire told him about being an orphan and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and just hold her. Yer extraordinary Sassenach, he thought before walking into the stall to tack the big colt.

“I see ye makin eyes at my girlfriend. Ye find one of yer own kind because she belongs to me.”

Claire looked for the evil woman to walk up on them and considered dashing to her truck to avoid confrontation.

“I need yer promise lad, if she rides ye be gentle wi’er. Let’s go.”

The other nine yearlings were warming up, going through the gates and giving their handler all that was asked for.

When the sunlight hit Midnight Runner, his dark coat turned purple and Claire would swear he had a swagger this morning. She kept watching for Isobel.

Angus walked quickly out of the barn, head down, very preoccupied with barn business. Claire stood next to the colt and didn’t like what she was feeling.

Hey, Runner, what the hell?

She tried to get his attention to warn him of bad behavior, but it was too late, he would eliminate Angus by whatever means necessary. The colt snorted and pawed the dirt like a bull and then jumped forward getting between Angus and Claire. It looked like he wanted to tear Angus apart.

“Angus, stop. Keep lookin at the ground and back out of the arena.” Jamie’s voice was clear and strong.

Angus suddenly walked backward, still looking down until he was safely away. Claire looked miserably at Jamie, knowing it was time to put her money where her mouth is.

When Nick gave her a leg up she sat frozen in the saddle, waiting for the explosion she had seen with the other handlers. She looked at the colt’s ears and they were facing forward like nothing weird was happening. Her foot reached to find the stirrup and she heard the colt ask if she wanted him to run now.

“No!”

Nick and Jamie looked at her like she suddenly developed Turret’s syndrome and she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Nick guided her feet to the stirrups which were a foot above where she was searching.

The colt seemed to get serious about his training after that, even when Jamie was around. When Claire was on his back it was all business, and for the rest of the week it was hours of galloping, Claire’s legs were so sore she could hardly walk for the first three days and Jamie wanted so badly to help her but that would be inappropriate, so he bought her an hour massage at a place that specialized in training injuries.

Claire worked with the other handlers for positioning herself over his back during sprints, how to stand in the stirrups to reduce the strain on her back and how to hold him back to conserve strength.

Nick worked individually with all the horses. He adjusted Claire’s position and returned her to the track. That was all the attention she and Runner got, while the others spent more time with him and were watched more closely when they ran.

Claire wondered if Nick was discounting Runner and the thought made her angry. I promised he could race the others dammit and I will make sure I keep that promise, she thought.

At the end of the week, Claire felt like she had been through a meat grinder. She limped toward Jamie’s office for their meeting.

Jamie watched her walk into the office and his heart rate jumped, his face flushed, and his sentence stopped abruptly like it always did. He had watched her torturous week wishing he could help her and feeling so grateful for what she was doing. She was so comfortable on the colt, she worried more about her ability to stay on him than anything he might do.

Nick looked around the room and gave the bad news. Three retired jockeys, good friends of his, had come by to watch the colt so they might relieve Claire, but they had all turned him down. These men were the most experienced riders in horse racing. They all turned him down for life and limb. Runner had put on weight over the summer and grown an inch. He was big and powerful and very green. None of the three wanted to risk their retirement with a broken neck.

“We train on Monday and then Tuesday we race the ten horses in a sprint. I guess this is where the rubber meets the road. If no one will race him this has all been for nothing. I will keep looking and get someone to say yes over the weekend.

Claire spent the weekend on the porch and thought about the magnificent colt and what he needed. She wondered from time to time if her motivation was just the colt, or was it the man who walked taller than any other. She would feel the sadness flood her body because she was incapable of seeing him as anything else than the best man she had ever known and he would marry that witch, eventually.

On Sunday afternoon, she sighed in her lounge chair and listened to Molly and her new friend giggle like eighteen-year-olds do, wishing she could go back to her uncomplicated life. She picked up her vibrating phone and saw Jamie’s name while her heart rate shot into the stroke zone.

“Beauchamp.”

Sigh, “lass ye have to at least pretend ye want to answer my call.”

“Sorry, habit.”

“Ye sound like yer at a sorority party.”

“Molly and her friend are leaving. All they seem to do is giggle.”

“I have thought of nothin else this weekend than you ridin the colt and what to do now. I need to talk to ye, face to face, it’s time to make some decisions. Will ye meet me somewhere? Any place close to where ye are since ye’ll be drivin yerself.”

“It’s a long drive but you could come here.”

“It’s a drive ye make every day, lass. I think I can manage.”

Claire was already moving through the house trying to tidy up. Molly was such a neat-freak there was little to do with this old cabin-home. She gave him directions and asked him to wait thirty minutes before he left.

A dash into the shower, casual clothes, and twenty minutes blowing her hair straight. She used the flat iron like Molly taught her and emerged looking like the other Claire, the one who wanted to be seen. She knew it was wrong trying to look nice for someone else’s man. It was a worthless argument, so she gave up and applied a light coat of mascara.

She wondered how the time had passed so quickly working for Jamie, and why she was forced to make a decision that would affect so many lives? It didn’t seem fair, nothing seemed fair at the moment.

Jamie parked where she directed him and stood outside the truck looking for a house when he heard her giggle from somewhere above him. He reached the top step and looked around at the gorgeous view. Ten seconds on the landscape below, the rest of the time on Claire. Her hair was down, falling softly around her shoulders making her look almost exotic as it framed her whisky colored eyes.

Claire grabbed a bottle from inside. It would be her courage when she told Jamie she was done riding the colt. The decision was long in coming she would say, but risking her life to race him was never part of the plan. She would have to watch his heartbreak and wondered how long it would take her to get over that. Jamie wanted the colt to race because it would make his life with Isobel that much better if he won any of the big three races in the spring. It was understandable but her risking her life was not. The weekend of soul searching had exposed many truths, including how his presence motivated her decision to work with Runner and eventually ride him. It was all for Jamie but enough was enough.

Jamie struggled to look calm while the storm raged within him. The colt had the potential to win the Derby and the 1.86 million-dollar prize would free him of Isobel and her father forever. He would be free to pursue Claire with the interest that had turned into a cyclone of desire that spun his head and stole all thoughts when she was near him. It was all for Claire in the end, but she had to agree to ride.

Claire watched him from the open Arcadia door and her heart squeezed seeing his beautiful face locked in a worried expression. How can you ask me to risk my life? Do you care so little for me? Yes, that would be the right thing to ask after she told him. She handed him a glass of whisky and sat opposite of him wondering if this was the last time.

“I am so conflicted lass. If you were anyone else in the world, I would do what was needed to get ye back on the colt for the race on Tuesday. I might argue the importance with ye, calm yer fears, tell ye he needs ye, or a thousand other things to make you do it.”

Jamie exhaled the breath he was holding and lifted his head to look at her causing her insides to melt.

“The truth is…”

Jamie looked out at the expanse of bluegrass stretching out far and wide. In that moment his truth came out. Softly like a whisper on the breeze.

“I’m in love with ye Claire and that love rules my world now. The importance of the colt is nothin in comparison except he can free me from the nightmare life I’m in.”

He reached for her shaking hand and looked at her startled eyes.

“I’m sorry lass, I’ve added to yer burden and scared ye. If this is where our road ends, I just wanted to tell ye, I love ye, and if ye ever need me for anything, I will come. I fear this love is now a part of every organ, blood vessel, brain and red hair on my head. I walk with ye now, even when ye forget who I am, I’ll still be right next to ye.”

He had not looked away from her face allowing her to see the anguish of his truth.

“Stand up.”

Jamie exhaled the defeat he felt but he stood up and in the next second she embraced him, wrapping her arms around his middle like he was a rope to a drowning girl. She felt his arms come around her and got dizzy with the contact against him.

“I am still in shock Jamie and all I can think to say is me too. I love you.”

“One more time lass,” he whispered.

Claire looked at her dream man coming to life and gripped him to stay on her feet.

“I’m in love with James Fraser and here he is, feeling the same. I love you.”

When his mouth came down to her lips, he stopped, “can I kiss ye Sassenach?” Her mouth on his was the answer and Jamie took a deep breath to feed his ramming heart.

Jamie picked her up and carried her inside toward the couch. She pointed to her room and they laid next to each other as the kisses threatened their sanity with the need that was building inside.

Jamie was about to come apart at the seams. She said she loves me, he thought, and here she is in my arms, kissin with the passion I feel for her! His head was spinning when she pushed her tongue into his mouth and softly danced with his. He broke the kiss and sat up panting. He couldn’t look at her and not kiss her again, so he waited for control.

Claire ran her hand up his back, startled at the muscles bulging under his shirt.

“I am quite sure you said whenever I need you. Well, I need you, Jamie.”

She pulled the shirt out of his pants and over his head, gasping at the sight of him as he twisted and pushed her down with a mind-blowing kiss. He loved the feel of her hands on his skin and he was locked in the sensation until he felt her shirt come off. He looked at her and wanted to burn the image into his memory.

His kisses got hotter and needier as he carried her away to a place only the two of them existed. She wanted to go, her body begged to go as he covered her neck and chest with kisses. When he pushed her bra aside with his chin, she felt his mouth cover her nipple flicking with his tongue while he rolled her slightly to reach her bra clasp. When he pulled it off, he stared at her breasts, long arms, and tiny waist. He seemed frozen and staring.

“I want to see all of ye Sassenach.”

He kissed her stomach and belly button while he pulled off her jeans and thought his heart would crash right through his chest. He was mere inches from her skin and let himself see every inch of her.

“I had no idea,” he whispered. He ran a soft hand down her arms, breasts, stomach, hips, and legs while he watched the skin flush. He softly pulled his hand up her breast to the nipple, teasing her and making her pant.

“Under all that mud, and scrubs, and hairpins, yer a beautiful girl, I’ve never seen yer equal lass.”

“Take them off before I bite right through them,” was panted out as her eyes raked over his exposed skin.”

Jamie pushed out of his jeans and laid next to her. He wanted to tease her and make it memorable, but he was way passed that kind of control.

“You look like Atlas the Titan.”

“Who?”

“He carries the world on his shoulders, he’s a Titan, his name is Atlas, he’s a god, …Greek mythology. Oh Christ Jamie… that is…”

That did it. His resolve to go slow shattered he moved between her legs and pushed up against her, feeling her legs open and lift to his sides. He pushed further into her and to his horror found resistance knowing it would cause pain if he forced himself into her. It was what he needed to get his control back and he kissed from her mouth to her neck, slowly circling her nipple before sucking it into his mouth feeling her arch her back forcing her breast farther into the wet warmth.

His kisses continued to her belly as his hand ran down her body slowly feeling the places he had only dreamed of, pulling his warm hand up the inside of her thigh and hearing her moan. When his tongue pushed into her body, she gasped almost missing him growl with his own need. The sound he made tipped the scale as she fell into her orgasm seeing bright sparkling lights behind her eyelids and moaning with the pleasure and intensity.

He whispered in her ear, “give me yer body love, I willna hurt ye.”

She felt him between her legs and when he eased into her, she grabbed his butt and pulled him into her heat until he could go no further. Her eyes went wide and her body stiffened making him stop until she relaxed and adjusted to his size. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest as he kissed her deeply. It was building her heat again and her hips pressed against him looking for friction. When he eased out of her, she pulled him back with a groan until he was gliding in and out of her, pressing into her clit before another stroke.

Jamie felt her legs press open and her back arch against him. She gripped his shoulders and threw her head back panting. He was over the edge with this beautiful girl but held himself in check while he moved into her faster, watching her face as her rapture pulled her into a second orgasm. He pushed into the quivering muscle and lost himself to an orgasm that shook him like a rag doll.

They held each other as they drifted back to her bed, both panting for their lives, drunk on love, feeling their spirits freed from their secret. Jamie dropped to his side pulling her with him, wanting to stay inside of her as long as possible.

“I am a betting man and pride myself on knowin the field, but I never saw this comin lass. When you said ye loved me all the sadness and uncertainty vanished. I thought my truth would condemn me to a lonely life without ye, but here ye are. Never has a woman’s secret made me so happy.” They laid in each other’s arms and talked and kissed for over an hour. After spending every day together for the past month there was still so much to say and ask.

“Ye have more whisky lass?”

Jamie got up and walked out to the porch to fetch the bottle and glasses. Claire watched him move, staring at his thigh and butt muscles flex and his magnificent back.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. She was leaning over the bed trying to see him and jerked back when he filled her door frame again. He stood next to her and poured her a glass, so relaxed, so in command of the space he inhabited.

Jamie threw his whisky back and slid into bed next to her pulling her down to feel her skin next to him. When he kissed her, he took the glass out of her hand and placed it on the table next to the bed so she could use that arm for better things.

“Can we keep the rest of the day for us Sassenach? Please. There will be time tomorrow to discuss what to do with Runner.”

“Who?”

[ill-skillsgard]

Play The Victim - Henry Deaver X Mistress

Warning: 18+ mentions of sex/cheating/mature themes. *this part contains heavy spousal conflict/themes of an abusive nature/masturbation and mentions of pornography* Please read at your own discretion.

Note: Hey, so I wanted to write a piece from Henry’s POV because I feel like it’s important to know where he’s coming from. I feel like male domestic verbal abuse doesn’t get enough spotlight, especially when it comes in a more subtle form than physical abuse. This takes place before Henry ever meets Mistress and it’s a longer piece. I hope you enjoy it! Kisses. 

Read more Henry x Mistress imagines here > Masterpost

She placed a single piece of popcorn on her tongue and let it melt a little before chewing. Her eyes fixated on the TV, and mine were on her. I shuffled closer and laid my arm around the back of the couch. For a split second, her eyes darted to me, and she gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

Tonight was my night. I was coasting on the high of landing another huge client, and my superiors were treating me as an equal. Our house was clean, polished and dusted. Our stomachs settled from dinner, and I stretched my legs out in front of me, relaxing into the sofa until my head met her shoulder. 

At first, she didn’t move, but after a while, she squirmed. I let my arm fall to her shoulders. They were tense and drawn together, her neck stiff as a pole. I kneaded her skin with my thumb until she pulled away.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

I smiled. “Rubbing your shoulders, silly.”

“Why?”

“You’re all tense,” I replied. She shrugged my arm off, and I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

She sighed. “Yes, Henry.” 

“Why do you feel like you’re made of wood then?” I poked at her, hoping it might cause a smile.

“I’m fine,” she dismissed.

“All right,” I said with a sigh and laid my temple on her shoulder again.

“Don’t you have your own space?” Her question had no playful inflection.

I chuckled. “This is my space. You are my space.”

When I tried to cull her in, she resisted and pushed me away with her palm on my chest. “You’re bugging me. I’m trying to watch our show.”

“I’m bugging you?”

“Yes!”

“Wanting to cuddle bugs you?”

Mary let out another sigh rimmed with impatience. “Henry, I already told you. I’m trying to watch the show.”

I didn’t push her any longer. Instead, I scooted a foot away from her and dropped my hands into my lap. It was the fourth time in two weeks that she had spurned me from getting close to her. I could blame it on naivety, but I assumed her resistance was hormonal at first. After more than a week, I figured it couldn’t be that. Mary had been acting strange and distant, cold to me over the phone, unreceptive to my advances and displeased whenever I complimented her. 

Until that point, our dry spell hadn’t bothered me. All couples go through it, or so they told me. Our marriage hadn’t always been the best of them, but I could count on taking Mary out on a date at least once a month. A date that ended with sex at least three out of every five times. But it had been long since my odds were that good. It had been long since she wanted to go out with me at all.

I asked myself what could cause her overall disinterest. It wasn’t only me. She hadn’t kept up with her friends either. She was only enthusiastic about work. It comforted me to know she found pleasure in something, but in the back of my mind, I resented that it wasn’t us.

Mary was going away on a business trip tomorrow. She would be gone for a week, and I longed for some kind of affection before I was wifeless. I had settled too many times for masturbation now, and I felt justified in my worry that there was something wrong. Something deeper than lethargy or mild depression, something that had to do with me.

That night, while we lied in bed, Mary pretended to fall asleep as soon as she touched the pillow, but I was onto her. It was a classic move. I shuffled close to her and hooked my arm around her ribs, kissing the back of her head.

“I’ll miss you when you go away,” I whispered.

She chuckled. “It’s only for a week.”

“I know, but you haven’t gone away from me for that long since...”

“Since last month, when you left on a week and a half long business trip?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t count. Our bed will feel so empty without you, honey. At least when I sleep in a hotel room, it doesn’t feel like something is missing.”

“It’s the same thing,” she forced an unconvincing yawn.

“What? You won’t miss me?” I touched the curve of her hip tentatively, then slid my palm lower, kissing her bare shoulder.

“I won’t be gone long enough to miss you.”

I scoffed and shook my head. “What are you saying? I miss you every day when we’re not together, babe.”

“You’re such a sap, Henry.”

“So what? You married me.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Now, will you hush up? I have to be up early.”

Hush up was her polite way of telling someone to shut up to their faces. But it wouldn’t impede me. I had to persist. I couldn’t remember the last time we had sex, if it was good, or if she just let me have it because she finally tired of me asking. And as much as I hated flat out begging, it looked like my only resort.

“Henry, I said stop.”

“Mary,” I whined. “Come on. You haven’t given me any in weeks. Months, even. I’m dying over here.”

“Well, die quietly.” She shifted away and pulled the covers with her.

“Are you serious?” My tone came out harsher than I intended, but once it was out in the air, it encouraged me. “Mary. What is wrong? You’ve been avoiding me like the plague. What did I do?”

Another drawn-out groan rolled from her throat. “Oh my God, Henry. Nothing is wrong. I told you I have to go to sleep! I have to be up at five AM.”

“No. This isn’t about right now. It’s about the last, oh, I don’t know, three, maybe four months of no sex.”

“It has not been that long,” she spoke to the other side of the bed.

“Yeah, it has.”

“Oh, have you been keeping track?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “A month is understandable. We’ve been busy, but not busy enough to never have the energy. Two months is concerning, but now it’s been even longer, and I’m thinking of things I really don’t want to be thinking about.”

Mary shot up, turned on her bedside lamp and whipped a look at me. The strap of her nightie fell down her shoulder, and it was the most erotic thing I had seen in a long while. “Oh, you’ve been thinking, have you? What have you been thinking about?”

“I don’t know! Lots of things!”

Mary scoffed, her smile composed only for berating me. No hint of warmth filtered through. “Lots of things? Tell me if you think of anything specific. Until then, goodnight.”

“Are you cheating on me?” The question fell from my tongue before I weighed its gravity.

She jumped out of bed, grabbed her pillow and yanked the entire duvet in one motion, rolling it into a ball to take with her. “You’re ridiculous if you think I would ever cheat. Even thinking that is insensitive and rude! You know I have strong feelings against that kind of thing!”

“I have strong feelings about you not wanting to fuck your husband.” I couldn’t stop myself. Mary recoiled in disgust as though I had just vomited on myself. The horror in her eyes grew when I sat up. “You say that I’m insensitive, but you won’t even let me touch you. It grosses you out when I want to be close to you. How do you expect me just to sit back and accept that my own wife wants nothing to do with me?”

“This is silly—”

“No, it’s not silly, Mary. It’s serious. What is the matter? Are you sick? Is there something going on that you’re not telling me?”

“I don’t have to put up with this,” she claimed before leaving the room.

I wanted to cry out and demand she come back and face me, but I was already reeling from my blow-up. She stomped down the stairs, and I was alone. I lay back down with my arms and legs spread out, taking in deep breaths until my heart stopped pounding. I had never raised my voice at a woman before, and I feared that whatever was going on inside of Mary’s head was made twice as bad by my outburst.

When I woke up the next morning, Mary was already gone. She hadn’t come to say goodbye, and it left me with a sinking feeling in my chest. That morning, I called in sick. I couldn’t bring myself to leave bed until I was so hungry I could hear my stomach gurgling.

I moved about in misery, skipping my morning shower and deciding not to shave. It didn’t matter because there was nobody to tell me otherwise. Even if Mary saw my five o’clock shadow, she couldn’t use the excuse that it hurt when she kissed me to make me shave it off. She didn’t kiss me anymore.

A raw and sour dread burrowed into my stomach. No matter what I did to distract myself, I couldn’t push the thought out of my head. I pictured her meeting up with a man—may be one of the jackasses from her office—and sneaking off for a secret affair. No, I shook my head. Mary wouldn’t do that. She grouped cheating in with murder and assault. But the thought cemented itself into my head, weighing me down all day. 

I even called her office to confirm her schedule. The secretary told me they were already on their morning flight. It was reassuring for a little while, like putting a bandaid on a wound that needed stitches.

My reflection in the mirror mocked me. I combed my hair and tried to think of things about myself that were good. All my life, they had told me I had a pleasant face and a killer smile, but I didn’t feel the least bit attractive. My hair was plenteous and shiny, my jawline strong and masculine. When I grinned, I showed dimples and my resting expression was calm. The colours of my eyes swirled like a funhouse kaleidoscope, and I had a solid body, broad shoulders, large hands and long legs. By most standards, I was a handsome man. But when I looked at myself for too long, I didn’t feel that way.

Maybe she noticed the beginnings of my crow’s feet or turned off by my body hair. When I flashed my teeth, they were still white. I lifted one arm and sniffed myself, then blew hot air into my cupped hand. It couldn’t have been my hygiene, for I kept up my appearance with diligence. So what was it about me she disliked?

I could only stare at myself for so long before it seemed I was looking at a stranger. 

After a few hours of moping, I sat in the living room and turned on the TV. There was nothing interesting playing this time of day, but I surfed through the channels, hoping to find background noise. A questionable talk show piqued my interest, and I put it on, only to see a skinny blonde girl swinging around a pole, censored breasts flashing to earn her a beaded necklace. With a scoff, I changed the channel. Commercial. I changed it again. Infomercial.

The question arose of why we paid money for thousands of channels when nothing good ever played. I settled on an old Western for a few minutes until it cut to another commercial. Impatient and tired of watching the same ad for toothpaste, I flicked through several more channels until I passed something that caught my attention. 

A brunette on the screen wearing a poor excuse for a school uniform, hair tousled in pigtails, mounted on a desk hooked me. She beckoned the camera with a manicured finger, and I grimaced. I had found the porn channels.

It felt wrong even to observe the preview advertisements. There was no sex happening, but for 12.99 a month, I could have unlimited access to a catalogue of thousands of adult movies. My feet began to tingle. Then I thought about Mary laid out on a desk like that, wearing a tiny skirt, breasts falling out of a too-small top. A shiver flew up my spine. Yeah, right. She would never entertain the idea of dressing like that for me.

But it didn’t stop me from imagining it.

The next channel showed two girls sitting together in a hot tub; fake breasts barely contained in matching bikini tops. This channel boasted a collection of the most hardcore films available in crystal clear HD for only ten dollars a month, a bargain compared to the last. I scoffed and meant to change the channel until the women began kissing each other. The shiver came back as a hot wash of sensation crackling through my body.

Busty MILF Takes Two at Once. Tiny Teen Newcomer Strips for the Camera. Casting Couch Cumshots. Monster Cock White Boy VS Carmen Chavez. Anal Beauties #7. Slutty Neighbor Comes Over For Some Sugar. Cougars on Spring Break. Freaky Tattooed Whores Swallow it All. Piss On My Face. Cock-Hungry Nympho Squirts On Command.

I felt dirty just reading the titles of some movies, yet I still chose one at random. The heat of shame loomed over my shoulders at once, but I couldn’t look away. I hadn’t seen a naked woman in a while. I almost forgot how exquisite all the curves and dips were, how satisfying a pleasured moan could sound. 

The movie I chose was brash and not in line with what normally turned me on. The woman howled as her partner thrust into her ruthlessly, slapped her, pulled her hair and spit on her cheeks. It was worse than a horror movie, and my erection felt like a betrayal. She smiled and asked for more. I couldn’t believe it.

Soon, my pants dropped around my ankles, my underwear binding my knees, and I was touching myself to the thought of taking Mary like that. She would never allow me to arrange her body in such a position. She would never look up at me with her teeth clenched, giddy from the feeling of me inside her. 

I suppose that’s why fantasies existed.

The woman scooped up her breast and licked one puffy nipple, and I groaned from the sight. Her pussy was so bald it looked as though she had never grown pubic hair before. That was something entirely new for me. Mary kept herself natural between her legs, which never bothered me, but seeing how pristine and glossy one looked with nothing to hide it was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen. I felt like a young boy discovering women for the first time.

Before I knew it, I was stroking my cock in time with the couple’s thrusts. I closed my eyes and imagined my wife’s lips wrapped around the head as I tugged and massaged and squeezed myself. When I looked down, a clear drop of pre-cum coasted down my slit. The woman in the film got on her knees, took her partner’s balls in her mouth, and I lost control. 

To say I made up for months of no sex with several self-inflicted orgasms would be a minimal claim. I cranked out a few intense orgasms, impressed by the amount of cum I had stored inside me. The last one was hardly a dribble, but it still felt good to feel that hot wave of arousal burning through my groin.

Then the shame set in as I anchored to the couch, sweaty and panting. I had used half the tissues from the box next to the sofa, and the sounds of pained moaning continued to echo through the living room. “Shit,” I whispered, grabbing for the remote control to change the channel to something more virtuous.

Disgraced by my lack of self-control, I cleaned up and disposed of the mountain of cum-hardened tissues, showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes. I shaved, adjusted the ring on my finger and looked at myself in the mirror once again. My cheeks scorched red, and I felt like I didn’t know the man looking back at me.

The next day at work, the remorse followed close at my heels. Every woman that gave me the barest flash of a smile turned into the star of a mental porn-flick on a loop in my head. I shook the thoughts away, but my assistant came in wearing a low-cut blouse. Her chest looked fuller, and her skin was smooth and enticing, perfect for stroking and rubbing and... Shit. 

“You feeling all right, Henry?” She asked.

Her cherry red lips around my cock.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Still a little out of it, but I’m okay.”

Those nylons ripped open at the crotch.

She giggled. Oh, Lord. “What are you wanting for lunch today?”

Your pussy spread out on my desk like a meat platter.  

“Probably something light,” I replied, avoiding her eyes.

Sit on my face and let me tongue-fuck your—what the hell is wrong with me?

“There’s a new Mexican place down the block. Just opened up. I’m craving taco salad.”

I’m craving taco salad, too.

“That sounds good. I’m not picky.”

She’s smiling at me. Oh, my god. She knows. Everyone knows what I did. 

“Sounds good, Mr. Deaver. After lunch, we should go over those reports...”

The words came out of her mouth, but I stopped listening. When she paused and gave me a queer look, my heart stumbled. 

“You sure you’re okay? You know, if you’re still sick, you should go home. Get some rest. You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

I laughed nervously. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Cassie. Some lunch will do me good.”

She smiled again. She wants me. No, she doesn’t, what the hell? She has a husband. You have a wife. A wife that... Loves you? A wife who thinks to put your cock in her mouth is the most revolting thing imaginable. Missionary sex for the rest of your life if she ever lets you put it in her again. You’re pathetic.

Tortured by the voices of my guilt, I vowed never to watch another second of porn again. 

A few days passed by, and my inner monologue quit raking at my back. I forgot about what I did, having gotten my lust mostly under control. I still thought about the possibility of Mary cheating on me until I picked her up from the airport. 

Her colleagues were with her, and when she saw me waiting for her, she gasped, smiled and approached me. She threw her arms around me and tilted her face up for a kiss. I clamped my hands against her cheeks and kissed her for the first time in weeks. When she pulled away, she tossed a look back at her associates. Half of them I knew, and I gave them a genteel wave.

It didn’t take me long to realize her affection was for show. When we got home, she ignored me again, gave tired answers to my questions and asked for some quiet time. I respected her wishes.

A week later, while in bed, I couldn’t close my eyes. The question racketing in my brain would not let me be. I had to say something.

“Will you ever want to have sex with me again?”

Mary turned over and stared at me the way one might when given terrible news. This was how she liked to make me feel bad. Wide eyes bore into me as her lips thinned out into a bare grimace. She shook her head.

“That’s a very lewd question.”

“Is it, though? I mean, you’re my wife. Shouldn’t I be able to talk to you about sex?”

She had no answer to fire back at me. There must have been a voice telling her I had a valid point. It’s not as though we were two teens waiting for marriage. I was allowed to talk about it, and she was allowed to ignore me.

“I’m not feeling up for it tonight. Maybe tomorrow,” she offered.

Tomorrow came and went, and my dick remained dry.

Then another day dragged by, then another week, and another missed date night. I was losing the minuscule amount of hope I had. Bringing it up stung. I would rather fire an employee than skirt the subject of sex with my wife. I began going through a tiring parade of emotions. Guilt gave way to anger, then anger to shame for feeling impassioned about my plight. I should be thankful that I had a wife. Some men couldn’t get a date to save their mother’s life. Although what was a marriage without affection? Then I felt bad for wanting sex in the first place. Why was I not happy with what I had? There were people worse off than me. I had money in the bank, nice clothes, new cars, two homes and a stable job. How could I possibly feel sorry for myself?

There was an explosion. Not in the literal sense, but one that burned just as hot and caused an enormous amount of destruction. Enough that I feared I could never rescue the pieces of my smouldering marriage, and even if I could, they would never fit back together.

Mary summoned me into the kitchen. She stared at her phone screen, ignoring me as though she hadn’t just called my name. 

“Yes, honey?” I greeted her, leaning over to kiss her cheek but got pushed away.

“What were you doing on Monday, the thirteenth of this month?”

The question stumped me. “Uh, working?”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I work Monday to Friday, same as you.”

Mary glared at me. Then I noticed her hands shaking. Something was wrong. My mind scrambled to find the answer.

“You see... I thought that, too. Until I called Cassie and asked where you were, and she informed me you took a sick day.”

My complexion must have blanched, for she gave me a wicked grin she reserved for when she won an argument. I faltered and stumbled over my tongue, looking for any way out before the tick of her inner clock reached zero, and she erupted.

“Oh,” I said. “Right. Yeah, I was sick that day.”

“Sick? Sick in the head, maybe! I’d say you were downright disgusting!”

“Mary—”

“Tell me, Henry, did you thoroughly enjoy watching Schoolhouse Sluts? Did you enjoy getting off to watching another woman getting... Getting ploughed senseless?” She screamed this at me.

“Mary, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to press it!”

“Liar!”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Honey, please, will you just listen to me?”

“No! I will never listen to you defend your disgusting behaviour! This is downright sinful of you! Is this your way of getting back at me? Is this what you do when we’re not together? You porn-freak!”

“No, it’s not! I swear to you, I don’t watch... Porn,” my nerve faded as her eyes flashed hot.

“Apparently, you do! And you spend money on it!”

“Good God, Mary. What do you want me to say?”

“Admit it! Stop trying to deny what’s showed up on our cable bill!”

I rubbed at my eyes, lost for what to say. My cheeks were aflame, my feet buzzing like they had fallen asleep. The shame I had immediately after ordering the movie was nothing compared to this.

“Did you not stop to think, ‘oh, my wife pays the cable bill. Perhaps I shouldn’t ORDER PORNOGRAPHY’!”

The shrillness of her voice grated my nerves. Maybe she was right, but there was still a part of me that stamped its foot and told me I deserved sexual expression.

“Maybe if you fucked me once in a while, I wouldn’t be jonesing for release! And what I do in my own private time is none of your goddamn business!”

Mary looked as though I’d backhanded her, and I was certain that’s how she took my exclamation. 

“You are the most selfish man I have ever met. And if you think I will even so much as consider letting your filthy hands touch me again, you’re wrong. Dead. Wrong.”

“Great! Shouldn’t be much of a stretch for you, anyway, considering you haven’t slept with me in, oh, I don’t know, three months now? Four? A quarter of a year. I don’t remember making a celibacy pact with you!”

“You’re always working! Always busy! And when you’re not, I’m always busy!”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed at the ceiling. “We sleep in the same bed every night, Mary. You can’t be bothered even to kiss me anymore. What am I supposed to make of that, huh? And then you act all happy to see me in front of your friends. You’re so fake. There’s something wrong with you. This is borderline abusive!”

“Don’t you dare try to play the victim, Henry!”

“I am a victim!” I thumped my chest. “You won’t tell me what is wrong! If it’s not me, it’s you, and if it’s not you, then what? Are you not attracted to me anymore? Do you find me repulsive?”

“Right now, I do, yes.”

“Fantastic! That’s great for us. So how much longer will it be, hm? At this point, it’s not just about sex. It’s about your general aversion to me. Do you want to stay married to a man you’re not interested in for the rest of your life? Do you want to hold me down with a boot to my throat and get mad at me when I need to get off because you haven’t touched me since the Spring? You owe me an explanation!”

“I don’t owe you shit, Henry,” she spat, then turned around and left.

The worst part was not the days of silence that proceeded. It wasn’t her staying at the house while I stayed at the condo. It wasn’t her pretending like I didn’t exist or the feigned pleasantry whenever our paths crossed in a professional setting. It wasn’t having to answer questions about my wife nearly every day by people that did not understand my suffering. No, I managed that. What hurt me the most was considering a divorce from the woman to whom I had pledged my life. The person I wanted to love simply did not return the sentiment.

The real hurt came when I walked down the hallway to our bedroom and passed the pictures of our wedding day when we signed the marriage license using my grandfather’s pen. It was somehow failing to keep her in love with me. It was unrequited love and defeat.

And there is only so long you can spend wanting somebody that doesn’t want you back before you wonder why you ever wanted them at all.

[thestudyfeels]

🎨 Graphic made by @indiaisstudying​: India is brilliant my pals, and I recommend checking her out for studyblr/artblr inspiration. My girl tHIRIVES.

The singular takeaway from this post: Do a creative binge. Much productive than a Netflix binge. Period.

Two months ago, I reached my peak when I coined the term ‘bood day’ (a bad to good day, in my article How To Flip A Bad Day By 180°). Today, puppies and kittens, I present to you— a creative binge.

*crickets chirping, that one dude in the audience scratches his nose and turns away* 

…This one actually works but okay, we get it, y'all are bitches. But gonna do my job anyway– if you're a creator reading this, please do a creative binge at least once every two weeks.

I started doing these binges two months ago, and I've seen a VAST improvement in my creative energy. I feel my commercial voice coughing and saying hello to the mic, so before I start listing side-effects for a sponsored pill, let's dive into the basics. 

🍵 Quick PSA — 

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Ever questioned your life, experienced writer's block, painter’s pain or blogger’s… block? (Narrator: aaaand she's back to advertising.) A creative binge helps deal with fixing exactly that.

“A creative binge is based off the equation of quality in = quality out.”

A lot of creators feel that they're supposed to magically create out of their head, and that's just ridiculous. It's ludicrous considering you don't know shit, read shit, do shit and watch shit.

Even to write fiction, my pal, you'll have to expose yourself to the world to know its ways, read great books and take tips (not to mention stock up on coffee, and prepare to cry a lot) before you start cranking out the pages. Everything you create is ultimately inspired by the Ways Of The World. (And that's a fantastic novel title)

So in short, you’ve got to consume content, to make content. And in a creative binge, you conscious choose content that'll help you create. Genius, I know!

Okay, but what if I'm not a creator?

Brilliant question! Wanna become more valuable and leave the people you interact with better? Take a creative binge.

Allow me an elaboration: Take a janitor and a neurosurgeon. The said janitor is paid much less than the neurosurgeon. Why is that? Is the neurosurgeon a better person? That's debatable. Is the janitor less efficient at his work? Again, debatable. The primal reason lies in the neurosurgeon acquiring more valuable skills than the janitor. Society rewards them by paying more since there are less folks who can do what the neurosurgeon does.

To recap: In order to be indispensable in the role you play (whatever it is, a student, calligrapher, CEO of the Janitor Club), you HAVE to become valuable. Grow your curiosity & know more than yo’ buddies (also bring more value than anybody else). And to become valuable, you consume value. Tada!

(And if you still ain't convinced, I'll pull out the Netflix card. You'd really rather watch shows? Or binge YouTube? Than learn a new skill, or develop existing ones? Question your priorities, my friend. Victims love entertainment, victors love learning.)

Cool, you're joining in then! Not that creative binge is NOT an entertainment binge. It's a value providing binge. What you ‘consume’ has to bring you something in return— whether that's creative inspiration, motivation or skills. *Swing arms* yup! We’re one gay, productive household. Someone remind Hallie to buy the groceries though, the Cheerios are going mouldy.

By my dictionary, a creative binge is a slot of time, 1½ to 3 hours I'd say, when you watch/read/listen to some good stuff.  Basically, binge content. 

THE 101 OF A CREATIVE BINGE 

🌿 Basics:

I conduct one every week (usually Wednesday mornings), lasting around 1½ to 2 hours.

I'll also keep a notepad and a pen nearby, to take notes and jot ideas as they come. Again, this is NOT an entertainment binge, even though it's a chill job.

Sometimes I'll get passive things done (like wiping my desk, eating breakfast and taking out textbooks) while watching. We maximize our time. 

🌿 What Do I Watch: 

The stuff I watch falls into 3 categories: creative/humor (for inspiration), business/skills (for skills) & motivation (for, um, motivation). Fair warning though, a lot of the stuff these folks make overlap, but that's alright. This is just a rough demarcation. 

Creative/Humor: some YesTheory, maybe some MacDoesIt, sprinkle in some Ryan Higa, perhaps an episode of a show with an amazing script, some stand-up comedy from my favorites. Or maybe trash that and just watch Sherlock. (Geez, Netflix, I hate you, I love you.)

Skills: Gary Vee, some artist channels, that random video on how to thrift shop even though I don't shop.

Motivation: Be Inspired, Tom Bilyeu, Mel Robbins and random videos which look nice.

🌿 What Do I Listen To: 

Oof, I love music tremendously! If you're a pal, you know it's time to RUN when I come around being like, “soo, I was wondering what's your favourite–”.

Yet, during a creative binge, I'll only listen to stuff that 1) inspires me, or 2) is creative in a way I can't explain. Some recommendations! 

Hype music:

The Score

NF

Imagine Dragons

Creative music:

Billie Eilish

Lana Del Rey

Sleeping At Last

Lorde

Conan Gray

Harry Styles 

🌿 What Do I Read: 

Usually the book that I'm reading at that point if I'm being lazy.

POETRY: It's my belief, but poetry is a writer's most powerful device. There's a novel to be said in a simple sonnet.

FICTION: I dig great fiction. PS, please read (and sob over) Away Childish Things, by @letteredlettered. It changed me as a person, changed my entire perspective about kids. I'm much kinder and softer now, and my pimples are gone. I'll literally never get over drarry too, so thanks lettered, love you.

ARTICLES: Bookmarked psychology, productivity & fitness articles on Medium. Maybe check out James Clear's & Gary Vee’s blog for new posts.

Because I wanna drive this home, here's what I did in my last creative binge as a concrete example —

Care to Note that:

All of the stuff I consume is pre-planned.

I add videos throughout the week to my Creative Binge playlist on YouTube, download albums from Amazon Music and articles for offline reading.

DON'T leave this to the last moment, you'll more likely pick entertainment vs learning then. 

Watched–

Why I'm done trying to be "man enough"

Redecorating my room 2017 (I wanna decorate my room this year so)

How to Squat Properly (I’m trying lmao)

Giving a 9-Year-Old Her Dream Job for 24hrs!! (I stan YesTheory so much)

How To NOT Be A Starving Artist (A mood. I love Sorelle)

Couple more, I could go on & on, but you get me.

Listened–

Every song on YouTube by Bruno Major

Born to die: paradise version (album) by Lana Del Rey 

Read–

Articles from James Clear's blog — (x) (x)

Articles from Gary Vee’s blog — (x) (x)

HIIT workouts for beginners

All of this birthed–

Ideas for future articles, titled: How To Be Great & Solomon Letters #2: Question Your Faith, Not Your Dreams, among others.

A small poem about faith– posted on my IG, check it out!

New content ideas, like value chains (upcoming!)

Bunch of other small rants for everyday posting

Some business and life advice that might be useful later.

Gotta say goodbye now! (literally too... but post about it coming on 12th so wait for it) Try this one out, and let me know how your binge goes (tag it with #team conquer). Mine usually end with a bucketful of philo notes, a recharged left (right? psychology? idk) brain, and a fresh perspective towards the rest of my week. 

This is the #1 strategy I've adopted to sustain creative energy when it's sapped all around by negativity and school & I promise it helps. No side effects, no sponsored pills needed. Thanks for reading!

Related: How To Get Back Into The Creative Process (if you're in a blogger's block or experiencing painter's pain)

Have something to say? I treasure all feedback! If this post inspired you to do something, or you wanna throw some love/constructive criticism at me— hop into my ask box, or reply to this post itself!

Thanks for dropping by! Major articles, like this one, come out every Thursday! Join my taglist by to read them when they do. I also post daily wins, journal entries, rants & photos of my plant babies throughout the week, so follow me if you’re into conquering life. I vow to be the loudest cheerleader. ✧

Sending you love and good energy, talk soon. 

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[virmillion]

Love is a Four Letter Word

Summary: Everyone has magic, and it’s really nothing special at all. Just another skill, sort of like a sixth sense. Roman is not particularly fond of his brand of magic, and sets off to find Thomas—the one person rumored to not have any magic at all.

Ships: platonic logince (more like acquaintances tbh)

Words: 12,758

Warnings: implied major character death, Less Than Happy backstories, some bullying, unhappy ending, let me know if there’s anything else needing tagging

Check it out on ao3!

    Roman shoulders his bag up higher, nodding a farewell to everybody in one swift motion without directly acknowledging any of them. He glances over the crumpled piece of paper one last time, reassuring himself that he knows what he’s doing. Past the end of the line is a man free of magic by the name of Thomas. Sticking the page back in his pocket, Roman triple-checks that he has more than enough money for a train ride that long. At the very least, it should be enough to get him well past the reach of anyone in this city.

    Everybody falls over themselves to bid him farewell as he makes the trek down to the train station, trying to offer absent smiles to anyone drawing near enough to see his expression. Their words all sound the same after an incredibly short while, all impersonal pleas for him to stay, to help.

    “Roman, please hang around, I need your magic to lock down my boyfriend!”

    “Roman, can you use some of that energy to bring up the positivity for after you’re gone?”

    “Roman, would you bloom this flower early so I can impress my wife?”

    “Roman, I need you to funnel me some confidence for my interview tomorrow!”

    It only becomes more obvious with every plea that chases him further from the center of town that these people only kept him around to boost their own spirits—always at the expense of his own happiness, but no one ever asks about that. Not when they can get manufactured love for free. Sure, it saps Roman’s energy to use his magic, but doing so is the only way he can feel wanted anymore, and isn’t that enough to justify exhausting his supply for these people? No, he doesn’t know their names, their faces, their histories, but at least they keep him around.

    Roman has been waiting for weeks to board a train heading in this direction, all the way to the end of the line. He passes the engineer a fistful of bills, requesting to ride the train as far as it’ll go. The engineer nods him on, seemingly unsurprised by the destination. “Passenger cars are that way. Bit of a bumpy ride near the end, though.”

    “Where would we be without some good old ominous foreshadowing?” Roman mutters to himself, slipping through the cars and tamping down the bubbles of joy trying to stir in his stomach. He’s already wearing an oversized turtleneck to hide his face, so there’s certainly no need to broadcast his reputation as the resident magicker of love to the whole train.

    None of the cars he sees are empty, but the third to last one is about as close as he suspects he’ll get. Just one passenger, who’s busy fiddling with a pile of shiny silver shards in his lap. They share a brief nod, acknowledging each other’s presence the way only two complete strangers can, after which Roman allows the neck of his shirt to slip just a little lower down his chin. The guy doesn’t seem like the type to jump up and fawn over Roman for a little extra cheer boosting his day, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Roman has seen many a person desperate for his help simply for the sake of an easier day, completely ignoring how much it saps his own energy. Hopefully this trip will solve all of that.

    Roman continues on to the third to last seat—three is his lucky number—and exhales as quietly as he can manage, resting his head against the glass and watching the incessant crowds waving from the station. He doesn’t recognize a single person among them.

    It’s pretty obvious that they’re searching for a sign of him through the tinted glass, hoping to siphon off just a little more love before he goes, and Roman wonders whether his resolve will hold out long enough to avoid that. He almost wants to leap through the window and into their adoring arms, to feel them welcome him back home, even if he knows it will help absolutely anyone except himself. Better not to, given what happened the last time he gave too much. Roman is terrified of ever giving too much again. He feels himself on the verge of breaking this time, and he might’ve just let himself give in, were it not for the train engine rumbling to life and knocking his head against the window.

    Roman allows himself a soft, agitated ow under his breath, wincing as he presses his palm to his skull. By the time the pain wears off, the station is shakily bouncing off into the distance. He doesn’t allow himself to watch as it disappears.

    The steady rocking of the train drags him into a fitful sleep, promising no rest behind his closed eyelids. His dreams are messy, just distant flashes of memories, of things he should’ve done, should’ve said, things he wishes he hadn’t and the letter R swirling in in dizzying circles around his head, hammering his brain like so many wasps forced through a long winter with minimal warmth and food. Amidst his short bouts of wakefulness, he tries to ignore the pounding headache on the rise, instead watching the rolling hills of lively green give way to dirt and mud, then to hundreds of thousands of barren tree stumps, all melting together in a mix of nothingness that envelopes his dreams in a cushion of hollow green love.

    When he wakes, Roman shouts the name ricocheting inside his head, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth. He holds it firmly in place with the other, then glances at a beanpole of a man hovering to his left.

    “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

    “It’s fine,” beanpole interrupts. The guy that was messing with the silver stuff when Roman first boarded. Beanpole jerks his chin toward the window, then offers a hand to Roman. “Train’s down. Everybody off.”

    Roman absently takes his hand, looking back at the window. Depot town. Not the most clever name, to be sure, but he’s got nothing against this place. Well, one thing, but it’s not a big thing. Well, it’s a pretty big thing. Well, it’s actually the only thing Roman can hold against a place, but it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s the worst possible place this train could have broken down, but it’s fine and he’s fine and everything’s fine, so stop asking.

    “Name’s Logan,” beanpole continues, leading Roman to the front of the train. “Guess you slept through the announcement, since you took so long to hear me asking you to get up. They hit some problem in the engine or something, and they’re enlisting anyone that can offer specialized magic to fix it.”

    “That’s, um, I don’t think I can help you there. My name’s Roman, by the way.”

    “Pleasure. I wasn’t asking for your help, merely informing you of the situation. At which stop were you intending to depart?”

    “I don’t know its name, but whatever the last one is.”

    Logan stops at the last step leading out of the train, turning around to squint at Roman’s face—well, as best he can, what with the turtleneck in the way. “End of the line guy, hm?”

    “Something like that.” Roman shuffles off the train behind Logan, glancing around the town. Well, the area just before the town—they pretty much broke down right outside civilization, not to mention that the designated train station is well near the opposite end of the town. Certainly not ideal. “Did they say what was wrong with the train?”

    “Just that it’s down. Something with the machinery. I’ll figure it out.”

    “Why you?”

    Logan whips his head around—sharper this time, almost indignant. “Why not me? Why anyone else but me?”

    Roman pulls his lips between his teeth and looks away, his face flushing bright red under the scrutiny of such an imposing figure. “Never mind.”

    Logan sighs and pulls off his glasses—there’s an odd green glint along the lens, something Roman hadn’t noticed before. He watches Logan hold them aloft with one hand, lifting his other as if to present them to an enraptured audience. With a simple flick of his fingers, the glasses wobble themselves into the air, hovering a few inches above Logan’s open palm.

    As the glasses levitate on their own, listing just a touch to the right, Logan whirls his hands around them, pinching and pulling as if he were trying to knot a length of string without overlapping the loops. Slowly but surely, the sleek frames stretch and pull at each other, separating into hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny pieces sparking with bright blues and fiery purples. The sparks flicker off, and Roman flinches away from one on instinct—even showy magic can scar.

    There’s a soft pop, like someone blowing a sharp puff of air into a closed pair of hands, and the glasses click back together, almost identical to when Logan began his little charade. The only thing is that now, well, they look ever so slightly different. The green of the lenses is much more prominent, almost a pastel tone that nearly blocks out Logan’s eyes when he replaces them on his face.

    “Neat party trick,” Roman says finally, uncertain how to react to Logan’s flat manner of demonstrating his magic. Most people only tend to use their magic when they need it or when they’re hassling Roman for favors, not to impress some stranger beside a broken down train.

    “It’s not a party trick,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “I manipulate any technology I’ve taken the time to sit down and understand, which includes those that I’ve built.” He adjusts his glasses, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that that’s what he was talking about. “What I just did, crossing these wires, fusing those pins, what you so callously called a party trick? I switched around the core function. I can now effectively see any major malfunction that may not be immediately apparent to untrained eyes.”

    Roman instinctively crosses his arms over his body, not wanting to know what major malfunctions might lie under his thin cotton shirt.

    “Not like that, that’s a different setting. This is more for inorganic creations, like the train engine.” Logan gestures to his left, surprising Roman with how quickly they’d arrived at the front. “Remember what I was saying about specialized magic?”

    “Yeah?”

    “I’m the specialized magic. Thanks for the entertainment. It shouldn’t be long before the train is up and running again, though I wouldn’t hang too close by. Don’t want any techno flares flying off at the wrong moment.” Logan flashes a grin as he holds up a finger, letting a burst of sparks shower from the tip like fireworks. Roman takes the hint, quickly backing up to join the small group huddled a decent distance from the tracks. Not too many people staying on this far down the line.

    He watches as Logan kneels beside the engineer at the base of the train, the pair quietly mumbling to each other as Logan waves his slender fingers around a large sheet of metal. In a flash, it smoothly glides off and hovers in the air over Logan’s head, easily poised to slice through skin at a moment’s notice. Logan doesn’t seem to care. He only leans in further, picking at some of the pieces inside the train, none of which Roman can see through Logan’s body. Quickly bored with watching Logan’s relatively still back, Roman glances around at the other stranded passengers.

    A few talk amongst themselves, debating whether it’d be worth it to just walk the rest of the way to town and grab a drink while they wait for the specialized magickers to do their thing. Others lean forward over an invisible barrier, desperate to see what kinds of tricks the magickers can pull off with such a large and detailed engine, but clearly hesitant to get too close. There’s a lone mother standing off to the side, desperation in her eyes as she tries to maintain her composure while soothing her wailing baby. A few of the passengers that were discussing getting drinks shoot her nasty looks, but these, of course, do nothing to silence the distressed child.

    “You told yourself you wouldn’t do this anymore,” Roman mumbles under his breath, more of a soft chastising than a reminder of a promise destined to be broken the moment it was made. He focuses in on the sound of the mother’s soft voice, amplifying it in his head until her hushed tones, her reassuring coos, her indescribable love flows like a serene river through a spring of endless flowers in his mind, growing and expanding and opening the world into the hope and joy and life that supports the love flowing through it all.

    Roman takes this energy, feels it course around his heart, doing cheerful little loop-de-loops and excited hops that lift the corners of his lips, and he sighs softly, picturing his breath floating on the breeze, buffeted by the whispered gossip of the cherry blossom petals dancing across the landscape. He imagines his breath taking life, a pure wave of bright blue that almost blends in with the picturesque sky above, drifting over the heads of the grumbling passengers, teasing at the ends of the mother’s hair and lifting the tips as if there were fairies playing hide and seek on her shoulders. The mother’s voice takes on a new strength, bolstered by a laugh with no source as she bounces the baby and smiles in relief at its face, watching those rosy cheeks puff up with a big breath as the baby inhales the delightful air and releases a bright, burbling laugh, an elated giggles that echoes back into the wind, returning Roman’s joy to the air and spreading a thin layer over the world with the rebound of its happiness.

    Roman smiles to himself, feeling the muted sparks of magic intertwine with the spirits of the passengers, all of whom seem to exhale just a little bit in tandem with the baby, suddenly filled with an inexplicable and untraceable sense of rightness. Something in their lifted attitudes allows Roman to forget just how much energy that one sapped out of him.

    He glances back to the engine, where he can almost see Logan’s stiff posture relaxing as a display like an explosion of colors shoots out from his hands, whipping his hair up into a quiff for just a moment before it settles back into its usual stern state. Logan sits back on his haunches and cocks his head to the side, pointing at something as he speaks lowly with the engineer.

    Specialized magic, indeed.

    “Ahem, your, ah, your attention please, esteemed passengers!” the engineer calls, rising to all his four foot eleven glory. Roman turns to face him along with everyone else. “We have gotten the train back, ah, back in working order, it seems, but we want to, erm, we are going to run a quick diagnostic check to ensure the problem will not, eh, reappear.” Roman is pretty sure he catches Logan rolling his eyes at that, but the tint of his green lenses makes it too hard to be certain. “It will probably take us, erm, at least a couple of hours, so I suggest you all, ah, head over to Depot town and see all the attractions they have to offer and enjoy!” This is met with far fewer grumbles than might be expected, and Roman tries not to preen at the knowledge that his magic played some part in that. “I hear they have, eh, an excellent selection of pubs!”

    Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek, watching most of the passengers turn toward the town. One of them lags behind to walk beside the mother, and they both share a hearty laugh when the baby does whatever baby thing it is that they find so funny. He looks to the engineer, who is profusely shaking Logan’s hand, while Logan looks just a little bit bewildered as he adjusts his glasses.

    Once Logan finally frees himself from the engineer’s grip, he ambles over to Roman, who busies himself looking anywhere but at those green glasses. “Y’know,” Logan says, removing the frames and scrubbing at them with the underside of his shirt, “I am pretty good at what I do. I’ve fixed many a mechanical issue, simply by applying my knowledge regarding the technology at work behind the problem. What I do not understand is how a train engine, the exact model of which I have never personally seen before, suddenly put itself back into working order with me only needing to lift three fingers in the process.” Logan cocks his head to the side and peers at Roman, a strangely personal expression without the glasses to deflect his gaze. “It usually takes at least five.”

    “Magic’s funny that way,” Roman says with an uncomfortable laugh.

    Logan lingers on Roman’s face a moment longer, just beyond what could be called reasonable, before he straightens and looks toward the town. “I suppose it is. Let me buy you a drink, and we’ll discuss what else is so funny about magic.” Roman swallows thickly and nods, watching Logan take a few steps toward the town as he begins whirling his fingers around his glasses again. It’s not until Logan gets a solid fifteen feet away that Roman realizes he’s supposed to walk with him, and he trips over himself to catch up.

    “You ever been to Depot town before?” Logan asks, holding his glasses over his head and squinting through the lens at the sun.

    “Once or twice,” Roman says. Try a hundred times.

    “Interesting.” Logan puts his glasses back on and turns to Roman, quirking his mouth to the side. “I don’t know if you could tell based on the mechanical manipulations, but I’ve just reworked the lenses to allow me to see when someone isn’t being entirely honest with me.”

    “Oh, is that—I, um—okay, I did come here a lot with my family when I was little,” Roman admits.

    “That so?” Logan chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Well, if I may be so candid in return—” He drops his voice to a whisper, forcing Roman to strain to hear it. “These aren’t truth-seeing lenses. I just know when someone’s a bad liar.”

    “I am a great liar!” Roman protests.

    “That so?” Roman is quickly getting tired of this refrain. He wonders how many more times he’ll have to hear it. “I suppose you’ll have to show me around town, then. I certainly don’t know which pub is the best.”

    “Definitely not that one.” Roman waves a hand toward the bar nearest to the front entrance of the small town, where all the other passengers are flooding in like a line of ants. “They put it up to attract tourists like us, but the good stuff is way in the back, like a little secret for the locals.”

    “Makes sense.”

    With that, they weave their way through the town, careful not to trip over outcroppings of metal gears and wooden planks lining the dirt paths. Roman points out certain buildings as they pass them, returning excited waves from people who know him well enough not to question why he’s here without his family in tow.

    “So over there’s the mill—they bring all the best raw wood in there, and the top magickers get their pick of the lot, since they’re usually sworn to funnel about ten percent of the work it brings them back into the town’s funds. Hey, Sigma, how goes it?” Roman nods to someone sitting in front of one of the only shops in town, lazily floating a steady stream of water from one pot to another. They wave back at Roman, the distraction big enough to shatter the rainbow of water over their head, the flow crashing down and soaking their hair.

    “Stop doing that!” they shout, shaking their head and sending droplets flying.

    “How else will you learn to focus?” Roman retorts with a laugh. The water charmer makes a motion like a conductor cutting off an orchestra, easily drawing all of the water into one big ball just beside their ear. A wicked grin crawls onto their face.

    “Run,” Roman says softly, nudging Logan’s shoulder. As that smile grows, he says it more insistently, picking up the pace and urging Logan to “run, technerd, run!”

    Logan complies easily, his long legs allowing him to keep up with Roman as they sprint away, dodging the drops of water that come hurtling for their heads.

    “Sigma,” Roman huffs, “has never been,” huff, “one for,” huff, “practical jokes,” huff huff huff.

    “It might help if you didn’t trick them into drenching themselves,” Logan points out, not struggling for his own breath in the slightest.

    “Did I ask you?”

    “You didn’t not ask me.”

    “Well, I’m not un-didn’t asking you now.”

    “Glad we’re on the same page.”

    Roman forces his feet to slow down as they approach a pathetic looking building near the outer limits of the town, where there’s hardly anything but homes and patches of dirt with a little more life than the other patches of dirt. He leans hard into the front door, ramming his shoulder into it a few solid times before it flies open and he goes sprawling across the floor.

    “I believe I’m about two pages ahead of you now,” Logan says, bending down to offer him a hand. He helps Roman to his feet, and Roman can’t help but wonder whether that will be a recurring theme with this guy.

    “Roman!” an angry voice yells from behind the bar. “I thought I told you to stay away!”

    “Hey-ho-de-low, Jackie,” Roman says smoothly—well, as smoothly as anyone can say something so ridiculous. “What if I said I brought a peace offering? A technerd to fix that juke of yours?”

    A sturdy little lady who just about tops out at Roman’s chin rounds the corner, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “I didn’t ask for no techie guy in my shop, either. Where’d you hide your family this time, huh? Where’s that boy y’had on your arm? Where’re the fancy stories and lies about why you didn’t bring your brother back around?”

    “Your juke has been broken for ages,” Roman says, neatly dodging the other questions. “Let me let you let him fix it.”

    “I never agreed to any such thing,” Logan sighs, but he grins at Jackie anyway. She returns the smile—an odd move, in Roman’s opinion. She never smiles at people she hasn’t met before. Although, despite her temper, Jackie always was a charmer. Maybe she just doesn’t like Roman. Of course, that’s an absurd theory, but it’s the only one he’s been able to come up with. Maybe Roman just isn’t that smart.

    He moves for his usual seat in the corner, pressed up against the window with one wobbly stool and one wicker chair. He goes for the stool. To the sound of Logan and Jackie discussing the jukebox’s latest malfunction, Roman spins the stool round and round, until it won’t turn any way but right, and rests his chin on the windowsill.

    Right out there, in the middle of that large ring of messy tire tracks dug artlessly into the mud, he allows his thoughts to wallow in their own emptiness, swirling up eddies of the forgotten carelessness of childhood hidden in the green grasses, the whole mess struggling to grow against the world of dirt trying to choke them out.

    Roman sprinted across the open field, baring his teeth to the wind and imagining someone was using the sun as a camera to capture his every movement. He let out a whoop over his shoulder and yelled, “I’m eating bugs!”

    “No you aren’t!” a voice behind him whined. “Stop eating the bugs!”

    “I’m gonna eat all the bugs!” Roman insisted. Quick as a whip, he hit the dirt and dragged his hands through it, smearing the colors over his teeth. He spun around and grinned, feeling the mud squelch under his knees. “Look at all these yummy bugs!”

    “You’re so gross,” Remy informed him, tripping over his feet as he stumbled to a stop beside Roman. “You didn’t even eat them, liar!”

    “Did so!”

    “Did not!”

    “Did so!”

    “Did not! I can still see them all up on your teeth!”

    “Nuh-uh!” Roman didn’t even flinch as he ran his tongue over his lips, wiping off the mug and flashing his not-very-pearly whites. “See? Ate ’em all! Told you so!”

    “Guh-ross!” Remy shouted, planting his hands on Roman’s shoulders. He shoved him backwards, cackling as his brother’s back made a spectacular splashing sound as it collided with the mud.

    “You’re gross,” Roman retorted, burrowing his short fingernails in the dirt. Before Remy could dodge it, Roman tossed up the chunks of earth, laughing without a care in the world as they splattered across Remy’s face. “Told you so! Told you so!”

    “Boys!” a sharp voice yelled from the building at the far side of the mud ring. Roman and Remy both froze, taking in each other’s filthy faces.

    “Bet she yells at you,” Roman muttered, getting to his feet without bothering to dust off his pants. No use trying to hide it now, anyway.

    “Bet she doesn’t,” Remy said in a stunning imitation of Roman’s voice. “Older siblings always take the blame.”

    “Not if I’m really good at crying.”

    “Not if I cry first!”

    “You wouldn’t dare.”

    Remy only grinned, putting on a burst of speed as he ran for his mother. Roman shook his head and laughed, sprinting to catch up, and if he stuck out a leg to trip his brother on the way and take the lead, well, the past is the past, what’re you gonna do about it?

    “—his peace, he doesn’t get much of it,” a familiar voice says, floating over the cotton candy skies and ripping Roman out of his sugar-sweet memories. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to ignore how much the green has faded from the grass outside.

    “Sorry, what?” He looks up at Jackie and Logan, the latter of whom is staring at him with confusion. Not nearly as bad as the former, whose eyes betray naught but pity. “I’m fine.”

    “Didn’t ask, but I guess I’m glad to hear it,” Logan says, settling himself on the wicker chair.

    “Drinks for you boys?” Jackie asks. Roman hates the way she softens the edge of her voice when she looks at him. She never used to put on that tone when he still brought Remy around. Granted, it’s kind of his fault that can’t happen anymore—by which he means it’s entirely his fault, which means it’s also his fault that she’s taking that tone, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, does it?

    Roman’s lips feel chapped. “Just a couple waters would be—”

    “Your hardest ciders, please,” Logan interrupts. He waves off Roman’s protests, continuing, “I’m buying, remember? No worries.”

    Roman nods, forcing his eyes not to stray toward the window. There’s a reason he hasn’t been back here in years. “Thanks.”

    “Now, do you think you might want to tell me what your deal is with this place?”

    “Not really.” Roman briefly considers pulling on some of the upbeat music pouring from the jukebox, wrapping it around Logan’s head and forcing some semblance of tranquility into his mind, but no, bad idea. It was a mistake to cheer up that baby earlier, a taste of what he knows he can’t have. He swore off of messing with emotions a long time ago, back when there was nothing he could do to keep himself in check. No more.

    “Think this might help loosen your nerves a little,” Logan says, pushing a mug of cider across the table. Roman hadn’t even noticed Jackie setting it down. He takes a tentative sip, all too aware of the way the other patrons along the bar are very pointedly not looking at him. Having a reputation to precede you isn’t always a good thing.

    “Fine, I’ll go first,” Logan says. He takes a long swig from his own drink before plunking it down on the table, ignoring how some of the foam splashes out onto the wood. Roman traces his eyes along the grain of the surface, remembering when his dad let him sit in on the magicking process of converting a useless tree stump into functional furniture. That always was his signature move, wasn’t it? Magicking life into things that were long dead. Well, most things. Even his dad wasn’t one to magic life into things that never had any business being alive in the first place.

    “The town where I live—well, used to live—was incredibly strict about when and how we could use magic.” Logan stares into his mug, and Roman has to wonder whether he hears the words leaving his mouth. “They didn’t like that I could disassemble things at will and put them back together according to my tastes, thought I might get carried away and start taking apart people.”

    “That doesn’t—”

    “Make sense? Sure it does. Remember how I said I can manipulate any technology I take the time to sit down and understand? If you think about it, people are just a different kind of technology, and I was studying to be a surgeon, and, well, one suspicion led to another, and that obviously made some people uncomfortable, so I left. And I left again. And I left again, and again, and every single town I went to was exactly like the last, all nice and welcoming until it came out that I could do more than just basic reparations on junky radios.” Logan furrows his brows, glaring harder at the ripples in his mug. “Well, huh. Didn’t mean to say that last part.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “I wasn’t kidding when I said I can manipulate any technology I understand.”

    “Right, that’s how you—”

    “Fixed the train and did my studies, yes, but more than that. I can do that to almost anything, even intangible things, if given the right parameters.” Logan clenches his fist, and Roman almost thinks he sees the frames on his face flicker like a flame. “I don’t like talking about it, but you’ve obviously got some stuff blocking your system, and since you clearly helped me out with the train—no matter how much you try to deny it—I’d be willing to return the favor, but only if you’ll consent to it.”

    Roman tries to laugh off the notion that he had anything to do with the train, but Logan isn’t buying it. “Don’t kid yourself, obviously that train didn’t just fix the engine on its own. We’ve been over this. You don’t have to tell me what your magic is or anything like that, I get it if you’re one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ types, but have you ever turned on a garden hose to full blast and stepped on the line about halfway down?”

    “I—er, yeah, why?”

    “That’s you. You’ve got some personal nonsense blocking the main flow in your system, and if you don’t release it soon, it’ll explode on its own, and it’ll do a lot more damage than if you let it leak out slowly right now.” Logan leans in with an earnest look on his face, much more sincere than anything Roman had come to expect from him so far. “I’m trying to help you here, Roman. You need to release it now, or you will regret it later.”

    Roman takes a long pull from his mug, wishing he was talking to the mother and baby from the train rather than this oddly perceptive stranger. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

    Logan blows out a large breath, puffing up his cheeks and looking past Roman at the ring of mud outside. “I can take apart your psychology, physically and metaphorically speaking. You’re holding something in, and you need to let it out.”

    “I don’t need to do anything of the sort,” Roman snaps, watching the liquid slosh around in his mug. “Nor do I appreciate your trying to say as much.”

    “I merely wanted to make the offer,” Logan relents, raising his hands in surrender. “You are free to refuse my services, if it so please you, in which case I will make no further advances.”

    “Somehow, I don’t believe you,” Roman mutters, looking up as the main doors swing open. Great. Just who he wanted to see.

    “Heard the old love magicker rolled into town!” a gruff voice jeers. Sigma peers out from behind a man who has to be almost seven feet tall and two hundred stone. They mouth an apology to Roman, who just stares blankly back.

    “Just get lost, Trev, would you?” he sighs, pointedly not making eye contact as the pair crosses the room in a few long strides to leer down at him.

    “Aw, that don’t sound like much fun, does it, Sigma?” Sigma stays silent, only looking closely at Roman’s mug. He glances down to see the ripples taking the vague shapes of letters—probably some half-hearted apology—so he lifts the cup and turns it over, letting the contents splatter onto the floor.

    “Hey!” Jackie yells, but she doesn’t sound too upset—at least, not upset enough to do something about it. She merely hangs back and watches the scene unfold. After all, no one’s ever helped before, so why should she lift a finger now?

    “Hear you skipped town to keep your magicky love a secret,” Trevor continues, slamming his hands down on the table. “Little boy got too popular with his little love spells, came crying home to Mom and Dad—or, wait, you can’t do that, can you? Don’t got no one to cry to anymore, do you?”

    “Shut up, Trev,” Roman whispers, hoping the agitation in his voice will mask the way his words wobble like dictionaries balanced on cooked noodles.

    “Wittle baby gonna cwy to the pawents he don’t have!” Trevor whines in a shrill voice. Roman rests his hand on his cheek, all too aware of Logan’s stiff silence across from him. What good is having a silent observer around if they won’t do anything?

    “That’s not your information to share,” Roman mutters, wishing Sigma would defend him and knowing full well they won’t.

    “Well, somebody’s gotta tell our newcomer here about your deal, don’t they? Guess it falls to me, since you don’t wanna go clarifying it yourself. Forgive me if I decide to embellish some of the details, you know how I am with the dramatics.”

    “Shut up,” Roman says again, wishing his voice were stronger than it is.

    “Roman,” Logan says. Yes, very helpful addition, thank you for your groundbreaking contributions to this conversation. “Roman,” he repeats, more insistent this time. Roman glances across the table to see Logan removing his glasses, waving his hands in that familiar way again.

    “Oh, the glasses are off now! Wittle Roman got a wittle techno dork to help him?” Trevor cackles, folding his impossibly oversized arms and giving Logan a once over. Seriously, his biceps are like sausages on steroids. “Just stay out of this, kid. It’s for your own good. Nothing worthwhile ever comes out of hanging around this guy, y’got that?”

    “I don’t know that I’d say nothing,” Logan replies coolly, swirling his fingers faster now. Roman watches, not sure whether to be horrified or amazed as the frames split apart into tiny spears, their tips sharp enough to pierce metal. The flurry of miniature blades organizes itself into a sheet of steel, poised directly in front of Trevor’s face. Logan slows down his fingers, keeping the pieces in a careful rotation mere inches from Trevor’s eyes.

    “Woah, okay, let’s just take it easy here,” Trevor says nervously and, as Roman is happy to note, with some degree of fear in his voice.

    “I don’t know what you mean,” Logan says with a sickeningly sweet smile. “I’m simply demonstrating my magic for my friend here, while maintaining a casual discussion with a fellow patron of this fine establishment. Trev, was it?”

    “I, uh, I didn’t—”

    “Neither did I, but here we are.” Logan jerks his head to the side, hard enough that Roman is genuinely concerned he might snap his neck, and the needles rearrange into the silhouette of an arrow that rises to Trevor’s forehead. Something in Roman’s gut twists at the achingly familiar sight. “Anything else you’d like to share with the group, or should you like to be excused?”

    Trevor makes a sound similar to that of a kicked puppy before bolting for the door, leaving Sigma shaking beside the table. One pointed glance from Logan, and they’re gone.

    “Wh—you didn’t—I mean, I would’ve—you could’ve—” Roman splutters, watching Logan calmly reassemble the shards into normal frames on his face.

    “I did, you wouldn’t have, and neither would I,” Logan says. “Now, you are naturally under no obligation to explain what all that was about, but I would recommend filling me in, if it so pleases you. I do think I’ve earned it by now.”

    “Can’t argue with that,” Roman admits. “No matter how much I want to. So there’s this guy—”

    “Isn’t there always?”

    Roman pouts. “There’s rumors of this guy, Thomas, who doesn’t have any magic.”

    Logan seems taken aback by this, and Roman finds a considerable amount of satisfaction in having silenced him. “People have had magic for thousands of years, even in just trace amounts. Surely he’s got some semblance of it.”

    “Doesn’t sound like it.” Roman shrugs, trying to decide how to proceed without bringing up the reason he even started looking for Thomas. “Anyway, he lives out near the end of the lines, of any train there is. I’ve never seen a station that reaches farther than this train’s last stop, and I want to find him.”

    “Why?”

    “I want to know what it’s like to be free of the magic.” Roman clenches his fist against his thigh, feeling the mud rings outside burning a hole in his back. “I want to know if he can pass it on.”

    “You want to take his inability to do magic? Sounds kind of antithetical, no?”

    “Well, yeah, but I just—I need to know if it’s true. I need to know if there’s an escape.”

    “An escape from what?”

    “From magic, from magickers, from all of it, I don’t know. I don’t want to deal with it anymore, with any of it. I just want to be done.”

    “What kind of magic could you possibly have been stuck with that’s bad enough to hate it so much?”

    “Hate? I don’t think it’s physically possible to hate my magic, actually.”

    Logan twists his mouth to the side and considers Roman for a long moment. “Did it ever occur to you that this Thomas—whether or not he actually does exist—lives so far out of reach because he doesn’t want to be found?”

    “It has crossed my mind,” Roman admits. “I just want to be done with my magic. I don’t want to mess up again.”

    There’s another commotion from near the door—friendly faces, this time, but they sort of remind Roman of starving raccoons. They peer around the room before their eyes come to rest on Roman’s face, and from the way they almost seem to salivate at the sight of him, he knows exactly what they want. He wants no part of it.

    “Roman, won’t you please fix my relationship—”

    “Roman, my grandmother is sick, can you pull some sunshine—”

    “Roman, I love your magic, is that enough to fuel me with—”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman, I love the idea of you—”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman, I haven’t seen your parents in a while, is it true that you—”

    “Roman, where’s Remy these days, did you scare him off? I thought it was just a rumor that your love—”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman!”

    “Roman, what happens when you run out of—”

    “Roman, can I have some of—”

    “Roman, I love your—”

    “Roman!”

    Roman feels sick. He hides his head in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees and wishing his stomach would stop turning as their words bounce around his skull, Roman Roman Roman Remy Roman Remy Remy Roman Remy Roman messed everything up and everyone knows it and Remy knows it and it’s too late for Remy so it’s too late for you, Roman, what ever will you do with all the love you can’t have when no one will give you more?

    “Right, that’s enough of that,” Logan says suddenly, swiping Roman’s wrists out from under him. He jolts up, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder as Logan yanks him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

    Logan ushers Roman out the door, leaving some coins and bills on the counter for Jackie and ignoring the shocked looks from the other patrons of the bar, all of whom quickly trade their surprise for awe as they realize this really is that Roman, right there in front of them.

    “Logan, I—”

    “Don’t need to tell me anything that you don’t want to. Keep moving.”

    Roman bites his lip, numbly leading the way back to the station, where the train is slowly pulling up to the appropriate departure area. All in working order, then. No more engine problems.

    He moves to step on board, only hesitating when he no longer hears Logan’s feet behind him. “Aren’t you coming?”

    “Nah,” Logan says, looking back at the station. “Jackie was telling me about a bunch of things that need reparations around here, and it’s a neat little town. Think I might hang around a while, try to fix it up for them. Maybe get to work on repairing some of these people’s attitudes, too.

    “I—” Roman falters, uncertain what he could possibly say to Logan after all that just went down. “It’s love, I think.” Logan says nothing, doesn’t even nod for Roman to go on, but he does anyway. “I take different types of love and put them into different places and forms as it’s needed, and I did it wrong this one time, just one time, just one mistake, a big one, and, well—” Roman glances at the engineer, who impatiently waves for him to hurry up and get on board already. “I burned the only bridges that I had, and it was my fault, and I can’t take it back. That’s what all that was about, because Trevor and Sigma and Jackie and, well, everyone—they all got caught up in the fallout. Trevor’s the one holding the biggest grudge, I think, since he was such good friends with—um, well, y’know, with one of those bridges. I—”

    “That will more than suffice,” Logan interrupts, gesturing for Roman to board the train. “You needn’t bare your soul to the first stranger that shows you any semblance of decency, you know.” With that, the door slips shut, barring Logan from having to see Roman’s confused expression.

    Roman wanders down to the car he arrived on, collapsing on the third seat and wondering where all the sudden candor came from. Didn’t Trevor’s magic have something to do with compelling honesty? Although, Roman could’ve sworn Trevor condemned magickers after what happened last time things got out of control. Maybe he just had a special passion for condemning Roman, and that one mistake was the nail in the coffin that Roman built for himself.

    He glances down at the cushion of the seat, shifting uncomfortably against an odd lump as he belatedly realizes that this was where Logan was sitting when he first boarded the train. He fumbles around with a blind hand beneath him, feeling for the source of the discomfort as the train sputters to life, sending him lurching forward. At the same moment as his head slams into the next seat, something dislodges from the cushion beneath him. His hands fumble through the air to catch it, carefully clasping around the figure and hugging it to his chest. Once his balance adjusts to the steady rocking of the train, he opens his hands and peers into them, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

    A little 3D heart, vaguely pixelated with all the different pieces of metal and plastic lacing together to create its surface. Roman squints at the thing, turning it under the weak light of the train’s overheads, but there’s no note, no pull tab, no secret compartment, no nothing. Just a heart, and everything Roman is left to interpret from finding it. Did Logan know?

    Maybe Roman’s reputation precedes him more than he realized.

----------

    “End of the line,” a voice announces over the train speakers. Roman slowly rouses, blinking as his eyes come into focus on the little heart still clutched in his hands. He stuffs it in his pocket, careful not to tear the fabric on the sharper edges, and moves for the exit door. On his way, he tosses a flippant wave toward the ceiling, just in case there’s security cameras watching him go or something. A little politeness can go a long way.

    He stumbles out into a cool, dark night, populated only by the densest of shadows. The sole clue that the train station is even designed to be used beyond as a set piece in a creepy picture is the dilapidated set of tracks that end just past the edge of the building, and even those on their own are a pretty flimsy sign. Once the train finishes looping around the track to reposition itself for the return to the inner cities, Roman plops himself down in the middle of the rails and lies on his back to stare at the sky.

    As if the travel time weren’t a big enough hint that he’s farther from home than ever before, the stars above look completely different, almost unrecognizable compared to those rare nights in Depot town, much less back home.

    Home. Roman turns the word over and over in his head, his thoughts dancing around that saying. How did it go again? Home is where the heart is?

    Roman gives a hollow laugh in cheers to that, feeling the outline of the metal heart in his pocket. Hearts, as in love, which is something he never earned enough to make a home with. Foolish of him to try, really. A breathing mannequin in princely makeup, designed to give love, to spread hope and joy, but never to dare try receiving it. He’s not that kind of magicker, something of which he’s all too aware. Everybody seems to know that better than him.

    He runs his hands over the dirt beneath him, feeling how solidly it molds around the cold metal tracks, and wonders whether Remy would appreciate the texture. Always did have a thing for mud and dirt, he did. Mom hated it to no end, which just made it that much funnier that Remy couldn’t go ten minutes without another smudge of brown across his cheek.

    Roman allows himself to smile at that, trying to ignore the stirring in his chest at the memory of Remy’s toothy grin, how excited he was to show off the latest bruise or scratch to Roman, how his face would light up when Roman joined in on the fun.

    All of it gone in an instant, because Roman was too selfish to acknowledge the part of it that Remy actually cared about. The part that everyone cares about, much more than they ever cared about the person behind it. Not that anyone asked. Not that anyone ever asks.

    He rolls onto his side and curls up in a ball and waits for the night to pass.

    “This you?” a voice demands. Roman blinks blearily, wondering how long he’d been asleep. Not very, if the stars shining proud overhead are any indication. Unless it’s the opposite, and he’s been asleep for days. It’s anybody’s guess, really. “Hey, wake up! This you?”

    He reaches up toward the sound of someone shaking a paper in his face, rubbing at his eyes and trying to make out the contents of the page amidst the darkness. A wanted sign, with strikingly accurate details about his magic, his past, and a picture of his face that’s unnervingly spot on, but—

    “Why did they make my forehead so big?” Roman whines, dropping the page and glancing around for whoever handed it to him. A hand snatches the paper back, and a pair of eyes appears inches away from his own.

    “Look, I’m not exactly an artist magicker, but I did my best,” that same voice mutters from beneath the eyes. “Let’s just head over to the station, okay? You squinting like a bat in sunshine looks really stupid.”

    “Your face looks really stupid,” Roman mutters, walking toward the station anyway. He’s been in weirder situations. Mostly because people get too much enjoyment from toeing the line with pestering him about his magic, but still.

    “You don’t know how my face looks, but I can assure you it’s worlds better than yours.”

    “I look amazing!” Roman’s protest echoes on the hollow breeze of the night, but the voice doesn’t return a snide remark this time. He continues on, seemingly alone, to the lamely flickering light at the station, half expecting someone to jump out and shout at him.

    Beneath the sole light bulb, Roman waits for the owner of the voice to reappear and join him on the bench. No one shows up, so he starts talking to the stars instead. “How did you get that information about my magic, and about my family?”

    “I think it’s pretty generous of you to call them your family,” the voice says from somewhere over his left shoulder. Roman turns to trace it, but the sound shifts to the shadows beneath his shoes. “You refusing to share information doesn’t mean no one else is allowed to know it. Especially if they know which shadows to shine a light on.”

    “Doesn’t give you the right to go spreading it around with a crappy wanted poster.”

    “Who said I made more than just the one copy?” The paper reappears in the shadows just past the reach of the station light, and accompanied by the sound of fingers snapping, it disintegrates. “I know what should and shouldn’t be shared. Give me some credit.”

    “How am I supposed to do that if I can’t even see you?”

    “Right, because seeing is believing. I always seem to forget that. Almost like it isn’t true.” Another snap, and those eyes materialize where the paper shattered. They stare at him like a feral cat, poised to attack. “Now have I earned your credit? Does your seeing me count as believing?”

    “Pfft. Hardly.”

    “How about now?” Another snap, and Roman finds himself on the edge of Depot town, watching everyone shutter their windows for the night, watching Jackie kick out the last few lingering drunks, watching Logan in deep conversation with Trevor as Sigma keeps a ball of water hovering over them.

    “How did you do that?” Roman demands, whirling around with his fists raised.

    “Right, because it’s so easy to fight a voice.” There’s an obvious tint of mockery this time, and Roman starts punching at the air. He feels ridiculous, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. “Hey now, no need to be so rude.” Another snap.

Back at the end of the line.

“How are you doing that?”

“You tell me. I’m just bending the shadows. You’re the one connected to the locations and the times.”

“I—what?”

Another snap. Back to Depot town, but it’s different than before. It’s daytime, for one thing, but artificially so. The moon still hangs among the stars, but they wear torn veils of sunshine and clouds, the rips in the fabric shining a spotlight on the mud ring, Roman follows the lines of pure white to the center and walks closer, not entirely certain why.

“No fair!” Remy’s voice echoes across the field. The boy stumbles over his feet, rushing to catch up to another silhouette while trying to hold up the cardboard box around his waist. The crude scribbles along the side try to make it look like a car, but they aren’t the most effective of artistic statements.

“Take me back,” Roman says coldly, desperately trying to tear his eyes away from the scene. But he can’t.

“No, I really think we should watch this play out,” the voice replies.

“I’m gonna beat you!” Roman’s voice shouts, but it’s not this Roman, not now, not quite. His lips move in time with the words, but nothing more than a strangled squeak escapes his throat. Other Roman, the littler Roman, is taunting Remy. What Roman wouldn’t give to hold them both back in the safety of this moment, for just a few seconds, to yank them out and hide them at the end of the line until the awful moment has passed. But he can’t.

As it is, he can only watch as the boys chase each other around the mud ring, bashing into each other with their cardboard boxes and making vroom vroom noises as they go.

“Sneak attack!” little Roman yells in time with Roman mouthing the same words. Little Roman drops his car and produces a long stick from within, grinning triumphantly. The fury of the moon masquerading as a sun burns down on it, and Roman can almost see smoke curling out of the tip, dark and grey and angry.

“Take me back,” Roman pleads, more desperate this time. He can feel the tremors of his voice all the way down to his feet, shaking the ground and sending his knees wobbling.

“Just another minute,” the voice says, completely unfazed. “Don’t forget, we’re only here because you brought it up. I’d happily return to the station if you would let yourself abandon this whole charade.” Roman feels something inside himself shatter as he watches the leaves spiral upward around the boys.

“That’s cheating!” Remy complains, watching little Roman fling his arms to the side. Roman can almost taste the negative pulls of love rising in his own body, and he hates it so, so much, the way the heat of the sun burns in his throat as his smaller self absorbs it, combining it with the dewy sweetness of the grass, the richness of the life in the mud, before it filters over his fingers, twice as bad now that Roman feels it both in his own hands and in his smaller self’s hands. He can feel it eating away at his skin as little Roman sends the emotions blasting into Remy’s chest, knocking the stick sword aside as if it were even less than the mere twig it already is.

“Please take me back.”

“Almost there.”

Roman can hardly stand to watch, yet he can’t force himself to look away, as the wind whips harder, faster, tearing the beautiful pink petals dancing in the air to shreds as they zero in on Remy. Roman falls to his knees, pleading with his younger self not to do it, but it’s far too late, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Say you love me!” little Roman demands, his voice forcing Roman’s jaw to move in time with the words. It might almost be a sweet sentiment, were it not for the millions of shreds of leaves hovering over his head like an arrow, poised directly above Remy’s heart, the moon in the sky using the stars as the bow waiting to release it.

“I—I—” Remy splutters, shaking his head. “This isn’t funny anymore, Roman, I don’t like this game anymore.”

“Say you love me!” little Roman insists, and the words are like a stab to Roman’s heart as he hears how awful, how hopelessly desperate and venomous they sound. They taste like poison as they spill from his own lips.

“Roman, please, I don’t—”

“Just say it before I go completely empty!” little Roman howls. With every quiver of his voice, the leaves over his head split again and again, more and more pieces of the love little Roman is desperate to give, more and more pieces of the love Roman has long since learned he cannot receive. Not unless someone gives it to him freely. No one ever has. Roman learned that the hard way, and here he is taking the same lesson again. He can’t look away.

Remy is frozen, a wild panic in his eyes as he searches for an escape from the sharpening arrow. A wilder look falls over little Roman’s face as he grows desperate, the lines etched in his skin wearing deeper, tearing claw marks over the surface that spawn into scars on Roman’s face. “Please, Remy, I need you to say it!”

“Roman, I don’t—”

“Roman!” an achingly familiar voice shouts from the door of the house nearby. Both Romans whip their heads around to see their mother racing barefoot through the mud, her shoes abandoned at the door. In a flash, she’s at Remy’s side, knocking little Roman out of the way and gathering the smaller boy up in her arms. She shoots little Roman a look of pure disgust, and it’s enough to curdle two stomachs at once, across the span of several years. “What were you thinking?”

“I—I don’t know, I just—” Little Roman’s lower lip wobbles dangerously, and Roman feels his own resolve shaking. His mind does everything it can to ignore the way the arrow overhead is spinning now, slowly breaking up into several smaller daggers. They shake and sink, trying to collapse, but they can’t. “I just wanted him to say he—”

“What, that he cares about you enough to let you force him to give you the magic back?” Though she’s not talking directly to him, not this him, not now him, Roman feels his heart shattering at the hatred in his mother’s voice. “Did it never occur to you that we don’t say it because it hurts too much? Just because you can give that love freely, it doesn’t mean we can, and it certainly doesn’t mean we’re obligated to.”

Roman lifts a hand to warn his mother, watching aghast as the leaves pick themselves back up, a sharper arrow than either of the ones before, aimed squarely at her heart, all the love in the world that little Roman could possibly muster, now a weapon Roman wishes he could turn away. She doesn’t hear him.

The arrow splits in two, one for mother, one for brother, and for a split second, Roman makes eye contact with Remy. The desperation in his face is enough to turn Roman’s heart to stone.

The arrows fall.

Roman’s world shatters.

A snap. The end of the line. “Well, that sure was an exciting little encore, wasn’t it?”

“You son of a—” Roman hisses, building up all the power of the moon back to its natural state, the knowledge of how many lovers use that little sphere as a landmark for their affection, a perspective around which to dance, amidst all the small creatures of the night and the life of the grass tipped in dew and the hum of creation buzzing down the train tracks, whipping it into a storm and bringing it down in tandem with his hands to smash the source of the voice into the ground, flatten and pound and hammer it until it has no chance of escaping, and when it’s all said and done, Roman pants heavily, bent over his knees and letting the energy of the twisted thing he calls love drain out of him.

“You certainly know how to put on a show, I’ll give you that,” the voice says from over his shoulder. Roman feels his body pulling in the energy again of its own accord, but the voice continues on unabated. “Have you considered that I’m just a figment of your imagination, a cursed fragment of your own mind? A shadow among shadows to remind you of all you’ve thrown away?”

“A shadow among shadows,” Roman repeats. He laughs, an empty sound that rings as dull as a cracked bell. In an instant, he pulls in all he can from every painstaking detail of each brick propping up the station building, funneling it into the sky and willing it to tear a hole directly through the secondhand sunshine dripping from the moon. “Any guess where I got the idea for that exciting little encore?” There’s a flash of brilliant light and a bang of sound, and a silhouette appears for a split second in Roman’s peripheral vision.

His whips around and seizes it, wrapping his hands around its throat and squeezing, squeezing, hating the image of the arrow that glows behind his eyelids like stolen sunshine whenever he blinks.

The silhouette still has those achingly empty eyes, which are hazily focused at best—they look over Roman’s shoulder, watching something take shape behind him. Roman glances back, stunned into silence when he sees that oh-so-familiar shape of the arrow of leaves. He swallows around a lump in his throat and slackens his hands, watching the leaves collapse to the ground as harmless debris. With every inch his hands relax, the leaves scatter weaker and weaker into the breeze, normal pieces of nature and not awful tools for something that only a heretic would call love.

The silhouette rocks to its knees and coughs, hacking up every ounce of air as it rubs gentle circles into its neck, and Roman scrabbles to get away from it. Even in the aftermath of that flash, he can still make out those eyes, still almost see the reflection of Remy hiding behind them.

“Like I said, putting on a show,” the voice says, sounding all kinds of broken and tattered. “What was it you called your magic again? Love? That’s a laugh, really, I can’t believe you’d call that love.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do, don’t I? We both saw that little scene of yours. I’m not the one that made that happen. It’s your own connection to the world through the twisted thing you call ‘magic’ that brought you there. You’re the one who was so desperate for love, he would throw away his family’s lives for the chance to get it.”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

“And yet here we are, me knowing all this information about you, and you knowing nothing about me. Do you think I didn’t notice all those times you pleaded for someone to love you before? Do you think those dark nights in empty alleys on your own were really so private? You’ve just been waiting for someone to say they love you, and I’m here to break the news that it’s never gonna happen, so you might as well accept it now.”

The silhouette lurches closer, a smattering of purple appearing around his neck. They pulse in time with Roman’s heart, a feeling like fire lighting up on his hands. He wipes them on his pants, trying to separate the bruises from what he doesn’t want to believe he tried to do. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, the silhouette pulls him up to his feet with impossibly strong hands, pressing their faces together even as Roman tries to resist, tries to ignore the faint details masked almost completely by the shadows surrounding its features.

“What was it you wanted to hear again?” it asks. “Love, was it?” There’s an agonizing ache behind the voice as a clear face takes shape over top of the blank silhouette, an awful recreation of his mother’s face, undercut by the same purple bruises. When it opens its mouth, it has her honeysuckle tone, and Roman feels his stomach turn. “Oh, Roman, darling dearest, I love you.” It shifts, cycling through an impossible list of features and expressions before settling on something gut-wrenchingly similar to his father’s face. “Hey, kid. I love you, you know that?” Another shift, this time to a face that Roman doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to picture, hates it hates it hates it let me go—

“Look at me, Roman,” Remy’s voice says, now aged well beyond any years it had the chance to experience. Roman can’t make himself look, but he feels matching bruises appear on his own throat with every second he ignores the face. Selfish, disgustingly selfish how he forces himself to look just to make the pain stop, but when he meets those eyes, he sees everything all at once—the arrow, the fall, the love that tore apart his mother, his father, ripping through Remy all at once as if it weren’t love but hate, hate, hate hate hate coursing through Roman’s veins as he meets the eyes that have no right being on this bastardization of Remy’s face and hears those awful terrible words echoing through his body, shaking him to his core. “I fzzt you.” Remy raises an eyebrow, trying again. “I fzzt you.” He smiles, an awful toothy expression. “Seems even you can’t imagine him saying it. Think I like this face best.” Remy leers at Roman, eyes wide enough to show the burning white on all sides. “I hate you.” Remy cocks his head to the side and grins, dropping Roman to the cold metal tracks and vanishing.

The voice does not come back.

Roman hates how relieved he is to drown in the silence. He’s starting to think finding Thomas might not be worth all this trouble, and that realization is enough to crumble the last of Roman’s dwindling spirit.

The shadows fold in around Roman as he buries his face between his knees and feels his body shake, his skin prickling as if it were being stabbed by millions of tiny arrows.

And he lies there.

And

He

Lies

There.

“Well, this simply won’t do,” a new voice, a warmer voice, a softer voice says. Roman doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes. “I see that shadow boy got to you first. Can’t imagine what dark corners of your mind he brought to light to get you like this. I know you can hear me, but you don’t have to say anything. I’m going to pick you up now, okay? Lift one finger if you can hear me and don’t want me to do that.” Roman doesn’t move. “Okay, I’m picking you up now. Please stop me if you’re uncomfortable.” With that, Roman feels a sturdy set of arms wrap around him, lifting him carefully into the air.

Then, oddly, the arms seem to expand, growing more arms like branches on a tree trunk, completely enveloping Roman in a soft blanket of tentative warmth. He stubbornly keeps his eyes shut, still feeling all those tiny arrows, still hearing the echoes of that cold voice in his head, still seeing Remy’s eyes stare out as his whispered those damning words.

He loses track of how many times they play over in his head, I hate you I love you I hate you I hate hate hate hate hate you Roman I hate you, simply letting them wash over his soul because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. They must reach a breaking point eventually, because he falls back into himself in time to feel the blanket retracting, returning to a normal pair of arms, gently laying him down on what feels like a mattress. Roman stares at the backs of his eyelids,, wondering whether they’ll force him to start talking soon.

I hate you, Roman.

Surely it wouldn’t have been possibly for the voice to replicate it so perfectly without hearing Remy say the words himself. Right?

“Now, you’re under no obligation to talk about what happened if you don’t want to. Trust me, I know how thorough that shadow boy is about people who find themselves out here.” The return of the kind voice is jarring in comparison to the cold anger flickering in Roman’s head, the reassurance in this tone almost enough to convince Roman to open his eyes. Almost.

“I’m sure you had some idea of what you were doing if you made it this far,” the voice continues, “so you’re probably here because you heard about that Thomas character.” At this, Roman’s eyes fly open. The voice laughs softly. “Thought so. Nice to see you’re alive, at least.”

Now having no choice but to keep his eyes open, Roman sits up and surveys the area. A greenhouse, it looks like, incredibly humid with the sun beating in—when did it turn to daytime?—through the concentrated glass and reflecting off innumerable green leaves and yellow flowers and brown dirt. The person owning the voice almost blends into it all, his skin a dark tan and his fingers stained green, his hair a sandy blond and his bare feet covered in scrapes and dried mud.

“Name’s Patton. Pleasure,” he says, extending a hand to Roman. Roman stares at it, uncomprehending. “That shadow boy,” Patton tuts. “Never does know when to quit, does he?”

“Can you blame me?” the colder voice asks. “This one’s a downright monster.” Roman leaps to his feet, brandishing his fists like the arrows he so hates, searching for the source of the voice and hearing a low growl escape his lips. “Whoa, Patton, you see? Call off the dog, yeah?”

“What have I told you about harassing our guests?” Patton chastises. “Go on, get out. You’re only permitted around here at night, and you’ve lost even those privileges for the next couple days.” Watching Patton converse with the distant voice is a silly enough sight to relax Roman, who lowers his fists and settles back down on the mattress. “Now, onto you. How can I help you? A name would be beneficial to me, at least.”

“Uh, Roman. I, um, I came here to find Thomas.”

“Roman,” Patton repeats carefully, chewing on the second syllable. Something twists in Roman’s gut at the sound. “That so? Yes, yes, we’ve established the reason you came here, but in order to help you, you need to tell me why you wanted to find Thomas.”

“I want to know how he did it. How he escaped having magic.”

“I would hardly call it ‘escaped.’”

“So he does exist, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, where is he, if he does exist? I want to get rid of my magic, and if you can’t help me, I’d like to get going sooner than later.”

Patton cocks his head toward the more crowded section of the greenhouse, folding his arms and squinting at Roman through mud-splattered glasses. “He’s in the back, but I don’t think you’re going to like what you find.”

“I don’t think I asked you.”

“I don’t think you didn’t ask me,” Patton mutters, stepping aside as Roman darts past him. Roman barely remembers to keep his feet under himself as he barrels for the back of the room. Nothing in the world could prepare him for how sharply his heart stops.

“It’s a statue,” he whispers, staring in confusion at the cold marble figure. “He’s just a statue?”

“Just a statue,” Patton confirms, appearing behind him. “Just an idea of a person, for people like you who want to believe in that idea. But I know you didn’t really come here to get rid of your magic because of some fairy tale idea, did you?”

“Yes, I did,” Roman murmurs, staring at the statue, at the complete lack of life in its eyes. It was a lie, wasn’t it? It was always a lie, he never really had a chance. “I came here to get rid of it, all of it.” Something hot and wicked coils up in his chest.

“That so?” Patton rests a hand on Roman’s shoulder, ignoring how he flinches at the touch. Actually, he squeezes harder, holding Roman still. “And why is it that I don’t believe you, hm?” His nails dig in deeper. “Maybe it’s what you’re doing to my plants.”

Roman glances around to see all the petals and leaves and branches wilting, browning, slowly dying, their colors filtering through the air and into his lungs as he starts gasping for breath.

“My strongest love has always been for nature,” Patton continues, his grip almost too much to bear. “I pour my heart and soul into my plants, into growing life from the ground and letting it blossom into the air, and I think that’s pretty evident right about now.”

Roman hardly hears the words, still taking in more color, more light, more life, more love from Patton, feeling the room squeeze out its very essence into his body as he pulls and pulls and pulls, his gaze drifting back to the statue, to the dead silence behind those eyes.

“Go on,” Patton murmurs, an impossibly loud noise amidst the silence Roman has created in the room. “Fill an empty husk with love and see what happens.”

Roman can’t exhale, taking in more and more and more air and colors and life and love, his lungs well past full as he swallows more breaths than he can take and he’s choking on all the love in the room, all the energy Patton is funneling into his plants which are spitting it right back out into Roman’s throat and then he sees Remy in his head and looks closer at the statue’s eyes and it hurts, oh God it hurts, and he’s coughing and sputtering and releasing the colors and the life and the love in broken breaths, barely noticing as his body collapses beneath him, not strong enough to hold up his throbbing head, emptying himself of all the colors and the life and the love in his heart that he’s always given, the thing that hurt the worst when he took it for himself, all spilling out in a rush like a slash across the chest and filtering into the statue and flowing around it, the petals of the smallest flowers floating up and dancing around its head like a wreath as Roman exhales and exhales and blessedly exhales and when he’s finally empty of it all and there’s no more love left to give, Roman wonders whether this is what the love he’s always yearned for feels like.

Patton nudges Roman’s still form with his toe, wincing at the way the skin squishes like mud. “That went better than I expected it to, given how much you had to pull at the shadows.” He looks up at the statue, at the flowers slowing their rotations around its head, each coming to rest along the shoulders. His foot strikes something solid.

“Oh, now that’s interesting.” He reaches down and feels around in Roman’s pocket, producing a little metal heart from within the fabric. “We’ll call it an offering.” He lays it at the statue’s feet, and if he were a sentimental man, he might comment on how for the briefest of moments, a spark of life flashes behind the statue’s eyes before it falls dead and silent once more. In the instant after the light disappears from the face, his plants turn a brighter green, growing a solid few inches in mere seconds. “Change the name and restart the rumors.”

“On it,” the voice says. A very familiar wanted sign materializes behind Patton. By nightfall, word had traveled all the way back past Depot town and to the inner cities and into deaf ears that have already forgotten the person who could spin the sunshine into hope. Past the end of the line is a man free of magic by the name of Roman.

In the darkest corner of a neat little pub tucked away in Depot town, beside a jukebox slowly breaking apart its inner machinery, a man disassembles his glasses. He watches the pieces swirl around his head like a crown as he crumples the paper into a ball and stuffs it in his pocket. “Jackie, I’m heading out again. Got a train to catch.”

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @mollycassmith @zerogettie @five-hour-anxiety @ashrain5 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @faacethefacts @rileyfirstname @sassy-in-glasses @virgil-has-a-houseplant @redundant-statements-for-400 @zennyo @extremistwateragenda @breloomings @jamthefan @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @crownswriter123 @rosesandstuff @dedaartist @unring-this-bell

[drfxster]

Fosterson Week, Day 2: Canon Divergence

Jane thought punching Loki the first time felt good. Getting to punch him four times before Topaz pulled her off him felt even better. “You should have stayed dead!” she shouted, trying to wriggle free. Loki just stared at her in disbelief.

“Janey, Janey, Janey,” the Grandmaster laughed as he watched the spectacle. “What about my new guest has got you so, uh, worked up?”

“Remember the boyfriend’s brother I mentioned?” she asked, finally breaking out of Topaz’s grip.

“This is the invade-y one that died?" The Grandmaster’s eyes moved up and down Loki.

“We thought he died,” Jane muttered.

“Well, that’s a story I have to hear.”

“I hope you’ll excuse me, then, sir. I still have a lot of work to do.” Jane shot Loki another glare before looking at the Grandmaster again.

“Alright, Janey, just give be sure to me an update on your gizmos and doodads tomorrow,” he said breezily. Jane clenched her teeth in a smile and resisted the urge to punch him too.

Living in a high-tech alien civilization where she got to work with their tech had been a lot cooler in her head. Asgard had been closer, and that had included an evil alien parasite using her as a host and sapping her energy, Odin insulting her and demeaning her, invasion by evil elves who killed Frigga, getting put under house arrest, and a really exhausting escape. 

Here on Sakaar, she had basically become the Grandmaster’s pet for a year and a half, and she was pretty sure he kept sending his minions to mess with her stuff when she went to sleep or left her lab, just to keep her around.

And now Loki was around. Joy.

After that little run-in, the mandatory parties became even more intolerable, one giant game of keep-away-from-Loki-and-the-Grandmaster. If she’d had any kind of political savvy, she’d have tried to get Loki an appointment with the pardoning stick, but she knew how to pick her battles, and the god of mischief was the last person to have a political vendetta with.

So she kept her head down. Pilfered what she could to keep building her portal back home. She would finish it eventually, the Grandmaster was only delaying the inevitable.

Then came the day when there was actually a reason to be at the party. She was hiding in the corner, making a few adjustments to the quantum screwdriver she’d cobbled together when she smelled electrical discharge and heard a very familiar, deep voice. Thor, shouting Loki’s name.

“Hey!” She crammed the screwdriver back into her pocket as she tried to charge after the guards wheeling him away, only for her skirt to get pinned down by someone’s foot. Whirling around, she saw the Grandmaster smiling at her, looking higher than usual.

“What’s the hurry, Janey?”

“Please tell me you are not sending my boyfriend into the arena,” she implored.

“Ohhh, right, Lord of Thunder would be your boyfriend, wouldn’t he?” The Grandmaster chuckled. “Maybe we should play that up in the promotions beforehand. You’re coming to the match, no arguments.”

“Are you kidding me? No, I’m not going to be part...how the hell did this even happen?”

“142 found him. Said he’s a contender.”

“142 is a nihilistic alcoholic mess who doesn’t care about anyone but herself!” Jane fumed. “Call it off. He’s not a slave.”

“Janey.”

“I am not calling them prisoners with jobs!”

“Shh, shh, save some of that spitfire for the main event.”

Oh, she really wanted to punch him.

Thor opened his eyes to find Jane sitting over him. “I don’t suppose this is Valhalla,” he croaked.

“Not exactly.” She bent down and kissed him very softly before dabbing at one of the cuts on his arms. “I’m so sorry this all happened to you.”

“How are you here?” He tried to sit up, but she placed a hand on his chest.

“Stay down, I’m still working. And to answer your question, Imploded wormhole generator in my lab. I don’t know how long it’s been on Earth, but it’s been a year and a half here,” she admitted.

“Oh, Jane.” He stopped as he realized there was someone else in the room, breathing heavily. Despite Jane’s best efforts, he sat up, making out the form of the Hulk sitting in what looked like a hot tub. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other. “Are we good?” Thor prompted, receiving only a huff in reply.

“Look, I need to get back to my lab before it gets trashed too much,” Jane interjected. “The Grandmaster keeps trying to curb my progress. But I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can. But first,” she paused to produce an odd looking wand-like instrument from the pocket of her dress. “Let’s see if I can’t get this off.” She held it up to the disk on his neck and Thor winced as it sparked against his skin. “I’m sorry, hold on, almost...got it.” She pulled the disk off. “Hang on to this, you might need it.”

“Clever as always, Jane Foster.” He smiled, and she kissed him again, a little more aggressively this time. “You swear to return?”

“I give you my word.” She deepened her voice to intimidate him, and he managed to laugh.

“Puny science girl,” Hulk muttered.

“Banner likes Jane,” retorted Thor. “And we need to talk.”

Jane was in the middle of working on the spectrometer when the guards came and dragged her into the throne room where the Grandmaster was dismissing Scrapper 142 and Loki.

“Janey, I’m really sorry to do this, but your boyfriend’s gonna have to die. It’s sad, you two must’ve been cute, but this is business.”

Then it clicked, just as the guards released their grips on her arms. “You’re about to try and make me into a hostage, aren’t you?”

The Grandmaster chuckled. “Sorry, but it’s poetic, you know? ”

“Please, don’t.”

“Janey—”

“Right, looks like I have to do this.” She pulled out her screwdriver and hit the detonator switch she’d hidden on the end, throwing it on the ground before she started running. “Bye!” The blast went off just as the mooks started chasing her, giving her the chance to swerve in the same direction she’d seen Loki and 142 go. And 142 had Loki knocked out flat on his back. “I wanna know how you did that.”

“You’re with the blond idiot?”

“Thor?”

“Yeah, him.”

“We’re a thing, yeah.”

“Then come on.”

“Surprise.”

Thor immediately flung the nearest bottle at Loki’s head, just to make sure he was real, then noticed Jane scribbling on the walls. “Hjarta, what are you doing?”

“Well, thing is, all my research is back in my lab at the Grandmaster’s palace, so I can’t go back and get it, which means we don’t have my wormhole generator to get out of here. Which means we’re gonna need to go through one of the wormholes, and our best shot is probably the big one, which is also dealing with a a collapsing neutron star—”

“I tried to tell her that we should find a clean one, but apparently, she’s insisting on the Devil’s Anus,” Valkyrie complained.

“Hey, after what you told me about Hela, we’re on a time crunch, right, Brynnhilde?” Jane shot back. “So, anyway, I’m trying to get the coordinates down right, because we’re only going to have one shot.”

“And we’re going to need a ship,” Valkyrie interjected. “Mine would get torn to pieces in that thing.

“The Grandmaster has a great many ships. And I may have the access codes,” Loki spoke up, only to get another bottle launched in his direction by Valkyrie.

“He’s not serious, is he?” Banner asked. “We’re not actually going to trust him?”

“He’s Loki,” Thor said with a groan. “We can trust him to what’s in his best interests, which currently align with ours.”

“Thor,” Jane said warningly. “Remember what happened last time.” Thor turns his palm to her briefly, showing the obedience disc she pulled off him.

“We will work with what we have. But first, we need to start a revolution.”

[boredymcbored]

My Sciatic

Is killing me. I can’t sit at my computer all day man. Shit fucks me up.

I don’t have much to say and wanna give The Sap™ a break, so I’ll instead talk about a fun dream I had with a friend that I miss. So actually, subject of The Sap™ was part of the initial dream, which I don’t completely remember, but I do remember it transitioning into a dream with the friend I miss. And we decided to start a pizzeria? I think it’s was a old Chinese food place that we remolded to be appropriate for pizza. And then we needed to go to the store at night to get supplies for the pizza so we just had a fun time jumping between isles, finding ingredients.

It really makes me want to hang with her cause it tapped into all the chaos and adventure we would happen ourselves into. There are a couple of friends I have where I know that we would have no plans but by the end of the night, end up happening into an insane experience and she’s one of them. When I tell you that adventure time just becomes adventure, it does. Only one other person that I have had crazier times with consistently and that’s probably because I wasn’t around her as much as my other homie.

She’s in Atlanta again and I’m so happy. I’m hoping I can hang with her soon. This summer has been about realizing how important that solid, in person, connection with people is and I want to do that with so many more people. I’m busy, but finding time for friends old and new I realize can give you so my energy. Be a breath of fresh air.

I realized that perfectly a week ago when I went to the rave with some of my homies and geez was it important. I got to help my bro, who was going through it, feel better (I still need to do more in that regard), I got to see an old college friend, and hang with my super fun work friend that also happens upon some crazy shit. I even met a set of her friends that wanted to do go to a dark park (which sounded soooooo fun) but I had work and couldn’t hang. Tuuuuhhh, can’t go to em all.

It’s my highschool friends I want to reconnect with the most. I have a car now, no reason I shouldn’t be hitting them up too. They are all over, but they are the ones that first accepted me for the dorky nerd I was. And I miss them a ton. It doesn’t seem like life is treating them the best sometimes. And I want to bring that joy into their life, if only temporarily. I miss the homies and hate to see them sad.

Anyway, I said I wasn’t going to say a lot but now it’s 3am and I forgot that I work tomorrow. This writing shit kinda like my therapist trips, I guess. I say I have nothing to say and then boom, I’m into the thick of a 5 paragraph plus soliloquy.

[jincherie]

catsitting | kyungsoo

↼pairing: kyungsoo x reader ↼genre: fluff, slight-but-not-really angst, Hybrid!AU ↼rating: sfw ↼words: 6.6k+

You somehow find yourself ‘catsitting’ for your best friend while he’s on a week-long trip. The only problem? His ‘cat’ hates you.

↼posted; 15.06.2017

↼masterlist

It was on a lazy Friday morning that you were startled awake by your phone and forced to reconsider your choice of ringtone at 7:23AM. “Kim Jongin why are you calling me at seven in the morning?” you answered the incessant ringing blearily, not even halfway to being fully-functioning yet.

“Come to your front door.” He said, only causing you to feel confusion. “And hurry up.” He added.

Half-asleep and dressed only in the Star Wars boxers you wore as pyjama pants and a singlet, you rolled out of bed and onto the floor, the resulting bang and abrupt pain enough to jolt you reasonably awake. “OW! Fuc—“

“Don’t swear there are children nearby!” Kai scolded, and there was what sounded like someone being hit on the other side of the line and some muffled protests.

“You don’t own me.” You grumbled as you dragged yourself to your feet and started your trek to the front door. You yanked it open unceremoniously, glaring at the person before you. Kai hung up on you, grinning with a cheerfulness that did not belong on the face of someone who was about to die.

“Good morning!” he greeted. “I have a favour to ask of you!”

“Go away.” You tried shutting the door but his movements were quicker than yours.

“That’s so rude y/n!” he whined, pouting. “Anyway, I need you to do something for me.”

Begrudging and acknowledging the fact that you weren’t going to be able to leave without at least hearing what he wanted, you sighed. “What do you want?”

Kai beamed, delighted, and looped his arm around someone who had until then been just out of sight, bringing him to his side. “I need you to look after Kyungsoo for me while I go on a business trip for two weeks.”

Kyungsoo, Kai’s beloved cat hybrid, was giving you a blank look that although was not outright disdainful, was on its way there. You winced. Kyungsoo hated you, and you didn’t even know why. From the day Kai had brought him home from the shelter and excitedly called you over to show him to you he had taken a clear disliking to you. You wouldn’t lie to yourself, it was hurtful, especially since he was warm and friendly to Kai but preferred to ignore you. Every other cat in the world would love you, or at the very least tolerate you, but Kyungsoo? He didn’t care much for you at all.

It took a moment for his words to catch up to you. “What?” you blinked, running a hand through your hair. You gave the hybrid a wary glance. Last time you had been this close you had been reaching for the TV remote at Kai’s and he had scratched you, clearly displeased. “Why me? Don’t you have friends that he actually likes that you can ask? Oh, wait, that requires having other friends.” You snickered. You may be half asleep but an opportunity to burn your best friend was still an opportunity.

“They’re all busy, either with work or school or their own hybrids. You’re the only one who literally has nothing going on in their life.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you still felt like you should be insulted. Your hand came to rest over your heart in a movement of feigned hurt. “Rude,” you said. “And how would you know? I might have something going on this week, and the next. I’m a busy girl you know, I have a lot going on. Fish to fry, irons in the fire. My time is very sought after these days.”

Kai snorted and Kyungsoo made a face. Wow. Why hadn’t you shut the door on them again?

“Anyway, my plane leaves in an hour so if you could hurry and come to a decision—“

“Kai!” you cried. “Are you kidding me?! Give me some more warning next time! Why am I even friends with you?!”

“So is that a yes?” Kai looked hopeful, ridiculously so, and his cat looked the very opposite of pleased at this new development.

You groaned. “Yes, fine. But you owe me, and I will not accept McDonald’s this time! I want smoothies, and frappes!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he gushed, letting go of Kyungsoo to rush forward and envelop you in a hug before retreating and pushing the hybrid towards you. Kyungsoo yowled, knocking into you and hissing before leaping back. Oh, god, this was a terrible idea.

Kai grinned. “See you in two weeks! I’ll text you a list of things you need to know later!” he called, making his leave and quickly closing the door behind him.

You and Kyungsoo stood in shock a few moments after the door shut.

“Incredible.” You muttered to yourself. “The urge to beat him increases every day.”

You then turned— you needed a shower.

“Make yourself comfortable, Kyungsoo. The loungeroom is over there, and you can have the spare bedroom. It’s the first door on the right. I’m going to shower,” you said, before you then abruptly left, not wanting to see the displeased look the adorable hybrid was probably sending you by now.

Oh boy were you in for a long ride.

. . . . . .

Four days had passed and Kyungsoo was clearly trying his best to pretend you didn’t exist, with varying degrees of success (he had to eat with you sometimes), and for the most part you let him. It hurt a little, especially since you had an intense urge to pet him and scratch behind his adorable little ears, but if he didn’t want anything to do with you then you would leave him alone. For the most part he did his own thing, but you could swear you caught him looking at you every now and then.

Over the days you had work you had gradually been forced to stay back longer and longer, and this time you had to stay back until 6 when you normally left at 4. Needless to say when you got home you were tired as all hell and surprised beyond belief when you opened the door and heard footsteps come scampering towards you. Kyungsoo rounded the corner, doe eyes wide as he took in the sight of you in the doorway, startled and holding a takeaway bag. An indescribable emotion passed across his face before his eyes narrowed at you and his ears flicked in annoyance, long, dark tail following suit behind him.

“Where were you?” he demanded, looking grumpy. “Why did you take so long?”

Naturally you felt the urge to snap back but honestly you were too tired and didn’t want to be mean to Kyungsoo (even if he was being a total meanie himself). This was the most he’d spoken to you in four days, and you were a little salty that it was only to demand where you had been with his food.

He really must hate you a lot more than you thought.

Suddenly overcome with a wave of sadness at the prospect that the hybrid before you hated you that much and you still didn’t even know what you’d done to warrant it, you sighed. You felt completely sapped of energy.

“Sorry,” you muttered an apology. “I got kept back again at work and they took a while making the food.”

Not looking at him you finished entering the house and after locking the front door you moved to drop the food on the table. Hesitating only for a moment, you continued down the hall to your room.

“I’m not hungry, but you can eat. I’m going to bed. Goodnight Kyungsoo.”

You didn’t fall asleep for a long time that night.

. . . . .

 ‘…He gets lonely at night so you have to let him sleep in the same room as you, at least! I usually let him sleep in my bed. And he enjoys cuddles, he’s a cuddly person, so make sure you cuddle him at least once a day.’

You snorted to yourself as you read the list Kai had sent you a day or so ago, dressed and laying on top of your bed. That was certainly not going to happen, not while Kyungsoo had such an aversion to your presence.

‘…You should also make sure he bathes. Tongue baths don’t count!! He doesn’t like water much at all, so you might have to go in there and make sure he actually—‘

Alright, you’d read enough for now.

Sighing, you lay there and closed your eyes, trying to postpone the inevitable: leaving your bedroom. You honestly shouldn’t be taking some cat hybrid’s rejection so much to heart, but you couldn’t help it. At the very least, you wanted to be friends with Kyungsoo.

You had just about resigned yourself to laying on your mattress until you died when your doorbell rung. You froze, mentally checking what day it was; you didn’t think you were expecting visitors. Unless…

Crap. Today was Wednesday and you had completely forgotten that you had promised to watch your friend Luhan’s cat, Sehun, for the night. You groaned in a sickening moment of realisation. Was this what your life had come to? Catsitting for every owner under the sun?

You rolled from your bed and hurried to the door, passing a confused and sleepy looking Kyungsoo on the way. Kyungsoo was friendly to everyone but you, right? Surely he would get along with Sehun. Sehun was only a little bratty sometimes.

You nearly tore the door of its hinges in your rush. “Good morning!” you chirped, trying to make it seem like you’d been awake a lot longer than an hour. You’d only showered and dressed twenty minutes ago.

“Morning!” Luhan greeted cheerfully, Sehun doing the same where he stood towering over his owner. Holy shit had he grown since you’d last seen him?

You squinted at Sehun playfully. “Do you ever stop growing?”

He cracked a smile, playfully swaying a little where he stood. Luhan answered for him. “No, he doesn’t. Technically he’s still a kitten so he’s not really meant to stop growing but he just shot up, right? I need something that gives me a warning so I know when I need to buy new clothes.”

Sehun seemed amused but stayed silent. Luhan continued. “Anyway, thank you so much for doing this. I figured it would be better for him to stay with someone rather than alone at home, and he likes you so… I’ll be back for him at 12 tomorrow. No brainstorming ways to make my life more difficult, okay?!”

Sehun giggled and Luhan leant up to kiss his forehead goodbye, before he waved at you and left.

“What a weirdo. Anyway, Sehun, come on in. I have someone else staying with me right now, but he’s pretty chill so I think you’ll get along.”

You were right, the two hybrids hit it off pretty well, but Kyungsoo had given you a strange look when you had brought the other hybrid into the room. When Kyungsoo left an hour later after playing with his new friend, most likely to go read something, Sehun sidled up to you, seeking affection. You grinned and allowed yourself to be guided to the loungeroom. Sehun was usually pretty quiet when not in a playful mood and simply enjoyed your pets and scratches. He wasn’t like this with just anyone, which was undoubtedly part of the reason Luhan had dropped him off with you in particular. You’d looked after Sehun before and knew he enjoyed the comfort of having someone next to him, even while he slept.

You sat on the couch, turning the TV on and putting on a movie because you knew when Sehun settled down for a cuddle it was until he was ready to get up, and attempting to leave before then got you a tight grip and a whining catboy. So you settled on a movie and allowed Sehun to curl his larger frame around you. Kyungsoo was the tiniest bit shorter than you but Sehun was a fair bit taller. A satisfied hum started in Sehun’s throat when you ran your fingers through his hair and began scratching behind his ear, and he nuzzled his nose against your neck a little. You could feel his ear flicking against your cheek and his tail resting over your thigh. He was warm, and you both felt relaxed. At one point Sehun began to purr softly.

At some point in the movie Kyungsoo had wandered back into the loungeroom, and froze upon seeing you and Sehun. You glanced over in time to see the look he shot you, a mixture of hurt and frustration, before he sat on the other couch, angling his body away from you and reading. You were confused and also a little hurt yourself. What had you done this time?

Kyungsoo left soon after, presumably to go to his room, and you hadn’t even realised Sehun was still awake until you heard him speak against your neck.

“Why are you sad?” he asked softly, clutching you a little tighter.

You contemplated lying before dismissing the idea. For such a whiny, needy catboy Sehun was alarmingly perceptive. He would know you were lying.

“Because he hates me,” you sighed. “And I don’t even know what I did to upset him so much.”

Sehun simply hummed against your neck, staying silent. Whether it was because he didn’t know why himself or for another reason, you didn’t know.

. . . .

That night you had slept with Sehun cuddled up to your side, a pleasant warmth in the cool of your house. You saw nothing wrong with it, of course; you’d done it many times before. Sehun simply enjoyed human contact and being cuddled.

Kyungsoo, however, seemed to possess opposite views on the matter, scowling at you as you shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, Sehun gripping your shirt and lagging behind you. You pretended not to see the look, instead turning to the cupboard and asking what they both wanted for breakfast. After eating Sehun and Kyungsoo played in the loungeroom a bit while you cleaned the house a little.

As 12 o’clock rolled around and Luhan arrived to pick up Sehun, you were about to wave goodbye to them at the door when the tall hybrid rushed over and leaned down whisper into your ear.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sehun whispered hurriedly, his cute little lisp making an appearance. “He’s just hurt.”

He then pulled away with a smile like that was meant to explain everything and waved, running off to where Luhan stood waiting in your front yard. They went, and contrary to what Sehun had probably intended you were left even more confused than before. Hurt? Why was he hurt? What had you done?

You puzzled over it for the rest of the day, hardly having to worry about bumping into Kyungsoo since he avoided you like the black plague anyway. What could you have possibly done?

You didn’t have a clue as to the answer until after dinner when you were curled on the couch, playing a videogame on your Xbox. Kyungsoo shuffled into the room, glancing at you momentarily before moving to the spot he had claimed as his on the other couch. He had adjusted the cushions there so that they sat almost like another person as he curled into them.

You figured he was going to pretend you didn’t exist like he had been for the past week, and so were surprised when he spoke to you, sounding annoyed and upset. “Is anyone else coming over for you to cuddle and be affectionate to, or was Sehun the only one? Why did you even say yes to watching me? Why did you cuddle with him when you refuse to touch me?”

Your gaze had fallen on him when he first started speaking and you were alarmed at his words to say the least. You hadn’t expected them at all. His tail had begun twitching agitatedly as he spoke, thumping against the couch faster and faster until he was finished and he sat a moment before leaping up and rushing away, head bent down.

The sounds of your character dying in the background greeted your ears as you watched him leave. Absentmindedly you saved and turned off the console and TV, no longer in the mood for playing. You went to bed but didn’t sleep, mind whirling a mile a minute trying to figure out what he meant and why he was upset until it clicked.

Did he think… that you didn’t like him? And didn’t want to pet him? But what could have given him this impression? You thought back. When Kai had first brought him home and summoned you over you hadn’t petted him at all, but that was because you were trying to respect him and give him personal space. Kai had told you how literally everyone else who had seen him hadn’t been able to resist giving him a pet or a scratch and so you thought he might appreciate a break from being manhandled.

But maybe, from his perspective… you winced. It probably looked like you disliked him. Everyone else had shown him affection but you had kept your distance and refused to touch him. Oh boy were you an idiot. Why were you like this?

You couldn’t tell for sure, but you had a feeling this was what had been causing such problems between you. You rolled over, eyes finally growing heavy, and resolved yourself to testing this theory tomorrow.

. . . . . . .

“Hey, Kyungsoo, wake up, I have something for you.”

The hybrid’s ears, the only visible part of him beneath the covers he had bundled around himself, twitched at the sound of your voice. Slowly he rolled over, blinking blearily. You grinned. “I brought you breakfast, since I have to leave early today. I’ll leave it here for you.” You set the tray down as you spoke, dusting your hands once you were done. As your eyes fell back on him you noticed a downy feather caught slightly in his hair near his ear.

This was the perfect opportunity. Taking advantage of the fact that he was still half asleep and therefore couldn’t scratch you, you shuffled closer and leaned to gently pluck it off. You allowed your hand to pet the hair down after you were done, brushing his ear a bit. It twitched, and he was looking at you in slight shock as you leaned back, shooting him a smile. “See you later, Kyungsoo.”

And then you left before he could come to his senses and chew you out.

When you returned after work it was to the sound of the TV softly playing in the loungeroom and you saw Kyungsoo on the couch, watching it determinedly (most likely because he’d just heard you come home).

“Hello, Kyungsoo.” You greeted warmly, ruffling his hair gently as you walked past. You caught a startled look from the corner of your eye but didn’t hear anything else. Grinning at the success so far of operation Let-Kyungsoo-Know-You-Don’t-Hate-Him, you went to your room, changing before returning and going to the kitchen to start dinner. Kyungsoo walked past several times, sending a confused and slightly curious look your way with each round he made. Eventually dinner was ready and you both sat down to eat it, the meal spent in silence. After dinner you washed up and left for bed, however this time, unlike all the previous nights, you left your door open. It had occurred to you throughout the day that maybe Kyungsoo did want to sleep in your bed with you at night and the only reason he hadn’t might be because he took your closed door as a sign of rejection. So this night, you left it open.

You had work the next day and it was spent much in the same fashion as the previous, except when you came home it was to the smell of an already cooked meal. Slightly alarmed, you rushed to the kitchen to find Kyungsoo serving your two meals. You felt pretty guilty, you had come home a bit later than usual.

“Sorry,” you said with a sheepish smile. “You didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it.”

Kyungsoo shrugged, averting his eyes. “I was hungry.” He mumbled.

Dinner was delicious (you had a feeling it also had a lot to do with the fact that someone other than you had cooked it for once), and after you finished you had the urge to turn and speak to Kyungsoo. He was still at the table, lost in thought as he pushed the last bit of food around his plate.

“Kyungsoo,” you started. He nearly jumped in surprise, large doe eyes finding yours. You smiled. “I want you to know, I don’t hate you. I don’t dislike you either. I like you and I’ll always cuddle with you if you want, but only if you want. I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

The hybrid was more than startled, wide eyes following you in shock even as you placed your plates in the sink and moved to your bedroom. You left the door to your room open once more.

The real difference came the next day. It was after work and dinner once more that you settled down in the loungeroom, putting a movie on, and simply enjoying it for now. Around ten minutes later the couch you were on dipped from a light weight and you turned, surprised, to see Kyungsoo. He wasn’t looking at you, but everywhere else his eyes could reach, his hands clutching the material of his pants.

He simply sat there for a while, and you smiled to yourself, turning back to the movie you had chosen. Gradually, over an excruciatingly long period of time, Kyungsoo crept closer, shuffling and shifting until he was just a hair’s width away. You smiled, lifting your arm, and he slowly cuddled into your offered side, still slightly stiff. Any tension that was in his form left as you started petting him gently, and he finally relaxed completely into your side, tail flicking in a way that for once didn’t indicate irritation.

You were absolutely ecstatic at the new development in how Kyungsoo regarded you. He was letting you pet him!! And he had come to you!!! Just wait until Kai heard about this when he returned in a week. You were grinning stupidly to yourself, thankful the hybrid in question couldn’t see the dumb look on your face.

That night you went to bed alone, but a few hours after you had both departed for bed you woke to see a timid figure in your doorway. Blinking blearily, you shuffled over so there was space and lifted the duvet for him, a beckoning gesture. Kyungsoo scampered over in the minimal lighting (you were thankful he could see pretty well in the dark) and climbed quickly in, like he was afraid you’d come to your senses at any second and take back your offer, kicking him out. What a strange cat.

You were facing each other but even with your eyes closed you could almost sense his tension and silent anxiety. Wordlessly you moved and grasped his hand comfortingly. You heard a soft gasp and for a second he remained tense but moments later it began to bleed from his form and he shuffled closer, tangling his legs with yours. You could feel his tail tickling your thigh where your pyjama shorts ended. Smiling to yourself, you fell asleep quickly thanks to the giddy glee you’d felt at Kyungsoo’s actions and the warmth he radiated.

. . . . .

The next morning when you woke Kyungsoo had worked his way over the space between you and had managed to entangle every limb you had with his own, his tail wrapped around your waist securely and an arm joining it, holding you close. You never would have guessed he was this kind of snuggler. His head was nestled in your neck and your own arm had fallen over him during the night as well. Unable to resist you moved your free hand and petted his head a bit, running your fingers through hair that admittedly was getting a bit close to its use-by date (a shower or bath was in order, you were thinking— Kai had said he was prone to avoiding them because of the water and you hadn’t seen him go into the bathroom to bathe at all) but still soft nonetheless, and you rubbed behind his ears. The reaction was instantaneous— Kyungsoo jolted the slightest bit and his breath hitched into a purr in his throat, the sound like music to your ears. Now this was progress!

You lay like that for a while, simply holding him close. He seemed pleased, satisfied, and the thought made you happy. You did know, however, that you needed to get Kyungsoo to bathe at some point lest Kai found out you’d let him go two weeks without so much as touching soap and water.

“I have something to say and you’re probably not going to like it,” you warned, feeling the cat tense in your arms. “You should probably shower before Kai kills me.”

Kyungsoo huffed, clutching you tightly as you tried to sit up. “No.” he refused bluntly. “I don’t want to. I don’t like water.”

You sat up with much effort, Kyungsoo clinging to you even as you swung your legs over the edge. “You gotta,” you attempted to persuade him, forcing yourself up. Kyungsoo was like a koala in the way he gripped onto you, refusing to let go.

“No.”

“Kyungsoo,” you whined, shuffling towards the bathroom. He had a ridiculously strong grip, it was honestly incredible, but he was also heavier than he looked so the trip to the bathroom took much longer than you thought it would.

As you got closer he seemed to realise that clinging to you was, in fact, doing the opposite of what he had originally intended and instead was bringing him much closer to the exact situation he was trying to avoid. He hissed as you crossed the threshold onto tiles and instead of gripping began attempting to push off you. You looped your arms around his middle, grinning.

“Bath time! Please don’t scratch me I don’t know where my bandaids are!”

Kyungsoo yowled, trying furiously to get out of your grip, his position making it difficult for him to get enough leverage to break free. He hissed and whined the entire time you filled the bathtub, only pausing in curiosity as you threw a bath bomb in there for his sake. Maybe he’d enjoy it more if it was special.

Then the tap was off and he was back to refuting the experience with all his might. He wriggled and squirmed, looking like he was about to bite you. You were reaching for something along the bathtub when he gave a particularly strong movement, knocking you (and therefore consequently him) off balance and causing you to fall backwards into the tub. There was a loud splash and Kyungsoo squawking as he was submerged all of a sudden in the very substance he had been avoiding for a week. You laughed at the situation, keeping your arms around him even as he freaked out a little and frantically tried to escape even more. Your pyjamas were soaked but at least your hair was still dry.

“Kyungsoo!” you said, bringing him close to you so he wouldn’t freak out so much. “Kyungsoo, its alright! Look, you’re fine, I’m here, you’re okay I’ve got you. Look at the water, isn’t it pretty? Look at all these bubbles.”

Your attempts to distract him seemed to work and you watched as he gradually stilled and brought his hand to cup some bubbles that were floating on top of the water. “See? This isn’t so bad.” You murmured, rubbing Kyungsoo’s side gently before reaching for the shampoo. His hair had gotten pretty soaked in his flailing, but his ears being pressed against his head had stopped any excess water getting inside them.

From that point the bath went pretty smoothly, you managed to get Kyungsoo pretty clean (you had made Kyungsoo wash himself with soap, too embarrassed to do it yourself but after washing his hair and massaging his scalp he seemed a lot more cooperative and mellow). He had protested and clung onto you when you tried to exit the bath without him though, so you had sat there while he finished up and waited for him to be done.

You wrapped him in a towel once you both climbed out, water sloshing everywhere and you winced at the thought that you’d have to clean that up at some point. You grabbed another towel and gently dried his hair, being mindful of his ears.

“Well, that isn’t exactly how I planned for that to go but at least you’re clean now.” You said, rubbing his scalp gently. The sensation must have been nice because a low purr began to rumble in the back of Kyungsoo’s throat and he leaned into your touch. His resentment of a bath and the fact that you’d forced him into one seemed forgotten.

After you’d both gotten dry and changed, and you emerged from your room Kyungsoo was at your side in the blink of an eye, his own wide eyes looking up at you. His hand found purchase in your shirt and you smiled at him, reaching up to pet his ears. Purrs erupted in his throat and he looked embarrassed before you laughed and began to move towards the kitchen.

You could hardly believe he was actually warming up to you.

. . . . .

The next few days were pleasant and spent more amicably than you could have hoped. He really had warmed up to you, putting your fears that maybe his responsiveness was just a fluke to rest. He’d grown to be almost as clingy as Sehun, except from time to time his pride caught up to him and he pretended he wasn’t as needy as he was acting.

The previous day he had come up and wound his arms around your waist as you were cooking, pressing his face into your neck and purring softly. You’d blushed but felt over the moon.

However, before you even knew it your week with the hybrid had come to an end, and as you heard the sound of your doorbell ring out you realised belatedly that the time had come for you to bid him farewell for now. Kyungsoo had run to the door as soon as he heard the sound of his owner arriving, waiting eagerly as you opened it to see a grinning Kai on the other side.

“Kai!!” Kyungsoo exclaimed, leaping at him and wrapping his arms around him tightly. Your friend staggered from the sheer force of the affectionate hug, but nonetheless returned it, laughing.

“Hey ‘Soo!!” he spun the hybrid around a bit. “I missed you! And oh my god I see you’ve showered?? You got him to bathe???” he seemed more shocked than anything towards the end as he looked at you, bewildered.

You grinned, pushing your misplaced sadness to the back of your mind for now. ��Yep. What can I say, I think bath bombs really do the trick.”

Kyungsoo hugged Kai a little tighter before running off to gather his bags. You watched him go, before turning back to see your friend looking at you smugly. You had a sudden urge to hit that look off his face.

“What?” you asked, already knowing the direction the conversation was about to take.

“I see you’re still in one piece, alive and well and, oh, happy, in the company of a certain lovely feline no less!!” he exclaimed, extremely smug and looking beyond pleased with himself.

“Shut up Kai.” You ignored the slight flush that came to your cheeks. “We’re good now. He doesn’t hate me anymore, and honestly I’m kinda sad he has to go.”

Kai seemed taken aback. “Wow, what happened while I was gone?” he joked, poking you playfully. “Are you even the y/n I know and love?”

You batted at him. “Be quiet, you still owe me. I’m expecting those frappes.”

Kyungsoo returned before Kai could respond, carrying his bags with him and looking at both of you happily. “I’m all ready.” He said, smiling at his owner.

“Excellent.” Kai said, taking one of the hybrid’s bags. “Well, we should probably be off. I went for groceries before coming here and can’t really leave the milk in the car very long. Thank you again so much, y/n, I really appreciate it.  I’ll be sure to deliver on those frappes sometime.”

You smiled, a little sad. “It was my pleasure.” You spoke, looking at Kyungsoo. “I’d love to have you around again. You’re welcome anytime.”

Kyungsoo beamed at you, dropping his bag to throw his arms around you tightly. You were a little surprised but laughed, wrapping your arms around him too. He nuzzled your neck before retreating and grabbing his bag once more, ears flicking happily. “Thank you.” He said happily, with the cutest smile you had ever seen on his face.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled, before laughing at the pleased expression on Kai’s face. He had been trying for God knows how long to make you and his hybrid get along and now it was finally happening he seemed very pleased with himself.

“Well, bye y/n! We’ll see you around!” he bid you farewell, looping his arm through Kyungsoo’s. They both waved as they left, and you returned the gesture, a little sad, but overall sated.

You knew as you watched their car disappear in the distance that you’d be seeing them both soon again anyway, and next time you were going to spend the whole time with Kyungsoo.

Yeah, you thought to yourself as you closed your door with a small smile. That sounded great.

[feverhalo]

A Quiet Day (FMA)

FMA Exhaustion!fic/Sick!fic

Sick/Exhausted!Ed, A+ Brother Al, and Parental Roy and Riza caring for the two of them awww

Basically some minimally edited (i read through it twice) indulgent shit because I had a sad and wanted to write something vaguely comforting.

1914 words long, and dreadful tense abuse im sure. No real warnings needed, but there is passing mention of their mom and kind of like that semi-depressed funk of exhaustion (or at least thats what it was supposed to be)

Ed laid with his head pillowed in his arms. He sniffled back the congestion causing his face to throb and felt it gather in the back of his throat. He kicked his good leg out from under the covers with a groan, and Alphonse found it hard to keep quiet.

 “Do you need medicine, brother?” Al’s shoulders slumped with a creak of the cold metal. Ed had been laying in bed like this for hours, not answering past head shakes or something so muffled Al couldn’t understand. “Can I at least take your temperature? We still have a thermometer somewhere…”

 Ed sniffed again and swallowed before shaking his head. He rolled to his side to look at Alphonse before rubbing at his watery, red-rimmed eyes and swiping his wrist under his nose. His head was so stuffed and felt so thick, and he tried to just wrap up in a blanket and sleep it off, but the stubborn lack of a fever made it feel silly. He stretched his arms over his head and felt his back pop and his heavy muscles pull. It almost felt good to sit up and stretch a little, but that energy would fade soon.

 “Are you going to finish getting dressed?” Al looked over to where Ed had dropped his night clothes, and managed to get his pants and one sock on before flopping back into bed. He hadn’t moved much until now, but somehow his loosely-tied hair was even more of a knotted mess.

 “I guess,” Ed’s one eye crinkled as he swallowed after speaking, arm brushing up under his chin before being used to push himself up.

 “Why don’t you just get back in pajamas? Pajamas are more comfortable, even Teacher let us have pajama days.” Just like mom, Ed straightened, more defiant at the unspoken comparison.

 “She’s not here.” He cleared his throat, grabbing the previously abandoned shirt and pulling it on. He eyed his red coat, and threw it over his shoulder before walking out.

 Alphonse sighed and got up to follow. Ed swiped at his nose again, sniffling before coughing into his elbow. The congestion was awful and, though it was only a few coughs the combination was enough to loose a few stray tears. Ed grumbled and wiped them away too before turning and stomping quickly down the stairs. Alphonse locked their door and followed, lighter on his feet and caught the door as it was swinging shut behind his brother.

 The brisk walk through the late-afternoon sun was quiet. Ed clearing his throat now and again, and Alphonse following behind. Anyone else walking on the street gave a wide berth or crossed to the other side. Ed would have likely bowled through them if they hadn’t, focused on moving forward. The steady thud and clang of his mismatched footsteps, the glint off his exposed automail arm, and the set glare on his face; with or without the tell-tale Fullmetal-Red cloak bunched up and slung over his shoulder it was surprisingly intimidating.

 For as listless as he had been all day, once he got to the military HQ, Ed seemed to have more of his energy back. Running on pure spite again, brother?  

 Mustang’s office doors were left slightly ajar to allow better airflow through the summer, and Ed just planted his foot and kicked it open as usual. He cleared his throat once more, and Alphonse noted the brief tensing across his older brother’s shoulders immediately afterwards.

 “Well. You’re here late,” Havoc blinked up at Ed from where he had been working.

 “Well, I’m here.” Ed threw his cloak onto one of the couches. He crossed his arms, forgetting for a second about how warm the automail would be after being outside in the summer sun in just a short-sleeved shirt, but he ignored the bite of the heat at the inside of his arm.

 “Alright,” Havoc held his hands up in surrender. “Hawkeye is out for a minute, but you’ve got some stuff on her desk there. Its all clipped together with your name on it.”

 Ed walked over and picked through some of the piles on her desk, and upon finding his name took that pile and dropped himself into a sitting position on the couch by the door. He tried to clear his throat again but it turned into a single, harsh, cough. Havoc kept to his work, and Alphonse eased himself down beside his brother.

 “Its empty in here today,” Al noted. Havoc chuckled and nodded.

 “It’s a bit of a ghost town, Falman is on vacation, Furey went with Hawkeye, the Boss is squirreled away in his office as usual- and I think Breda is still on the tail end of his vacation from last week actually. Its kind of that time of year where you take it or lose the chance until mid winter.”

 Ed zoned out, reading his paperwork or using his leg as a table to fill in the bits where he was required. As much as he’d prefer being out and researching with Al, and as much as he was teased or suspected of not being able to handle the military work because of his age, Ed could get it done well, and quickly.

 Usually, anyway. The package today seemed endless. He heard Riza and Fury return, and waved when he realized he was being spoken to. A heaviness was settling in across his shoulders and down his arm and into every inch of him again. He hadn’t felt particularly unwell, or dizzy, but this feeling came and went all day. He had nearly hit the floor getting out of bed late this morning because of it.

 Ed scratched at his head, undid and redid his mess of a ponytail, and reread the same page for a third time. He started to read it for a fourth, see if anything would sink in, but just sighed quietly and let himself slump into the high arm of the couch. The heaviness got too much and sapped everything when it hit, so he let it. He shut his eyes and let himself relax for a few moments.

 “How has today been Alphonse? Busy?” Riza looked up from her work now and again during their conversation, and seeing Ed break for a nap, she thought it would be a good time to ask.

 “Um,” Alphonse thought for a moment, “No more so than usual, I guess.”

 “You boys aren’t doing anything special for the summer?”

 “We thought of visiting Teacher, or maybe going to see Winry for a few days, but it just hasn’t felt like the right time I guess.”

 Nobody flinched anymore when Ed fell asleep, he was still young and working demanding hours, and on top of that had automail and other burdens too big for anyone to worry about. It wasn’t uncommon and work life continued around it. He’d usually have a quick ten minutes and wake up and get right back to what he had been doing, or on more trying days or days with heavy rain, he’d excuse himself for a few hours to sleep off the worst of his tension and exhaustion.

 Sleeping for a few hours sitting up, then staring at his leg in the twilight darkness of half-past nine at night was less common. Riza stayed behind with Roy when it was clear Ed was needing more than his usual bit of a rest, and it was just the four of them now in the dim office. One of the desk lamps was left on, and Alphonse was sitting on the other side of the room now with Roy and Riza.

 As Ed became more aware, he realized his coat had been draped over him and his paperwork moved to the desk a few feet away. He shifted a little, still feeling very heavy on top of sore from the slumped position.

 “You awake now, Fullmetal?” Ed cleared his throat and hummed in response to Roy’s question. “You don’t look awake.”

 Ed straightened and lifted his arms in a stretch from underneath his makeshift blanket. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes, before returning his head to the arm of the couch and staring across the room to the other three.

 “Can I finish that tomorrow? I feel really tired,” he pointed to his abandoned papers. Roy laughed through his nose.

 “I’d say so, you’ve been sleeping since four. If you’re that tired you don’t have to come in, Ed. We won’t be unreasonable.” Ed had shut his eyes again and just nodded. Everyone lapsed back into the quiet murmur of getting things put away for the day they had been in before Ed woke up.

 “I don’t feel well,” his cracking voice broke the silence a few minutes later. When he opened his eyes again everyone had moved and were getting ready to leave. “Can I just sleep here for the night, I don’t think I can make it back to our dorm. Sorry, Al.”

 “Don’t worry about it, we’ll drive you back.” Hawkeye sounded much closer now, and Ed felt her hand press to his forehead. There was no heat, but his face was so pale the lack of a temperature offered little comfort. “You just get home and sleep.”

 Ed dragged his eyes open for a second then nodded. He scrunched up his face against a stinging in his eyes before giving a quick cough and pushing himself up to sitting. Alphonse stood nearby, and Ed leaned against him every now and then on the short walk to the car.

 By the time Mustang had pulled up to their building, Ed had fallen asleep again. His breathing was leaving little puffs of mist on the side of Alphonse’s armor. Alphonse eased his way out of the car, going slowly and in short bursts trying to keep down the clattering noise he made.

 Mustang and Riza had exited the car as well, and Ed remained peacefully asleep. Alphonse had leaned down to wake up Ed, but Roy carefully moved his hand through Al’s line of sight to tap his shoulder.

 “I’ll take him up, if you and Hawkeye could hold the doors and show me where to go.” He rolled his shoulders before sitting in the car and leaning across the seat to ease Ed onto his back. “He’s a pain in the ass, but you two are a worthwhile pair of, well, just you, I guess. That was a lot less eloquent than I was trying for.”

 “Thank you, sir,” Alphonse stepped back and tucked into himself. Roy could imagine him as a boy like Ed, blushing in gratitude and slightly indignant at an adult interfering. Riza cleared her throat and pulled open the first door. The hour was getting late, and Ed was still just dozing in his t-shirt in the night air. It would be no good if he got a chill and a fever started.

 “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you call us if you need anything, and try and keep him from making himself too sick.”

 Roy was quick to put Ed down, and to usher himself and Riza out. No need to over stay a welcome, and no need to work Ed up into a fit, he supposed. Alphonse was thankful for it, because it meant there was nothing he was going to be made to do out of obligation. He wanted to be ready if Ed needed him, and if he didn’t, he had a nice little stack of fiction novels to pass the night with.

 Ed slept.

[fluffyllamas-23]

*flops* I’m still laughing at the fact that I told @taylor-tut that this probably wouldn’t be up for a while, but here we are, with this fresh platonic lady friendship whump. 

*

Paisley had thought that life after graduation would be perfect. She had this image in her head of graduating from college, and then immediately landing her dream job.

This isn't the case. 

Instead of landing her dream job, she's still exactly where she was during school, but instead of going to school and working two jobs, she's working three jobs and not going to school.

She's kicking herself for not choosing a major with a bigger job field, instead she chose to be a music major (honestly, what the hell was she thinking? Who let her make this important of an adult decision by herself? Whoever it was deserves to be fired).

She wants to be a music producer, and she really thought she would have been on her way by now, but here she is, four months after graduation with no career (she doesn't even have an interview anywhere). She's been working her ass off, between the coffee shop, clothing store, and reception at a physical therapy practice, she's exhausted and is in desperate need of a break.

The break she needs, comes in the worst way possible. It started off as a pretty minor cold, but of course, she had pushed through it.  Instead of it being something mild like it should have been, it morphed into an awful combination of the flu, strep and bronchitis. Her doctor ordered her to stay in bed as much as possible, because he was worried that the bronchitis was going to turn into pneumonia. She decided to listen, because bronchitis was bad enough, and she was positive that pneumonia would actually kill her.  

It was only day two of this God-awful illness, and she was on the couch underneath a blanket, watching some stupid show she was already sick of.

Daytime television sucks ass and she still has at least another week of this.

It’s a strange feeling to go from working constantly, to not being able to do much of anything, and she kind of hates it.

She isn't sure if she actually hates it, though, because she's miserable and has no energy to do anything but lie on the couch and watch shitty TV.

She glances down at the coffee table, which is littered with the thermometer, a box of tissues, used and crumpled up tissues, cough drops, multiple cups of tea and water, her antibiotics, painkillers, and cold and flu medicine.

Ashton comes out of her room, running around in a panic.

“Where’s the fire?” Paisley croaks, pulling her blanket up to her chin.

“I start work tomorrow and I still have so much shit I have to do. I'm going to be gone all day,” she starts and then pauses when she sees Paisley curled up underneath the blanket, shivering. “Are you sick?”

“A little.”

“Shit, you sound bad. Are-are you okay? Do you need anything? I can-”

“-chill. I already went to the doctor, everything is fine.”

“You went to the doctor? On your own? Are you dying? Is Hell freezing over? Are pigs-”

“-Very funny.”

“Okay, but how long have you been sick?”

“I dunno...like a week and a half or something.”

“...how did I not notice you've been sick for a week and a half?”

“You've been busy. I'm fine, don't be dramatic about it.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Paisley shrugs, averting her gaze and waving Ashton off, “oh...you know.”

“No I don't. That's why I'm asking you.”

“It's the flu...and strep...and...uh...bronchitis.” 

As if on cue, she goes into a coughing fit, and Ashton’s eyes widen in horror.

“Paisley.”

“What?!” Paisley squawks.

“Why do you always push yourself until you're dying? Why are you like this?”

“Go away, you're annoying me,” Paisley grumbles.

Ashton rolls her eyes, “whatever. Okay I'm leaving, feel better. Don't die, okay? You sound horrible.”

“Wow, thanks for this brand new piece of information,” Paisley gripes.

“How are you such a smart ass even when you're on your deathbed?”

“Why are you so dramatic? Oh my God.”

“I'm still mad at you,” Ashton grins, “but I have to go.”

“Good. Go away, leave me alone with my shitty daytime TV.”

As soon as Ashton is gone, Paisley starts coughing again. She's been coughing so much and so hard that her throat feels like it's been ripped to shreds, and she sounds like she's losing her voice.

She doesn't feel any better, her entire body is throbbing with a heavy ache, and she's chilled to the bone. She’s had a fever for nearly a week now, and the last temperature check was reading in at one hundred and one point eight. The fever had drained her, and she feels weak and listless and just...completely sapped of energy. 

Paisley has been sleeping a lot more than normal, and while naps usually make her feel rested and refreshed afterwards, she just feels even more tired and run down each time she wakes back up.

Her throat is bothering her so much that she's avoided eating, and the lack of food is making her lightheaded. She's nearly passed out on three different occasions, which is bad, and if she wasn't so out of it from the fever, she would be more worried.

Her head throbs angrily, the headache has settled itself behind her eyes and in her sinuses, and her whole face and head just feel so heavy.

She can feel the congestion crackling in her lungs with each inhale and chest-rattling coughing fit.

She hates this with every fiber of her being, and she's so mad at herself for letting it get to this point again. She's almost twenty three, she should know better by now.

Her phone rings later that afternoon, forcing her out of yet another restless nap.

She fumbles with it, not wanting to open her eyes, which are already burning from exhaustion.

“Hello?” She rasps.

“Hello!” A voice chirps, “is this Ashton Taylor?”

Paisley rubs a hand over her face, “no, this is Paisley Rhodes, I’m her roommate, um, whom am I speaking with?”

“This is Julia Morris, I'm with Adams and Company. I’ve been trying to reach Ashton, but she isn’t answering her phone. This was the secondary number she listed on her application.”

Paisley rolls her eyes. Ashton is terrible with her phone - half the time she forgets it at home, and when she doesn't forget it, it's either dead or on silent at the bottom of her purse. Either way, she almost never answers it.

“She said she was pretty busy today,” Paisley pulls the phone away from her ear to clear her throat. She grimaces, fuck, that hurts. “Can I take a message?”

“We had told her that she needed to be here at nine tomorrow morning, but we’re going to be training all of our new employees at seven thirty.”

It briefly crosses her mind to get up and grab a pen and paper, but that's too much effort. She’ll just put it in her phone later.

“Seven thirty, got it.”

“Great! Thank you so much, Paisley.”

Cabinets shutting, and someone shuffling around wake Paisley the next morning.

She feels like she's forgetting something, but her head is fuzzy and she's having trouble remembering much of anything.

“Ya think you can be a little louder?” Paisley croaks, her voice muffled by the blankets, “I don't think the people next door heard you.”

“Oops, sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she lies.

“Uh, I call bullshit, but I have to go. I'll see you tonight. Do you want me to pick up dinner or anything on my way home?”

“Uh...maybe some soup?”

“Sore throat?”

“Yeah,” Paisley mumbles.

“Will do,” Ashton nods, “alright, I'm leaving. Feel better, get some sleep.”

Paisley takes her advice, but is woken up by the front door slamming shut loudly.

“PAISLEY RHODES. WHAT THE FUCK?!” Ashton shrieks, storming into the living room.

“What? What happened?” Paisley mumbles, completely disoriented.

Ashton is shaking with anger as she stands in front of Paisley, clenching and unclenching her jaw and glaring at her (very) sick and confused roommate.

“When were you going to tell me I needed to be at work at seven thirty instead of nine?!”

“...Seven...OH.”

“What the fuck?! Do you know how stupid I looked? Do you know how pissed off they are with me?! Paisley, they almost FIRED ME. I had to fucking BEG TO KEEP MY FUCKING JOB. THEY SENT ME HOME. WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Ashton screeched, tears filling her eyes. “How could you do this to me?!”

“I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Ash, I didn't mean-I'm sorry,” Paisley is sobbing now, tears are blurring her vision. She's so upset that she's hyperventilating, she's sucking in breaths because she can't breathe, and then she's coughing. It’s a horrible, horrible cough, too.  Her lungs are crackling and seizing, like they’re trying to claw their way out of her chest and up her throat. 

Ash’s eyes widen, all the anger disappearing as it's replaced by worry and anxiety.

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry for yelling, Paisley, breathe,” Ashton instructs, pulling Paisley into a sitting position.

She crouches in front of her, putting a hand on her cheek. She's immediately concerned by the steady, rolling heat that greets her touch. “Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, relax, deep breaths.”

Eventually, her breathing goes back to normal, but she's still in tears.

“I'm so sorry, I meant to leave a note...I m-meant to, I really did, b-but I d-don’t feel w-well and was t-too tired to get up, a-and then I f-fell asleep-” she chokes on another sob. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sc-screw everything up...I d-didn't m-mean t-to, please don't h-hate me. You're all I have left, please don't be mad, I'm so sorry.”

Ashton pulls her into a hug, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as Paisley cries.

“Paisley, it's okay, I'm not mad, it's okay. Please relax, come on, you're okay.”

Her sobs finally begin to die down, and once they stop, she slumps into Ashton, exhausted.

Once she's lying back down, Ashton grabs the thermometer and sticks it in Paisley’s ear.

It beeps in at 103.6.

“Shit,”  Ashton hisses, and grabs the bottle of cold and flu meds, and all but forces it into Paisley. “Swallow this, and for the love of God, don't choke on it.”

Once she's satisfied that Paisley won't choke and die, she grabs a clean dishtowel from the kitchen, wets it and gets a few ice packs out.

Paisley wakes slightly when the dishtowel is on her forehead and the ice packs are on her chest and stomach, but Ashton shushes her.

“Go back to sleep,” she says, letting out a sigh of relief.

Paisley would be okay. She was going to make sure of it.

[nedcanquen]

Le Loupgarou - Chapter 2 (NedCan Week 2017 - Warmth/Cold)

Here is chapter 2!

Tags: Werewolf AU, supernatural, Historical AU.

Pairings: NedCan

Image from Pexels

4 months later 

He didn’t know why he hadn’t asked Mr Loupgarou to leave (Matthieu had not decided on the man’s new name yet, but he responded to this one even if he had the funniest look on his face whenever he heard it).

Maybe because Matthieu was lonely. He had been born into a large community and had been given to a small and foreign group right before his family had been erased in years of senseless war. When he reached manhood and realized that he was unwilling to join the brothers, Matthieu left and had since lived on his own, a far cry from where he had started. Maybe he had also been bored. Now he had the additional challenge of having to stalk and find Mr Loupgarou every full and tend to him. There was purpose in it beyond simply trading for things and making some money. Maybe because of that, Matthieu could not bring himself to ask the man to leave. Neither did it seem, was the man in a hurry to. Matthieu had no doubt that once Mr Loupgarou adjusted to his condition and got his bearings, that he would leave. Mr Loupgarou had told him that he had been born in a busy and bustling port city and grew up in the brothel where his mother had worked. Such an environment was a completely different world from this solitary home that Matthieu had built himself in this hidden portion of the forest. Sometimes, when Matthieu found work as a guide, he would take steps to hide the place before he led parties deep into the forest, down the long riverways and further on, before finding his way back. It was amazing that this strategy seemed to work each time. Matthieu didn’t know why he wanted one home to return to, rather than to wander and make his way where he saw fit, but he did.

Sometimes he wondered if he could even ask the man to leave - wouldn’t it be dangerous for everyone else? So far, the man-wolf form had not harmed Matthieu but Mr Loupgarou insisted that he had very little control over himself while changed. Come each full moon, he was mostly intent on running away, as far as possible from Matthieu as he could get. He was effective at it for the most part, Matthieu was just a normal man, there was no keeping up, but he could easily follow the trail left behind. The urgency was to find Mr Loupgarou in his fully human form as quickly as possible after he changed back - he was always exhausted and vulnerable during this time, sometimes passed out, and there was no telling what or who would prey on him given the chance without Matthieu there to protect him. He had done so already, several times.

It didn’t mean that Mr Loupgarou wasn’t often an annoyance though. He brooded often in a way that brought a dark mood to everything, probably because he was prone to sharp words. In the first few weeks of his stay, he would do nothing without being explicitly being ordered to. Matthieu did not blame him for his moods, he cannot imagine what being cursed by something as simple as an animal bite had to be, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing it. Mr Loupgarou also had to be reminded to bathe frequently or risk being locked out, like a child, but Matthieu knew from experience amongst the Jesuits that Europeans simply did not wash as often as they should. Thankfully Mr Loupgarou was no freeloader and after he became familiar with the work, he would find ways to busy himself before the moods could hit him too hard - chopping more wood, preparing food, cleaning the meat, gathering edible plants - all skills that Matthieu had taught him and seemed to keep the dark brooding at bay for the most part. Mr Loupgarou also seemed to have an affinity for flowers, and had to be taught several times not to pluck the poisonous ones, no matter how beautiful. It seemed however that he was most occupied at night, sitting by a dim light and mapping the surroundings around the cabin. Matthieu was not comfortable with having his home mapped out, this was his secret hideaway, but he was amazed at how accurate the map was and too fascinated to really put a stop to it.

“You could find work as a surveyor.” He had said once.

Mr Loupgarou scoffed. “A surveyor who is at risk of eating the entire party come the full moon.”

Almost every conversation about a potential future ended like that so Matthieu knew not to waste his time arguing the point. “I will need you keep that particular map a secret. I hide here by choice.”

“Of course.” Mr Loupgarou emphatically assured him. I had no intention of sharing this it’s just...something I can do that calms me down and gives me a sense of purpose.”

“Alright then.” Matthieu hoped that he could believe him, and that once Mr Loupgarou left, he wouldn’t sell the map for some kind of profit. Men could have honest intentions in one moment, and change it the next, this he knew.

The weather was cold now, and rabbit stew would do wonders for the body. Matthieu brought home several rabbits from his hunt, feeling quite proud of himself until he saw the look on the other man’s face. Mr Loupgarou looked like he wanted to cry. It was so incongruous and unexpected, since the man otherwise tried his hardest not to show much emotion.

Matthieu decided to ignore that look for now. He wanted his rabbit stew.

Mr Loupgarou couldn’t bring himself to eat either, preferring to chew on the preserved foods, not that it was a good idea to survive off that even for just one meal in this weather. Matthieu had more for himself.

In the coming days it was easier to see that after the meat had been sliced, dried and preserved, Mr Loupgarou could attempt to stomach it, but the fresh rabbit stew made the man sick. Matthieu wasn’t having any of it - if he didn’t eat, he would be of no use.

“So, you love rabbits. I don’t know what else to tell you, except that when it snows like this, it’s easier to trap them than waste energy trying to hunt something else down when prey is more elusive or dangerous, and movement is difficult.”

“I know.” He huffed as he swung the axe down on a thick log of wood. “I try.”

Matthieu nods. “May I know why?”

After a furious swing of the axe, Mr Loupgarou put it down and sat on the stump. There was silence for a while but Matthieu waited him out. Finally the man took a breath and asked, “Did you ever have pets growing up? Animal companions?”

Ah. “A dog.” Matthieu answers. He smiles in the memory of the dogs that lived with them, even along with the sadness when they passed on. One of the happier times he can recall while living with the Jesuits was being tasked to care for the sheepdog that lived with the brothers. “You had a...rabbit as an animal companion back where you come from?” Matthieu tries to think of what possible help rabbits can be - they can’t hunt, they hide well, maybe they could teach one where to hide?

“Several...you could say. They lived everywhere in my city, and they were usually skittish but...there was a family that lived on a small circle of green next to the brothel I grew up in. They were so used to us they weren’t scared, probably because we fed them occasionally.” He smiles and it’s the warmest sight Matthieu has ever seen, it lifts years off the man’s face and makes him look for a time, beautiful. “They’re just...sweet. I made friends with one when I was a small boy and I took care of her. She went everywhere with me, until…”

Matthieu sighs. Maybe he’ll be able to trap more squirrels instead, but they had less fat in them, which was needed for a long winter. Maybe he could extract more sap from the maple trees to boil into sugar. He’ll have to lay different traps but it’s entirely doable. It’s a shame that Mr Loupgarou had not managed to take down more boars since their first meeting. Whatever it is, he doesn’t have the heart to take away the one single thing the man still smiles over.  

He doesn’t say anything about this decision, but nods and turns to prepare for the different routine he’s going to have tomorrow. “I’ve thought of a name for you then.”

“Finally. At first I was worried, but I think anything is preferable to Mr Loupgarou.”

“Mr Rabbit.”

Mr Loupgarou laughs and Matthieu finds that this laugh brings a furnace to his chest, chasing away the chill. “Seriously Matthieu? I mean, I suppose I could respond to that but…”

Matthieu laughs in return. “No, but...Leverett. Your name is now Leverett.”

“Leverett? As in ‘young hare?”” Matthieu nods and ‘Leverett’ grins, shaking his head. “Somewhere, far away, my sister and brother are laughing and they do not even know why. Leverett it is then.”

“You have siblings?” He had never mentioned this before.

“A half-sister and a half-brother.” His smile dimmed and Matthieu regretted asking.

No more was said of family that day.

It felt like something shifted between them after Matthieu gave Leverett his name. In the weeks that followed the silences became more companionable, relaxed even, and Matthieu learned just how observant his guest actually was.

“You’ve stopped hunting rabbits.”  

Matthieu stirs the squirrel stew and shrugs. “We’re not desperate. If we were though, there wouldn’t be a choice, we would have to eat anything we can get. This has been a bountiful year so don’t let it lull you, there will be desperate winters, so it is best to remember that even with this reprieve.”

Leverett nods in understanding, comes closer and looks him in the eyes. “Thank you.”

His voice is so heavy with gratitude that Matthieu freezes for a moment. “I’m glad you can stomach squirrels. Do you think you can bring down a boar again?” He manages to joke and smiles just to make sure that Leverett (he’s actually missing the ridiculous Mr Loupgarou nickname) knows he’s joking.

They smile together, and Matthieu looks at Leverett and notices again, the odd shade of green his eyes are. He stares, a little too long, Leverett does not look away.

--

There is something heavy between them. A tension that Matthieu cannot define but it grows all the same. He’s not sure what he can do to lessen it and he doesn’t want to. It’s just that Matthieu finds himself looking too long, at Leverett’s back when he throws in new logs to keep the fire going, at his face when he hunches over his never-ending map, now illustrated with fantastical and beautiful drawings of plants, animals and fantastical creatures decorating the corners. Leverett does not seem to discourage him, he seems almost pleased. It frustrates Matthieu all the more. This is his home, Leverett is his guest, but Matthieu feels more and more like everything is about to change. Leverett may not be selling guns, but this one odd cursed stranger seems destined to do what his kind have always done - change everything that Matthieu has known. He can’t blame Leverett for this, because Matthieu had decided to take him in.

Overall, it’s not fair. But he still can’t find it in himself to ask Leverett to leave.

“Have you always been on your own?” Leverett asks in the quiet. He’s looking up from the paper he’s scribbling on for a change. It’s a little surprising, since neither of them are great talkers, usually going through the day in their own heads and respecting each other’s tendency to do so. Maybe it was fair for Leverett to know a little about him, since Matthieu at least knew a little about the man. But it was hard. Matthieu often tried to get through his days forgetting his old life, that way he could avoid thinking about how absolutely destroyed it was, and he could see the man he rescued simply as a man who he had helped and not think about the nation he came from, or the role it had played in his own people’s demise. It was easier to give him a French name, with a meaning as innocent as ‘young hare, to hear about his fondness for the animals, than to think about people who looked like him selling guns.

“I lived with a community of Jesuits for a while. I didn’t want to take vows so I ran away.”

Leverett gives out a harsh laugh. “I don’t blame you.” After a pause. “You’re too…” It’s funny to see him careful with his words. “You weren’t raised entirely by Jesuits” He says knowingly. “Were you adopted by the Indians? You look European and you have a French name but you’re not...you’re not French, at least, nothing like any Frenchman I’ve ever met.” He says with finality and humor. “That’s a good thing.”

Matthieu cannot smile. It’s tempting to dismiss the conversation, turn around and ready himself for bed, but for some reason, Matthieu feels himself close off. It must have shown on his expression because Leverett actually recoils slightly, his eyes widening in alarm.

“I did not mean to intrude. I-”

“My nation no longer exists. Your people sold the guns that killed them. That’s why I live here, alone.”

He can see Leverett’s face twist into shock before he controlled himself again, considering this information. After a long moment, he sighs, the weariness in his shoulders is evident. “Beaver wars?”

Matthieu nods.

“There were many nations the Iroquois warred with. If I may...which was yours?” Matthieu had to chuckle at Leverett using that name for the Haudenosaunee. The Algonquin had allied with his nation in the Beaver Wars. They gave the Haudenosaunee the name ‘Iroquois’, and it was an insult. It appeared the Europeans thought that was actually the name of that confederation. A small vengeance.

“My people...were the People of the Bear. We were part of the Wendat nation.” Leverett showed no recognition of this name. “The French called us the Huron.” Now Matthieu saw recognition light up in Leverett’s eyes.

“You grew up near the Great Lake then? Or by a river? The French call your people river dwellers.”

Of all the stupid things. Matthieu barely resists rolling his eyes. “Who doesn’t live by water? The Iroquois used to live on the opposite side of the Great Lake and you can’t travel efficiently without the rivers. Everyone needs water and the rivers.” He says as if speaking to a child. Leverett bristles slightly.

“Believe me, I know that, but I also know that not everyone lives by the water. I asked because that’s what my nation, my people are known for. Living with the water.”

Matthieu wondered if he heard that right ‘with’ not ‘by’. “I confess, I know little about the Dutch Republic. I avoided any and all of your people for a long time. The contract to hunt you was actually the first. So, is your home...an island?”

He cannot read Leverett’s expression now, but eventually the man answers. “No, though there are islands. It’s just that…” It looks like he’s trying to find the words. “Your father’s people call my nation The Low Countries. There are provinces that have hills and the like but not mine. A lot of my home is…” He takes a bowl and places his hand horizontal to the lip. “Think of my hand as the sea. And imagine this is a long bowl with a flat bottom. A good portion of my country is like this. Our land is very flat, there are no mountains, sometimes we’re not sure if we can even call some of it land. There’s nothing to serve as a barrier from the sea. It floods often, and...honestly, flooding used to kill more people than wars do. But...it is our home and we will keep it, against Spaniards, other invaders, even against the sea. We’ve dug canals, built dykes, we’ve made something that used to threaten us into an advantage. The canals allow for efficient transport, improving our trade, giving us the wealth to sail...even to the other side of the world. But that’s now. For the longest time, we were so very poor, conquered, we drowned often, we barely survived.”

It was a very European thing, Matthieu mused, that this conversation had started because Leverett had wanted to know more about him, but still ended up talking about his own nation instead.

“I’m...sorry. If you do not wish to talk about it with me…”

Matthieu shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to begin, how to describe what life was like.”

Leverett shrugs. “Then, if you want to, just start anywhere, anything, whichever good memory comes to you first. Only if you want to, otherwise you can tell me to fuck right off.”

Matthieu is a little amused at that, wondering why he’s never wanted to tell this man to fuck right off. “Not tonight. But one day.”

Five nights before the next change, Matthieu realizes something just as he is about to fall asleep. Leverett sleeps late, or rather, he doesn’t attempt to sleep when Matthieu does, and he is always the first to rise, already busy by the time Matthieu opens his eyes - or so he had assumed.

“Do you sleep at all?”

Leverett turns from the fire, the flickering flames cast strange shadows across his face. He shrugs. “I just have trouble falling asleep, so rather than toss and turn, I prefer to sit and think or do things.”

Matthieu wonders if this is one of those instances where the wolf is dominant over the man. “Wolves prefer to hunt at night. Is it...that?” Has he been forcing the man to do work with little sleep?  

Leverett smiles at him. “Even when I wasn’t turning into a loupgarou every full moon I was more productive at night.”

That’s not really a ‘no’ so Matthieu figures Leverett doesn’t even know the answer, himself. “Could you sleep when you were with the others...like yourself?” He usually didn’t talk about them, from what he gathered from Leverett, they were all killed when the ship arrived Port Royal, with only Leverett escaping.

“There was little sleep, we were hired to work so we did. We were stronger at night...I suppose. I don’t even think most of them were there because of the promise of that cure. That was...frankly, too good to be true. I think we were there because…” He stops for too long and Matthieu gives up on sleep, adjusting the furs so he can sit up and listen properly.

Leverett is silent, gazing at the crackling flames, and Matthieu waits for him to speak. The cold wind howls outside and Matthieu thinks of the times before when he’s had to listen to the lonely wail and think that he and the wind had something in common.

“Because we were the same.” Leverett finally finishes. “The curse was a great equalizer, more than gold, nation or God could ever hope to be - rich, poor, farmer, merchant, banker, whore, Catholic, Protestant, Jew, Moslem, any kind of person or identity you could think of...we were nothing but monsters there,each trying to earn redemption and a respite from the loneliness of our curse. Each of us had struggled for a time on our own, too proud. All of us had seen each hope chipped away until all that was left was this one last desperate gamble, that we all knew couldn’t be true. But at least we were together, something...I don’t know. It was better, not to be alone.” His voice breaks at the last word and Matthieu is on his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He finds a cloth and brings it over, places his hands on Leverett’s heaving shoulders and lets him cry with his face buried in his hands. Matthieu’s heart twists, it’s physically painful to see Leverett like this.

Matthieu sits next to him and holds him. Leverett grasps him tight with a sigh of relief and sobs into his chest, hunched over as much as he is. Matthieu doesn’t move, he runs his fingers through Leverett’s hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

Here the crackling flames and the sound of Leverett’s breathing drown out the wind’s lonely wails. It helps, oddly, especially because Leverett is a silent crier.

After the tears seem to have dried, Matthieu realizes that he doesn’t want to move. Still, they can’t sit there all night though. “Sleep?”

Leverett stiffens and pulls away. “I’m sorry to keep you up.”

“Well then, you can help me sleep in return. Come on, it’s cold.” It wasn’t a lie, this was going to be a harsh winter. Matthieu took Leverett’s arm to lead him to his bed.

“Wait...help you, you mean share the bed?!”

Europeans, Matthieu wanted to roll his eyes as he thought of sleeping with his family in the longhouse, warm with each other’s company. Then again, Leverett had been born in a brothel, he would think of these things differently. Still it didn’t excuse him (or Matthieu either) for not realizing the obvious until now. “When you found all those other people who had the same ailment as you, it felt better didn’t it?” Matthieu asked. “I guess you slept in close quarters, you worked more at night with your extra strength to keep the ship going, you worked out a hierarchy amongst yourselves…a leader, a second, would-be claimants and the weakest of the pack?”

He can feel Leverett’s confusion. “How did you know?”

Matthieu bites back a sigh - of course this man, raised in a town next to rabbits would not know much about the behavior and social dynamics of wolves, so Matthieu explains.

“Well fuck me.” Leverett rolls his eyes as he finally realizes what Matthieu is saying. They had been so concerned about his humanity, and perhaps Leverett had been desperately holding onto it, that he had avoided the parts of him that were now wolf. Wolves were lonely without a pack, without their own sense of communal order, without trust.

“Wolves sleep in piles, and believe me on a night like this one, I really don’t mind. It’s an unusually cold night, it’ll help us stay warm, come on.” Feeling oddly self conscious, Matthieu lay down on his bed and lifted the furs in invitation for Leverett to join. After a moment’s hesitation, the other man did and Matthieu covered them both.

It was somewhat awkward at first, the bed was built to be comfortable for one, though it could squeeze two. Still, Leverett was unusually tall for a European, and Matthieu often wondered what kind of a brothel he must have lived in to be this well-fed and well-educated. Whatever it was, it was nothing like the sorry things that had been built here.

After some maneuvering and the occasional chuckles, they found something comfortable for both of them. Leverett’s head lay on his chest, his arms and legs wrapped around Matthieu, and Matthieu is grateful he’s too tired to be shy or awkward, so he just holds him and revels in the warmth they have together.

Right before Matthieu drifts off to sleep, he hears Leverett’s breathing even out and feels his body fully relax. Matthieu falls asleep with a smile.

[lesbianlametron]

Bokuroo Week Day 4

Prompt: Improvising

Title: Spontaneous Saturday

Rating: T

Summary:  Bokuto wakes up Kuroo one Saturday in the summer for a day trip together. They had both been busy lately with their respective jobs and Bokuto is dying for time alone with Kuroo. He packs a bag, but other than that he has no plans. Kuroo’s just along for the ride. Graphic designer!Kuroo, P.E. Teacher!Bokuto Post-college, married, domesticated fluff.

Kuroo was sleeping as he should be for it being barely seven-thirty am and he was content to keep it that way. His arm flopped over to the other side of the bed, blindly searching for his husband, but was only met with empty sheets. He groaned when he rolled over and looked at the time. It was way early and he was looking forward to a lazy Saturday morning in bed. Then again, that wasn’t Bokuto’s style. He was up at the crack of dawn, happy and energetic as ever. Bokuto, like Kuroo, also was a complete night owl and would stay up into the early morning just talking or partying. Because of this, Bokuto was super fond of afternoon naps. That fact always made Kuroo laugh and joke that Bokuto was secretly still a baby at twenty-six years old. Well, no matter if Bokuto was awake, Kuroo was still planning on sleeping until at least eleven.

             Bokuto walked into their room, his hair still damp from the shower, with a towel around his waist. “Tetsu~ time to get up.” He called out to his husband in a soft voice.

             “No. It’s seven-thirty and a Saturday and it’s summer. Fuck you.”

             Bokuto chuckled, not even a bit fazed by Kuroo’s animosity. He was used to his by now. “Good morning to you too, love. Come on, I want to do something fun today. We’ve both busy with work and I want to have a date day.”

             “We can, but just later.” Kuroo mumbled into his pillow, trying to hide his smile. It was sweet that Bokuto wanted the two of them to spend the day together. Kuroo had been working late nights and Bokuto was always gone when he woke up in morning. His company had just finished a big ad campaign that he had to do all the graphic designing for, being the team’s lead designer. Today was the first Saturday in a while that Kuroo wasn’t working on a project.

             “Awww, come on, we’re going to get breakfast. I made you coffee~.”

             “Still no.”

             “TETSU, you love breakfast!”

             “Stop shouting…”

             “Don’t make me force you to wake up.” Bokuto warned as he pulled on a pair of shorts.

             “Go ahead and try.”

             Bokuto chuckled to himself and walked over to bed. He grabbed a hold of the comforter and sheets. Before Kuroo could think of fighting back, Bokuto ripped the covers off the bed. “Rise and shine, my beautiful Tetsu.”

             “I hate you.”

             Bokuto crawled on top of him and leaned down giving him a soft, sensual kiss.

             “I hate you a little less.” Kuroo’s eyes were still closed as Bokuto peppered his face with tiny kisses that tickled his cheeks. Kuroo weakly tried to push him away.

             “I promise you’ll have fun today. Come on, please, indulge me. Tomorrow, we’ll do whatever you want.”

             Kuroo groaned and sat up. “Fine, I’m up. And if I don’t have fun today, I’m blaming you.”

             Bokuto slid off the bed and placed a mug of coffee into Kuroo’s hands. “I love you.”

             “Yeah, yeah.” Kuroo murmured before taking a long, slow sip, more to enjoy the coffee, but a little in protest against Bokuto.

             “I love you.”

             “I know, I’m up.”

             “I love you.”

             Kuroo rolled his eyes catching on that Bokuto wouldn’t stop until he said it back. “I love you too, you goof.”

             Bokuto grinned at him and Kuroo nearly felt like he needed sunglasses to shield him from the brightness. “Good, now go shower.”

             Kuroo grumbled more as he got up and wandered into the bathroom. As much as he hated waking up, he knew Bokuto was right, whatever Bokuto had planned, it would be fun. He took a couple long gulps of coffee before stepping into the warm spray. The coffee combined with the shower was starting to wake him up. He’d still need another cup at breakfast to be fully functional, but this would at least get him awake enough to get into Bokuto’s car.

             When he walked back into the bedroom he saw Bokuto packing a bag that included both athletic shows and swimsuits. “Are we going to the beach?”              

             Bokuto shrugged and put a couple towels into the bag. “Maybe. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

             “Then what are we doing?”

             “Improvising.”

             Kuroo shook his head and rummaged through his drawers for shorts and a tank top. “Is it hot out?”

             “Mmhm. It’s supposed to be today.” Bokuto turned around to face Kuroo and slipped a pair of sunglasses onto his head. “I remember you broke yours so I went out and got you a pair.”

             Bokuto had turned around so he didn’t catch the fond smile that spread across Kuroo’s face. Bokuto really did think of everything and did sweet things for the ones he cared about without even thinking twice. Kuroo dressed and walked up behind Bokuto and pressed a kiss onto Bokuto’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

             “Of course. You ready?”

             “Mmhm.”

             Bokuto slung the duffle over his should and took Kuroo’s hand, leading him out the door. “So we really have no plans?” Kuroo asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

             “Beyond breakfast, nope. I thought it’d be kinda fun just to drive and stop when we felt like it and do whatever we come across.” Bokuto shrugged again as he started driving them to their favorite breakfast place. It annoyed Kuroo a bit not to have a plan, but he trusted his boyfriend. Bokuto would occasionally get into these moods where he was feeling completely spontaneous and Kuroo would just strap himself in for the ride. Sometimes it was nice to just not have to think everything out for once. Plus, whatever happened, would probably make a killer story to tell their friends later.

             Bokuto pulled into a parking space and led Kuroo into restaurant. Kuroo was still sleepy and hanging heavily on Bokuto’s arm. There was almost nothing more endearing to Bokuto than a tired Kuroo. It was part of the reason he woke Kuroo up sometimes. He hardly felt like walking because of his lack of engery and was very clingy. They sat down together and ordered food. Kuroo was quiet as he usually was before his second cup of coffee, but it didn’t bother Bokuto in the slightest.

             “Dude, we started a volleyball unit this week.” Bokuto started, always filled with stories from his work. In the summers, when school wasn’t in session Bokuto ran a recreation program during the days to promote kids getting into sports. He loved the kids in his normal classes, but these kids actually wanted to be there. Well, there were some that their moms forced them because they worked during the day.  

             Kuroo looked up from his coffee and smiled. He was glad Bokuto was able to still be involved with volleyball. It surprised both of them, but teaching P.E. and sports gave him almost as much joy as playing used to. He knew Bokuto missed it, they both did, but stopped playing after college. Bokuto could have gone pro, but fell in love with teaching grade school P.E. Kuroo never really wanted to go pro and loved his job too. “Oh yeah? I bet you’re excited about that.”

             “It’s the best! There’s this kid there, a 5th grader, he’s like the baby version of Hinata.” Bokuto had to pause to hold back his laughter. Kuroo knew it had probably had to be something with the kid getting hit because Bokuto wanted to laugh, but knew he shouldn’t. “I swear this kid is like a ball magnet. I’m trying to teach him how to receive, but the kid always manages to get hit in the face. Even when he’s not playing. It takes all my restraint not to laugh along with the kids.”

             Kuroo chuckled a little and started eating his pancakes when they came. Bokuto French toast because they each loved both and never could choose one. He plated his second pancake for Bokuto and Bokuto did that with his as well. This was a tradition between them and Bokuto was a complete sap and it always made him smile. “I bet he’s nearly as tall as Shrimpy when he was in high school.”

             Bokuto snorted and nodded. “He is. Kageyama was sad when Hinata finally grew taller in college, I think he had a thing for their height difference. They’re close to the same height now.”

             “Oh yeah, you went in saw their game last weekend when I was working. The Toyko team is in the finals this year, right?” Bokuto had more free time than Kuroo, especially in the summers, and was also better at keeping in touch with their friends than Kuroo was. Kuroo kept in touch with Tsukishima, Kenma, and Akaashi mostly, but Bokuto was always seeing the friends outside of their direct circle.

             “Mmhm.” He murmured with his mouth full and Kuroo rolled his eyes. He was about to scold his boyfriend, but Bokuto remembered to swallow before finishing his sentence. “Hinata was great as ‘The Little Giant 2.0’, but he’s a ton better now that he’s got the height on him. Kags still has a few inches on him, but the kid can still jump like no other. I don’t know how the kid still has all the energy.”

             Kuroo chuckled a little. “I bet you could rival him there, you’re inhuman in the mornings.”

             Bokuto laughed as well, “Maybe, but shit, I’m old now.”

             “Babe, don’t say that because then I’m old too.”

             Bokuto finished eating and grinned cheekily at him. “Babe, we’ve been out of college for 4 years now.”

             “Don’t!”

             Bokuto laughed as Kuroo glared at him over his last few bites. “You’ll always be sexy to me, Tetsu, no matter how old you get.” He leaned across the tabled and motioned for Kuroo to come closer. Kuroo rolled his eyes and met Bokuto halfway for a kick peck.

             “You loser. I don’t think you’ll be saying when I’m 80 and wrinkly.”

             “Yes, I will because I’ll be the same and you’ll still love me.”

             Kuroo pursed his lips together and rubbed his chin, being over dramatic with thinking about it. “I don’t know…I’m really only with you because of your body.”

             “Uh huh. I’m sure it was my body that kept us together for eight years.”

             “Yeah in seven I’m going to divorce you for a younger hotter version.” Kuroo grinned and nodded to the bill sitting on the table between them. “Oh, and you’re paying for waking me up early.”

             “I thought by now you’d be used to getting up early and I was already planning on it.”

             “No, I’ll never become a morning person, I’ve just learned how to cope with them.”

             “Mornings are not a disease, love.” Bokuto chuckled and took his card up to register to pay and Kuroo followed after, only holding his hand this time. His second cup had woken him up a little more and he was more coherent.

             “Says you.” Bokuto shook his head and kissed Kuroo’s hand. They walked back to the car content from their breakfast. Bokuto was eager to start their journey and Kuroo still thought it was too early.

             “Okay pick a direction, and we’ll go.”

             “You’re really serious about this.” Kuroo raise an eyebrow at him.

             “I’m keeping things interesting, darling. We’re going to have adventures well into the future.”

             Kuroo played with his ring absently as the thought, “Okay, East, but can you even go East without a GPS?”

             Bokuto stuck his tongue out. “You’re mean, Tetsu.”

             “I’m keeping things interesting.” Kuroo mocked him with a smirk. “I can’t be too nice to you and make you think that I actually like you.”

             “Uh huh. Besides, my car tells me cardinal directions anyway.”

             “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

             Bokuto playfully shoved his shoulder and put the car in drive. “East, it is. Keep your eyes open. I know you can sleep anywhere, kitten, but I want your participation in this.”

             “Ughhhhh… but I was totally planning on napping for a little while.” Kuroo groaned, teasing him. The coffee would keep him up now. He was already up now, it wasn’t being up in the morning that really bothered him, but the act of actually waking up and starting the day. “Fiiiiiiiine and knowing you, we’ll probably be taking a nap mid-day, you old owl.” Bokuto glared at him out the corner of his eye. “That’s what you get for calling me kitten.”

             “Aw come, it had to do with the cat reference.” Bokuto grinned and turned on the radio. “Just tell when you see somewhere you want to stop.” They drove for a few miles, leaving the city behind and both were singing along with the radio. Bokuto’s voice did not match the tune and was louder. Kuroo actually could match the pitch, but he wasn’t actually confident in his singing voice. Eventually they came across a little town and Bokuto pointed out a foreign movie theater.

             “Let’s go.”

             Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “You’re aware we’re not going to understand any of it if they don’t have subtitles.”

             Bokuto shrugged. “I thought it would be funnier to make up the lines ourselves.” He pulled into a parking space and quickly got out. Kuroo shrugged and followed him. It did sound pretty entertaining.

             “As long as you buy me popcorn, I’m up for anything.”

             “You say that like it really matters. What’s mine is yours.”

             “It does, because I make more than you.”

             Bokuto glared at him. “Mean. It’s not my fault, teachers aren’t payed as much as they deserve.”

             Kuroo wrapped an arm around Bokuto’s waist and kissed his cheek. “True, you’re great at what you do and you do deserve more.” With the promised popcorn, they sat in the very last row so they wouldn’t annoy every as much with their whispering.

             “You better not fall asleep, Tetsu.”

             Kuroo squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “I promise.” The lights dimmed and the movie started without subtitles like they had thought.

             “What language do you think it’s in?” Bokuto whispered.

             Kuroo actually took the question seriously. If it was Spanish, Italian, or Portuguese, it would be hard to distinguish between them because he knew they were similar. It didn’t seem like any of those. “I’d guess German or Swedish.”  

             Bokuto chuckled a little. “You took that seriously. I should have known.”

             “Of course. That was actually a logical question.”

             “Okay, I’ll be the male lead and you could be the female.”

             Kuroo narrowed his eyes and stole the popcorn away from him. “Why do I have to be the girl?”

             “Cuz we both know you’re the girlier one. You have such a beautiful slender frame, babe.”

             “I’m leaving.”

             Bokuto kissed his cheek. “Good luck getting home.”

             “I could afford an Uber.”

             “Will you play along?”

             Kuroo sighed and scooted closer to his husband again. “All right. Your line.”

             “Giiiiirl I see you there looking all fine.” Bokuto whispered as the main character saw the lead female for the first time.

             “How dare you! I’m not some piece of ass for you salivate over.”

             Bokuto covered his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh louder than he anticipated. He was at least trying not to piss off the few other people that were watching. “You really went there.”

             “Uh of course, babe, you can’t just objectify women like that. They have rights.”

             “Well,” Bokuto continued in a whisper with the character’s line. “I am the richest most eligible bachelor in town. You’d be lucky to have me.”

             “You act like that will make up for your terrible personality.” The continued with the lines, Kuroo was the most committed, adding voices for the new characters that entered. Bokuto had to contain his laughter which each new voice Kuroo added and still keeping his voice low enough not to annoy everyone. Like most romantic dramas, it ended with the couple getting together and most of the conflict had been resolved. They understood that much at least. Kuroo placed his hand on his chest to deliver his last impactful line.

             “Just so you know, this kiss means nothing. I still hate your personality. You tried to change, but you never fully got there. This will by my goodbye to you.”

             Bokuto took Kuroo’s free hand and looked him in the eye. “Please, Sarah, I need you. You make me a better person.”

             “Sorry, I’m a lesbian.” Kuroo delivered his line and Bokuto laughed, letting himself fully laugh now that credits were rolling. They got weird looks from the couple a few rows in front of them. “Apparently that wasn’t an ending you should have laughed at.”

             Bokuto shrugged. “Oh well. I liked our version better and of course you wouldn’t make it a happy ending.”

             “Duh. That would have been boring.”

             “Your lesbian ending did catch me off guard. Especially because the guy kissed her again after that line.”

             “That’s what made it perfect.” They stood up and excited the theater. “What next?”

             “Probably lunch of some sort?”

             Kuroo shrugged. “Sounds good. We should pick something up here and drive somewhere to have a picnic.”

             “I’m down.”

             After lunch and a quick nap under an oak tree, they drove until it neared sunset. They talked, laughed, and sung along with the radio to their favorite songs. Kuroo couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. It was definitely what he needed after the month he’d had at work. Bokuto had been happy because it was summer, but Kuroo could tell that Bokuto was happier today than he had been in a while. He knew Bokuto got lonely when he worked a lot.

             “Hey, Kou.”

             “Hm?”

             “Thank you for today.”

             Bokuto reached over and took Kuroo’s hand, kissing Kuroo’s wedding ring. “Of course.”

             “No, I mean it. I really got lucky with you. I hope we do grow old and we still have days like this.” Kuroo squeezed Bokuto’s hand and smiled warmly at him. “I know I’ve been working at lot and that’s hard on you. Sometimes I still can’t believe the days we go without seeing each other still make you so sad. It makes me happy to know you love being around me that much. I promise, at least once a month, we’ll have designated Kou and Testu days.”

             “Tetsu…Hey! We made it to the beach. Did you know going East would eventually bring us to the beach?”

             Kuroo shook his head. “Honestly no.”

             “Let’s go watch the sunset.”

             “That’s such a cliché date move.”

             “But you want to?”

             “Hell yeah.” Kuroo took off his shoes as the car came to a stop. He ran off to get his feet in the sand as soon as possible. There wasn’t much Kuroo loved more than beach and of course Bokuto. Although he didn’t show it much, work stressed him out. He never wanted to put that on Bokuto. Nothing calmed like the sound of the crashing waves and the gritty sand between his toes.

             Bokuto smiled and watched his husband running ahead. Kuroo didn’t have to tell him, he knew anyway. The beach was just what he needed to fully relax. He grabbed their towels and spread them out close to the water. He sat down first and patted the space beside him. Kuroo sat down and Bokuto started rubbing his shoulders. He sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on Bokuto’s fingers as he worked out all hard spaces of tension.

“Tetsu. I’m glad we did this too. I know you needed it as much as I wanted it. You can come to me when you’re stressed. I know even when you don’t tell me. Your texts are shorter and you leave your clothes on the floor more often. You stay up later and sit on our balcony when you think I’m asleep, but I leave you alone because I don’t want disturb you.”

Kuroo smiled and looked up at the sky. “You’re right, I’m sorry. And please come bother me if you’re up. Sometimes I can’t shut off my brain.”

“I know, baby.”

“Do you want to rent out a suite somewhere just for the night? We could go crazy on the stupid overpriced snacks in the room.”

Bokuto hugged Kuroo around the middle when he finished the massage. “Definitely. I want to make at least one more stop before that though.”

“Okay.” They sat and watched the sunset, neither speaking because they didn’t need to. As much as they loved talking, the silences between them were just as welcome. They took in the colors of the sunset and watched the sun’s light bounce off the gentle waves. Both let all the tension leave their bodies. For that moment, everything was perfect.

Bokuto pressed kisses onto Kuroo’s neck, each meaning something a little different. The long ones told him, he was loved and cherished. The short ones said ‘sometimes I just like how my lips feel against your skin’. The ones with tongue and teeth said, ‘I find you sexier and prettier than anyone’. Bokuto didn’t need to put them into real words, Kuroo understood anyway. They had always been like that, more alike than different. Kenma may have known Kuroo longer and Akaashi may have had the perfect formula to bring Bokuto out of one of his moods. But no one could read their thoughts without words like they could for each other. No one else had their bond or could deal with their strange tangents. They weren’t perfect, but no couple could ever be.

With the windows, down they drove away from the beach and listened sounds of the new town they were in. Both waiting for something that would catch their attention. Bokuto heard it first. There was a bar down the street with live music. “Let’s end the day there, have a drink and listen to some music.”

“Sounds good.”

Bokuto parked the car and they walked hand-in-hand into the bar. When they entered the main room, they realized it wasn’t just live music but an open mic night. Bokuto looked at Kuroo and his eyes sparkled with an idea.

“No.” Kuroo protested, before Bokuto could even ask.

“But your voice is so pretty, Tetsu.”

“No. It’s for you only.” Kuroo walked up to the bar, finding it a perfect excuse to physically leave their conversation. He bought them both drinks and joined Bokuto at their table. He knew Bokuto wasn’t going to let it go. He had just pulled out the puppy dog eyes. “No.”

“Baaabe! For me?”

“You think you can just bat your pretty gold eyes at me and say ‘for me’ and I’ll do anything.” Kuroo glared at him, but he already felt his resolve slipping.

Bokuto didn’t waver with his pleading eyes even when he took sips of his drink. “I know you write songs occasionally. You’re really poetic when you want to be.”

“I don’t even have my guitar. Hah. That was the one thing you didn’t plan for…” Kuroo thought about it for a minute. He had been too tired this morning to see what Bokuto had really packed in the car. His guitar really could be in the car. “You didn’t!”

Bokuto grinned dangerously and Kuroo’s face paled. “I thought maybe I’d get you to play for me at one point.”

“I hate you again.”

“Stay right there.”

“Kou!” Kuroo protested and groaned as Bokuto ran out to the car. He was doomed. Bokuto came back with a smug look on his face and went to talk to the owner instead of coming directly back to the table.

“You’re on in ten, babe. After the next two.” Bokuto took his seat next to Kuroo and gave him a kiss.

“If they boo me off the stage, I’m blaming you and then divorcing you.”

“And people say I’m the over dramatic one.”

“You better get me another drink.”

Bokuto laughed and waved the waitress over for refills. “I know you’ll be great.”

Kuroo watched the next two acts. The first one wasn’t bad, a little pitchy at times, but her piano skills were fantastic. The second was amazing and Kuroo could feel his palms start to sweat. People were cheering and clapping along through the whole song. The applause was loud and Kuroo glared at Bokuto.

“I know you’ll rock it. Take a deep breath, you’re on, kitten.” Bokuto winked at him and pushed him toward the stage.

Kuroo situated himself and tried not think about tripping on the stage. “Well,” he addressed the audience. “I’m only here because my ass of husband convinced me. And because it’s the anniversary of when we originally started dating.”

Bokuto gasped and his eyes went wide in surprised. “BABE! I thought you forgot.”

“Never. Just because it isn’t our wedding anniversary doesn’t mean I’d forgot the way you asked me out at training camp. You were a blushing, stuttering mess and I was just as in love with you then as I am now eight years later, if not more so. This one is for you.”

The crowd clapped politely and a few girls had cooed at their words. Kuroo closed his eyes and started his song. It was an original and the words took Bokuto’s breath away. Kuroo knew how to write the notes within his range, but his lyrics are what really sold the song. They were romantic and bordered on being cheesy. It was their story in song from. Kuroo eventually opened his eyes, but he only focused on Bokuto. The couple of times Kuroo would switch into his falsetto, Bokuto got chills. It was as if Kuroo was only singing to him, but other people finally got hear Kuroo’s gift.

Kuroo took a bow when he finished and the applause was the loudest it had been all night. Kuroo was blushing, but he was pleasantly surprised by the reaction. “I told you, you were good.” Bokuto kissed him when he returned. Kuroo pulled his husband close, not caring that they were in public. He was still riding on the adrenaline from the performance and kissed Bokuto will all his pent up engery. It was the hottest kiss they had in a while.

“I think we have our winner!” The owner over the microphone and Bokuto and Kuroo separated in surprise. He was pointed directly at them and they both stared at each other in surprise.

“There was a contest?”

“I suppose so, go up there, champ.”

Kuroo went back on stage, blushing again. Bokuto had always been the one who drew attention, he was the ace in high school and college. People always raved about Bokuto’s abilities, that Kuroo wasn’t used to the attention being on him. He didn’t care because he would agree with them.

“Congratulations, you’ve won a full spa package at the hotel next door for you and a partner.”

Kuroo looked out to Bokuto and they grinned. Today would definitely being going in Bokuto’s journal. He hoped Kuroo didn’t know about it, but when they were gray and old he didn’t want to forget anything. He wrote down their adventures so he could keep them forever. They saw a foreign film they didn’t understand, had a picnic lunch, enjoyed a sunset, and now they’d won a free spa package by accident. All they needed was something unbelievably wild to happen, but maybe next time.

[poptartsandwes-blog]

The Ramblings of a Tired Boy

I don’t know what exactly the purpose of this post is, or what I’m trying to achieve by doing this, but I guess I’ll just start talking and we’ll see what this turns into. 

I’m a very tired person. I mean, everyone’s tired. When you’re an adult, sometimes it can feel like you’re just consistently tired for a whole week, month, or even a few years. I remember a conversation my dad and I had while we were in the barber shop. My dad was talking about how he worked a lot when he was my age, and my barber was also talking about the same thing. They both told me that they were tired for a solid four or five years straight with how much they worked and went to school. My dad then asked me why is it that I always go right to sleep whenever I get home from work, even when we’re slow at the restaurant I work at. I simply told him, “Because I’m tired.” And he laughed. I guess its just one of those things where parents/older adults don’t think we know what its like to go through what they go through, or they think that we’re not even really in for how grueling and tiring life can be just yet. I mean sure, that’s true to an extent. No one really knows what something is like until they experience it for themselves, and even then, everyone experiences things very differently. 

I just find it funny how adults always tell me, “You’re gonna be tired for a long time,” or “If you’re tired now, just wait until you get into trade school or whatever it is you want to do.”

But see, the thing is, I’ve been tired since middle school. Tired is a pretty default emotion for me, aside from anxiety or depression. If I’m not either one of those two, I’m usually just tired. I think I’ve been tired longer than I’ve had depression, but not for as long as I’ve had anxiety. I can date anxiety back to pre-school, and I think depression started in early high school/late middle school.

There’s different forms of exhaustion I have. I’m usually always mentally tired, but lately I’ve been very physically tired and in pain, too. And that’s kind of scaring me a little bit, because when I’m both of those kinds of exhausted, things are never that great for me. 

It takes a lot for me to get out of bed. Often when I wake up, my first reaction is “Ugh. Why can’t I go back to sleep?” I can never just jump out of bed and start my day. It always takes anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours (unless I have to work, then I can force myself out of bed in about fifteen or thirty minutes). But even then, when I force myself out of bed, that depletes my energy so much that it isn’t even funny. I basically run on fumes the rest of the day when I do that. So basically when I go to work Monday through Friday, I’m typically always running on fumes. I’ve actually started drinking a pre-workout formula every day before work and that’s really helped to boost my energy (kind of pathetic that I have to do that just to get a little bit of extra energy, huh? But hey, at least I’m not doing lines of cocaine or taking adderall. (I’ve NEVER understood why people pop adderall like candy. Its so incredibly dangerous and easy to become addicted to that it isn’t even funny. That’s one thing, along with stuff like cocaine, that I’ve never considered trying)).

I can become so tired mentally that it can hurt physically. But I also have physical pain as well. Its usually all isolated in my legs and thighs, which it seems that I can thank marching band for, since a lot of us marching band kids have really awful legs now that we’ve been out of it for a while. My legs started hurting some time after high school, and I only just started acknowledging said pain a month or two ago. I used to just power through it and consider myself weak if I were hurting. But doing that has put me in the hospital multiple times, so recently I’ve been trying to be mindful of my limits.

But its hard. I hate having limits. Because I can reach my limits very quickly, and then I feel awful if I can’t do something. I have friends that always like to hang out and drive around and walk around and do all sorts of things, and I love them, but I can’t always do that. I remember one time a few of my friends wanted to go to Wal-Mart after we had just had some dinner, and I told them “I’m gonna head home. I’m really tired.” And one of them said, “What? You’re tired? But all you’ve done is work and we weren’t even that busy. How can you be tired?”

Its simple, really. Like I said before, tearing myself out of bed takes away a lot of my energy right there. So what happens to the rest of it? Its sapped away by depression and anxiety that I experience on pretty much a daily basis. 75% of the time it isn’t anything major. Just little things that irk me or make me scared that can add up to big things that take a lot of energy to deal with. 

If I were to explain it more accurately, picture a mana and a health bar from a video game. You have around 100 mana and health, and lets say you’re up against a boss (for the hell of it, we’ll just call this boss “The Day”)

The Day stands before you! What will you do?! You cast: Wake Up! (costs 40 mana)

The Day looms over you patiently.

You cast: Shower, Brush Teeth, and Get Dressed combo! (costs 30 mana)

The Day looks on at you eagerly with a fierce glare.

You use Item: Pre-Workout Energy Drink! (20 mana restored!)

The Day attacks with a Morning Shift from 10:15am to 4pm! (Minus 50 mana)

What’s this? You’ve been cut from work early and friends have appeared and are asking if you want to hang out! What will you do?! Player is out of mana! Player cannot attack!

Oh no! The Day has summoned a two hour college class!

Player is out of mana! Player cannot attack! The Day called its friend: Homework! Player is out mana! Player cannot attack! Friends have taken the field again and want to message you! Player is out of mana! Player cannot attack! Your mother calls your cell and/or texts you wondering if you’d like to chat! 

Player is out of mana! Player cannot attack! You have the urge to write, one of your favorite hobbies! 

PLAYER IS OUT OF MANA. PLEASE STOP ASKING THE PLAYER TO ATTACK.

There’s a new series out on Netflix, and some great music on Youtube to listen-

Player forfeits and takes a two hour nap. (No mana restored).

The Day still lords over you like an all-encompassing shadow. 

Player is still out of mana. Player cannot attack.

The Player wants to. They’re really trying, here. Can’t you cut them some slack? You can see it in their walk and hear it in their voice that they’re tired. 

The Day refuses to leave you alone. 

The Player does not know what to do. 

But suddenly! What’s this? The Player has started moving. They reach for something, but what is it?

The Player draws a knife. The Day, Homework, Writing, and Friends all look on at the player in confusion. 

The Player quickly drags the knife over their own arm and screams, “Why can’t I do anything anymore?” (Minus 10 health)

Blood trickles down the Player’s arm as the enemies stand, frozen in shock and fear. 

The Player takes the knife and slashes their own leg. “I just want to be normal! Why do I always get so tired?!” (Minus 10 health)

No one knows what to do. 

The Player presses the knife against their hip and slices. “I can’t stand being so tired! No matter what I do, even if I get extra sleep or eat healthier and take vitamins, I’m still tired!” (Minus 20 health)

No one knows what to do.

The player moves the knife up to their ribcage and slowly digs the blade deep into their muscle. They drag the knife slowly, shrieking all the while. “I don’t even have the energy to hang out with friends and talk to my own mom!” (Minus 20 health)

Everyone still stands. No one knows what to do.

The Player chuckles lightly as they press the knife against their wrist. “You wanna know what the funny thing is? I don’t even have the energy to kill myself. The amount of thought and preparation it takes in order to plan something like this so my parents and loved ones and friends aren’t the ones to find my body is so overwhelming that it just turns me off of it, despite wanting so desperately for this poor excuse of my life to just end. This, my job, my future– it all feels like one sick joke. And I’ve stopped laughing.” 

The Player drops the knife. They examine the cuts and gashes they’ve given themselves and shake in horror. They decide to go to sleep, and try again tomorrow. 

…

…

…

(Mana and Health fully restored!)

The Day stands before you! What will you do?!

You cast: Wake up! (costs 40 mana)

So um. I don’t know what else to say or do here. I feel better though, now that I’ve gotten this out of my system. I’m still sad, and I’m still tired. But hey, I’m a little better. Sometimes Most of the time, that’s about all I can ever ask for. I don’t know how much of a help this can be for people, or if anyone can really even understand it, but I don’t think that’s my intention here.

I just want to feel better. Maybe I will. One day.

EDIT: I'm fine and I did not hurt myself. Thank you to those who have asked me for your consideration. But I have not harmed myself and am fine 💙

[viralhottopics]

Passion is overrated 7 habits that you need instead

Image: Shutterstock / ChingChing

Its common wisdom. Near gospel really, and not just among young people and founders. Across generational lines, sentiments like those from Steve Jobs 2005 commencement at Stanford have been engraved into our collective consciousness:

The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.

In other words, follow your passion. Theres just one problem: Follow your passion is dangerous advice.

Thats a troubling claim, but it comes straight from Cal Newports investigation into the details of how passionate people like Steve Jobs really got started as well as what scientists say predicts happiness and fuels great accomplishment.

Newports not alone. In recent years, a host of leaders, academics, and entrepreneurs have all come to the same startling conclusion: nearly everything youve been told about following your passion is wrong.

Here are seven habits you need instead.

1. Not passion, purpose

Ryan Holiday, author of Ego Is the Enemy:

Your passion may be the very thing holding you back from power or influence or accomplishment. Because just as often, we fail with no, because of passion. [P]urpose deemphasizes the I. Purpose is about pursuing something outside yourself as opposed to pleasuring yourself.

Until about a century ago, passion was a dirty word. Classical philosopher like Socrates and Marcus Aurelius saw passion as a liability not an asset: an insatiable and destructive force. Why?

Chiefly because passion is dangerously self-centered. In fact, our own modern descriptions of passion betray this inward bend: I want to [blank]. I need to [blank]. I have to [blank]. In most cases, whatever word finishes those sentences regardless of how well meaning it might be is overshadowed by the first.

Purpose, on the other hand, is about them, not me. It reorients our focus onto the people and causes were trying to reach, serve, help, and love. In The Happiness Hypothesis, psychologist Jonathan Haidt describes this pursuit as a striving to get the right relationships between yourself and others, between yourself and your work, and between yourself and something larger than yourself. If you get these relationships right, a sense of purpose and meaning will emerge.

Passion makes us bigger. Purpose connects us to something bigger and in doing so makes us right sized.

2. Not passion, picking

Shaa Wasmund, author of Stop Talking, Start Doing:

No is a far more powerful word than Yes. Every Yes said out of obligation or fear takes time away from the things and people we love. When an opportunity appears connected with your passion, its even trickier. Instead of snatching up everything that might get your closer to the life you want, give yourself the space to pick carefully.

Good is the enemy of great. Thats how Jim Collins put it anyway. Learning to say No is easily one of the most vital skills we can cultivate. And yet, even if youve mastered No to the obvious stuff, passion rears its head.

The blinding effect of passion leads us unthinkingly into projects and meetings that, in truth, are dead ends. Worse, they sap time and energy that would otherwise move us forward. When Tim Ferriss asked journalist Kara Swisher what message shed put on a billboard for millions to see, her answer was a single word, Stop.

And thats what picking is all about: slow down, pause, evaluate, weigh, and only then make a clear-headed choice. Picking involves, first, putting a time buffer on our decisions, particularly decisions that appear connected with your passion. Second, running our choices by an objective third party: a friend or colleague who can call out our blind spots.

Sleep on it. Reach out. The sun will rise tomorrow. And be ruthless with your Nos.

3. Not passion, practice

Angela Duckworth, author of Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance:

After youve discovered and developed interest in a particular area, you must devote yourself to the sort of focused, full-hearted, challenge-exceeding-skill practice that leads to mastery. You must zero in on your weaknesses, and you must do so over and over again, for hours a day, week after month after year.

We all love shortcuts. The allure of getting more by doing less is seductive. But are there times when doing more equals more? Absolutely.

The classic illustration comes from David Bayles and Ted Orlands Art and Fear where a ceramics teacher divided his class into two groups. The first was told theyd be graded on quality. The other, quantity. To get an A, the quantity group was required to produce fifty pounds of clay pots. Not exactly an artistically inspired assignment. And yet, when grading time came, a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity.

What accounted for this reversal of expectations?

Easy: while the quality group held back laboring under perfectionism the quantity group got busy. They practiced. And thats good news. If greatness came down to passion or worse, talent then itd be reserved for only a select few. Practice means greatness is doable one tiny step after another.

4. Not passion, planning

Liran Kotzer, CEO of Woo.io:

Passion is indeed very important, but what most people don’t know is whats needed to achieve their true potential. Whether its to acquire new skills, get a promotion, or achieve what they want, it all starts with having a plan based on real data and real-world options.

The only word less sexy than practice is planning. And yet planning is a golden thread woven through the lives of artists, leaders, and entrepreneurs alike. The trick here is that plans need not be grandiose. Rather, they shouldnt be.

Optimism is wonderful when it comes to our dreams. However, when it comes to whats next the nitty-gritty actions thatll get us there optimism kills. Infected with passion, our plans lose touch with reality. We overestimate strengths and underestimate challenges. Beyond the real data and real-world options, we build castles in the sky. Thats one of the reasons platform like Woo, which lets you get feedback from companies and headhunters anonymously, are so valuable.

Where passion disconnects us from reality, planning especially planning of the SMART goal and number-crunching variety drives home the true state of affairs.

That true state rescues us from false expectations, show stoppers, and resentment. As a good friend of mine likes to say, The question when youre trying to bring a dream into reality shouldnt be, What going to go right? It should be, Whats going to go wrong?

5. Not passion, positioning

Jason Stone, founder of Millionaire Mentor Inc.:

Passion can only take you so far. After that, if you don’t have the skills, the tools, the resources, the knowledge, and the track-record to move forward, take risks, and expand. Otherwise, you wont be able to position yourself as an authority. Positioning is key to make sure you are ready when opportunity strikes!

Humans are associative creatures. We think and act not in isolation but by comparing and contrasting.

The basic approach of positioning, wrote Al Ries and Jack Trout in Positioning: The Battle for Your Mind, is not to create something new and different, but to manipulate whats already up there in the mind, to retie the connections that already exist. This is especially true when it comes to how other people see us.

Passionate people often come off as self-inflated. Theyre legends in their own minds. Positioning means leveraging who you are and what youve done as a springboard to whats next. It embraces the associate nature of other people and while it still leaves room for confidence acknowledges that how others perceive us is more real, at least to them, than how we see ourselves.

6. Not passion, peripheral

Troy Osinoff, author of My Bad Parent: Do As I Say, Not as I Did:

People that think they completely understand their world are the most susceptible to overlook new opportunities. Peripheral is about establishing an unwavering curiosity to use your existing knowledge in uncovering new patterns and trends both for the sake of your personal development as well as the success of your business or career.

Passion makes us myopic. We become so focused on the desire inside us, we lose sight of whats around us. Objectivity the ability to see the world as it truly is atrophies in the blinding light of passion.

Adopting a peripheral perspective forces us to examine the margins. It widens our view. Rather than rush headlong into disaster, were able to spot not just the pitfalls but the opportunities we would have otherwise missed.

How? By cultivating curiosity. Questions like, What am I missing? What am I ignoring? Who could give me a fresh take? are vital in every area of life. Likewise, so is putting ourselves in new situations, reading books outside our passions, and intentionally pursuing people who have nothing to do with what it is we think we want.

7. Not passion, perseverance

Brian D. Evans, founder of Influencive and Inc. 500 Entrepreneur:

The person who calls themselves a student is more a master than those who try to wear the title. Get up when you get knocked down. Come back stronger, faster, and (above all) smarter. The constant desire to learn and overcome has helped me achieve everything. You must persevere.

Although it might sound odd, perseverance is as much about putting in effort as it is battling ego. Drunk on passion, masters are doomed to repeat failures in the name of pushing through. In contrast, students do more than hone their craft; they learn from their mistakes.

Asked if the Patriots historic comeback in Super Bowl LI was his greatest game ever, Tom Brady replied: [W]hen I think of an interception return for a touchdown, some other missed opportunities in the first 37, 38 minutes of the game, I dont really consider playing a good quarter-and-a-half, plus overtime as one of the best games ever but it was certainly one of the most thrilling.

Certainly Brandy persevered, and itd be nice if that guaranteed success. But sometimes you wont come back to win it. At least, not in the moment. Jobs will be lost. Pitches turned down. Relationships ended. And reviews harsh.

Failure, however, isnt just an inevitable stepping stone toward success. Rejection is part of success itself. As Louis CK put it to a budding comedian, The only road to good shows is bad ones. Just go start having a bad time and, if you dont give up, you will get better.

Is passion a bad thing?

Understood rightly, no. But as the be-all-and-end-all? Yes.

Cal Newports prescription was skill: passion is the result of excellence, not its source.

Far from a magic bullet, passion can mislead us, blind us, and even turn us in on ourselves. Newport was right: Follow your passion might just be terrible advice. Thankfully, these seven habits put passion in its place so that the fire Jobs spoke of doesnt burn out but endures.

Aaron Orendorff is the founder of iconiContent and a regular contributor at Entrepreneur, Lifehacker, Fast Company, Business Insider and more. Connect with him about content marketing (and bunnies) on Facebook or Twitter.

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